I have begun the project titled ‘Chromosome Warrior‘, the third book in the series that begins with ‘Chromosome Quest‘. The tale follows on the heels of the second book, ‘Chromosome Conspiracy‘. The project is just starting, and this one is a complex tale. I make no promise as to WHEN I will finish it, but I will post blog entries from time to time as it progresses.
To whet the fan’s appetite, I present the intro to the new book. If you like it and have not read those that came before, look for ‘Chromosome Quest‘ and ‘Chromosome Conspiracy‘ on Amazon!
Call me Jill. It is not my name, though it has been the name to which I answer for a while now. If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, what sort of people my parents were and all that Dickensian sort of crap. Good luck on that. If you want to know the simple truth, I am an authentic Man in Black, the real deal. That’s all you need to know.
Some years ago – never mind how long precisely – having little money and, despite some natural talents, few obvious prospects due to my gender and stature, I thought I would enlist in the service. I don’t know what I expected, have a few adventures and see the world I suppose. It beat becoming a hooker, not that there’s anything wrong with that.
I almost didn’t get in. Petite, Asian and ornamental, all assets to a hooker, hindered a recruit. I had to kick someone in the teeth – several someones in fact – until they recognized my soft curves cloak a frame of steel.
Yeah, those ‘natural talents’ I mentioned!
Even as a teenager I was strong and quick for a small girl. After intense physical training courtesy of the service, I became stronger. Stronger and faster than ugly muscle-bound jar-heads standing a head taller and massing twice my weight. I never met anyone I couldn’t take in a fair fight, not that I fight fair. A fair fight is for suckers. I fight to win.
No one I couldn’t take that is, save this one particular big muscle-bound dork. It was, oddly, love at first sight, I suppose. Those few who I let know me well would have been shocked at that. Whatever strange roll of the genetic dice gifted my above average talents paid Fitz the bonus jackpot. The guy can bench-press a Buick. Literally! I’ve seen him do it. He also has other above average talents a gal should note.
Love? I dunno. Maybe. Yeah, shocked me too, I am not given to squishing in the masculine presence. Then again….
The service was good to me, honed my physical talents, taught skills in weaponry and marksmanship, and tools from knife to computer. I took every advantage offered.
I had expected with my natural physical prowess Boot Camp would pass easily. I was mistaken! I quickly learned happiness often consists in getting enough sleep. Just that, and nothing more.
Fortunately, the meat-grinder of Boot Camp was brief and another path soon opened up. That ‘natural talent again’. I excelled and soon found my way into more esoteric ranks and eventually that is where I met Fitz.
Now he is lost – maybe dead – and I must find him.