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Science fiction so soft it's practically rotten.
Since I'm actually going to be posting something this year, I may as well set up before I lose the nerve. Feel free to chat with me in here to pass the time (although I know no one will).

STORY POSTS:
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CRIT-ERIA:
For the reader, so you have some guidelines both to post by and to help me out.
---· What do you think of the plot so far? The characters? The setting?
---· What do you think could use some work? Is there anything that needs clarification? What do you think is good?
---· Does the beginning draw you in?
---· Did you see any typos? Spelling? Grammar?

The media discovered Glitch when she was eight.

Descriptions of the poor girl flooded the newspapers and radiowaves. “Covered in a fine layer of feathers, like a bird;” “her expression is one of perpetual curiosity, her large eyes taking everything in as if trying to discover how she is different from everyone else—and why;” “she hobbles across the yard to fetch a book that someone had left there, her bobbing, staggering walk almost painful to watch.”

Three pictures circulated through the newspapers, each of a small girl dressed in a shoulderless haltertop dress, the tufts of feathers on her shoulders flared up. The few long feathers on the back of her head were pointed upwards like a proliferation of question marks. In one picture she was wide-eyed and staring like a bird of prey, head cocked slightly to one side; in another she smiled to reveal the miniature beak, a fusion of her two upper front teeth. The pictures were in startling color and splashed across the front page, revealing in peculiar detail the odd blackish-red tint to her feathers, her light brown skin and hair, her large feet in their lumpy boots.

Hugh swore. Janet glanced up from her book, eyebrows raised; her bald head glimmered slightly in the morning sun, specks of silver among the Caucasian white, and Hugh carefully folded the paper in half and slid it across the table to her, relevant story on top.

She looked at it and inhaled sharply. Dropping the book she snagged the newspaper, reading the accompanying article far faster than Hugh ever could. There was a moment of silence after she finished, then Hugh tapped his fingers impatiently on the table.

“So what do they say about my daughter?”

Janet gently closed and folded the newspaper again. “Apparently someone had gotten curious as to Anasqil’s frequent visits and decided one day to track him, revealing the—“ she scanned the front page briefly for a quote, then decided against it “—relationship between he and us.”

Hugh grunted, running a hand through his brown hair. “You make sure Glitch doesn’t see this. Burn it or whatever.” He grabbed the paper as she reached for it. “Only the relevant pages. She’ll get suspicious if there’s no newspaper.”

Janet plucked it from his fingers and got to her feet. “Understood. Oh, and it’s your turn to make breakfast—I’ll go wake her up when I’m done with this.” Waving the newspaper absently, she left the room.

Hugh grunted, staying seated for a moment. It didn’t matter if he didn’t read it here; someone would almost certainly mention it at work, and some idiot might even shove the paper in his face and pester him with questions. And—oh hell—the reporters, he’d have to deal with them, too.

He’d get Janet to deal with them. She could compartmentalize and resist the urge to hit them. Getting up and heading towards the kitchen, Hugh worried about what he’d have to do to make sure Glitch wasn’t scared or overwhelmed by all the new attention she would be getting.

Bacon was sizzling in the pan by the time Janet returned and tossed the newspaper on the table. “Switched out that cover page for yesterdays—I don’t think she’ll notice. The other one’s been burned,” she added dryly, rinsing her hands. “Just don’t worry so much, Hugh—I’ll call up Anasqil and his wife and let them know what’s going on, although they may have already heard.”

“Someone’s probably bothering him right now,” he muttered, scraping up the bacon and putting it on a paper towel to cool. Getting a few eggs out of the fridge, he cracked them open a little more harshly than normal, getting fragments of eggshell mixed in with the yolk and grease; he swore again under his breath and tried to pick them all out, getting the larger pieces with quick grabs, but the grease was hot and he missed the smaller pieces. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Janet had already gone upstairs.

Continuing to mutter, he started scrambling the eggs and mixing them in with the leftover bacon fat, adding salt and dashes of pepper. He could vaguely hear voices and people walking around on the floor above, marking that his daughter was up and about now and would soon come down demanding food and the daily comics.

She came hobbling down the stairs soon, barefoot, her scaly, bony feet quiet on the carpet. “Morning,” she chirped at her father, grinning to reveal the frontbeak.

“Good morning,” he replied, smiling back. “Bacon’s ready, and the eggs’ll be done soon—no toast, sorry.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Are we out of bread?”

“No, I just haven’t made it yet.” He flicked off the burner on the stove and moved over to get a plate out of a cabinet, handing it to her and then grabbing one for himself. Two pieces of bread went in the toaster and Hugh and Glitch contented themselves with eating bacon off the paper towel until the toast was done.

“How’d you sleep?”

She shrugged, folding up a piece of bacon and sticking it whole in her mouth.

“Any headaches?”

She shook her head, watching him put toast and eggs on her plate.

“Finish your reading?”

He handed the plate to her and she wandered over to the small kitchen table, taking the sunny spot where Janet had been sitting before. “Almost. It’s kinda boring.”

He watched her pile the eggs onto her toast with her fingers, then turned back and put the remaining eggs and piece of toast on his own plate, grabbing the jar of blueberry jam out of the fridge as he passed it and closing the fridge door with his foot.

Glitch didn’t like cutlery and it didn’t like her. The frontbeak made it difficult to use forks without scratching them, so she would often rearrange things to eat them with her hands. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he spread jam on his toast.

“Want juice?”

She nodded.

“Apple?”

“Okay.”

Janet returned from upstairs at this point. She was wearing a blonde wig today, long and straight and pulled away from her face with a pair of barrettes. “Hugh, don’t forget to call Anasqil.”

“I’ll do it before I leave for work, okay?” He glanced at her warningly and she nodded, eyebrows raised.

“You’ve got egg on your moustache.”

“Not yet,” he protested. “Haven’t even touched my eggs.”

After breakfast Janet and Glitch—more properly known as Miracle—went outside in the backyard to do some homework, and Hugh finished cleaning up and went to his study.

The image on the netcam was blurry but there, bouncing from satellite to satellite across space to get from one star to the other. Anasqil was clearly annoyed and squawked in irritation when he saw Hugh, his black-red feathers fluffed up.

“You woke me up,” he said accusingly, golden raptor eyes glaring.

“It’s about Miracle,” Hugh replied. The feathers on Anasqil’s shoulders and head flared up threatening for an instant before settling down again. “Some photographer—some reporter found her. She’s on the damned front page of the Trial and I’ll bet that’s not the only newspaper that’s suddenly discovered our daughter.” The only newspaper, in fact, that might not be interested was the National Enquirer, who had been building up to a story on Elvis being a shadraxi for a week and weren’t about to cancel that story for a real half-shadraxi.

Hugh watched Anasqil’s feathers flare up again, black at the roots segueing into violent red; all the long feathers on his arms, head, and shoulders stood straight up like a peacock’s tail, presenting a fairly intimidating image. But as soon as it came it went, and everything smoothed down again.

“Just try to avoid them,” he said. “Keep a low profile, as they say, and don’t make a big deal. I will see what I can do and you must see what you can do.”

Hugh sighed. “Okay. Thanks—and just watch out, they might be after you, too.” He refrained from telling Anasqil it might have been his fault they found her.

“You watch out too. You are more easily accessible.”

Hugh snorted. “Yeah, good point. But you’re married.”

Anasqil ruffled his feathers. “We will both watch out, and I will warn my family. How is Mir-a-cle?” He had turned her name into a series of notes, starting high and sliding down.

“She’s fine. Doesn’t even know yet. I don’t know how to tell her.”

He turned his head slightly and stared at Hugh with one eye, putting his curved beak into profile. “You must warn her.”

“I know.” Hugh ran a hand through his hair again. “I will.”

“Hewwwww…” He had also turned Hugh’s name into a whistle; it had taken three years for Hugh to get used to it.

“I will, don’t worry.” He sighed. “Would you like to go back to sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Sleep well, then.”

Anasqil nodded once, curtly, and disconnected. Hugh stared at the black screen for a moment, then turned it off and left the study.

Yay! Thanks. :3 There's more if you want it.

Business would require him to be gone for the next two days, and it was reluctantly that Hugh packed an overnight bag and headed out back.

“Miracle, come here for a moment.”

She staggered over, eyes big and curious, and he crouched down so they were eye-to-eye.

“I’m gonna be gone for the next two days, okay? Business and all that stuff. Now, there might be people coming by to ask you things—just ignore them, okay? Avoid them and let Janet take care of all that. Got it?”

She nodded.

“Be good and do what Janet tells you.”

“Okay.”

He stared at her for a moment and she stared back, then he pulled her into a hug and ran his fingers through her coarse brown hair, feeling the small downy feathers that grew close to her scalp.

Standing up, he swung her around once before gently setting her down; she shrieked and tried to cling on, then giggled and obediently let go.

“Okay. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

She nodded, then ran back to Janet. The two adults shared a glance, and then he left. It was a short bus trip to the telejump station, a squat building that looked more or less like a Greyhound station. Inside it resembled something more along the line of an office building, with multiple partitioned areas strongly reminiscent of cubicles with high ceilings. There was a line, blissfully short, and it didn’t take long for Hugh to pay his fare and get a cubicle.

There wasn’t much inside; four large rings were set into the floor, with five more in the ceiling in corresponding places, and by the door was a control panel for the user to input their destination. Hugh plugged in the right numbers and waited on one of the circles for the jump.

His hair slowly raised on end, making his skin tingle and break out in goosebumps. He shivered and closed his eyes as the feeling grew steadily more intense, turning into the sensation of full-body pins and needles; it hurt in the same way that a newly-awakened limb did. This part always disoriented him.


His ears popped and he sneezed, feeling a vague popping sensation behind his eyes and in his sinuses, and the pins and needles sensation vanished abruptly.

Hugh opened his eyes onto the white walls of the telejump room of Interstellar Outpost.

The telejumps had revolutionized space travel—and space stations. No longer did they have to cart all the materials up from Earth; a set of large-scale jump rings had been set up and all the materials either assembled planetside and sent up, or the materials set up then assembled. Gone were the cramped corridors of yesteryear, replaced by somewhat wider passageways and large spherical rooms. There was even artificial gravity.

Leaving the telejump room, he wandered the corridors of IO, switching his satchel from hand to hand before pausing and tugging at the extendable shoulder strap; it made a sound like a seatbelt as it zipped out, and he locked the ends and swung it up onto the same shoulder he had the dufflebag hanging from.

It was then that Larry decided to make his appearance, jogging along the corridor in the opposite direction. His eyes lit up and he raised a hand vaguely in a wave, calling, “Hey Hitler!”

Hugh cringed. He couldn’t turn and go back, so he kept walking hoping that Larry would simply pass him by, but no such luck. Larry swung around and got in step with him, making the annoying little half-jogging motions that joggers did when they slowed or stopped to talk to someone.

“Hey, did you see the papers?”

Hugh didn’t reply, grimly ignoring him.

“Hey, Linear Dusk had a neat front page, Hitler,” Larry said. “Well, front screen, but you know. Front page.”

“I don’t know why you read that website,” Hugh muttered. “Remember when they had an article on IO and misreported the date of that fire?”

“So I didn’t show up for work.” Larry shrugged as well as he could. “So what? It’s not like I got fired or anything, and they went and fixed it in the ‘oops’ section.”

“So you should be smarter than to assume that a mention of the fire means there’s currently a fire. And would you stop calling me Hitler? It’s creepy.”

Larry grinned.

“And my moustache is bushier than his,” Hugh pointed out, annoyed. He knew there was a vague resemblance between him and Hitler, and so did everyone else, but Larry was the only one rude enough to use it as his nickname. The other people who had tried had stopped once Hugh found out their look-alikes and started calling them that in return. Larry, however, was persistent in the same way a cockroach was, and just about as wanted.

He was a good maintenance man, though, so it was hard to get him to leave.

“So did you see the papers? Is that your girl?”

“Larry,” Hugh growled warningly.

“Man, I remember when she was just a bump,” Larry mused. “Hey, you still got that gynoid around?”

“Janet’s fine, thanks for asking. And Larry,” Hugh moved slightly and spun on his heel to intercept and face Larry, who continued to jog in place. “If you tell or talk to anyone about my daughter, you’ll wish you never had.”

They stared at each other, then Hugh turned and walked away. He had things to do.

I have to go to bed now, but I'll stop by tomorrow to catch up. =3

Makes sense. I guess I saw aliens and teleporting and assumed a radically futuristic world. (And I don't even read much pulp. xP)

Janet called Anasqil’s wife Izdiharat the next evening after putting Glitch to bed. The first try was a failure, but persistence paid off and she finally answered the netcam.

“Jaaaanet,” she croaked. “Good morning.”

“Good evening,” Janet replied. “Sorry to wake you.”

Izdiharat ruffled her dark sepia-colored feathers and smoothed them down. “No, been awaaake.” She was not as fluent in English as her husband was and had the tendency to draw out the ‘a’ vowel, as well as sounding like a parrot. “Been working. How’s Mir-a-cle?” She used the same series of notes as Anasqil.

“She’s fine. I locked the place up after I caught the first few reporters snooping around…Anasqil told you about the newspapers?”

Izdiharat clacked her beak, feathers ruffling again. “Yes. Rude. No privaaacy-respect.”

Janet nodded. “There are still two lurking outside, I think, trying to get pictures. Have you been bothered at all?”

Again she fluffed up. “One humaaan. Bit on finger aaand he left.”

Janet chuckled, shaking her head, then inquired about Izdiharat’s children. They spoke for another hour before disconnecting, and Janet started preparing for sleep mode, taking off the short curly brown wig she wore and running her fingers across her bare head. She climbed the stairs slowly, running one hand along the wall until she reached the top, then continued into her dressing room and carefully put the wig away. She had a whole cabinet full of different colors and styles, and a closet of clothes carefully picked to match each other in different outfits. She stayed up for another half hour, just perusing her wigs and carefully brushing those that needed it, and had just changed into her pajamas and was getting ready to go to sleep when she heard—and felt—a large discharge of energy.

She paused in the doorway of her dressing room, looking out into the hallway towards the stairs. She could hear someone bump into the bookcase by the stairs, then nothing. Stepping out into the hallway, Janet crept along the hall, hand trailing along the wall. She wasn’t a warrior, didn’t have any built-in weaponry, but there were a few defense systems installed; quickly, she switched sides of the hall to free up the hand with the mace dispenser.

She met the intruder at the top of the stairs, pausing for a split second before quickly raising her hand up and spraying them; at the same instant they raised a gun and quickly fired a shot at her. The tranquilizer dart stuck in her skin with no effect, and Janet’s mace had no effect on the hulking, shadowy intruder. In the half-light she could make out strange, rough outlines, like wild hair.

They lunged at her and she sprayed again, wildly, lifting up her other hand to ward off attack—they grabbed her roughly and she twisted, lashing out at their face and jerking back as her hand struck wood or plastic—a mask—

They struggled wildly for another moment before the figure stabbed a knife into her arm; it sparked and stuck, the movement in that arm impaired as Janet tried to unmask her attacker and spray them with mace. She lashed out again as they grabbed her wrist and slammed her into the wall, pinning her body against it with their own, and fumbled for a moment with their free hand as she wiggled and writhed.

The taser crackled and popped, sending electricity dancing over the knife jammed in her arm, which sparked in return, the metal creating a conduit into her body. Janet jerked and fought back weakly, and her attacker yanked the knife out and jammed it into her neck, tasing her again and keeping her pressed to the wall as she spasmed wildly, limbs jerking up and down as her circuitry went haywire and shorted out.

They let her slide to the floor, limp and twitching, then pulled the knife out and put it and the taser away. A moment passed as they looked at her and fixed the clothing that their fight had knocked loose or pulled away, then turned and stalked away down the hallway to Glitch’s room.

So far, I've only read your first two sections, but I thought I ought to stop and comment before I forget what I was going to say. There were a few minor things that bothered me about your word choice and prose rhythm (things like number of words, clause placement, sentence structure, etc) but it's your first draft, so unless you really want me to go through with a fine-toothed comb, I'll hold off on those.

Two comments (on your first two story posts):
1) The initial paragraph doesn't seem useful. The reader does want to know what's in the paper, but the narrator needn't necessarily explain it in advance. I would have liked Hugh and Janet's reaction to stand on its own, since you conveyed their horror very well. Perhaps start with a newspaper clipping, with no narrator commentary? That would also be a good way to draw us into your setting, by establishing vocabulary, tone, etc., and a deadpan block quote leaves more room for suspense and interpretation, even though it may contain more information. We'll understand and feel the "poor girl" part more deeply if it's implied rather than stated.

2) Please don't spend three paragraphs on the jump station. Slip in maybe one paragraph of details, and go to 'Heil Hitler.' It's too early in the story to slow down the action for an explanation of the mechanics of your world. Eventually, yes, we'd like to know. You can even tell us at great length if you pick the right time. Where you have it right now, it feels as though you've put poor Hugh in freeze-frame. That early in your story, it's more important that we get to know the characters and get caught up in the rhythm of your plot. Once we're hooked and you've gotten to a resolution point for something exciting, then you should sit us down for a leisurely history lesson.

That said, congratulations. Your story passed my first-page test (I didn't get bored after 3-5 paragraphs). That puts you ahead of a whole lot of published authors, in my opinion. Keep up the good work.