Sol Survivor - Sample - OUT NOW!

Chapter One

Year: 2209

Solar farm, Millie's, south of Deadweed

On all sides of Vic's solar farm sprawled the littered remnants of the Pacific Ocean. With a flick of a finger, the binogs fell into place, bringing the shimmering horizon closer. A flutter exploded in her chest. Every dawn that sliver of silver stole her breath. Soon, this wonder of nature would disappear. What ocean remained shrank by a meter every year as they desalinated it for consumption. Strictly guarded, the only way to see it up close was by drone, that is, if the military didn't shoot it down. She'd tried, just to see a large pool of water. South lay Old Ren's solar farm, but Vic's was the biggest in Deadweed by far. If she headed west toward the 'shore,' she'd hit the old North American continent.

A chilly breeze teased the curls at her neck. She pushed the binogs up to rest on her forehead. Her eyes stung from the cold. The temperature dipped before sunrise. The Great Water Shortage had triggered a shift in technology and space travel. Without oceans and lakes, the weather had warmed, and now going into the sun without cover was suicide.

Protected forests produced and recycled oxygen, and there were rumors of idiot scientists attempting to reclaim deserts by planting thousands of trees. She didn't place too much stock in that being successful, especially with water at a minimum. Unless they imported it...

She raised her gaze to the night sky, wondering what worlds lay in wait for colonization. Not that she'd ever leave Earth. She couldn't afford it, and no space conquering conglomerate would sponsor her when fixing farm equipment was all she could do.

The sunrise would be in a few minutes. The butterfly plates would unfold, beginning the sol harvesting. Pa was due home any second, drunker than a farm-hopper.

He'd named the farm after her ma, Millie, when he'd bought it for her. It had over a thousand plates that Vic maintained, along with other equipment. If she didn't ensure peak performance, she received a walloping. That didn't faze her, since Pa beat her either way, depending on his mood. She had learned to lean back enough for the punch to sting but never to bruise. To avoid it entirely, meant a furious man swinging wild punches. If she allowed one glancing blow, he felt vindicated.

She rose onto her tiptoes and winced when her aching thigh muscles twanged. A few years ago, she'd downloaded an instructional vid on ancient fighting techniques. Not that she had mastered the stances yet, and without a sparring partner, she wasn't sure she'd survive in a fight. Still, every night after Pa left, she'd run through the vids. She gritted her teeth, bouncing on her feet. Hours wasted trying to learn to protect herself. Quick reflexes meant fewer injuries when Pa was in one of his combative moods.

As the heat notched higher with the rising sun, she fitted the parts she'd dug out of the store. More would arrive in a few days. Her ma hadn't raised a fool, so when Pa gave Vic signing rights to the farm's accounts, she'd split their funds. The demand for sol-power was high thanks to evolving inventions which meant earning more tokens. Of course, she had to keep the profits separate, not wanting Pa to know how flush they were. He would piss it away on booze and sorrow.

Tugging the binogs over her left eye, she scanned the horizon sliced with powerlines running from the farms. No dust cloud marked Pa's impending arrival. She grimaced, dread and excitement warring within her stomach, churning until it was one twisted ball of pain. She would have to fetch him. Visiting Deadweed's only bar, Leviathan, meant curious gazes scanning the curves she had developed. Leaving Pa there was out of the question, no matter how tempted she was. The owner, Cleg, would charge to deliver Pa home.

With a twist, she latched the door on Plate-47. She tossed the all-tool into a bag, slung it across her shoulder, then climbed onto her skid-cycle. Black panels covered every clunky inch of it for maximum sol absorption, but it was one of the original designs able to withstand the harsher elements on the dry beds. She wrapped strips of cloth around her arms where the heat-res suit had torn. Buying a new one or clothes wasn't an argument she wanted to suffer through. Soon, though, she'd have to endure. At seventeen, she was outgrowing everything.