Writing during my first year.

[Lady Smith]

If it hadn't been for pen and paper and a bit later on an old electric typewriter I repaired myself I don't think I would have managed with that difficult time as well as I did.  Writing was my safety valve and helped to keep me sane.  I wrote one large novel sized manuscript about a young 'woman' who was in fact an illegal mutant living in a post apocalypse society.  I've never shared any part of that with anyone and it's hard going in places and some parts contain a lot of anger and violence, though there are love stories in there too.  Other writing was mostly short pieces sometimes only one page long which touched on a similar themes concerning the emergence of a new completely functional intersex race out of the ashes of the old.  Having been born with some intersex characteristics myself androgyny and complete functional hermaphroditism was a part of my writing for quite a while.

Working title: `DIFFERENT'. (c) Anne Welborn 22/10/96.

The bucket's handle was cutting into her hand painfully.  Carefully Therese lowered the bucket to the muddy ground without spilling any of the water it contained.  Her hand was marked with a harsh red groove and it throbbed as circulation returned to her fingers.  With a grunt Therese lifted the heavy bucket with her other hand and plodded doggedly homewards.  She'd got out of bed early this morning to avoid having to queue at the tap and she knew her Mum would be pleased with her.  Her Mum was sad all the time these days, Therese wanted very much to see her smile.

Therese noticed it wasn't so dark now, dawn wasn't far away.  She could hear sounds around her, morning sounds of people waking up as she passed the long barracks huts by.  The morning was a time Therese liked.  When she could, she would stand on the barracks porch and watch the sun rising, but usually there was work that needed doing and these moments were rare.
The bucket banged against her leg and slopped water on her bare feet.  "->-bleeped-<-!" swore Therese and a loud laugh disturbed the peaceful morning.  A glance over her shoulder confirmed her suspicions.  A damm nobody guard with a big dog was behind her.  Therese kept moving her jaw set.  Mum said she shouldn't call the guards  'Nobodies', because it'd only bring trouble in the end, but the big idiots were Nobodies.  Hell! let time pass some more and they'd be gone, gone, gone forever.  She allowed herself a small grin, 'Superman talk', even if it did make her Mum uneasy.

"You're out before sun-up," said the guard.  He was young and cocky, hair tied back in a plait, clean shaven like he was trying to fool somebody.  "Want ta get shot?"
"Yeah, a bucket is necessary escaping equipment this week," answered Therese and kept walking even though her hand was aching from the heavy bucket.
"You're a pretty one," said the guard. "What say you and me find somewhere nice for an hour or so?"
"I'd rather go with your dog," said Therese, "he's better looking."
The guard chuckled, "Yeah, you're a tough little bitch alright."  He walked beside her as the sky grew lighter.  "Life could be better if you've got a friend on the outside.  Could get some nice things for yourself and your mother."
"Well," said Therese, "I'm a modern girl.  After you've been up me,- it's only fair if I can get up you."  She grinned up at the guard, a lanky child of thirteen with untidy brown hair to her shoulders, dressed in a grubby smock.

The blow knocked her off her feet.  Therese saw bright patches of light before everything went dark for a monent.  When she awoke she was lying in the mud wet from the water from her upturned bucket.  The guard was nowhere around.  Therese felt her cheek, she was going to have a good bruise later.  Carefully she counted her teeth with her tongue and was glad to find them all in their rightful place.  Picking up her bucket Therese sprinted for the tap.  If she was lucky she'd still beat the queue.  Yeah, she was a tough little bitch alright.

[Lady Smith]

This is a chapter fragment from a novel length manuscript that was obliterated when my almost brand new archive hard drive failed some years ago.  All that survives from that story is around four chapter fragments that I had on other media which is a pity as it was a good story even if I do say so myself.

PRAISE BE THE MACHINE. Chapter 3.  Prisioner of Dreams. (c) Anne Welborn 28/7/95.

The rain was cold and the wind that drove it hard across the spaceport apron had teeth of ice.  The wet air stank, the telltale in her left eye recorded hydrogen sulphide levels among other things and the air temperature was hovering barely above -10 degrees C.  She wasn't in a hurry as she crossed the apron, even in the dull light her right leg gleamed with its constant and incorruptible sheen as she walked with her customary tireless catlike grace.

Paid off.  She felt lonely.  Lonely for a lover who would understand her, a lover who would be as perfect as that first time;- that sweet incestuous first time.
The P'taan ore carrier had been a barbarian, she was glad to be off-ship and away from him. 'Him'!- 'it' more like. He had been harsh voiced and slug-like,- she shuddered at the memory.

The `lock was covered in graffiti in at least a dozen languages. She smiled when she saw a scatter of French among the Centarii and P'taan, but she didn't bother to translate, she wasn't that homesick.  The `lock cycled and she entered the hostel.  She was wet, her long red hair plastered against her skin and she was cold, not that it mattered, but the heat in the hostel corridor hit her like a blast from an oven;-  26 degrees the telltale said. With her metabolism smoothly adjusting she went in search of the bar.

An SAC, - a semi-autonomous construct, - passed her in the corridor, Aqu'lal make.  The Aqu'lal made elegant machines and their SAC's were slender pseudo-bronze bipeds that were beautiful without looking like copies of their makers.
The telltale ran data though her left eye's visual field,-
the bitch was scanning her!  Cat-like she turned to face the SAC and the SAC's movements also flowed into a position of attack readiness.  The telltale said the SAC was running Condition Yellow.
"Hostel Security," said the SAC speaking English, "you're carrying heat."

She wanted to grin, the SAC had determined that she was of Terran origin despite her body's modifications, and also the SAC had picked up a little slang on its own account;- plainly it was running good software.  "Autonomous Construct, Sentient," she answered, " Humanoid/machine Interface.  Grade, Navigator Class 1."
'You're not a registered type ACS," said the SAC, "what race made you?"

Closing her right eye, she clenched her jaw.  Out in the dark, memory threatened to come and get her.
"Is there a problem ACS?" asked the SAC, it was still running yellow and its scan was continuous.
"An unpleasant memory," she said quietly, "a memory of my interfacing SAC."
"The process is unpleasant for organic beings," said the SAC. "I must insist ACS, that you tell me your makers' race."
"The Si," she answered, "it was the Si who made me SAC."
A tear traced her right cheek and she brushed it away.
The smooth bronze face revealed no emotion, "Do you have a name ACS?"
"I am the Machine."
"A taken name ACS," said the SAC. "Do you have a human name?"

Her tongue didn't want to move.  Before this beautiful machine she seemed something lesser, something incomplete.
"Andrea Nicholson," she managed to say at last, in a voice nearly choked off with emotion.  The mirror-like bronze skin of the SAC's face reflected the image of her own half flesh, half ceramic face back at her.

"The Terrans seek you Andrea Nicholson," said the SAC. "It is none of my concern, but you should take care whom you reveal you name to."
"Thank you SAC," said Andrea softly.
"Do not deploy your implanted weapons within the hostel Andrea Nicholson, or else I will be forced to kill you," said the SAC. "This I would not wish to do;- do we have an understanding?"
"We have an understanding SAC," said Andrea and the SAC ran down to green and they parted.  Andrea to look for the bar and the SAC to continue its' patrol.
As she walked away, Andrea wondered how the SAC would be as a lover. It would be interesting, especially since it was as sentient as she herself was.


The bar was like the rest of the hostel, metal and synthetics, the effect harsh, a place of transit, never home.  As usual the room became silent when she entered, every eye on her.  Even the P'taan stared at her, and she had navigated for them a Standard year.
Among flesh it was easy to be a machine.  She walked to the bar counter as if her nakedness was the sheen of flawless metal.  "Scotch," she said and the Centarii barman stared at her.  Andrea repeated her request in three different Centarii dialects, her pronunciation faultless, then he served her, taking her P'taan silver in silence.  Not caring she sipped her drink, and the taste of the single malt was heaven.

A P'taan crewman leaned on the bar counter beside her as she tasted her fourth scotch.
"You homesick huh?" he asked, "you drink expensive liquor from Terra."
"I am not of Terra sir," she answered in formal P'taan.
"Say you were before you were made into a machine," he pressed in his faulty Standard.
"I am the Machine," she answered in Standard, "there is no other state of being."
"You pretty good-looking woman for a Terran," he said and grinned at her.

The telltale streamed data in Andrea's left eye, noting the P'taan's increased pulse rate, increases in perspiration, physiological changes,- she wanted to vomit. "I am not a woman sir," she said her voice ice. "Take your flesh elsewhere."
Behind her someone laughed and the P'taan flinched as if struck.  Bright cypher flared in her left eye, but she didn't need that to tell her that the P'taan was angry.
He seized her upper right arm, his opposing thumbs digging into muscle and causing her pain, then he released her.
"Machines don't bruise woman," he hissed.  He slapped his palm on the bar counter and was gone.

The telltale tracked him to the end of the bar, then she let the scan go. Her arm hurt, she finished her scotch then left the bar, the bruise on her arm a brand signifying the darkest humiliation.

[Lady Smith]

I wrote several 'city' themed stories during my first two years.  One or two still remain on paper and have never been put into electronic form.  'Hana' only exists in fragments these days unfortunately.  This is a story where I was beginning to experiment with dialect forms and Hana's style of speech eventually became further developed into a complete language form which I used in later stories set in the same universe.

'Hana.'
©Anne Welborn, 20th June, 2000.  (3rd revision)
A redraft of the original partial ms dated 14th Dec, 1997.
(The original floppy disk being lost & only an incomplete rough draft printout remaining)

Chapter One:  Year 125,962 (Ba'jima Reckoning).  BABYLON.  Abandoned Colony City, World #4356-5E.
Formerly a Protectorate of the Terran Union of Worlds.

When Hana Ki'Alson Hai Masen walked out of the Radlands and laid her eyes on Babylon the City for the first time she was n'pas impressed.  Standing with her right hand on her hip, her left primary hand on her sword hilt and with her left secondary hand's thumb tucked in her sword belt she drew back her lips to dispatch a sudden jet of dark spittle to stain the dry red earth one pace's distance  from the toes of her boots.  Her act both deliberate and heavy with the weight of her contempt.  Slowly she lifted her chin, with her eyes protected against the sun's harsh glare by her pale secondary eyelids the metallic shimmering waves of heat rising from the burnt red landscape could n'pas confound her.  Crowning the city was the massive rusting bulk of a fallen star ship, a great wounded carrion bird squatting in the high mounded ruin of its nest.  For Hana there was n'pas a difficulty in distinguishing where the huge rent in the starship's hull did lie half-hidden beneath layers of flapping grimy canvas.  Houses built from mud brick and salvage were intimate against the old vessel's flanks and they surged away untidily in every direction from the wrecked star ship's hull betraying their unwillingness at being limited by the high mud brick ringwall that  did defend Babylon the City.  No-one had planned the lie of Babylon the Great City's streets; - if a child did stand where she did stand, la would see this truth.  For she herself could see this truth despite her childhood being well lost to her.
For the first time since this trek across the Radlands had begun Hana  climbed up to the rough rutted track that was the main highway that led to Babylon.  Established ways of going were the footpaths of fools in this landscape, for there were too many abroad who did enjoy killing travellers both for the ownership of their belongings and for the enjoyment of the act.   Also the killing of cowardly strangers who did hold the intent of ending her own life for her had become an act that did bore her, - though perhaps fear of the city would cause thieves to be more scarce in their numbers in the shadow of its walls.

For the past hour the eyes of those who did guard this city would have been upon her.  Raising her dented Adronai militia water flask to her lips to dampen the dryness inside her mouth Hana took care to clip the flask securely to her belt once she had eased her thirst.  A wide deep trench did act as this city's first defense and if the farming of crops was redundant in this landscape the razorthorn that was thickly sewn within this trench did at least provide a semblance of deliberate cultivation.   If any could manage to pass those massed cruel spines unscathed they did then have a steep ramp of rammed earth to climb to attain a second ditch similar to the first at one hundred paces distance from the walls; - and fire would not serve a besieging army to tame those sharp barbs for it was not in razorthorn's nature to ignite and burn.  Someone who had possessed a martial talent did expend their creative energy well in designing Babylon the City's defenses, though perhaps they did tire of its useage because this same creative energy was n'pas expressed with a similar intensity of purpose within the circle of the city's walls. 

At the rutted track's ending Hana made the single step that set her feet on the cunningly wrought long narrow bridge of jointed wood that gave passage to the city's gate.   It was plain to her eye that this bridge was a construction shewdly devised so that it could be dismantled and taken within the gates well before any enemy could cross the Radland's burnt red earth and attain the outer defenses.  With her leather and bronze sandals sounding on the boards beneath her feet she walked at an unhurried pace, there was a  dullness beginning in her limbs and the long muscles of her legs did  have an ache in them.  A three day in the Radlands was the reason even if this landscape did treat with her more kindly than it did with the  Ill'ictoi.  Babylon the city must possess good wells within the circle of its walls for it to exist in this wasteland, for she had not seen a single other source of water during her crossing of the Radland's bare red earth.
With the bridge creaking softly in sympathy with her stride she lifted her gaze to look up at the solidly buttressed watch towers set as a pair at each side of the gate.  The knowledge was alive within her that her approach was being watched by four Ill'ictoi males who were standing before the gate, but she did feel nada concerning this.  Even though the men were well armed with an assortment of weapons she was n'pas concerned.  For her past experience did gift her an ability to predict the four males' thoughts and comments as she did approach them her stride remaining unhurried.  As a child she had been afraid at this, but now she was no longer a child. 
Finally she did drop her gaze, her eyes having the appearance of being white and blind behind her secondary eyelids.  The four guards did wear rough armour made from boiled leather and also grubby kilts of homespun wool.  In their eyes the Pathian wrought steel link and bronze plate mail armor that was her own, that she did wear over well fashioned leather, would seem plus grande.  However she did not wear her armor to impress the eyes of Ill'ictoi males, - she did wear it to survive.

Her approach ceased at a lance and a half's distance from the four Ill'ictoi;  - to approach more closely could be perceived as a threat which might cause the males to draw their weapons.  The one among them who did wear a dirty red cloak was the one Hana did decide to be their leader and now she put her face towards him.  He was studying her, a frown worn on his heavy brows as he tugged and worried at his thick sandy beard with the thumb and first finger of his left hand.  'This man's habit,' Hana told herself; - she did also note that he employed his left hand to tug at his beard.   
Patient Hana did wait while the bearded Ill'ictoi's eyes did walk over her sword, her dagger, the cut-down industrial lazer she did wear thrust in her belt.  Her chain mace with its fist sized lead ball that she did wear cast about her neck as if it were an unholy necklace.  The astonishment that he had worn openly upon his face at the first sight of her three arms, her long braided hair that was without colour , her tawny mottled ochre and light brown skin pigmentation , was now in the act of fading.  Very soon he would begin to question her.
"You a Rat?" he did demand of her sharp voiced.
"Nada el Ratto, " she did give in reply.  She had n'pas used speech aloud this past three day, to her ears her voice did sound husky and thick from lack of useage.  In the moment that she spoke an Ill'ictoi laughed, a skinny male with the features of a rodent who was leaning on the shaft of his lance.
"Whatta we got ourselves here Jack, - a pretty boy?"
"A womb I do have!" she did tell him her anger a cold flame as she set her white-blind gaze upon him.  Suddenly she flicked her pale secondary eyelids open revealing her vivid purple eyes and the Ill'ictoi flinched.  That did serve to amuse her and was a balm to cool her anger une petite.

"You look like a Rat."  The Ill'ictoi leader's voice  did possess a quality of annoyance at her petite coup.  His large hand fell upon his own sword hilt his eyes hard on her and she for her part did calmly meet and hold his gaze.
"N'pas Rat," she did repeat her secondary left hand dismissive.  "N'pas have belief en god."
At this the three Ill'ictoi guardsmen did openly laugh, but silence filled their mouths as their leader did turn his head to glare at them.  As she watched his stance did become more erect as he drew himself to his full height as he set his face upon her once more.  Slipping all three of her thumbs into her belt she did also raise her chin and hold his eye.
"You're lying woman," he told her as he made a display of his teeth to her.  Because his aggression was a strong scent in her nose she also did display her teeth to him.  Her own teeth were le plus more impressive than those this Ill'ictoi male did possess.  "N'pas lie," and this given with steel in her voice as cold and as sharp as the sword that was sheathed at her hip.  "True be this." 


Hana's memory did find the image of the Rat femme who had been her lover for seven of the Ill'ictois' standard months.  Her blonde hair worn untidily half braided, her lips and the cheekbones of her face tattooed in the fashion of the Adronai tribes to honour their gods.  Intense grey eyes that did possess lines of laughter at their corners.  Willow.  Willow who did save her life at her childhood's violent ceasing.  Willow who did carry a wound of regret that she would not embrace the Rat then swear fealty to the Ill'ictoi Terran First Contact Agency as she herself had done.

"Liar tu name I," she said to him.  "Prove this will tu? - with your life's blood perhaps, - yes?"  She did not move a muscle, to touch her weapons now would disgrace her skill.  Skill she did learn from Willow who had been a good teacher to her.  Willow who did love her despite her mutation from normal Ba'jima-kind.

The bearded Ill'ictoi leader did step back one step.  "You gotta be a bounty hunter, - ->-bleeped-<- you're carrying serious hardware woman," he said holding up his hands in a gesture he did intend to convey his apology.  Unseen by him the rodent-faced Ill'ictoi guard did grin and dig his elbow into the man beside him who did frown his disapproval.
"Not bounty hunter," replied Hana as she did make a sharp movement with her right hand.  "Truth be also this as I say; - nome be Hana Ki'Alson Hai Masen, - come I have  from ocean this three day.  Walk far I have."
"On your own love?" asked the rodent-faced one raising an eyebrow and he did loose a soft whistle of admiration.  Hana did decide to name this one 'Ratface' with a silent tongue due to his physical appearance, - even if she should learn his birth-given name she would continue in naming him 'Ratface'.

"Shut up arsehole."  The leader was now scowling at Ratface who did grin back at him without shame.  The man did take a step towards Hana and for her part she did not give ground.  "What race are ya anyway?" he demanded of her, "You sure aren't no Terran."
The Ill'ictoi male's words were a thrust to her heart and it was necessary for her to hold her anger within herself with a firm hand though she did betray herself by the act of baring her teeth at him.  Were not her features narrow and small, her cheekbones high and finely made, her nose a delicate shape upon her face and she did possess a pretty mouth (so Willow did say).  If her skin was not banded with the earth's colours and was instead pale and one colour she would be considered a classic beauty (so Willow did say).  It was her skin's pigmentation and her sharp teeth, her dark violet eyes with their twin eyelids and her three arms that did cause the Ill'ictoi to name her 'alien' or the worse name, - 'mutie'.

"Ba'jima be I," she did tell him her voice like the Winters of her homeland.  "Truth be this, - by the life's blood that be mine say I."
"Bull->-bleeped-<-!" the Ill'ictoi leader did give in reply his tone savage, his laughter cruel.
Ratface did grin with delight then, "Watch it Jack, - you might've just challenged her."  He did lounge on his lance as his leader did tighten his face with his fury and glare at him.
"You'd better back me Wallace," was his demand and his eyes did demand the same of Ratface's two companions, but at this Ratface did shake his head.
"Na Jack," Ratface did give in reply his face betraying amusement, "A challenge is a challenge.  Personal stuff you know; - nothing ta do with our duty."

As she did watch the Ill'ictoi leader did slowly return his face to her.  The wind that did blow from the Radlands was a teasing heat on her skin whereas the shadow beneath the walls of the city did possess a pleasant quality of coolness.  A creeping plant had found the shade of the left hand gate tower to its liking and its many flowers were as blue as the sky.  Her right hand did close on the cord bound hardwood grip of her chain mace as her primary left hand did cup the leaden ball and she did lift the weight of the many linked alloy steel chain from about her neck.  The fingers of her secondary left hand did tighten about the hilts of her long bladed Pathian dagger and she did slide the weapon from its sheath..........
"Christ,.....she's gonna be like fighting twins," she did hear Ratface say as he did assault his long suffering fellow once more with the point of his elbow.
"Look, don't go taking it that way," Jack did appeal to her as he did tug at his beard with his left hand, "I was hasty......."  However it was his right hand she did calmly observe as it did scratch beneath his leather armor at his back as if this Ill'ictoi male was afflicted with vermin.  "Hell woman, - I didn't mean to go insulting ya; - just a bitta misunderstanding......."
"He's gotta lazer!"   Ratface did not need to warn her of this, already her chain mace was begining to build its momentum under the command of her right hand.  The one named Jack did gift Ratface an expression of open hatred as he did draw his weapon free of its hiding place with a swift hand.  Her anger was no more for now she did possess a quality of calm as its replacement; - a calmness that did possess the quality that exists in death's stillness.  Jack did level his ugly construction tape bound weapon at her, but without effort she did lazily flick with her wrist to send the lead ball of her mace to dash against his left temple.  And he did fall driven from his feet, passing beneath the wooden rail to impact on the dry red earth in the bridge's shadow.

Now her left primary hand did find her sword's hilts as she did once more build her mace's momentum with her right hand.   As she did set her calm face towards the three that did remain standing beneath this city's gate lintel beam Ratface did throw up both his hands.  "No lass, - we got no gripe with ya; - Jack insulted ya all on his lonesome."
As she did watch he did slap away the weapons his two fellows had drawn in their hasty fear.  "Ya stupid ->-bleeped-<-s," he did tell them, "wanta die too?  She's just crossed the Radlands all by her bloody self, - she'll eat ya and spit out the pips."  Ratface did approach her with empty hands displayed, his long lance remaining in the gate's shadow,  however she did continue to easily swing her mace in her right hand's grip even though her left hands did sheath her bladed weapons.  At this act of hers he did grin, "Look Jack had it coming lass; -  man was too thick to recognise a bitta quality when it walked right up ta him.  Hell, I can see you're Ba'jima, - so you're a mutie, - so what......"

Tony Wallace damn near choked on the rest of what he'd been about to say.  Working hard at trying to fight the shake in his knees he let his eyes wander over nice and casual like to take a look at the splintered railing hard by where he was standing.  He hadn't even seen the tawny skinned mutie woman let fly; - one moment she'd been just swinging that chain mace a hers easy like, the next there'd been this bloody crash right beside himself.  Behind him Alex and George were laughing hard enough ta wet themselves; - alright for them, they hadn't had the goddammed wind of the thing cut past their noses for free.  Taking himself a good swallow he located his grin and put it back on his face.  Woman had the coldest eyes he'd seen on a female; - and having spent twelve years living in Babylon that was saying plenty.

"Sorry lass," he offered.  "Didn't mean ta insult ya; - takes all sorts ta make a world....."
"Not like nome, mutie," she told him using a tone of voice that'd instantly chill warm beer on a hot day.  Quick as a flash she jerked her right wrist and the fingers of her  left hand closed around the lead ball as it swung back on the end of its chain.  He'd already had it figured that her topmost left arm was the stronger limb, but judging by the way her dagger was slung in easy reach of her smaller slim fingered left hand a man would have ta be pretty stupid to discount that slender extra arm a hers in a fight.  She settled her chain mace over her shoulder and he knew right away that she could gather it up real fast from where she'd put it; - that lotta mongrels that worked the highway woulda got the suprise of their lives he was picking.  Woman was born mean.
"Babylon the city will admit I?"  Christ on a bike, bitch was calm as.  He was picking that she hadn't been straight about being a Rat either.  Might not have sown much Old French inta what she said, but she'd only ta open her mouth and you'd haveta be deaf not ta hear a Rat femme speaking.

Chapter fragment ends.