Good morning, everyone. Happy Thursday!
Whew! This has been a busy last couple of weeks. The fine folks at Thunder Valley Press are putting out paperback editions of a lot of my stories, and in the process updating the covers of some of my earlier publications. A good example is this week’s free story, “Human Interest.” Snazzy cover, right? And the really cool thing about these paperback editions is that they come with a code for a free e-book copy of the same story. If you’re at all like me, I love my e-reader, but I still like having paper books on the shelf. Or shelves. Multiple shelves. Taking over the house. *g*
I also signed the contract for my story “Dead Men Walking” which will appear in Fiction River # 5, Hex in the City, edited by Kerrie Hughes. Isn’t that a gorgeous cover? Boy, I seem to be all about the covers this week.
Well, it’s not all about the covers, not on Free Fiction Thursdays. On with this week’s story, a cautionary science fiction tale. Enjoy!
Copyright © 2013 by Annie Reed
Cover Art Copyright Michael Knight | Dreamstime.com
Dusty, windblown sand pelted Samuel in the face when he stepped off the shuttle.
Great. Just great. Welcome to Paradise. Another piece of shit town on a piece of shit planet at the edge of nowhere. The absolute perfect place for the latest in a long string of crappy assignments for a vid reporter who knew his star had risen about as far as it was ever going to go.
Samuel ducked his head and raised his gloved hands to protect his face. His travel gear protected his body from the worst of the scouring sand, but he hadn’t covered up his face before he stepped out of the shuttle in case someone from the outpost expected a little meet and greet. Over the years Samuel had discovered initial meetings worked best face to face. When he established a personal connection early on, his interviews had the comfortable feel of two old friends sitting down for a chat. Just the kind of vid shows his bosses wanted, and the kind of work that bored Samuel to death.
Only no one from Paradise had come out to meet the shuttle. Samuel moved fast to secure a breather mask over his nose and mouth and flip down his helmet’s clear plexi shield. The shield dimmed the glare from the system’s lone sun, hot and brilliant overhead even through the blowing sand. The oxygen system in his mask kicked in, and he breathed in air that tasted flat and vaguely metallic instead of like something had burnt to a crisp about a million years ago. Technically humans could tolerate the air on Paradise, but Samuel had no desire to breathe dust and sand and who knew what else. That nasty taste had to come from somewhere.
Part face guard, part heads-up display screen, the helmet’s shield kept the blowing sand out of Samuel’s eyes. Still, the dry air seemed to suck all the moisture right out of him. He wondered where the good citizens of Paradise hid their alcohol. Good way to get to know the locals, sharing a drink or two. Or ten. Samuel really needed a drink.
(read the rest of the story here)