Future Imperfect by Happenstance

EPSODE 2 - DISCOVERY

FUTURE IMPERFECT

FUTURE IMPERFECT SHARON VANDER MEER

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner. Exceptions apply if used for book review purposes. Cover images used by permission: clipart.com. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. This is version two of a previously published book of the same title with revisions and corrections. Copyright © 2019 Sharon Vander Meer All rights reserved Published by: One Roof Publishing –❦❦❦❦–

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Hana is slowly remembering bits and pieces of her life. The white room is an obstacle she must overcome. The one certainty is that if she falls asleep on the floor, she awakes seated in the chair. If someone can enter, she should be able to find a way out.

EPISODE TWO - DISCOVERY Stone stepped back to avoid the foul stench of the scrawny sentry. Why did a man as fastidious as Claude Stiller allow Kaz Lasker to stay around? Lasker was a survivor of davnol plague, one the disease didn’t kill, but left forever changed. Most plague survivors were harmless. A few were like Lasker - mean, crude and cunning. “Ask Stiller. I’m sure he will want to make time for me.” Lasker quelled under Stone’s glare, but he didn’t lower the dazer or stand aside. “NO says I!” Stone bit back a sharp retort. “Ask him to contact me when he is free. Tell him it’s about the assignment he gave me a year ago.” Lasker grunted and swiped his nose with the back of one arm. Stone left IDS and headed for Security Central. Although his intent had been to put Stiller on notice that events were in motion over which neither he nor Stone had any control, being turned away by the likes of Lasker had him seething. 3

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He entered Security Central with fury radiating from him like a mature vine pod about to explode. He managed to be civil to those under his command as he headed for his office. His antipathy had little to do with Lasker or IDS. Gut-level instinct told him all hell was about to break loose because of a woman about whom he knew nothing. Sergeants Benjamin Oakly and Arch Fuller were busy at their desks when Stone hurried by. They had watched him grow from an eager boy full of devilment and pranks into a rebellious young man who refused to take what he considered the easy way out and live in the safety of Habitat 3. He had insisted on doing his Guard training topside, taking regional patrol assignments as often as possible. The resulting father-son arguments had been frequent and furious ending in chilly mistrust when Emilio Walker engineered Stone’s promotion to squad commander of a Habitat 3 security squad. The father and son, always as close as vines to available surface, were barely on speaking terms when Emilio had plunged to his death. Stone had grieved hard, falling into a deep depression relieved marginally by his brief fling with Cecile Greve. It worried Oakly and Fuller that Emilo’s son had become intent on two things: being the man he thought his father wanted him to be and solving the old man’s murder. Oakly stood to follow the commander into his office. Fuller stopped him with a grunt. “Leave him be.” ΔΔΔ Stone stood in the middle of his cramped office and massaged his temples. No! What purpose would it serve? NONE. And yet, he could not resist the pull of the unsolved mystery of the woman in IDS. He strode to the storage area and yanked open the door. The innocuous sealed container seemed to mock him. Why would opening it this time be any different from the countless times before? He used his passcode to unlock the container and removed the tattered blanket that had been wrapped around the female in IDS when she was found. Based on texture and design it couldn’t have been made by anyone inside Habitat 3. Whoever made it was an artist. Why had Stiller refused to notify the council, or at least the Controller, about the woman early on? Unknown, untraceable humans were a threat, as disease carriers and as possible infiltrators.

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Stone returned the blanket to the container and activated the security seal. When he stepped back into his office, he found Oakly placing a small packet on his desk. “For you, Commander. Your eyes only.” Oakly paused to gauge the commander’s mood. Should he offer a listening ear? He’d tried before and got a sharp rejection for his efforts. “I’m sure you have other duties, Sergeant.” Oakly lifted a surprised eyebrow, disliking the young pup’s cool dismissal. “At your command.” He saluted smartly and left Stone regarding the package with a furrowed brow. His mind wasn’t on the package; it was on his abrupt manner with Benjamin. After a moment, Stone sat down and scrubbed at his eyes. He should apologize. He should. His fingers plowed spiky rows through his hair. He should, but he wasn’t going to. He couldn’t allow himself the luxury of letting down his guard, not even with old friends. Everyone wanted him to go on with his life, but until he had answers about his father’s death, he couldn’t have a life. He turned his attention to the packet. It looked innocent enough, but once he looked at the contents, a door to chaos would open that could not be closed. With reluctance he peeled back the seal and removed the disk. Before inserting it into a reader, he secured the door. At his touch, the monitor screen blanked then brightened with the image of a white room. A woman lay on a dacs chair-bed. Tubes snaked under her gown, into her nostrils and around her wrists. She began to awake at the sound of a soft beep, but not before the dacs armatures whirred into action, removed the tubes and retracted them, then configured into a chair. Sea-green eyes held him. A squeezing sensation gripped his chest. Her hair, short-cropped, dull and dirty the last time he’d seen her, was a deep, rich brown that fell to her shoulders, straight and silky. She rose fluidly from the chair, moving with remarkable grace. For someone who had been bedridden for more than a year her condition appeared good – too good. He watched as the woman searched the cubicle, her shimmering white gown defining every curve as she moved. The screen blanked. Stone replayed the disk several times before ejecting it. He sat back to think about what he’d seen and more importantly, what he was going to do about it. Protocol required determining who had sent the disk, which would lead to a review of its contents. He couldn’t allow that to happen. The woman was a political nightmare in the making. A pawn in some game of Stiller’s? An infiltrator sent to find out the strengths and weaknesses inside 5

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the habitat? Had she met with an accident before completing her task? It wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t above Friends to try a trick like that. They were inclined to think in the short term, planning ways to open Habitats to anyone not ill, providing sanctuary for those not yet infected. Stone might sympathize with their goals of providing housing and food to the needy, but the Friends had too narrow a view. Davnol plague could remain dormant in a host for months, years. In those instances when it became active it could escalate rapidly. In confined areas like a Habitat, it would be more virulent. Of equal concern was capacity. There simply was not enough room to take in more people. Stone brought his mind back to the matter at hand and secured the disk. He then went to the control station and tapped in a code to give him outside video. Security Central was housed above ground, but there were no windows. Every possible chink in the building had been filled with impenetrable material to keep out the vine. A complex vent system kept the air pure and moving. The exterior camera brought into sharp relief a plaza. Once filled with tree lined walks, benches and fountains, the area was scorched bare, stripped by plant eradication squads. With the exception of those used by Security Central, Power Central and the Health Clinic, the surrounding structures were boarded up and guarded to prevent entry. Guardians patrolled. Vendors sold everything imaginable at inflated black-market prices. G-fog swirled, fires burned in huge barrels, slack-eyed children wandered among the stalls, bones poked at pallid skin, abandoned by people too ill to take care of them. The adults didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t look much better. Gaunt men and women, mouths tight with a pervasive fear that was as much a part of them as breathing, shambled through the plaza or hunched like discarded bags of refuse. There were a few NormStats walking in the square. All wore protective gear and were accompanied by one or two Guardians. A few in the beginning stages of the disease skittered about, but most of the people in the compound were Friends, those who had chosen to live outside fortified Habitats. As a precaution most wore masks over their noses and mouths. Not the fashionable decorative masks favored by Habitat residents, but utilitarian devices, some more likely to be effective than others. Masks ranged from tattered pieces of cloth to full-face visors attached to breather tanks. Guardians wore visors that matched their khaki and olive-green uniforms, NormStats wore white masks or full-face visors, and Friends wore blue masks in varying styles. 6

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Friends were loose cannons, uncertain allies in a world where knowing who to trust could mean the difference between life and death. Though most Friends had access to Habitats, few ventured inside. NormStats did not welcome their presence. There had been more than one mysterious incident in which a Friend simply disappeared after entering a Habitat never to be seen again. Stone turned off the monitor, his mind on the woman. He had to get her away from Stiller, otherwise she might end up back out there. ΔΔΔ Hana sat on the floor, her back against the cubicle wall. The neckline of her gown hung open to the top of her undergarment. She avoided sitting in the chair. It was the source of her nurture but equally a source of her terror. As long as she went to sleep in the chair she was fed and kept clean. Even the business of body waste was resolved without her knowing when or how it happened. By not sitting in the chair she was exerting some measure of control. She focused her energies on remembering. When she simply relaxed memories surfaced, not about her life, but about the white cubicle. When she was in the cubicle she could move around. Beyond was nothingness, a void she couldn’t bear to think about. Images of what occurred before entering that nothingness emerged slowly: the antiseptic smell, a copper body capsule, a gurney, her nude body laid out like a slab of meat, lights bright enough she could see her image in a large mirror suspended above her, the sharp sting of an injection in the crook of her arm. She absently scratched the spot as though it stung even now. She could almost feel her body moving like a cork into a bottle, the whoosh of compression and looking up into the mirror and seeing herself in a shiny copper tube with only her head exposed, hair wrapped in a white cloth. In her mind she heard the unspoken promise: “Next time I’ll remember.” But she never did, not right away. She had been to this exact point in her memory about the white room before. If something didn’t happen to change the cycle, she would be back in the copper body cylinder, these few, inadequate memories gone. ΔΔΔ

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“He axed to see yer Councilness.” Lasker snickered. Kaz Lasker couldn’t have said why he ragged Stiller, knowing it would bring punishment – if not now, later. He only knew it gave him giddy pleasure to see Stiller struggle not to show the fury these little digs brought on. On this day his needling appeared to have no effect. Stiller’s mind was elsewhere. Lasker’s narrow chin wobbled slightly in disappointment. “What exactly did he say when you told him no?” “Mostly jist looked like thunder was gonna roll out his ears.” Lasker parodied his impression of what Stone Walker had looked like, jaw tight, eyes glaring, shoulders rigid. This, too, was lost on Stiller. “Sed sumpthin’ ‘bout his ‘signment.” That got the boss’ attention. Lasker nearly did a happy turn, but better judgement prevailed. “Assignment? What did he say exactly?” Lasker rolled his eyes up and gnawed on his lip. “Jist about some ‘signment that come from you a year ago.” “You haven’t been such a fool as to tell anyone the woman is awake.” Stiller’s voice was velvet soft. Lasker’s canny sense of self-preservation cautioned him to think before he spoke. The wrong answer could lead to a far worse fate than loss of privileges. He could be banned from the Habitat. “Nosiree! I never says nothin’ to nobody. No, not ever not never!” After a chilling pause that sent daggers of worry through Lasker’s gut, Stiller flicked a dismissive hand. “Return to your post.” “Yessir, and yessir agin, says I.” As he opened the door to leave, Stiller’s voice stopped him. “Lasker.” “Yessir?” “On second thought, return to your quarters. No rations for you and you are not to leave your room for any reason until tomorrow at eight o’clock. Understood?” Lasker’s Adam’s apple shimmied up and down his scrawny neck four times before he could stammer out, “Yessir. Not for nothin’?” “Nothing. Any toilet trips you need to make better happen before you go to your room. I will not find it acceptable to learn you have fouled your bed through carelessness.” “Yessir, yessir says I,” he mumbled weakly. “You know I don’t like to exert these punishments,” Stiller said, softening his voice, “but your disrespect cannot be treated lightly.” 8

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Lasker’s head lowered with every gentle word Stiller spoke. He’d done a bad thing and doing bad things must be punished. He slunk out the door and closed it carefully behind him. The second Lasker was gone Stiller brought his fists crashing down sending small implements and papers flying, his rage beyond containment. Meddling fool! If anyone could destroy his plans it was Walker. What perverse whim a year ago had him send the man after Hana Evans? He couldn’t allow Walker to get to her. As soon as the blood was drawn, she would be returned to her sleep state. He surged up from the control array and headed to his private viewing chamber leaving two dacs to pick up every item and return it to the exact spot where it had been before. If Stiller chose to send it all flying again, they would simply repeat the process. Stiller valued the dacs as few humans did. Their twenty-four-hour availability and silent compliance were perfect. The IDS dacs were particularly valuable because he had redesigned their programming to his specifications. No one could tap into the IDS dacs data centers. The tinkering had limited their effectiveness in some areas, but he was willing to forgo efficiency for the sake of security. He rarely used humans inside IDS, but occasionally one had need of an end-swatch of life like Lasker, or a more astute operative like Squad Commander Pierce Ogawi. Nor could he pass up those times when he used Stone Walker for a project just for the sheer pleasure of seeing how much it infuriated him. But it had been a tactical error to send him to fetch the woman. He could see that now. Had anyone possessed the temerity to point out to Claude Stiller the parallel between his own personality and Lasker’s, Stiller would have had the person sent out during the hours of spore release. The defining difference between the two men was that Lasker made no effort to hide the kind of man he was, he didn’t even know how. Stiller was a different matter. He had no compunction about using anyone to get what he wanted, including his halfsister. The fact that she was Habitat 3 Controller was a bonus. He drew in a deep breath before opening the door into the viewing chamber. He sat down before a blank screen. His finger hovered over the keypad that would activate Hana Evans’ cubicle monitor. A tremor ran through his hand. His entire body vibrated with anger. Nothing delighted him more than watching her, so wholesome, so pure, so much potential, but at the moment he was far more in need of being soothed, not aroused. He selected an entertainment vid, slotted it into the reader and leaned back into his buttersoft leather chair letting the music cascade over him. Color pulsed on the screen in time to the music, sliding in and out of a wide range of designs. 9

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He rarely let his emotions get the better of him, but he loathed failure. Walker’s meddling could not be tolerated. It didn’t require much thought for Stiller to remember other failures, perceived snubs, unsent invitations, his half-sister’s climb to political prominence. These lay in the depths of his heart like vine nettles trembling for release. He nurtured these slights until he could cast them out by retaliating against those who brought unpleasant events his way, or by patiently waiting until he could use the offenders or their positions to his advantage. The cure was ideal leverage. He had it and was using it to get what had long eluded him: power and respect. He would defeat vine growth as well, but in his own good time. He often thought about the irony of something intended to have great benefit, that caused so much destruction instead. The davol plant gene had been designed to grow disease resistant, oxygen producing trees intended to solve the problem of ozone depletion. The creator had been at first praised. That hadn’t lasted. From davnol had come the vine. Its mature pods expelled spores and lethal nettles full of venom. If the needle sharp three- to four-inch-long nettle didn’t kill a victim, poison at the hooked tip would. Spore settled into the lungs and slowly restricted breathing until death occurred from asphyxiation. Or it settled in the brain and to varying degrees killed brain function. Those who survived brain fever ended up like Lasker. Or it settled on the skin and caused scaling, boils and lesions that slowly killed from the outside in. For unknown reasons some survived the illness and became radical firebrands for opening the Habitats to the disease-free. Others survived but were borderline functional. In the beginning, Stiller’s quest to find the cure was intended for the common good, but he met with failure after failure and ridicule from his now dead father. Stiller passed a trembling hand over his face. No one could appreciate or even know the sacrifices he had made for his work. With the long-sought cure in his hands his ambitions had become subverted. It wasn’t the rabble beyond the Habitat he intended to help. His goal was to become senator in Eirene’s place. After that the cure would give him access to the highest levels of power. He would of course make the cure available to the masses, for a price. His only regret was that his father wouldn’t be around to see that he – the bastard son of his lover – was more accomplished and productive than the daughter of his wife. Stiller was gifted with an impressive mind and staggering ambition, but he was not the issue of a blessed union. More galling was Eirene’s rising 10

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prominence while he remained in her shadow, the talented half-brother, someone to whom she was most generous, even according him the position of Council chair. Admiration for her shot up in direct proportion to how accepting she was of him. That her fondness for him appeared genuine, even to him, made Claude resent every bit of what he thought of as her charity. That didn’t stop him from taking it and using her. He had struggled to achieve a level of excellence she could not begin to meet. Instead of acknowledging his superior mind his father had regarded his penchant for research and science as a bane. “Scientists caused the world’s greatest problem,” he would say. After Kel Anadra’s wife died from brain fever caused by the spore, his contempt had grown. He disowned his illegitimate son and refused any effort on Eirene’s part to bring reconciliation. Through it all Stiller persisted in his search for a cure, working long into the night month after month. And then he found it. Stunned by his discovery after so long a search, he hurried tests, keeping results to himself. Experiments on small animals – procedures observed only by him – showed every indication of being successful. But human tests were essential before he could go public. His reckless rush to prove himself led to the birth of his own malformed child and several others. He had used his wife and pregnant women in the habitat as unwitting test cases. He was certain what worked in animals would work in humans. So certain! At the time there were seventeen pregnant women in the habitat. Through subterfuge he had managed to inoculate them all. Eight of the women miscarried shortly after inoculation. He knew terror such as he’d never known before. His gentle wife fretted over him until he thought he’d go insane. Her empathic abilities tapped into his worry, but she interpreted it not as guilt over his blunder but rather as concern for the women who had lost their babies. When the other nine women reached term four of the infants died at birth, the others were horribly deformed, one of them his own pathetic son. Panic spread. Isolationist leanings leapt to the fore. All the affected families, with the exception of Claude and Tinde, were branded disease carriers and banned from Habitat 3. Claude and Tinde were exceptions only because he had expunged all records relating to Tinde’s pregnancy. Emilio Walker had helped him, fearful for his daughter’s safety. He wouldn’t have done it otherwise. The one positive outcome was that he’d gotten his father-in-law right where he wanted him. Until Emilio’s unfortunate death Stiller had been able to use him and his position to his own advantage countless times. As for Tinde, her grief was so deep she was numb to what was going on around her. 11

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She descended into a private hell. Despite her desolation her staggering empathic ability pierced the fog of grief that surrounded her and nearly brought him to ruin. Claude shuddered. He didn’t like to think about the shame of that time. Through a multitude of lies and bribes he had saved his skin while compromising one of the most honest men in Habitat 3. And he had lost Tinde. He hadn’t known what a terrible blow that would be. Her compassion and empathy had kept him steady in the storm of always fighting to prove his worth. With her gone from his life he had only ambition to keep him alive, small comfort in the dead of night when nightmare images of the malformed son that had looked so like him plagued his dreams. Then they had arrived, backwoods cretins so overwhelmed by the inside of Habitat 3 their awe was laughable. Lasker had brought them in, against all policy, knowing instinctively that by bringing them to Stiller he had guaranteed his own future. The man, Jason Evans, had found the cure. An insignificant insect of a man, absorbed by his discovery and how it would save humanity! At first, Evans had been expansive in sharing his discovery. He wanted the support of Habitat 3 Council and sanction to use its resources to expedite production of the serum. Burned by his rush into human testing, Stiller persuaded Evans further study was needed. He did not know the importance of the younger of Evans’ female companions, he only saw women more beautiful than any he had ever known, with the exception of Tinde. The women had flawless skin, hair a rich dark brown, bodies taut and energetic, and the blush of life flowing beneath their skin. Few of the women in the habitat looked like that. Despite hours under tanning lamps, endless time in the body sculpting centers and the skills of cosmetic technicians taken to a high art, NormStats, men and women alike, lacked the spark of life that only living in the sunlight could give. He often thought the fad of wearing masks was a way to hide this deficiency. NormStats were very good at hiding from reality. The younger woman was Hana, the older was called Judith, an untrusting bitch. Everywhere he went, everything he said was mulled over and scrutinized by Judith. Stiller lusted after Hana, danced warily around Judith and shamelessly fawned over Jason. He kept them within the security of IDS cutting them off from all contact. The only person who knew about the Evans family was Kaz Lasker. Jason Evans shared everything about his discovery except the catalyst. This secret he held back defiantly. No amount of flattery or emphasis on how important the cure was to the fate of humanity could unlock Evans’ firm hold on this important bit of information. He carried a vial 12

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of the catalyst into the lab but refused to reveal its source. He used it as a tool in negotiating to have access to the council. Stiller suspected Judith was responsible for the man’s reluctance to share his secret. He turned his attention to Hana hoping to get from her, through flattery, what he couldn’t get from the others. He wooed her. It wasn’t difficult. She was mesmerized by him and IDS, fascinated by the way the research DACS performed and by Stiller’s dedication to his work. In the beginning none of the Evans family had been bothered by isolation. When Lasker brought them into the habitat via back passages, they had been awed and intimidated by its surprising size and the never-ending hum of air purifiers, beeps from system monitors, and thrum of power units. After a while their enforced separation from topside began to chafe, especially for Hana. She started asking questions. “Why don’t you make Jason’s discovery public?” “We don’t want to create excitement for something that might not work.” “Why do you need more tests before we take it to the council? “Human testing is necessary.” “When can we test on humans?” Not until I know all the ingredients to the cure.” He never said that aloud. His answer to Hana was always, “When the time is right.” After a month of sparring with the family their suspicions became a barrier. Jason Evans refused to work with him and demanded to be taken to the Council. Stiller agreed but said they must be decontaminated before going into the habitat population. He separated them, used health checks as an excuse and put them all through a diagnostic tube. He injected each with sodium pentothal and learned the secret that would trap him as surely as they were trapped. The music was doing its work. The tension eased and anger bled away. He allowed himself the luxury of drifting into long neglected sleep. ΔΔΔ Hana removed her gown. She wasn’t quite sure what led to this action, but she sensed the gown communicated something about her to someone, somewhere. As she sat down the thin undergarment slid across her skin bringing on a heightened awareness of her vulnerability. She leaned against the cool wall. Her eyes drifted shut and soon her breathing became even, the rise and fall of her chest taking on the rhythm of sleep. One section of the wall opened. The sound a whisper, the movement of air a mere breath. She remained immobile. Muted footsteps approached. A shadow loomed across her closed eyelids. She hoped it wasn’t Claude Stiller. He wouldn’t be easy to 13

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fool. Had she been in a position to choose, she would have preferred a dacs over Kaz Lasker. The hair on her arms stood up at the thought of Lasker touching her, which he found every excuse to do. She banished distracting thoughts. This was her chance to escape. Hana went from stillness to a blur of movement, rolling toward the raised portion of the wall. The humanoid DACS, although incapable of being surprised, did require time to process her actions as an attempt to elude. She sprinted across IDS toward a door grappling with memory to recall how to make it open. “Computer, exit!” DENIED The dacs pursued her with pitiless plodding but no imagination. She ducked under a counter and watched it trudge past, holding her breath and hoping it would open the door. Seconds dragged by. Sweat gathered on her brow and upper lip. She could smell the stink of fear rising off her skin. The dacs passed by once again. Before long she heard the fricative sound of an automatic door opening. Minutes ticked by without another sound or discernible movement. She ventured from her hiding place. The door stood open. Before heading for it, she paused to see if anyone – human or dacs – was lurking there. In a confirmation of her belief that a dacs was totally lacking in judgment she realized it had gone to search for her. The dimly lit corridor was familiar in its austere bleakness. No one was about. She set off; her bare feet instantly chilled by the cold concrete floor. She strained to hear sounds of pursuit. ΔΔΔ Claude awoke from an erotic dream in which Hana Evans played a featured role. He touched himself and smiled languidly. Better to see the real thing. He pressed a key. The monitor in her cubicle sprang to life. Empty. She had managed to escape again. He sighed like a much put-upon parent secretly proud of a precocious child. “Computer, Kaz Lasker.” It was several irritating minutes before Lasker could be roused from whatever stupor he was in. “Yeah?” “I have a job for you.” “But I cain’t leave my billet, you sed,” he mumbled sullenly. “Something has come up. Our guest has slipped away.” “Agin?” 14

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Claude gripped the chair arms with bloodless fingers at the implied criticism. “Find her! I know how much you like to be with her.” Lasker’s giggle made Claude’s skin crawl. “She mos’ nice.” “Yes, my trusted friend, she is most nice.” Lasker was silent for a moment. Claude could almost see the rusty wheels turning inside his head. “Lasker!” “I wuz thinkin’. I find her, punishment done?” Claude didn’t have to bargain with him, but if he appeared to give in now and again it led to increased obedience. “Punishment ends and you go back on duty.” “Rations? I get rations?” His tiny rat’s eyes gleamed. “Only if you find her before someone else does.” Lasker immediately began getting ready to leave his room. “Lasker?” “Yeah?” “Don’t you want to know where to concentrate your search?” “You send dacs to main Habitat ‘cause they fit in. Me, I gets drearyville.” Claude was often astounded by how astute Lasker could be. “Be quick about it.” “Yeah. I mean, yessir!” As Lasker had guessed, the two humanoid research dacs had been dispatched to check the main corridors where they would move inconspicuously among human traffic. The back corridors and service hallways – referred to by habitat dwellers as drearyville for its drab, unfinished appearance and lack of tech – he reserved for Lasker and himself. He was in no hurry. She had no hope of escape. __________________________ Thank for subscribing. If you enjoy this series and would like to share the fun, send this link to your friends. https://wp.me/p1IcOU-2re. Thanks!

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Sharon Vander Meer is an author and professional writer. Her work is available through online retailers. Vander Meer Books is an eclectic foray into what the author finds interesting, quirky and fun. She has written five novels, one book of inspirational readings, and two chap books of poetry.