M.C. Hansen's Blog

Version 3 is live

Well 2020 - 2022 have been interesting. The world went crazy and so did my body. COVID at large and internally - I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease.

Having spent a year dealing with that, I've recovered my health and I'm writing again. Hopefully within a year I'll have my next novel out. In the meantime, I've revised and cleaned up Posthuman until its a shinning, polished nugget.

Volume 3 is live and out in paperback and eBook. For those that take the time to read, drop a review. I love hearing your experiences with it.

Cheers.
M.C. Hansen

Free Kindle Giveaway - Last Day

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UPDATED VERSION

As of 3/1/2020 I've uploaded a new version of Posthuman on Amazon.

From the reviews and feedback I've received, I've pared back the similes to keep the action more present. This latest version is smoother and will provide a better overall reading experience. Kindle owners can update their copies by download the new version anytime. For new readers, I hope you'll give it a chance and let me know what you think.

I'm busy working on a new book and will have a tease in the coming months. Stay tuned. Cheers!

Top 10 Books of the Last 10 Years

As we not only finish another year, but close out a decade, I wanted to do a countdown of the top 10 books I’ve read in the last 10 years. There are so many great books out there I can't wait to see what 2020 and beyond brings. And just maybe my novel Posthuman (www.amazon.com/dp/B07WRL35FX) will make someone’s top ten list.

10) The Terror, Dan Simmons
While published more than a decade ago, I only read this book a few years ago. This spot of the list is a tribute to all the books I’ve discovered many years after their publication dates. The Terror mixes history and fiction in an old school monster/fear of the unknown plot. While cozied up on a couch, the descriptions of ice, snow, and cold were so compelling I found myself pulling the blanket I was wrapped in tighter around me to stay warm. A good story stands the test of time - and The Terror is a good read. Skip the AMC series and just read the book.

9) Astrophysics for People in a Hurry, Neil deGrasse Tyson
If I were smarter, I’d be an astrophysicist. As it is, I’ll have to be one at heart. I find the universe, the creation of planets and stars, and the evolution of live fascination, as well as awe-inspiring. It is so easy to be short-sighted in day-to-day life, but the universe is vast and understanding gives perspective and inspires. Astrophysics for People in a Hurry is an easily digestible explanation about how the universe works on micro and macro levels. Neil deGrasse Tyson’s 2014 Cosmo’s series is also fantastic and there’s a new session this year! So, heads up.

8) Horns, Joe Hill
Son of Stephen King, Joe has some big shoes to fill. While he’s defiantly carrying the mantle of his father, he has his own unique voice. I found Horns and his debut novel Heart-Shaped Box to have an intimate writing style. Moreover, I related to the protagonist's downward spiral in Horns, as he struggled to make things right in his troubled life at the same time as he transformed into a devil. The details and realism of the transformation were well done and laced with dark humor. This book was also made into a movie, but as often is the case, didn’t transition well to the silver screen, so do yourself a favor and stick to the book.

7) Moonglow, Michael Chabon
Who doesn’t think they come from a weird family? But my crazy uncle stories pale in comparison to Mr. Chabon’s memoir of his grandfather. My own grandfather had some pretty wild stories about growing up in the depression and living through WWII, which is perhaps why this book spoke to me. Even without that family history though, Moonglow is a remarkable narrative, with sparkling prose penned by a Pulitzer Prize-winning author.

6) IQ, Joe Ide
Everyone loves a super-intelligent detective, or at least I do. But I’m pretty sure Sherlock Holes would back me up. IQ was my most recent read on this list. I’ve read the first three books in the series and I’m looking forward to more. The gritty, urban setting is the perfect setting for this nontraditional detective. The characters are vivid and the dialogue sharp. These books are a quick smooth read and it’s a pleasure to have a dependable series like IQ to add to my bookshelf.

5) Sourdough, Robin Sloan
Sourdough is a book I picked up on a whimsy. It was a complete unknown to me, and it delivered. Mr. Sloan weaves a tale that blends tech and history, and of course food! As someone who likes to cook it’s no surprise that this quirky tale about a software engineer who becomes obsessed with making the perfect loaf of sourdough would appeal to me. Anyone hungry. After reading Sourdough, you will be.

4) The Martian, Andy Weir
I have a crush on near-future sci-fi, and I’m betting a lot of you out there have read The Martian, and with good reason – it’s a great read. Now I know some people liked the movie more than the but, but those people are wrong. The movie is respectable, but the book has all the juicy technical details that out of brevity can’t go into a screenplay. But wherever your allegiance falls, the red planet calls, and I look forward to seeing someone step foot on Mars during my lifetime.

3) The Lonely Polygamist, Brady Udall
I’ve read all the top three books on this list at least twice, but The Lonely Polygamist has a special significance. Mr. Udall was a faculty member who I’d hoped to study under when I was applying for some MFAs in creative writing. The title of the book captures the paradox of modern life: while technology has made it easier to communicate, many people are increasingly isolated. I also enjoy stories that take me into a subculture that I know little about (Winter’s Bones is another that comes to mind). Sweet, poignant, relatable, and very funny, The Lonely Polygamist easily earns its spot in the top three.

2) The Magicians (Trilogy), Lev Grossman
I’ve heard The Magicians described as “Harry Potter for adults,” which if it is, I’ll take it over Harry Potter any day of the week. Harry Potter for me was too juvenile, naïve, and broke its own magical construct too easily (and yes, I know I’m in the minority with this opinion). Perhaps my point of view would have been different if I’d grow up on Harry Potter. But I didn’t, I grew up on C.S. Lewis, The Chronicles of Narnia - the original Harry Potter if you will. The Magicians took me back to the magical worlds of my childhood, but from an adult perspective. These more mature themes added depth to the books and examines how magic (rather than just being used to confront a pure evil) might not make life better or fix complicated relationships. Some might see that as a cynical perspective, and not everyone will love The Magicians, but I did.

1) Ready Player One, Ernest Cline
Okay, if you skipped right to the number one spot, are you surprised? We are in a lovefest of the 80s, and as someone who grew up then, and transitioned from an analog to a digital world - Ready Player One blended both those worlds perfectly, and in one helluva fun treasure hunt to boot! To me, Super Nintendo and pixel graphics are nostalgia heaven. So yes, clearly, I’m the target audience. Much of the book is a trip down memory lane, but it's not just the video game references, but the VR experience all gamers dream of. For those of you too young to understand any of the pop culture references in the book and grew up on 4G and Marvel movies, don’t worry, at some point you look back at this decade and touchscreens will look super clunky and retro compared to your neural implants and augmented reality. Until then, cheers! -M.C. Hansen.

ANIMAL PEOPLE (concluded) by M.C. Hansen

ANIMAL PEOPLE (a satirical short story, in three parts - concluded)
by M.C. Hansen

Pt. III

At the edge of town right angles buildings gave way to languid flowing flower fields; a van Gogh painting of yellows and purples and soft brushstrokes of green. And milling about in clumps on the pristine canvas like cooled globs of splattered grease were pasty bovid mammals.
Tom squinted.
“Is that a sheeple farm?”
“Regrettably,” said Rasheeda, her face clouding over.
“Can I see them?”
“Do you have to?”
Leaving the gravel road, the two approached an invisible fence marked by worn ruts and matted grass. A chicken coop on stilts, and clotted with feathers, cozied up to a congregation of corn ready for harvest. At the base of the henhouse, a plump leathery male sheeple had propped itself up against one of the support posts, legs spread.
Rasheeda's face contorted. "God, they're disgusting."
“What!? Not at all. They’re rather noble looking - well for livestock at any rate - and they should be, since they’re designed after the most evolved species on the planet.”
Hairless except for tuffs of black in the armpits and a triangle of pubic hair, the sheeple had large flat ears, which drooped from the crown of a round head. The legs and arms were humanlike but designed for quadrupedal locomotion, ending not in cloven hoofs but knobby fingers and toes.
“And what luck,” said Rasheeda, her voice flat and mirthless. “We got here just in time to watch this one beat off.”
The sheeple's forward-facing eyes were closed and its short stumpy muzzle opened in a bleat of pleasure.
Tom stepped forward and snapped off a nearby ear of corn.
“Part of what makes these guys so tender and tasty is how humanly they’re raised.”
"Humanly? You mean, humanely."
“Oh that too,” Tom waved his arm. “Free-range and fed only organically grown, pesticide free, and non-hormone injected foods, and all that.” Finished husking, Tom held out the corn. Each yellow kernel bore a NewLife Organic Conglomerate logo, and at the sight of the proffered cob, the squat male sheeple concluded its self-pleasuring. Waddling over, the sheeple’s back and flanks were pigmented with birthmark sponsors and brand names corporations like an old fossil fuel stock car.
“Want to feed it?” asked Tom, holding out the half-gnawed ear to Rasheeda.
“Not in the least.”
Shoving the last bit of corn in the sheeple's mouth, Tom dusted off his hands. "Okay, well, enough mucking about, let's do one of the safaris before it gets dark."
“Of course, I’ll call you a Crawler.” Rasheeda pushed a button on her phone. “And I take it you’d like to dine à la cannibal when you get back?”
“You know, I’m beginning to think you’re antagonizing me on purpose.”
Rasheeda raised an index finger and tapped the side of her nose.
“But long mutton is hardly cannibalism.”
“Oh right,” cooed Rasheeda, “how silly of me. I forgot about partial cannibalism. How’s that work again?”
“Cheekier and cheekier,” Tom chided.
The Crawler glided up. Mechanical millipede legs clicking like strumming fingernails.
"Well, enjoy your tour."
Rasheeda gave a weak wave, turned and walked off.
Tom hung one arm against the horizontal roll bar and watched the V sway below the beltline of her skintight pants.
“What a cocktease.”
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” said a voice from the Crawler. “Please select another option.”
Tom slid into the passenger seat. “Forget it.”
“I’m Randy. I’ll be your pilot and automated tour guide—”
“Yeah, yeah, skip the intro, let’s get going already.”
The Crawler accelerated, moving quick and smooth.
In all directions, cultivated parcels of land stretched in cubic form, punctuated by circular Yurts of alabaster. From the darkened doorways, furry faces with high foreheads and thick Fu Manchu mustaches peeked out. In the fields and ditches, and among concrete maintenance sheds, similar faces in threadbare jumpsuits covered in dirt and grease watched the Crawler tick by.
“Randy, I don’t recognize those animal people.”
“That’s because those aren’t animal people,” said the electronic voice. “Those are worker Yetis.”
"Really!?" Tom squinted. "You know...I think I remember hearing about them. The first real ex-nihilo species, right? Had those hardcore God wanker's panties in a real twist. I mean, why should the Almighty have any authority or say in what we humans can or can't do? We're the gods now."
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question.”
“Nevermind, just get us closer.”
“That’s not allowed, Domesticated Working Yetis are classified property of Punja Autogenesis LLC.”
“Bullocks! Those things ought to be part of the tour.”
“I’m sorry...”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just hurry up and get me to something I’m actually allowed to see.”
“Throttling up to maximum speed.”
The chattering legs whirred, and the landscape fell away.
After zigzagging up an incline, the Crawler crested a hill. An immense bowl-shaped valley lay on the other side, sloping down to a glacial lake. Groups of hybrids occupied the tundra meadow. Along the shoreline, Toucan-Flamingos strained the water, their colorful beaks dipping rhythmically; fleecy black and white bodies marked a herd of Zebra-Bison cropping grass, and Beaver-Kangaroo hopped about on a leafy dam, packing down mud with their flat waffle tails.
“Now this is more like it.”
Tom stood for a better view.
“What are those?”
A pair of bow-legged animals circled each other.
“Rhinocerotidea Taxidea taxus or Rhino-Badgers. These mammals stand just under one meter tall at the shoulder and weigh—”
Tom nodded, seeing it now. Half the size of regular rhinos and with shorter legs and paws rather than hoofs. Their enlarged furry badger faces sported enormous curving horns, easily as tall as the animal was long.
A flat crack echoed through the mid-afternoon as the two animals rammed into each other, growling and clawing for dominance.
“Cool,” Tom breathed. He was out of the vehicle now. “And what kinds of predators do you have?”
“We have a pair of Crocodile-Sharks and a clan of Sabertooth-Hyenas numbering twenty adults.”
“You have ice age megafaunas here!?”
“Yes, a half dozen dwarf wooly mammoths and even a few Giant Land Sloths. There’s one there at eleven o’clock by that cottonwood tree.”
Bending over a young sapling was a bear-like animal, although triple the size, and with a pointed head and round jowls. A broad, muscular tail made a sturdy tripod for the sloth, who pulled down the topmost branches with thick shaggy arms and foot-long talons.
“Dog’s balls! That’s bloody brilliant! Get us down there.”
“I’m sorry, the Crawler can’t descend any gradient that exceeds seventy-eight-point nine percent.”
“Aw get stuffed, this thing can crawl down that little cliff easy.”
“There is an alternate route down approximately three kilometers—”
Tom didn't hear the rest. He slipped from the Crawler and eased himself over the edge. Trouser bottoms scrapped against the crumbling granite, and he began to slalom the decline. Cascading debris leapt and caromed about as Tom picked up speed.
Abruptly the ledge dropped off.
Legs flailed, sought purchase, then drove into unyielding rock. Tom screamed, something snapped, then gave way.
“Randy! Aaah, shit fucking cock...Randy!”
The cursing went on and on.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
The voice was faint but clear.
“Randy.”
“Do you need assistance?”
“I-I’ve broken my...my leg, I think. Call me some help."
“Medical personal are on their way. Would you like some music while you wait?”
“No! No, I don’t want any bloody music! What I wanted was for you to drive me down this hill and now look what’s happened!”
“I’m sorry, the Crawler can’t—”
“Oh, sod off.”
Randy’s reply was unintelligible.
“I said sod off, you twat!”
Sand rained down from above. Tom looked up and two sallow eyed Yetis stood overhead. They pointed and talk in purring guttural tones.
“Oye, you there. Yeah, both of you. Don’t just stand there, come get me.”
As steady as goats, the duo descended.
“God, gently you daft cows, that hurts!”
Calloused hands lifted Tom, and he was thrown over a shoulder.
“F-uck!” he shouted, grinding teeth as bones ground under skin.
The Yeti trudged back up the cliff and deposited the injured man near the Crawler. Tom swatted and shouted and beat back his rescuers, while blunt fingers poked and prodded, and debated the exact nature of the problem.
A few minutes went by before Rasheeda stepped out of a second Crawler.
“Finally!” Tom shouted. “What took you so long?”
“Delightful as ever,” replied Rasheeda, through pursed lips. “Well, let’s have a look.”
A wand with a display screen was passed over Tom's body, and Rasheeda scrolled through the results.
“I’m afraid you’ve shattered your femur and the head has pushed up through the pelvic bone, breaking it as well.”
“So fix it.”
Rasheeda shook her head. “We’ll have to put you down.”
“What?” Tom coughed.
“I know, it’s not what you want to hear - no one does - but it’s the humane thing to do.”
The Yetis shook their docile heads in agreement. One knelt and stroked Tom’s hand.
“Get this thing away from me!” Tom snapped, swing ineffectually at the mewing creature.
Holding each other, the droopy mustached snowmen turned away, glancing back as they consoled each other.
From a small hard case, a needle was extracted.
“You can’t do this to me, I’m a human being,” wailed Tom.
“What difference does that make?”
Bubbles and liquid spurted.
“They should put you in a cage, all of you,” spat Tom. “You’re nothing but a bunch of...of savages.”
“Now, now, you know that’s not true. That’s just the pain talking; only civilized creatures euthanize.”
“S-stay away from me...”
“It’ll all be over soon,” Rasheeda soothed.
The needle pierced the skin, and Tom wept.

ANIMAL PEOPLE (continued) by M.C. Hansen, Pt II

ANIMAL PEOPLE (a satirical short story, in three parts - continued)
by M.C. Hansen

Pt. II

In the examination room, François paced the floor, one hand fisted at his mouth, teeth worrying away fingernails to the quick. A white-coated physician hunched over an aluminum table. Deft hands made their inspection.
Without looking up from her work, the doctor said, “I take it you’ve never seen a doe-woman before.”
“Course I have...or no, I mean, I’ve seen women of course and deer, but not...you know, together,” said Tom, hovering in a corner, mouth open like a complete gob.
A fine golden fur covered the doctor’s skin, and her neck and limbs were anorexic thin. Cup shaped ears extended upwards framing large brown eyes divested of any whites and shaded by thick curving lashes, under which a flat nose ended in a black rhinarium tip.
“My name’s Rasheeda. I’m sorry you had to be a part of this.”
“Yeah, me too. Not the most chipper way to start a holiday.”
Rasheeda looked up, her mouth a tight line.
“Why don’t you step into the waiting room?”
Reaching for a nearby tray aligned with medical instruments, the scalpel and bandages were ignored in favor of a large syringe.
"I'm sorry, François."
There was a metallic crash and deep bellowing sobs.
“Mate, it's better this way,” said Tom. “I mean, she’s just a dog.”
With her slender arms wrapped around the blubbering xenocentric chauffer, Rasheeda turned her head. “What difference does that make?”
“Nothing, just...it’s more humane is all.”
Rasheeda gave a curt nod. “Give me a minute.”
In the waiting room, Tom waited. After some time, the hysterical sobbing atrophied, and Rasheeda slipped from the room. The door shut with a soft click. Tom stood as the doctor removed her smock. Underneath, she wore tight form fitting pants. A triangular tail could be made out at the small of her back and breasts cradled in a child-sized anime print tank top were freckled with downy white spots.
“Is something wrong with your eyes?”
“No, it's fine. I was just taking some pictures.”
An eyebrow rose. “Of my ass and tits?”
“What? No...no! Of course not.” Tom’s gaze flicked back to the mottled cleavage. “Ah, so how far down do your spots go?”
“Is that a pass?”
Tom chortled. “Not a very good one.”
“You know I’d be committing bestiality too.”
“And that bothers you?”
Rasheeda scowled. "Since becoming autonomous and gaining our sovereignty, we no longer participate in such practices."
“All of you?”
“The majority.”
“So then...there are still a few that would let me nob them.”
The scowled deepened.
“No doubt. However, you should know too that we also ban public orgies, sadism, and necrophilia.”
“Lame.”
“I guess we animal people just aren’t as civilized as you humans.”
“Not if you’re reinstating all those 20th century-medieval taboos.”
Rasheeda’s features slackened and blasé eyes rolled over her guest.
“Oh, do let me show you around. I don’t want to miss any of your insightful criticism.”
"Cheeky!" said Tom, winking off another photo. "Are all animal people as sarcastic as you, or is that just a deer thing?"
Rasheeda indicated the door.
“Right!”


Outside, several Swiss-style chalets and luxury cabins nestled into the folds and crests of the nearby foothills. The main resort consisted of redwood ski lodges, and condos huddled around a central plaza, their cookie-cutter balconies formed neat rows and gave panoramic views of the surrounding mountains. Throughout the quaint village, a robust alpine mélange of cedar and pine wafted, and as the two crossed an elaborate brick mosaic, Rasheeda pointed out bay-windowed boutiques and popular restaurants. And everywhere - scattered about the shops and manicured walkways - were animal people: bulbous nosed moose-women, well tailored puma-men, panda-girls in miniskirts, gazelle-ladies with long upturned feet, and teenaged horse-boys sporting oblique haircuts.
“This place is bloody fantastic!”
“Careful, you’ll give yourself a migraine blinking like that.”
Tom waved away the concern.
“Seriously, your birthing corporation must have made a fortune on this place.”
“Yes, we were quite the profitable little sentient race; well worth bringing into existence for the sole purpose of being a spectacle. Too bad the fad wore off.”
"Yeah, it happens," Tom commiserated. "Say, would you mind digitally interfacing with me? It's so much more personable than talking face to face."
“Not at all.”
From her pocket, Rasheeda withdrew a flexible translucent phone.
“Talk about uncivilized! Is that a Fiche phone?”
A bubbly laugh escaped Rasheeda and her voice twanged. "I know, right! They're so old! They came out like what...four months ago? And they only have twelfth generation AI software, less than ten-thousand customization options, and none of the psychological side effects of the new neuro-uplinks!”
"Right. Right?" said Tom, missing the cynicism. "I've already gotten plugged, and whoa, the visions and paranoia are a trip.”
Rasheeda plowed on. “But what’s the point of living, if you don’t live it up!”
“Exactly.”
At a patio café, two dark-eyed rabbit-women sat with heads together, giggling as they stole glances at a hipster koala-man in horn-rimmed glasses and tweed, sipping a cappuccino.
“So Rasheeda, how exactly does procreation work with animal people?”
“You mean your parents never explained the birds and the bees to you?”
“Har-har, good one, but really, how do you know what you’re going to get?”
"We do ultrasounds. If there's a penis, it's a boy; vagina - girl."
Tom stopped and shook his head.
“No, I mean...take that kola bloke over there, what would happen if say he got one of those bunnies pregnant?”
“Ah, that...fortunately we can’t have interspecies offspring. We’re coded to only be able to reproduce with others of our biological class.”
“You mean you can’t have any freaky chimera children?”
“Nope, no jaguar-hippo-wolf half breeds here. We wouldn’t want to be wholly unnatural.”
“Well, where’s the fun in that?”
Rasheeda raised her hands and shrugged.

ANIMAL PEOPLE (a satirical short story, in three parts) by M.C. Hansen, Pt I

ANIMAL PEOPLE (a satirical short story, in three parts)
by M.C. Hansen

Pt. I

The bell rang, announcing the impending arrival.
A few minutes later, there was a flash, a violent sense of vertigo, and he was there.
“Bloody ‘ell.”
A pale hand reached out and clutched a nearby rail, steadying unsure legs.
“Nothing like spending fifty million creds to toss your lunch,” Tom groaned, head between legs.
The portation room was egg-shaped, sleek, and ancient iPhone chic. ‘Retro futuristic’ is what they called it. Tom called it rubbish. If they could pop you out anywhere in the world, they ought to be able to make it feel like an orgasm rather than like your guts were being sucked through a straw.
Standing, Tom rubbed a hand across his unsettled stomach and pinched his belly. How repulsive, he must be up to ten percent body fat. It was far past time to go in for some lipo and muscle toning.
“You here for the resort?”
In the recess of a curved doorway stood a lanky gorilla; wild wisps of black hair sprouted from khakis and an embossed pink polo.
“What else? This place is supposed to be amazing.”
“Oui,” said the bloke in the gorilla costume, butchering a fake French accent. “The safaris alone are worth the trip. Our hybrids are superb, and I’m not talking about those tiger-tabby cats or ridiculous arctic fox-dogs or any of the other clumsy pet subspecies combs you see all over the place. Those things are child’s play, apples and apples type stuff. I’m talking about real genetic artistry - apples and oranges, apples and papayas, hell freaking kiwis and kumquats. Mammal and avian amalgamations on par with a Michelangelo masterpiece: majestic, fully realized, and only found here. But that’s not the best part.”
“No?”
“No! The best part is that all of it - from the hotels, to the spas, to the restaurants - are catered to you by the crème de la crème, the true gentry: us animal people.”
“Wait...you’re an animal person?”
“But of course.”
Tom eyed the rubber mask with cutout eyes and painted teeth, forever molded in an open-mouthed simper. Sweat and dirt had twisted the synthetic fur around the throat into a sagging dreadlock necklace, and the oversized latex gloves were frayed and cracked, allowing stubby white fingers to protrude like pupae from a honeycomb.
“What’s with the getup then? Is it some kind of uniform?”
“Excusez! What getup?”
“Ah...right. Sorry, you just looked...so real.”
Larva hands fisted and went to hips.
“You shouldn’t make fun. We animal people have the same feelings as you humans.”
From the day beyond the door bounded in an enormous Great Dane; uncropped ears sailed back behind a tongue-lolling grin. The dog made straight for Tom’s groin and the impact of its blunt muzzle was like getting hit by a softball.
“That’s Maggie,” laughed the gorilla-man.
“Uff…” Tom exhaled, using both hands as a barrier to fend off the boxy head chuffing and sniffing vigorously at his crotch. “She’s...friendly.”
“She’s just excited. It’s been a while since our last guest - all because of those damn new moral maturity and ethical reformation laws. Those ministry bureaucrats claim it’s to protect what’s left of the human population, but they’re not going to take away my inalienable rights. My fetishes and consumerism are protected under the second world constitution!”
Tom nodded, still running defense against the molesting nose. A gentle shove, instead of bringing freedom, only excited the dog more. Her wet rough tongue came out and began to lick; licked and lapped and slobbered.
“Uh, you mentioned a hotel,” said Tom.
“Pardon! Where are my manners? I’m François, your chauffeur.”
“Tom Welch.”
Having had her fill, the Great Dane sat, mouth opened, tail sweeping the floor.
"A pleasure. This way, monsieur."
Tom waited until the driver’s back was to him before wiping his hands against his thighs.
“Your owner’s a little off.”
Maggie cocked her head.
“Oh, you didn’t notice?”
He tousled the dog’s ears.
“Well anyway, thanks for not humping my leg.”
Maggie chuffed.
“Right then, off we go.”
Outside cottony cumulus clouds dappled a baby blue sky. Slow moving, the pod of amorphous sky whales cast rolling shadows on the valley below. Granite peaks poked out above a lush conifer tree-line. The bushy evergreens marked the location as the Canadian Rockies as the American range had long become a globally warmed wasteland.
Tom filled his lungs. The air was crisp and ambrosial.
François took them up the road in a single cast polycarbonate solar paneled golf cart that was as posh and ponderous as a cruise liner.
Excited barking interrupted the tranquil mid-morning calm, and François looked over his shoulder.
"Let it be, Mags."
Ignoring her master, the Great Dane shot into the undergrowth. Tom followed her trajectory and stopped when he saw what she was heading towards.
Among the sentinel aspen and bottom-heavy pines moved four improbably long legs, and above the legs towered an even longer neck. The animal resembled a giraffe, except there were no trademark spots or flattop mane. Instead, short brown fur covered the body and at the chest, a bushy pelt of hair thinned upwards into a throat beard. The head was more rectangular than a giraffe as well, crowned with a massive sweeping rack.
“Bugger me—” breathed Tom, craning his neck. “Is it...is that a hybrid?”
François nodded. “Elk-giraffe.”
With royal grace, the creature glided along, head upturned nibbling choice green shoots. It ignored Maggie’s excited barking and playful heel nips.
“Wicked,” exclaimed Tom, leaving the cobblestone road and blinking rapidly to make sure his contact lens cameras were recording. Squinting and widening his eyes to zoom in and out, he slowed when he was within two meters, snapping off shot after detailed shot.
Chewing a fresh mouthful of leaves, the elk-giraffe lowered its head. A circling jaw kept regular time, while large, intelligent eyes investigated the flaxen-haired curiosity below.
Tom held his breath and uprooted a tuft of budding vegetation. Extending his offering, he inched forward.
How could anyone call this genetically engineered wonder an abomination? François was right; those reformation pricks were ruining the world, though he wasn't about to admit as much to that nutter. What happened to the good old days of progress at any cost, of pushing the envelope, of doing a thing just to see if it could be done, consequences be damn?
A sudden shrill whistle cut through the air. Both the Great Dane and the elk-giraffe looked up. François waved for the dog to come, and Tom used the distraction to step forward.
Heart hammering, he ran a hand along the elk-giraffe’s flank.
At the touch, muscles bunched and flexed, and the twisting knobby six-foot antlers reared up. Piston fast legs bucked out, and there was a pained yelp.
“Maggie!” François screamed.
The elk-giraffe bolted, throwing up clods of dirt and spinning Tom to the ground in a thundering clatter of hooves.
François hurried over to where the dog lay whimpering. Tom sidled up a moment later and sucked in a hissing breath.
“Aw shit mate, I just...I mean, I wasn’t...”
Tangled in a nest of branches and leaves Maggie lay sprawled, her glossy blue-grey coat matted with arterial blood and speckled with dirt. Both rear legs danced spastically, tapping out an anguished jig, while the chest heaved, and one wild eye rolled about seeking relief.
“No, no, no, no, no,” moaned François, kneeling and holding himself. He began to rock in tandem with the incessant denial pouring from his lips.
Tom reached out a hand but hesitated.
“Should I...ah, call someone or something?”
Ignoring the question, François scooped up his friend as delicately as if made of glass. In pain, Maggie bit him. Hard. Blood welled up from under the rubber suit.
“That’s okay girl,” he cooed, standing.
Overhead songbirds sang as desperate feet darted away.
“Fucking great,” Tom sighed.

UPDATED VERSION

As of 12/3/2019 I've uploaded a cleaner version of Posthuman on Amazon. I'm sure I didn't get every typo, but I believe it is more polished and will provide a better reading experience. Kindle owners can update their copies by download the new version anytime. For those few that purchased paperback before the above date, I'm willing to send you a new copy if you desire. Reach out to me on Facebook @ authorMCHansen.

Kindle Sale

Congratulations to all the Kindle giveaway winners! If you didn't win, you can still get a digital copy right now for only $0.99! Hurry sale ends 12/3/19.