With the republishing of NeoTokyo Dead in serialised form, I have launched a page on Ream. I chose Ream because it is new, innovative and it makes publishing simple and straight-forward. It also makes it easy for readers to catch their favourite authors, as well as find new ones.
Currently, I have a couple of subscription tiers available. Shock Bots gain access to all short stories that I write for the platform, updates on projects in the works and exclusive musings and thoughts. Guardians get the full deal with access to all novels and novellas as I write them as serialised works as well as everything in the Shock Bots tier.
As a bonus for just signing on, Shock Bots will have access to the first novella, NeoTokyo Dead. The first two chapters are free and public, and from there, open to all subscribers.
I am not planning on adding any more tiers. I am still learning many of the ropes and finding out how to do things on Ream.
NeoTokyo Dead is scheduled to drop two chapters a week until it is completed. The complete novella should be finished in about three months' time. Plenty to read!
The lunar colony of New Sydney was a shock at first. In short, the news services back on Earth lied. No, really. They were full of...whatever the robot equivalent of crap is. What were loosely called “crimes” by the likes of the Global News Network turned out to be protests against the oppressive laws that the regime here instituted to control insurgents that didn't exist. Much to my surprise, I like it here. And I still have all my parts!
It hasn't all been bliss and berries. Lunar colonies have a small group of people everyone else calls “technophobes”. These technophobes believe people like me should be restricted to Earth and the colonies need to be people-only. You got it. According to these enlightened souls, I am not a person. It's not as if I am identifying as a human! But no. That is not good enough for them. I should remember my place and run back to the Earth.
The incense smoke had dissipated. The thurible had been put away with the candlesticks and the chalice. Vicar Raymonde XTC felt a little like his best friend had just left for a long journey. There was something familiar and home-like about the Holy Week celebrations, despite what they were leading up to for His Lord. Still feeling something of the moment, Raymonde knelt at the rail before the altar to pray, clasping his silver tanibrium hands together and closing his sensors off. Unlike his human brothers and sisters, his people could almost completely isolate themselves in a bubble of sensory silence. Raymonde was grateful to God that he was not burdened with distractions like his human friends described to him.
I got a new job! I am now the official cleaner of McDonalds in New Sydney CBD! It wasn't all that hard to win the position. I think there was only a couple of others who applied and they were humans. I was surprised to see humans there. Normally that type of work is left to us. And who else would want to work in New Sydney?
The last I heard was that the lunar colonies were soaked in crime and just about out of control. Unlike the Asteroid Region, the moon had just about nothing to sell or harvest. Well, nothing of value, anyway. They make a bit on low-gravity launches for new ships, but that is about it. The bright spark who decided the Van de Graaf Crater was a good place for a colony did not last long in business. Somehow, the colony has staggered along and continues to eek out something like an existence. Enough that McDonalds saw fit to open a new health store there.
So, next week, I am off to de Graaf and a new phase of life! Diana is a bit worried. She has heard only bad things about the moon and the colonies there. A lot of it is media hype, I think. The Sol Police would have cleaned anything too bad out. Anyway, Diana said I need to be careful about people stripping me for black market parts! What the hell? I am nervous enough as it is without her adding those sorts of things to my mind.
Ra'arch was bewildered as she looked through the large viewing port on the side of her ship. Locals had gathered around her silvered vessel and appeared to be taking images of it. Some were even posing to be in the images. Kal'eshia had warned her of the primitiveness of the planet, but Ra'arch did not have a clear mental picture of just how backward Kal'esha meant.
Diana decided that my name should be “Maurice”. I was quite happy with E-CLN-047.32.9, but apparently that's a lot for a [m.......]...human to get their vocal tract around. Owen claimed that “Maurice” was even worse that my designation. When Diana told him to come up with something better, (she called him a smart arse), he told he could do no worse than “Maurice”. They argued for about twenty minutes. It's a lot for something the one person who should care about it could not give a crap about.
A human advised me to write a journal. What she meant was actually write one. With my hand. Like humans did more than five centuries ago. I thought she was nuts. We all know how meaties can be a little strange, but Diana promised that it would be good for me. Not only that, she said it would be fun. I am sceptical, but what did I have to lose?So, here I am, starting a diary. Diana never mentioned how you should start one.
I don't need to go into that introduction stuff. I know who I am even better than Diana knows who she is. I guess I shouldn't call her a meatie. She's a good friend, after all. A lot of humans won't come near us for whatever reason. A bunch of friends and I were dumb enough to sit down one night for a movie marathon of old human sci-fi movies. We got some idea why humans might be a little nervous around droids. They really didn't think much of us, even before the singularity.
Most days were good. Trent Babel rarely had bad days. He sat in his office in the basement of a cheap tenement building buried in the sewer of NeoLondon. He tallied up the takings of his night's work. Well, his workers' work, really. Marx would hate Babel, but that was ok by him. Whatever care about the opinion of others, usually on the negative side for people in his profession, he once had was long a vapour.
The wind whistled through the cracked windows and played with the flames of the candles at the altar. With wax infused with the bile of a gorgon, there was no danger of the lights going out until the appointed time. He stood there and surveyed the setting before him. A smile flickered across his haggard features just as brief as the candlelight. The plants were a nice touch, he thought.
High Archon Graham Fernandez, a distant descendent of Spanish immigrants to the New World, felt ready. He turned to look with a certain arrogant magnanimous visage upon the first arrivals. He stepped over to one of the pillars at the side of the altar and waited in its shadow. The congregants would find it hard to see him there, even with his dimly red eyes.
With the republishing of NeoTokyo Dead in serialised form, I have launched a page on Ream. I chose Ream because it is new, innovative and it makes publishing simple and straight-forward. It also makes it easy for readers to catch their favourite authors, as well as find new ones.
The lunar colony of New Sydney was a shock at first. In short, the news services back on Earth lied. No, really. They were full of...whatever the robot equivalent of crap is. What were loosely called “crimes” by the likes of the Global News Network turned out to be protests against the oppressive laws that the regime here instituted to control insurgents that didn't exist. Much to my surprise, I like it here. And I still have all my parts!
So, here I am, starting a diary. Diana never mentioned how you should start one.
Designation: UIFA 982-3. Utility Infantry Fighting Android. It's a mouthful, so everyone calls me Gavin. I'm currently doing my second tour on Earth.
Most days were good. Trent Babel rarely had bad days. He sat in his office in the basement of a cheap tenement building buried in the sewer of NeoLondon. He tallied up the takings of his night's work. Well, his workers' work, really. Marx would hate Babel, but that was ok by him. Whatever care about the opinion of others, usually on the negative side for people in his profession, he once had was long a vapour.
The wind whistled through the cracked windows and played with the flames of the candles at the altar. With wax infused with the bile of a gorgon, there was no danger of the lights going out until the appointed time. He stood there and surveyed the setting before him. A smile flickered across his haggard features just as brief as the candlelight. The plants were a nice touch, he thought.