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First 10

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Published by Todd_Glasscock
This is the first 11 pages of a sci-fi story I'm writing. It's my first attempt at writing sci-fi. Comments are welcome.
This is the first 11 pages of a sci-fi story I'm writing. It's my first attempt at writing sci-fi. Comments are welcome.

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Published by: Todd_Glasscock on Aug 09, 2010
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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10/25/2012

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1
 
Six months embedded with the Old 300th Drop Regiment on Ukiah, Jonah Parker onlyworried about keeping his ass down and making deadline. Five minutes after arriving atSacramento downport his chief concern was a good cup of coffee and making it to baggage dropbefore his claim stub expired.He checked the stub. An hour left on it. Plenty of time to stop for coffee. Real coffee, notthe caffeinated blackened water the grunts on Mont DeLillo drank. He squeezed onto a slidewalk heading toward one of th
ree of the port‟s malls and food courts.
 The slidewalk dropped him at the edge of an octagonal court. Fast food joints lined the
octagon‟s rims. Travelers clumped at tables and booths, eating breakfast. Somewhere from one
of the kiosks at the edge of the court, the aroma of brewing gourmet coffee poured into hisnostrils. He switched on his vidcom and linked to his credcard balance. He could buy coffee andbreakfast and still have enough left over for anything else he might need.His com chirped as he made
his way toward the coffee kiosk. He clicked Talk. “Parker.”
 
“Cass here.”
 
“What‟s up?” He stopped, turned around after passing the coffee kiosk.
 
 
2
 
“Wanted to see if you could do something for me.”
 At the kiosk, he queued up behind a purple-crested urvogel
 — 
a female by the looks of it.
“What? No „Parker, I‟m glad you‟re alive?‟”
 
“Right, right . . . Glad you‟re alive, Parker.”
 
“Thanks.”“Wanted to give you a heads up . . . an urvogel delegation is arriving Sacramentodownport in about an hour. You‟re there. So . . .”
 
“Can I snap some vid, get a few quotes?”
 
“I knew you wouldn‟t disappoint, Parker.”
 
“No prob.” He clicked the vidcom off. Lucky for him the urvogel was still waiting for the
barrista to froth the watery orange tactdyl tea they loved. He could find out from her at which
 port the delegation was arriving. “They seem a little slow today don‟t they, Honorable One?” He
had assumed the purple crest placed her in the diplomatic corps and addressed her properly.
The urvogel snaked an eye toward Jonah. “Your kind always seems so,” the bird clicked
in perfect Anglic, for which Jonah was glad; his translator, along with everything else, wasawaiting pick up.He clicked a greeting in Urvogellian, though with a thick-tongued, awkward accent. Thediplomat ignored him. No matter. He continued his formal greeting, clasping his hands togetheras if about to pray, and bowed at the bird.With grace she accepted her cup of tea, paid the barrista, and looked at Jonah again, thistime with a little less contempt. She return
ed the bow. “No need to be so formal. Your kind,always trying to impress.” She shook her head, her crest bristling quizzically.
 
“You‟re with the delegation, right?” he asked.
 
 
3
 
“Why would you say that?” She seemed angered, offended.
 
“Y
-
your crest . . .” Damn it. He hated when his voice cracked like that. “Anyway, nomatter . . . I just thought you might . . .”
 
“Because of the crest?”
 
“I didn‟t mean to offend.” Shouldered over her forewing was a large vidcom bag. Shit,
she was media, too. What a dumb ass! Urvogellians had to rank at least purple-crest to serveoffworld.
“Lighten up,” she said. “Quillip‟akta‟ur.” She extended her forewing to shake hands.“Yes, I am part of the diplomatic corp. Lower level. Public relations. Covering the delegation for 
the corp.
 
“Jonah Parker.” He shook the delicate forewing.
 
“Parker? The writer?”
 
“Yes.” His face flushed. Four years in the business and he still felt awkward when
someone recognized his work.
“They have you covering the delegation?” Her crest flattened, then rose again. “I thoughtyou were still on Ukiah.”
 
“Guess you missed my last report.” He smiled. “But, yeah, my editor . . . she wassupposed to pick me up half an hour ago . . .”
 
“You don‟t have to say anything more.”
 Editors were editors no matter the culture. Reporters were their servants. Jonah peered at
the time on his com. “The delegation, they should be here soon. Where are they docking?”
 
Quillip‟akta‟ur eyed the hand
-
sized device Jonah held. “You‟re shooting with that?”
 

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