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    Promise
    Promise
    Promise
    Ebook136 pages2 hours

    Promise

    By Sharon L Reddy

    ()

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    About this ebook

    The promise of Promise is the potential pharmaceuticals in its vast rainforest. Field botanist Westerly is sure something about the life cycle of the "common blueflower" that grows beneath the vast epiphyte known as "broadvine" has been missed. She gets a very strange warning, then an even odder message. When her best friend, Ross Baron, gets her careful reply, he gets the only transport that can get him to where she is fast, a canopy runner.

    Shulo does what he can to prepare for them to be running. And then there were three.

    About books by Sharon L Reddy, reviewers said:

    recluse:
    "The author is a fine wordsmith who possesses a marvelous imagination."

    Raven's Reviews:
    "...unique, fast-paced style ...allows one to read almost as fast as one can think."
    "...romantic brain-candy... If you like almost any kind of men at all, you'll like hers..."

    Mistress of the Dark Path:
    "...you will also notice your mind is stimulated."
    "...designed for a more educated and worldly crowd."

    R. Cagle:
    "I got hooked immediately."

    Marji Holt:
    "The characters came out of the books and into my dreams."

    Twenty-five titles. Start your collection today.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSharon L Reddy
    Release dateJul 9, 2011
    ISBN9781583383834
    Promise
    Author

    Sharon L Reddy

    I write science fiction romance, but it's the literary definition of romance. Swashbuckle, Baby, in "white tie and tails." High romantic fantasies, million word mysteries, family sagas, statesmen, gurus and wise immortals. Loving dads, sons and brothers, and of course, the women who understand and appreciate them. High fashion and landscape design. Materials and art, the books are built to be read very fast, specifically for the way women visualize. Research on the soap operas of the fifties, trends in international populist (fan) fiction, technological development, and above all, long-term entertainment value. It has to be good in reruns. The intent is create a body of work that's just fun to read, in spurts or bursts over decades. Ethics, responsibility, nobless oblige, the power of money, the use of prestige. I write good guys win. Period. They're fantasies for women. Men with lots of muscle say, "I love you," a lot.Most of what is currently published was written in the first decade, 1991-1999, before Mother Nature changed my personal definition of "mature audience." I hope you'll remain with me as I and my work mature and enjoy the second decade of my work now being published, as well.I've lived many places and visited far more. My current residence is on a high mesa in New Mexico, in the United States, where I am engaged in a habitat restoration project.Explanation of the Pilots Group:Some of these works have been sitting on my hard drive close to twenty years and they're no fun for anyone just sitting there. They're exactly what they've been titled, pilots, like for a TV series. It is my intent and hope that other writers will choose to continue the adventures of the characters. There are only three restrictions. Don't kill off my heroes, don't make good guys bad guys and give my story credit if you publish. Yes, you may publish and make money on your stories. I loved reading and writing fan fiction, but the limitations on it could be frustrating, so... Have fun with these works that specifically don't have them.

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      Book preview

      Promise - Sharon L Reddy

      Sharon L Reddy

      Promise

      Target Yonder

      Smashwords Edition

      ISBN 978-1-58338-383-4

      copyright 1992, 2000, 2011

      Cover by Barbara Ivie Green

      Chapter One

      That is a waste.

      Shulo. He wanders into town looking for a bottle. I try to watch out for him a little. Whatever screwed that pretty man up, it was Hell. I've never seen him sober. I don't know where he wanders in from and don't know where he goes when he leaves.

      If you don't, nobody does, Betty.

      Now, Westy, would I eavesdrop on my customers?

      Never. They all tell you everything.

      Carlyn Westerly smiled at her, and nearly everyone else's, favorite bartender. The small trading port town of Flat Landing was the mercantile center of a ten thousand square K district. They got six shuttles to fill twice a year. They were getting close to being able to fill them. The warehouses were bulging with the efforts of three thousand or so people spread over most of the area. Her own small cases wouldn't take much space, but they'd be a profitable addition, especially for her. She was sure she'd found something.

      She watched, what should have been a very attractive young man, pour a glass of whiskey from a bottle. His shaking hands and uncared-for appearance were out of place in the warm, pleasant, wooden structure with the huge ceram-based stone fireplace at the end. The fire felt good that day and Betty was 'slyly' cooking a huge pot of stew over the anachronistic feature of the lounge area of the combination inn and restaurant. She'd said a fire dried the place out a bit during rainy season, but admitted the high temp ceram half-box left over from a dismantled shuttle drive had given her the idea, and she'd gotten into the building of it before she found out just how hard it was going to be to get stone to finish.

      Westy 'sat on' her curiosity and chatted with Betty awhile, catching up on the doings in the district of a personal sort. 'Real' news was available from any of the satellite broadcast stations she could pick up on her portable computer and communication system. She noted she'd been collecting samples and testing flora for medicinal contents out in the rain forest a bit too long. She wanted to get closer to the young man, even if he was dressed in what had once been clothes.

      Will he resent an attempt at conversation, Betty?

      Don't touch him and he doesn't resent anything.

      Don't... Betty, how long has he been coming in? You've never mentioned him and I've never seen him.

      Eight years. He's shown up for awhile, usually about a quarter-year, then disappeared. This is the fifth time. He always looks the same, as if he'd been drinking heavily not more than a half-year before and because something had torn him to shreds. He doesn't like being touched. There are newcomers in town. Some of them think it's funny to make him beg them to stop. I don't like them.

      Westy looked hard at Betty. She'd known her for five years and had spent an average of a quarter of each living in one of the rooms on the inn side of her place. She had never heard her make such a statement about anyone, or anything. It was so totally out of character that the hair on her neck lifted. If Betty didn't like them, there was something very wrong.

      I heard we got a new group of settlers on the regional newscast.

      We did. This particular group are miners, or so they say. They're prospecting, but I don't think they're looking for ores. They're just too much of a type. Swaggering bullies usually find jobs suited to their temperament.

      Ow. All right, I'll see what I can learn.

      Sorry, Westy, but you're the only one with connections and credentials in the colonial offices in Promise City.

      I'm thinking about going there. The last batch of botanicals I examined were really unusual. I want to play with them in a real lab.

      No! Don't! You don't know what you're doing. You can't. No one... can.

      Shulo had surprised them both with his outburst. He was on his unsteady feet and leaning on the table with both hands. Westy had no doubt it had been directed at her. He was blinking right at her. She suddenly realized how far away he was and how quietly they'd been talking. She was too curious for her own good and was aware of it, but he was just too interesting. She raised her eyebrows at Betty, picked up her beer, walked over and sat down across from him in the corner booth.

      You were talking to me?

      Yes. Don't do the lab work. Stay away from the city. It's... Hell.

      You heard me and I don't know how. You're drunk and drinking in Betty's place. That's not just unusual. I've never seen it before. She says she thinks you've been through Hell. Now you've warned me about it. I'd like a bit more explanation.

      I can't give it. Just... stop.

      Stop?!

      Don't look deeper. You're too good, Field Botanist Westerly. I have to leave now. Tell Betty I... won't be back. They're too close. Good-bye.

      Westy downed her beer fast and followed him. She 'had to.' He'd called her by her professional title, then stumbled out the door in a hurry and for a moment he'd looked hunted. She'd sent him running and he was in no condition to do it. She ran around the corner, to the inn side of the building, and got mad.

      Leave him alone!

      We're not hurting him.

      He asked you to stop touching him. The last person who touched me after I asked is missing his fingers. I have a thing about it. I can shoot a blossom off a stem in the canopy and catch it when it floats down undamaged. I collect thousands of them. Hands are nice big targets. Would you like to have yours remain attached?

      Westy didn't quite know what had gotten into her. She had her gun in her hand and was threatening two men and a woman. The story about the fingers was true, but the fellow had lost them before he'd gotten too friendly. She'd slugged him for that. The three looked at her oddly, then let go of Shulo and left. He looked at her dizzily, said, Thank you, and passed out. She was too far away to catch him. He splashed down in four cens of mud. She sighed, hauled him up in a carry and headed for her room at the inn. She just didn't know what else to do with him.

      She unloaded him into the bathtub and turned the shower on. She just giggled when he started undressing. He was not aware of what he was doing. She was quite sure of it. She worked a bit not to watch, but couldn't help noticing his fair skin was sun-bronzed all over, almost sun-golded and he was beautifully muscled. His face showed the ravages of drinking and his gold/brown eyes showed the ravages of deep pain of some kind, but his body definitely did not.

      She picked up the wet clothes he dropped over the side of the tub, raised the spray barrier and carried them, dripping, to the laundry cycler. She was tempted to throw them away, but her buying men's clothes at central stores would have at least raised some eyebrows and she had a feeling no one should know he was there. She sighed and went to work using a shirt of hers she'd relegated to rag, to make his rags a shirt and pants again.

      Shulo slowly surfaced. He nearly panicked when he realized he was tucked in a bed. Then he realized that was all he knew and sighed in relief. It was gone. For awhile. But it would come back and it lasted longer each time. He put what had happened together in the normal way and decided Carlyn Westerly had decided to get him inside and clean. Logic, not all-knowing, ringing, confusion, was a pleasure he reveled in. He knew who he would see when he opened his eyes.

      Hi there.

      You helped me.

      For some reason I scared you and you ran right into trouble. No one knows you're here but me, and if I'd been intending to take advantage, I'd have done it when you took off your clothes in the bath. I brought coffee. If you want something else, you'll have to get it elsewhere. I won't give you alcohol. I think you're in too much trouble and doubt you can handle it from inside a bottle.

      Oh, but you're wrong. It's the only place I can handle it, or the only one I've found.

      So, what happened eight years ago? You must have been just a kid.

      A child. We're all children fascinated by fire. You're playing with a burning brand. You only think it's a torch.

      That's a bit obscure, Shulo. You know exactly who I am.

      Oh, definitely, but every word is a surprise. I'm Darian Shuralo Purdaine, but Shulo now.

      Purdaine? Doctor Purdaine?!

      Don't look deeper, Westy. I would never have told you, if I hadn't needed to give you some reason for listening. I was a fourteen-year-old Ph.D. when I looked too deep. The whiz kid of xeno-botany and too dumb to know I was being bought when I contracted with Taglan Resource Development. Brand new doctorate in hand, I argued against... Never mind. They still don't know.

      But they're getting close. You told me they were.

      They are. It's... I run out and have to get more. I can't stock enough. It always takes more. But they're not here for me. You're probably who brought them. You collect blossoms from the canopy.

      I collect everything that grows.

      And do good work. I remember your samples were always properly prepared. Very few others were. I was loudly displeased. I was a spoiled brat and a fool. I may have deserved what I got. You don't. Don't touch me!

      Easy, I was just going to steady your cup. I wasn't even going to brush your hand.

      I'm sorry. Westy, resign. Take a job with one of the agra companies. Test for food sources. Stop looking for medicinals.

      Shulo, this forest is a treasure chest of them. I'm sure of it.

      No, Westy, it's a Pandora's box. And, if there was hope in it, I never found it, but I... keep looking.

      I put your clothes through the cycler and patched them as well as I could. I didn't get you new ones only because it would have aroused curiosity. You need some. By the time I finished, the shirt, jacket and pants were all on their way to quilted.

      "Thank you. I never learned how to sew. I can mend a seam, but I had to teach myself

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