Strandline

By Nancy Brauer

Strandline is a web serial and possibly a novel about the new teleporting subspecies Homo sapiens nictans. Why am I not sure if it’s a novel? Because I’m writing this sucker by the seat of my pants and looking to readers for direction. It may end up as a novella or three, or a series of short stories.

New episodes are added every week, as well as on the Strandline website.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nancy Brauer
• Release date: Nov 28, 2010

Nancy Brauer

A geologist turned web programmer turned writer and graphic artist, Nancy Brauer has yet to decide what she wants to be when she grows up. She’s been writing, drawing, and cracking open rocks for as long as she can remember. Nancy divides her time between freelance web and graphic design, writing assorted web serials, and designing cover art . Her latest works are the sci-fi/action serial "Strandline" , the sci-fi/romance "Strange Little Band" (http://strangelittleband.com), and a short story in the speculative fiction anthology "Other Sides".

Book preview

Strandline

Nancy Brauer

© 2010 Nancy Brauer

This work is licensed under the

Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License.

To view a copy of this license, visit

http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/us/

or send a letter to Creative Commons, 171 Second St, Suite 300, San Francisco, CA 94105 USA.

Cover and interior text design by Nancy Brauer

The background photo in the cover art by Flickr user devlyn

Smashwords edition / November 2010

Visit the Strandline website for new episodes, readers’ comments, media, and more.

Foreward

Strandline is a web serial and possibly a novel about the new subspecies Homo sapiens nictans. Why am I not sure if it’s a novel? Because I’m writing this sucker by the seat of my pants and looking to readers for direction. It may end up as a novella or three, or a series of short stories.

New episodes posted every week or so, as well as on the Strandline website, where you can sign up to get updates by email or by RSS.

If you’d like to see more of a particular character, let me know! Have a wacky idea that will probably throw me for a loop? Tell me, please. You never know what wonderful tangents might be explored.

Strandline had its beginnings earlier this year, when I wrote a short story for Ergofiction's new anthology Other Sides. My contribution, Sixth of November, is effectively a prequel to the first Strandline episode. So if you'd like to see how just how bad of a day Kristin had, download a free copy in PDF or ePub format. . For details about the Kindle version, print edition, reviews, and more, please see the Other Sides site.

Episode 1: Jumper

Kristin’s bare legs dangled over the edge of freighter’s deck, her heels thudding against its metal hull. Her chin rested on her folded hands, which were supported by the many-times-painted metal railing. She leaned forward to peer 100 feet down at the swells slapping against the boat. It would be so easy to slip between the bottom rail and the deck. The water would be cold, she figured, so she’d probably go into shock before she drowned. That wouldn’t be so bad.

A shadow fell across her, cutting off the sunlight that had been warming Kristin’s back. The steady west wind carried the scents of beef and salt to her nose. I figured you must be pretty hungry by now, a friendly tenor said.

Kristin was too tired or too apathetic—she wasn’t sure which—to turn around. Nah. Then her stomach rumbled in protest.

Miguel chuckled. Uh-huh. He set down whatever he was carrying behind her, then slid his skinny teenaged frame beside hers. Kristin envied his jeans and jacket. She’d have dressed appropriately if she’d known she’d be hitchhiking across the Pacific. But she couldn’t have, so she was stuck with her T-shirt, shorts, sneakers, and purse—the sum total of her worldly possessions now.

Her stomach spoke up again. Maybe I am hungry, she admitted, glancing at Miguel. She immediately wished she hadn’t. He was giving her that look again. Concerned but trying to hide it, like she was a wounded animal who’d spook easily. Six hours ago she’d have assumed it was an act. Now she wasn’t so sure.

If you eat that— he nodded behind Kristin —you’re hungry. I sure was. That salisbury steak is more salt than steak, though. His grin took the edge off of the complaint.

Kristin twisted around to take a look at the alleged food. Miguel had brought a plastic plate, fork, and a cup of water. The meat patty on the plate looked die-cut and the gravy gelatinous, but her empty stomach didn’t care. She managed a small smile as a thank you, then dug in. She ate so fast that she barely tasted it, then drank the water.

There’s more in the galley, Miguel volunteered. Creamed spinach, too.

Oh goodie. Despite her sarcasm, there was no bite to Kristin’s remark. Maybe food had done her some good. She didn’t feel like jumping anymore, either. Not that she felt any less lost.

Light flashed to Kristin’s left. She yelped as Petra, a thirtysomething African-American woman, materialized. Kristin frowned at her, then faced forward. I’ll never get used to that, she muttered as she stared east. Somewhere over the slate gray horizon was home. The city that used to be home, anyway.

You’ll get used to it, the petite woman said as she sat to Kristin’s left. Now Kristin was flanked by