Dear Miss Snark,
My science fiction novel, Emissary (100,000 words), is complete. It is set in the far future when mankind is exploring outer space. (uh...like 1968?)
Of the many alien races discovered by human explorers, the humanoids of Epsilon Orionis are unique. They can absorb and manipulate pure energy with their metallic bodies. Earth initiates a secret operation to obtain the technology. Eager to succeed, Ambassador Spanner Templeton, Captain Randall, Lieutenant Buck Owen and First Mate Milo Orrington secretly guide the crew of the Dreadnought Apollo and a cohort of marines through their conversion to metallic humans regardless of the consequences.
Each character, human or alien, is vividly drawn (don't tell me this--it makes me think you tell not show) as they struggle to adjust to new circumstances and unexpected changes both physical and mental. Humans and aliens alike have hidden agendas as they struggle to unite their bodies, minds and futures.(wtf?) Only a select few know the consequences of failure. A xenophobic cabal of humans has opened a gateway to another dimension. In a misguided effort to preserve the purity of the human race, the xenophobes will allow the inter-dimensional aliens enslave and isolate the human race, maintaining its purity. Only the metalized humans can prevent alien domination and enslavement. The personal and political struggles of the characters all lead to a final confrontation with the xenophobes and invaders.
I am a retired chemical engineer and unpublished author. I have another novel and a dozen short stories in the works. (do NOT NOT NOT tell me any of this)
Thank you for your consideration.
“…A world of energy populated by metallic humanoids. I’d give my right arm to be down there. But I’m not a politician. I’m a captain first, a sailor second and a politician never,” Captain Randall said. Even through the leaded glass, they could feel the energy radiating from the central white dwarf. (as you know Bob)
“This is so magnificent…” Spanner said unable to move his eyes away from the swirling energy fields.
“Besides, I fart and belch. Diplomats don’t do either. I think it’s a good place for a tan,” Captain Randall laughed heartily and smacked Spanner’s back.
“You’re a prince, Captain,” Spanner joked. Disgusted by the Captain’s humor, Fred Smith sneered. Randall noticed. (Miss Snark is beginning to think this is a put on)
“Aw Freddy, I know that you think that I’m prince of the pig people in your xenophobic little heart. That’s what you told my crewmen, didn’t you? That’s what I heard, Prince of the pig people, a nice name from a diplomat... Anyone who thinks that I don’t what is whispered on my ship is sadly mistaken. I bugged the entire ship. Once a year I playback the crew’s most private privates—everything from their farts and grunts to their love affairs and intimate sighs. We all laugh. It keeps the crew humble and subservient,” Captain Isaac Jefferson Randall was on a riff. He stoked Smith’s smoldering paranoia.
“They say you’re a stud mosquito but I dismiss that as unrequited love,” Captain Randall said. Fred Smith’s eyes narrowed with hatred. Spanner silently smiled as he imagined the scene when the weasel-like Fred confronted five-star generals with Randall’s fabrications or reported his behavior to the Earth-Firsters.
“Of course, Spanner here is going to make nicey-nicey with an alien species and I guess you’re here to make sure that doesn’t include cohabitation. Do oyu know what sailors call a kissy-bear, huggy-face assignment? Does cohabitation with aliens fill you with dread, Fred?”
“You impure idiot,” Fred Smith turned his back. Captain Randall ignored the snub.
“You don’t know loyalty or fear, young man. You only know betrayal. Why, when I was young and foolish like you, we just had rockets, shuttles and our own wits to survive. You have your prejudices and you hope those will sustain you… Have I ever told you about the time when I befriended the radical Fugitive Emissions from Betelgeuse 5, the red giant. It had a gas planet orbiting it that was ten times the size of Jupiter…” Randall paused. A klaxon sounded.
“Attention, diplomatic shuttle craft from Epsilon Orionis arriving NOW,” the communications officer snarked. Spanner made a note to reward him for interrupting. They joined the crew of the Dreadnought Apollo and Marine Platoon A.
The shuttle floated gently onto the deck. Most spacecraft were ugly. The Epsilon Orionis shuttle glistened like a diamond. Brilliant white light burst through the entryway. Three metalloids stood silhouetted, their bodies’ angular, sharp, all steely muscle and tendon, their skin reflecting the myriad lights of the space-dock.
“The men of Epsilon Orionis send you greetings. I, Algrica Ponti of Orionis, present my credentials.”
Miss Snark is retiring to the gin mill.
Not even a flask is enough.
If this is not a joke, please google "turkey city lexicon" and read carefully.
If this is a joke, Miss Snark is not amused.
Nor are the 359 people who didn't get a crack at the crapometer cause you sent this.