Title: Ansariland

Author: J. Alan Veerkamp

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 08/23/2021

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 114300

Genre: Science Fiction, LGBTQIA+, Sci-fi, Gay, alternate universe, family-drama, futuristic, alpha males, bonded, sex industry, prostitution, PTSD/post-traumatic stress, space pirates

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Description

Corporations control every sector of society from law enforcement to automated manufacturing. The economic and social divides are chasms.

Jobs are scarce for an undocumented slug like Arad Ansari, and life on Earth’s Grey District A-5 colony is even harder. With no other options, he plies his youthful looks to hustle enough money to stay fed even without a roof over his head. So when Captain Torrins of the Midas Ascending offers him employment as his personal cabin boy, Arad takes the opportunity despite his reservations. Because what other choice does a desperate, poverty-stricken man with no prospects have?

When corporate military forces demand payment for Torrin’s and the crew’s sins, Arad is left alone and adrift in unknown space. After years of smothering on the crowded streets of Grey District, a ship of his own should be an unexpected windfall, but it doesn’t take long to discover what—or rather, who—were originally being smuggled on board.

More than human, more than an animal, Roku is a blend of both, a marvel of genetics and highly illegal. His past is a mystery, even to himself, a story told only through his nightmares. Despite a dubious introduction, an unspoken bond forms between him and Arad while they try to repair the ship before supplies run dry or corporate forces track them down.

Time is not on their side.

Overcoming their pasts and learning to trust one another are the keys to Arad and Roku’s survival, and they have to succeed to find their place together in the universe.

Excerpt

Anisariland
J. Alan Veerkamp © 2021
All Rights Reserved

It was too early for bright lights. Even once they’d breached dawn, it would be hours before the sun rose above the towers choking the sky and illuminated the district through its near-permanent cloud layer.

Traffic beacons swept the corporate work zone, directing the shuddering mechanical beast to the landing pad. The ground quaked as it set down, metal legs straining. Its great mouth opened with a hydraulic release of breath, and it spit out another load of hopeful people to join the rest nearby. The last person had barely exited when it closed its mouth and roared off into the sky once more. Mustard-tinged exhaust choked the air in its wake.

Expandable fencing corralled the crowd like the livestock his parents used to talk about before cloned meat became necessary. Scarcity had driven the price high enough only the wealthiest elites could afford it.

It had been a long time since Arad Ansari had tasted actual meat.

“A little breathing space, please.” Bracing his shoulder, he nudged at the woman trying to press past him on the left. Everyone on this planet made him appear miniature, but he was wiry and didn’t allow anyone to push him aside.

Not anymore.

Pulling his collar closed, Arad shivered, lacking enough layers to keep him warm in the chilly morning. More people than he’d hoped stood ahead of him in the claustrophobic queue leading to the Grey District A-5 tech yard after camping overnight in the nearby alley. Manufacturing was automated, leaving tech jobs scarce among the self-made engineers in the factory slums. The token he’d lifted off a wayward tourist allowed him to visit the bathhouse, so he’d be sure he was clean and appeared ready to work. He wouldn’t risk giving them any excuse to turn him away.

A chorus of boots clunked along the steel causeway in practiced unison as the mass of people shuffled forward, invading Arad’s personal space in all directions. Whether intentional or not, he kept a tight grip on his shoulder bag even though it was latched tight, keeping his few possessions safe. The crowd funneled into a line aimed at the guard wall entrance, but the man big enough to be a hybrid DemiShou blocked Arad’s view to see how much farther he had to travel. The sea of workers thrummed with anticipation and a hint of desperation yet plodded along at a cautious pace.

Above the crowd, a smooth electric hum drew Arad’s attention. A clutch of security drones hovered, lasers scanning everyone present with their unnatural eyes, maintaining order. The red pinpoint beam stopped on one person, then the next. Arad held his breath when it targeted the back of his neighbor’s head.

The project was a big deal if they’d gone to the expense of hiring a security force, and apparently word had gotten out given the number seeking positions. They would move along and keep to themselves because no sane person would be willing to lose wages spending the day dealing with District Authority.

Arad nudged the tall stranger next to him, trying not to cringe when he felt more bone than muscle beneath the man’s sleeve. “Are they actually doing anything yet? Or are we waiting to trample each other?”

“Naw, they’re checking people. It’s just slow as hell. How early did you get here?”

“Late last night.” Peering over his shoulder, Arad couldn’t see where the mass behind him ended. “Didn’t want to be in the back half when they filled the quota and sent us all away.”

“No shit. Good luck, kid.”

“Thanks. You too.”

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Meet the Author

While spending years more focused on visual arts, J. Alan Veerkamp never let go of his innate passion for storytelling, wanting to write and draw comic books when he grew up. Once he discovered M/M fiction, a whole new world opened filled with possibilities. Why couldn’t you have fantastic and dynamic sexy tales with an M/M cast? He started reading the online tales of authors like, Night Tempest, Rob Colton, and Alicia Nordwell, which only fueled his need to create. Eventually he found GayAuthors.org, and with a little coercive nudge, started sharing his tales with an unexpected level of positive response. The experience and support gave him the courage to cross his fingers and aim for the world of M/M publishing.

Born and raised in Michigan, J. Alan continues to type away, wishing it was practical to use an noisy, old fashioned keyboard that clacks with each strike, if just to annoy his loving partner and spoiled miniature dachshund.

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