I, Effing Feline, wish you a happy Memorial Day!
Of course, that’s an American holiday. If you’re in Canada, happy belated Victoria Day. (I hope you got your garden planted.) If you’re in England, happy Spring Bank Holiday. (Do humans, and not just banks, get the day off work?) For Australians, happy Reconciliation Day. (Is living in Oz so tough you have to become reconciled to it?)
I’m continuing with the opening scene of Mr V’s near future sci fi romance, Alien Contact for Kid Sisters. Last week we met Quinn, a con artist from Kwadra, an island inhabited by technologically advanced aliens from an alternate Earth. It’s a duplicate of our Earth’s Vancouver Island — but its inhabitants aren’t Canadians celebrating Victoria Day, but descendants of the aboriginal people who lived there before Captain Cook.
Quinn is jacking up the price of a cheap copy of a Kwadran mask that a couple from Oklahoma has already paid for. He has asked for $40 more, then $50, $60 and so on. Edited to fit the guidelines.
The woman’s voice grew loud: “Give us back our money!”
Quinn turned with a sigh, cradling their carving in his arms. “Ninety dollah more.”
“That’s robbery.” The man’s face was red; through thin white hair, his scalp showed red, too. “I ought to call one of your gendarmes.”
They sure as salmon guts weren’t his gendarmes. “Okay, okay,” Quinn said as though heartbroken; “you Uncle Homas too smart for simple Kwadran like me. Only forty dollah more.”
“That’s more like it,” the man said as he dug out his wallet.
Effing Feline here again. Do you know what is the very bestest holiday in the whole galaxy?
Be sure to visit the other great writers in Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday.
Alien Contact for Kid Sisters
Fleeing murderous rebels, the queen’s sister finds an alien hero
to save her . . . or is he kidnapping her, instead?
Marianne Harmon is sick and tired of being just the kid sister of the famous queen of Kwadra Island, home of the marooned aliens from an alternate Earth. Although she daydreams about being a warrior, when rebels bomb the royal ball she’s shunted to one of the many tunnels that honeycomb Kwadra, where she awaits a captain of the valiant Royal Guardians.
Quinn Lebatarde, a Kwadran scam artist fleeing the police, dons the uniform of a Royal Guardian killed by a tunnel collapse. When Marianne mistakes him for her bodyguard, Quinn can’t decide whether to save the feisty maiden, fall in love with her — or get rich by kidnapping her. With bloodthirsty rebels pursuing them and a treasure map in his pocket, what will he choose?