Hey, today’s my birthday. I’m now officially older than dirt.
What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 12-point type, etc.) there should be about 16 or 17 lines on the first page. Directions for submissions are below—they include a request to post the rest of the chapter, but that’s optional.
For me, there was a hitch in this narrative right at the start despite the writing being sound. The author should not assume that everyone will know what “AR glasses” means. I had to look it up, which definitely took me out of the story (it’s augmented reality).
Other than that, though, this is a solid opening page. It creates mystery (what’s happening here?), jeopardy for the character, conflict, and raises the what happens next? story question. I’d read on. Your thoughts?
For what it’s worth.
Were I you, I'd examine my first page in the light of the first-page checklist before submitting to the Flogometer.
Science Fiction Gundown Free ebooks.
Continued:
Rubbery restraining bands slipped around her wrists. She fought, but they cinched tight, like a python around a rat, until she couldn't move her arms. She managed a couple more kicks before they captured her feet, and another set of restraints snaked around her legs. They grabbed her under her arms, lifted her like a Styrofoam replica and strode for the door. She caught a glimpse of her brother's picture laying on the floor, the glass smashed, and her computer mouse spinning on the desk like a turtle on its back before the door slammed shut.
"Help!" Her voice echoed down the empty hall. A door opened, and a face popped out, only to retreat when the men levelled guns at him. Boot falls echoing. They sprinted past the elevators to the stairwell. She struggled, tears streaming, but it was no use. The man in the lead threw open the door, and they lifted her and ran down the stairs two at a time. Her throat ached from yelling, and her heart raced so fast the beats throbbed in her teeth.
"Stop screaming, or I'll gag you," said the man on her right. "It's hard to breathe with one on, so I suggest you zip it."
"What's going on? Where are you taking me?"
His grip was a vice on her upper arm. "Answers later. For now, your life depends on us getting you out of here."
The lead soldier hesitated at the outside door and raised his left hand to his ear.
"What do they want?" asked the one holding her wrists.
"A scan for tiks. My pack has a scanner."
The soldier on her right rummaged in the small rucksack on the leader's back.
"Screw that. We don't have time. Go!" said the third.
They burst into the courtyard. Heat dropped on her like a hot wet blanket, and she gasped. They sprinted for the center of the square. The campus security guard lay hog-tied beside the pathway, his face glowing scarlet as he struggled to free himself, the holstered gun hanging uselessly at his side.
"You've got the wrong person. I've done nothing illegal."
In the grassy center of the courtyard rested a vehicle. The camouflage made the shape hard to discern, but the wash from four spinning rotors told her it was a quadcopter, very expensive. For her? She shook her head. It made no sense.
Two shimmering shapes approached. They had the hoods off, but the camouflage on their bodies was active, giving the impression of floating heads. She would have laughed under different circumstances.
"I don't know who you're after," she rasped, "but you've made an error."
"Dr. Susan Dawson," said the man on her left.
"Yes, but--"
"No mistake," he said. "Stop talking."
Despite the heat, chills swept over her, and her body trembled. Her heart sank as they ferried her to the quadcopter.
Someone knew her secret, and she had been so careful. But wait. They wouldn't send the military for her crimes--it would be like using a shotgun to kill a fly. She fretted about the FBI or even immigration knocking on her door one day but not soldiers. It had to be something else. Her head reeled as nausea overwhelmed her, and she feared she would throw up. Why was her life in danger?
The two men at the quadcopter sprinted forward. They pointed strange weapons to the sky like they expected an attack from above. She'd seen guns like that on the feeds--electromagnetic pulse rifles designed to bring down drones. They conversed rapidly, but she couldn't hear them. At first, she thought the rotor noise drowned them out and realized they must be subvocalizing via nanonytes embedded in their vocal cords. Special ops communications.
"What's going on?" she yelled at them. "Where are you taking me?"
"You'll find out soon. We gotta get outta here, or we're all dead."
She tried to control her panicked breathing, but it was like a restraining band circling her chest, cinching tighter with every breath.
One of the floating heads opened an almost invisible door on the copter. The interior looked like a portal to another dimension. They climbed in and placed her in a seat. The bands released, but a soldier snapped seatbelts in place between her legs and across her shoulders, securing her as if the kidnapping was routine. Then they sat on either side of her. It was the first chance she'd had to look at them. The man on her right had a crooked nose like it had been broken and hadn't healed properly. The one on her left was heavier and probably three inches taller. The right side of his face had a melted appearance from a nasty burn. They both snapped into their restraints and watched out the open door at their compatriots in the courtyard. Susan stopped struggling and peered out the doorway.
The three stood with rifles raised to the sky, waiting and watching for something. Then in unison, they swung their weapons towards the far end of the courtyard. She leaned over the soldier with the broken nose to get a better look out the door. At the distant end of the square, a small object detached from the building's soffit and hurtled towards them. It didn't get far before it exploded in a blaze of light and smoke. A moment later, a shock wave hit her chest like a fist and hammered her eardrums. She jerked in her seat despite the restraints. Her ears rang, and the quadcopter rocked from side to side. She cupped her hands over her ears.
She tried to undo her harness, but the buckles throbbed red when she pushed the buttons and refused to release.
The soldier beside her grabbed her hand and shook his head. The men outside had turned and were running for the copter. The whine of the rotors increased, and a set of thick headphones were handed to her.
"Put 'em on. They'll protect your ears from the explosions,"
A flash in the periphery of her vision forewarned another shock wave, and a split second later, her body recoiled from the impact. She took the headphones, but her hands shook so badly she dropped them. The man on her right grabbed them and placed them on her head.
"There's more incoming," he said. He pointed above the building toward the direction of the first drone. "Time to go."
The men outside dove into the cabin and grabbed for handholds. The door slammed shut, and the copter leapt into the sky, pitching violently. The man next to her pulled down padded arms to steady her head. The soldiers across from her struggled to belt in but gave up and clung to straps. They'd dropped their guns in their rush, and they scraped back and forth along the floor. Susan's stomach reeled from the violent motion. Tears zigzagged down her face, changing direction every time the machine lurched. The three across from her slid back and forth, crashing into each other and laughing like this was an amusement park ride.
The violent jerking continued as they rose. One moment Susan's head flung back into the cushion and, the next, snapped painfully forward. The rotors abruptly slowed, and the craft dropped. She became weightless, and she opened her mouth to scream, but nothing escaped her lungs.
"This is nothing. Relax." Said the man with the burn.
Relax? Not likely now that someone was trying to kill her. Rage percolated to the surface, and she directed it at the men who had abducted her.
"Where are you taking me?" she screamed, but the whine of the quadcopter rotors roared louder, and an invisible hand pushed her into the seat. They either couldn't hear or, more likely, couldn't bother to answer.
After what seemed an eternity, the upward push of the chair dissipated, and the harness pulled down as she became weightless again. The men across from her floated toward the ceiling. They took advantage of the relative calm and pulled themselves down, and belted in.
Gravity returned when the machine accelerated upward again. The pitching ended, and her muscles relaxed.
Just fifteen minutes ago, she'd been busy working on her computer, in her nondescript little office in a boring section of the research campus. She somehow doubted she would never see her office again.
The man beside her put his arm on her leg. She glared at him. Kidnap me and then console me?
What lay behind those glasses--a soldier, a machine, what? But all she saw was her reflection in the mirror finish of his AR glasses. A frightened animal caught in the light of a car's headlights, with nowhere to go.
When she was a child, and her brother had made her angry, she'd sneak up on him and pinch the soft flesh of his tricep. She smiled sweetly at the soldier with the broken nose and reached for his arm.
The camo seemed to cover granite. Finally, her fingers found a fold of skin, and she pinched almost hard enough to shatter the bones in her fingers. He twitched but didn't try to stop her. The mirror finish on his glasses faded, and unnaturally cobalt blue eyes appeared. Communication contacts that no doubt interfaced with his AR glasses. The contacts glowed at her, but not with warmth. These were not forgiving eyes; they were eyes used to pain, inflicting it and enduring it.
His lips moved, and despite the roar of the motors and her earphones, she got the message. Her fingers snapped open, and like an incoming fog, his glasses returned to silver, and those cobalt eyes disappeared, replaced by her scared animal reflection.
She tapped at her glasses, but they still wouldn't connect. A few miles from the university, she should be able to connect to a different node. Somehow they blocked her access--helluva party trick.
The steady drone of the engines lulled her, and she checked out her surroundings. The quadcopter was dirty, dust devils swirling around air leaks in the doors, the seats utilitarian. The inside was metal, and deep scratches were the decor.
She leaned to look out the window. The glass curvature gave a fishbowl effect but foggy as if it had been sandblasted. They were headed toward the mountains. A massive brush fire had been burning out of control for days, and she could see the raging line of fire at the base of a curtain of smoke. California burned like this every year now.
Suspended under the rotor arm of the copter hung two missiles with' BattleCom' painted on their sides. The government's private army. Her secrets must be safe. But then, what did they want?
Crooked nose soldier lifted her headphones and yelled in her ear, "Put on this oxygen mask. We're going through the fire. The pursuing drones can't navigate there."
He handed her a mask that covered her mouth and eyes. She hesitated until she saw the others put theirs on. Then she placed it on her face and slid the strap over her head.