NEW STAR RISING (The Indigo Reports: Story 1.0)
Space Opera Novel
NEW STAR RISING is now available.
“True SciFi is a magnificent world to enter and this is just the beginning of what I know will be a great series.“
EXCERPT FROM NEW STAR RISING
COPYRIGHT © TRACY COOPER-POSEY 2017
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Kachmarain City, Kachmar Sodality, The Karassian Homogeny
They had survived ten days in the Homogeny, yet Sang still found it difficult to ignore the constant attacks upon their concentration. Screens were everywhere—disposables, transluscents, impermeables for wet conditions, building-sized, thumbnail-sized, embedded in windows, luggage, shopping bags, vehicles, clouds. The spoon they used to eat breakfast had a long, narrow screen running along the handle. The faucets in the ablutions areas features rosette screens on the activation sensors. Each and every screen offerred a different datastream, a unique offering designed to seduce and hold the viewer’s attention.
The babble had been overwhelming, at first. After ten days it was merely distracting, which was why Sang failed to notice they were being observed, until the man made his move and by then it was too late to counter.
Sang held still, on alert. They put their spoon down. Regretfully, they would have to miss breakfast.
The eatery was busy, even this early. Many of the screens were displaying a show featuring a self-confessed biocomp called Chidi who spent most of his time mocking and disparaging the people he met. The Karassians seemed to like the show, enough to train screens to focus on it. Sang did not understand how they could enjoy the derisive negativity. It made Sang uncomfortable.
Therefore, Sang did not watch the screens as so many in the eatery were. They pretended to watch, which allowed them to measure the man’s progress toward the far corner where they were sitting. The man would have to move around six long tables, with every stool occupied by noisy Karassians.
The man did not look enhanced. He did not look Karassian, either. He did not have blond hair, or the pure, rich brown eyes that Karassians valued. That made him an outsider, as was Sang. Yet he did not look Eriuman, either.
Was this the one, then?
Sang waited with tense readiness.
“Will you look at the pretty one, then?” The question came from behind Sang.
“We’re going to sit right down next to you, sweet one.” A different voice. This one, female.
Someone jostled Sang from behind, forcing them to look away from the stranger and up at the pair addressing them.
“You don’t look like a Karassian, sweet thing,” the woman said. She was native Karassian, visibly enhanced. Her bare arms featured metal sinews that sat on top of her white skin and plug-ins at the wrists. She would be strong, then.
The male narrowed his standard brown eyes. He had no chin and a large mouth. “That’s a thick lip you have there, little one.”
The swollen lip and the bruise on Sang’s cheek were courtesy of a scuffle two days ago, when Sang had explained physically why they did not appreciate the hand groping under their skirt when they were trying to board a carriage. Sang had assumed that the disfigurements would deflect interest. They had not.
“Move over, sweet thing,” the woman said, bumping Sang’s shoulder with her hip. Her metal enhanced hand gripped Sang’s arm, tugging them sideways and almost off the stool.
The man was pulling a third stool over to the long bench.
Sang sighed. “I do not wish to keep your company,” they said.
“We’re good company,” the woman replied. She put her hands around Sang’s waist and lifted them, then kicked the stool aside. She replaced Sang on the relocated stool, her hands lingering. “Heavy,” she remarked. “You maybe enhanced under that odd skin of yours?”
“I believe the lady said she did not want company.” The third voice was that of the man who had been watching Sang.
Sang was surprised to feel a sensation of relief trickle through them.