max after earth - leaked chapters

8/7/2019 Max After Earth - Leaked Chapters

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3 Matthew Trotter


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MAXafter

EARTH


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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are

the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any

resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events,

or locales is entirely coincidental.

Chapters one and two ofMax After Earth by Matthew Trotter, presented

herein, are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-

NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

All rights reserved. No part this textnor any part of the accompanying

imagesmay be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form, nor by any

means, without proper attribution to the author, Matthew Trotter, including a

link to the Max After Earth web page.

For further details, write to:

Matthew Trotter

[email protected]

http://www.goingbackwardmovingforward.com

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@RealMattTrotter on Twitter

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Max After Earth on Facebook

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2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

2010 Matthew Trotter
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MAX

afterEARTH

a novel by

Matthew Trotter


5/36


6/36

ONE

t is the 37th of August, 2032, a day that scientists

have warned: Apophis will, undeniably, hit the

Earth. As the reports go, the force of one hundred

nuclear bombs will be unleashed when the massive

asteroid strikes. How many will the impact itself kill? If

those same reports are to be trusted, then perhaps only

thirty million. Assuming there are thirty million people

left to kill. Far more likely, an object of that mass

entering the atmosphere will ignite the methane cloud,

burn up the Earths oxygen, and suffocate everyone;

those at the highest elevations systematically

I


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2 Matthew Trotter

succumbing moments before those below them, as

though the hand of Death itself were literally coming

down the mountainside. Barring such a grandiose and

instantaneous of extinctions, there are always tsunamis,

toxic gasses, and, depending on where it hits, nuclear

meltdown, crumbling global infrastructure, or further

upset to the worlds already unstable food economy. It

isnt a question of whether everyone will diethat much

is knownit is only a question of how.

Well, not everyone.

There are certain certainties amidst all of the

uncertainty. Among these certainties is that the very

scientists who have long proclaimed the coming of

Apophis, the very scientists who held the power to

eliminate this threat, have chosen to save only

themselves. For days they have been evacuating

themselves to one of the three space stationsthe

International Space Station, the Sub-Lunar Space

Station, and the Chinese-Russian Transnational Space

Station. At an equivalent of a hundred and fifty square

kilometers, the stations now put the worlds greatest

cities, cities like Dubai and Shanghai, to shame; if not in


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Max After Earth 3

terms of superfluity, then in terms of sheer size and

human ingenuity.

But I cant care much for human ingenuity when

I, myself, am not human. That is, if it is even correct to

use the personal pronoun I in referring to an NBLF

that is, a non-biological life formsuch as myself. My

Social Independency Number is 504-313-42-9711,

however, my human relations commonly refer to me as

Max. My human relationsit will be sad to see them go,

but happy in that I can feel sad. My predecessors had no

such conception of an emotion like sadness.

I must say, self-summary is not my strong suit.

What I can say is that I was created by Sans Biotica

Laboratories and deemed complete early in 2028. Being

a prototype unit for some of the most advanced NBLF

technologies, and too expensive to mass produce, I am, if

not so clich as to be the last of my kind, then at least

clich enough to be the only one of my kind: a well-

mannered and arguably better looking Frankensteins

monster.

Though I am here to record the worlds current

state, and though I am here, as ordered, to repair the


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4 Matthew Trotter

Earth to a state usable by humans once Apophis dust

settles, the current state of the world was set in stone

long before my creation. Lets take the evacuation of the

scientists to set the stage. Great care was taken to punch

a hole in the methane cloud for the rockets to escape

through. No one wanted a repeat of the 2023 Hercules-

supplier disaster, in which a supply ship was incinerated

in the harsh atmosphere created by human industry. It

wasn't until that fateful day that humanity truly realized

how volatile our home world had become.

Even though the reality of it is horrifying, it was

still awe-inspiring to watch them clear the methane

fields, to see large swaths of southern sky go up in flame,

and to see it suddenly stop at the edge of the steam

boundary. As I said, the popular theory is that if the

methane were allowed to burn in toto, then the planet

would be starved for oxygen. Luck was on our side those

nearly ten years ago that the Hercules was destroyed

trying to leave the Earths atmosphere; the methane

didnt so wholly fill the sky back then. Now, though, it

was necessary to punch a hole in the methane cloud in

order to leave. And with an emigration as large as the


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Max After Earth 5

scientists were attempting, simple tricks like killing the

engines at velocity just wouldnt be sufficient.

Had weno, had those capableacted sooner,

our fate could have been avoided. Following the impact,

a cloud of dust will be thrown into the air. Toxic as that

dust will be, breathing it in will be a consolation; what

comes after is even worse. The average daily global

temperature, or ADGT, is expected to rise from 43

degrees Celsius to 49 degrees Celsius almost overnight.

Humans werent built for these temperatures. The

methane cloud doesnt help the situation any, methane

being twenty-five times more effective at trapping heat

than carbon dioxide. For the few hours a day that the

temperature promises to drop below 37 degrees, humans

brave the outdoors and attempt any productive

movement which they are able. The rest of the day must

be spent indoors, hiding from the sun.

Approximately seventy-five meters down Ash

St., my optics hone in on Senator McRorian, his cheeks

flushed certainly several shades redder than usual

and his brow crinkled. Hes muttering incoherently

under his breath. Thermal scans indicate a slightly


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6 Matthew Trotter

elevated body temperature, which more than coincides

with the flushed cheeks, and auditory scans, on top of

picking up his muttering, detect an increased heart rate;

approximately 103 beats per minute. All of the classic

signs of anger.

I start toward the senator as fast as my legs can

take me. Bipedal movement: I sometimes wonder why

humans opt for such a thing, and why they would be so

cruel as to curse me with a suboptimal and such an

unstable means of locomotion. I was blessed with some

improvements over my creators egocentric self-imaging,

however. My joints can move ninety degrees in any

direction, so running forward and backward are equally

efficient. And four deca-core memristors allow, not only

impressive logical processing, but also changes in

direction which are at the cusp of what is physical

possible for mechanical movement, all without losing my

balance or blinking twice.

Yes, I do blink.

The seventy-five meters took me 8.18 seconds to

clear. The senator was still showing signs of anger so, not

wanting to catch him by surprise, I made my presence


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Max After Earth 7

known.

Senator, is there a problem?

Oh, Maxhey. He sighed, back in the good ol

days a machine could see you but didnt have the volition

to pester you about your problems. Senator McRorian,

in his late fifties and with wavy salt-and-pepper hair, was

never seen without a blazer even if he had forgone the tie

which had been indicative of his office only decades

earlier. The jacket itself was no small feat, given the

temperatures so often waiting for a person outside of an

air conditioned room. Few other senators had the

wherewithal to adhere to such a dress code.

I apologize, Senator. Its only that you appear

quite angry, and it really is rather warm for you to be

outside this time of day.

Angry? The senator pulled at his hair with both

hands. Fuck, Max! Have you looked at the sky recently?

Look there, he pointed up at Apophis, looming ever

larger. Thats a huge fucking rock hurtling through

space, intent on killing us all.

Senator, I really dont think the asteroid has

any intentions


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8 Matthew Trotter

And you see that? He pointed to a burst of

flame in the sky and a rocket hurtling toward the freshly

punched hole in the methane cloud. Thats a ship full of

scientists and fuckwad businessmen buying their way to

safety and leaving us here to rot. So yeahfuck yeah

Im pissed.

You are not being evacuated, then? I asked.

I was the one rallying for increased NASA

spending so that we could find a way to mitigate this

whole meteor disaster. A damn fine job I did too. They

took the money and ran. Even if the irony of running

away after trying to solve the problem wouldnt kill me,

do you really think theyd want me around? Besides, he

pointed, again, at the ship leaving through the hole in the

methane cloud, thats the last ship.

Senator, I believe it is an asteroid, not a meteor.

At nearly 300 meters across

Whatever, you stupid machine. The point is

that if I wasn't already going to die, my constituents

would surely kill me. Do you realize how many of their

tax dollars I won for a mission to deflect that thing?

Almost 3.1 billion


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Max After Earth 9

Dont you see that Im complaining here? For

chrissake, shut up. Im the one thats going to die.

That is true. You have a zero percent chance of

survival. If you do not die from the initial impact, you

will likely die from starvation, heat stroke, or poisoning.

I blinked, cleaning dust particles from my optic lenses. I

am sorry for your loss.

You dumb machine. Sweat was glistening in a

steady stream down the senators face. You don't even

get it. I can't be rebuilt and rebooted like you can. He

winced, gritting his teeth as the salty perspiration stung

his eyes. Stupid piece of shit. You were a waste of

fucking money. The senator swung his fist at my head.

The right fist. My optic depth of field narrowed, my focus

resolved on the fist, all other visual distraction blurred.

My emotional programming faded to the background.

Time didnt slow, but it may as well have, so magnified

were the details of the moment. I counted the 237 hairs

on the senators fingers. I noted the callous on the

second knuckle of his index finger where he routinely

grips a chefs knife; the faint smell of garlic giving away

the senators passion for cooking; the callous, and the


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10 Matthew Trotter

steadiness of the punch, giving away the senators right-

handedness.

The fist traveled at 79.86 kilometers per hour, an

angle of 137.3 degrees relative to the Earth, and 40.1

degrees relative to the senator's vertical glenohumeral

center. Given the current trajectory, I have only 0.67

seconds before the senator's fist makes contact with my

left optic lens. Of the 1,000,037 combinations of

movements that will allow me to evade the blow within

the time constraints, the most efficient combination

requires a 3 centimeter dip of my stifle-jointed knees and

a 37.5 degree rotation of my hip servos.

Such is my concentration that I can make out the

particles of saliva escaping with McRorians hard exhale,

I can make out the ripple of his lips, the flare of his

nostrils. I make my move; subtle; quick.

The senators fist passes 1.75 centimeters from

my head. I snatch his wrist as it passes by.

Senator McRorian, your actions have been

deemed hostile. Provide rationalization or I will be

forced to detain you.

All of the worlds knowledge at your fingertips,


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Max After Earth 11

and you just cant get it, can you? Its like a Republican

filibuster trying to get you to understand anything.

To be fair, Senator, the human creature is a

difficult one to understand. Unlike humans, emotional

knowledge is something that I must develop over time,

just as people have to cultivate intelligence over the

course of their lifetimes. Humans dont even understand

their emotion well enough to instill me with that level of

emotional understanding without practical experience.

I released Senator McRorians wrist. Im detecting

symptoms of stress and mild depression. I suspect that is

the reason for your outburst, is it not?

The senator sat on the sidewalk in the shade of a

nearby building and smirked. Something like that, you

glorified can opener. He wiped sweat from his forehead

with the sleeve of his jacket.

Why are you out in this heat, Senator?

I couldn't stand to just sit inside and wait to die.

This planet isn't much to look at anymore, nothing like it

was at the end of the last century, but the buildingsthe

insides of themhave gotten so sterile and

monochromatic. They drive me crazy. I needed to be


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12 Matthew Trotter

outside. The senator ran his fingers through his greasy,

sweat-soaked hair. He looked up at Apophis looming in

the morning sky. Why didn't they take you with them on

one of the shuttles? Surely you're worth something to

them, unlike this old, meddling politician.

I offered the senator the line from the oxygen-

hydrogen catalyzer for my cooling system. It pulled

airborne hydrogen and oxygen together, creating fresh

water for the senator to drink. Dehydration likely played

a part in his symptoms, though his impending death was

no small matter. He drank heavily and then let the line

retract.

My orders, I started now that the senator was

refreshed, are to remain on Earth. The statistical

probability of my being hit by the asteroid are less than

one percent. I am to shelter myself from airborne debris

and await further orders. The toxins, heat, and darkness

will have no effect on my functioning. Ultimately, I will

be put to work rebuilding the Earth for reinhabitation.

This will likely take many generations, and the actual

possibility of the human race surviving long enough, or

waiting around long enough, to reinhabit the Earth


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Max After Earth 13

remains uncertain. In any case, I must prepare for the

possibility that they will.

Huh. Makes sense I guess. The senator

laughed.

I fail to see what is so funny about your

impending doom, or the possible extinction of your

entire species, Senator.

Oh, no. Its not that. I was just thinking that

they should have stocked you with scotch for

emergencies like this.

I blinked. Twice. I have come to revel in being

momentarily cut off from visual stimulation. Even the

briefest time that a blink lasts is enough to create a

rapturous increase in auditory, olfactory, and tactile

information. This is sarcasm, yes?

Yes, Max, it's sarcasm. And as he said this, his

attention was drawn to a figure running down the

sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, some two

blocks away. Who the hell is that and what the hell are

they doing running in this heat?

I wasted no time in asking, running facial scans

of the petite woman through the Social Independency


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database.

Twenty-three year old human female, SIN 342-

79-515-9700. Name: Sarah Clarke. Shows signs of fear

and general distress. Confirmed pursuit by rogue NBLFs,

numbers 718-678-32-8988 and 718-678-32-8989.

Then the senator saw them. Two eight-foot

NBLFs, moving at frightening speeds on all fours, but in

a manner more resembling of a gorilla or other large

primate than an actual quadruped. They were a glossy

black. They emitted deep, deafening growls meant to

strike fear into any who opposed them. These NBLFs

were the security guards, the police, and the military of

the future.

Holy shit. What did she do to piss them off?

I will establish communication, I said. I

broadcasted my signal and initiated a connection with

the two rogues.

Halt! Explain your pursuit of the human

female, in accordance with International Statute 817,

section 3.

The two gorilla-like NBLFs halted their pursuit

abruptly. We are pursuing the human female for the


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Max After Earth 15

crime of theft, in accordance with IS124, section 1. She

has stolen comestibles from our master's estate. Lethal

force has been authorized if it should prove necessary.

Lethal force?That certainly seemed to be what

these two were built for. Who would authorize the use of

lethal force on a petty thief? Please hold while I verify

with Central.

The Social Independency databases claimed that

the two NBLFs were registered to a Clive Baxter.

However, Mr. Baxter was declared deceased on August

17th, 2031. His property was returned to the state for

redistribution. Authority over the two NBLFs should

have been returned to Central Command. Theres no way

that Central would have authorized the use of lethal force

in such a situation, and even if their owner would have

illegally authorized lethal force, he wasnt alive to do so.

Your master, Clive Baxter, has been declared

deceased. You were marked for redistribution. Protocol

states that you are to return to Central Command to

await new orders. Please confirm.

That is incorrect.

Please clarify.


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16 Matthew Trotter

That is incorrect. The two NBLFs turned their

shiny black heads toward the senator and me. Their

optics glowed red. Sarah collapsed on the sidewalk,

thermal sensors suggesting that, between the

temperature and her physical exertion, she had

succumbed to heat exhaustion. And then, in a low growl,

the NBLFs declared in unison, Clive Baxter is not dead.


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TWO

Clive Baxter is not dead! they

growled again as they resumed their

pursuit of the fallen Sarah Clarke.

Sarah moaned and tried to pull herself along the

sidewalk using her arms, pull herself away from the

raging NBLFs.Halt! I yelled. Clive Baxter is dead. Yourorders are incorrect. You are marked for redistribution.Oh shit! exclaimed Senator McRorian,

expecting, Im sure, to be mere moments away from

seeing some poor womans brains publicly displayed on a

city sidewalkafter said brains are forcibly beaten out of


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her by these rogue machines.

The human is a thief. She will die, came the

low voices of the rogue NBLFs.

Visual stimuli blurred, save for those two

NBLFs, my focus. I didnt feelthat I needed to help this

womanall of my emotional processing had died back. I

felt only that which was tactile: my toes gripping the hot

pavement, the suns heat radiating to my core, and the

gentle tremor resulting from every bound taken by the

rogues. I knew this wasnt an impulse I was feeling

because of the goodness of my heart. Deep down, Im

still just a machine, and Im programmed to intervene if

any other NBLF steps out of line.

This is just such an instance.

The rogues are fast, but Im light, and

consequently Im faster. I bound across the city street,

slamming, full-momentum, into the sun-warmed

metallic hide of first rogue. The rogues head smashed

into the corner of the Haynes building, taking a chunk of

the building with him in a shower of metal, glass, and

concrete. The building wasnt the only thing to take

damagethe red optics of the first NBLF faded to black.


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Max After Earth 19

Blind, but not incapacitated, the first NBLF regrouped

while the second announced their new priority:

Terminate the rogue NBLF.

You are the rogues, I growled.

Sarah, so dehydrated that even her skin was dry

of sweat, rolled over onto her back so that she could see

by what miracle she was still alive. Senator McRorian

rushed to her side.

Compared to the eight foot behemoths now bent

on ripping me apart, I am small, minuscule even, but

with all of the information I was able to glean about their

particular model from the interlink, I know that I am

faster and have the more robust AI. Against one of them,

my speed and mental agility would give me the upper

hand. With two, and with the threat of being

surrounded, my chance of being terminated increased

dramatically. Saving Sarah was my primary directive,

and if dying would make that a possibility, then so be it.

But if my destruction merely delays her fate, it will be for

nothing.

I stood absolutely still. No doubt, the blind

NBLF had switched to auditory processing to make up


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Max After Earth 21

catalyzer out of my lower torso, inserting it into an

opening in the NBLFs chest cavity. Overriding the

oxygen intake, I put the catalyzer in full gear.

I scrambled and wrapped my legs around the

NBLF as he tried ever harder to knock me loose

This particular model of NBLF had a five inch

shell of galvanized steel meant to protect its fragile

hardware from a bomb blast. It truly was a tank on legs.

But all machines had to be built. All machines had to be

maintained. And all machines had to be updated. There

was always a nook, or a cranny, or some gaping hole that

would allow a human to open it up and get to all of its

delicate bitsa gaping hole that would allow it to be

destroyed from the inside out.

I laughed then, as I retracted the outtake hose of

my catalyzer, just as any soldier who laughs while

mowing down helpless children with a machine gun in

some unjust war, in some far off land. Its not the laugh

of someone who is humored, or even of someone who is

psychotic, but the laugh of someone who has to laugh

just to keep from crying in the face of a world which

cares not how violently we are ripped from it. I released


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22 Matthew Trotter

the reciprocating saw from my wrist and I touched it to

the thick metallic hide of the NBLF.

Sparks. It only took one. The build up of

hydrogen from my catalyzer had turned the NBLFs chest

cavity into a bomb waiting to go off. Blue flame belched

out of small gaps and holes littered about his body and

the giant machine staggered to a halt. Like he had earlier

when trying to pick up the sound of my movements, he

just stood there. The air was hot, acidic, and smelled of

burning plastic and silicone. Finally, the NBLFs knees

gave out under his weight and he fell, sending more bits

of glass flying as his face hit the pavement. There was

just no way that thick steel plating could save him when

he was being incinerated from the inside out.

You have a choice, I offered the second rogue,

jumping to my feet. You can either cease and desist, or

you can share the fate of your companion. He wavered.

He knew as well as I did that the odds were in my favor

now that his comrade was down.

The red glow of the NBLFs red optics strobed as

he blinked. He shifted his weight onto one foot. An

offensive pose? Did he really think he could take me? Or


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Max After Earth 23

did he just not care anymore?

And then he dropped onto his knees, his eyes on

the ground. Ido not want to die. He sat there for a

moment, probably expecting the worst, expecting me to

strike him dead. When I didnt, he lifted his eyes to mine.

You must let me bury Achilles.

I was taken aback by the sudden sentimentality

of a machine who only moments before had wanted to

crush me dead and spill human blood for petty theft. The

very thought of burying a machine was absurd. Its not

like it was going to decompose, and there were certainly

parts that could be reused. But as I stood above this

battle-hardened warrior groveling at my feet, I

recognized in his simple request, however absurd it was,

the very intelligence, loyalty, and humanity that our

creators had striven to imbue in us.

I nodded my approval.

Im Max, I offered.

I am Odysseus.

After we tend to the human female we can

arrange the burial of your companion.

He nodded then, in agreement, and stood,


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towering over me by two feet.

What the hell? came the voice of Senator

McRorian. This machine tried to kill an innocent

woman. It tried to rip you to pieces. And now, not only

are you not going to destroy it, but youre actually going

to help to bury the other one? The senator started

toward us. Of all the asinine things Ive ever heard, and

Ive heard a lot in my business, that one is damn near the

most asinine.

Odysseus let out a growl and bared his teeth at

Senator McRorian.

Senator, I started, I suggest you reevaluate

your solecism. If it were a dead human, you would feel

much differently.

For fucks sake! Of course I would! Theres

rhyme and reason behind burying a human. A machine?

What for?

Because, Senator, beyond all practicality,

burying the dead is a sentimental act. A sentimental act,

by a sentimental people, whose likeness we were created

in. You may think of us as just machines, but look in a

mirror and try to tell us that you are the more human


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Max After Earth 25

among us. With that, I turned my attention to Sarah.

Sarah Clarke, what is your condition?

M-my condition? she replied, weakly.

You are dehydrated. You need to drink. I

offered the hose from my oxygen-hydrogen catalyzer.

She pointed at the dead hull that was left of

Odysseus.

Oh, no. Its safe. Its just water.

She squinted, distrusting, but too dehydrated to

refuse, she opened her mouth and drank heavily.

Sarah was a small woman. About five foot four,

by my estimation, and a hundred and eight pounds. Her

straight brown hair was tied back in a loose bun. A pair

of holey jeans accompanied an old, faded, black Led

Zeppelin t-shirtseveral sizes too large. Through her

septum was a circular barbell. Each of her ears held a

one-inch plug.

Sarah drank up the water nearly as fast as the

catalyzer could draw in the requisite oxygen and

hydrogen from the atmosphere. Heavy breaths

punctuated her long gulps. Damn, she breathed. That

is the best water Ive had in years.


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26 Matthew Trotter

Senator McRorian wiped sweat from his brow

with the sleeve of his jacket, catching Sarahs eye.

Hey, dont I know you? she asked.

Im James McRorian. Senator James McRorian.

And I supposed youre one of my many unhappy

constituents. He nodded, something just shy of a bow.

Not by choice. She wrinkled her nose. I voted

for that other guyStevens. You, sir, clearly have not

read enough science fiction. Your entire campaign was

about funding the scientists. Dont you know that they

only care about moving forward?

Whats so bad about moving forward? Senator

McRorian wanted to know.

Sarah climbed to her feet, still weak, and

stumbled forward. I caught her, just barely, and held her

until she found her balance.

Whats so bad about moving forward, Sarah

continued, is that, for those scientists, this planet is old

news. It was an experiment that just didnt pan out.

Theres nothing left here worth saving, in their eyes. And

to be fair, theyre right up to a point.

Hey, it wasnt supposed to go like this. That


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Max After Earth 27

money was for an asteroid deflection mission. They

could have stopped all of this.

Yeah, well, now we know why youre not a

scientist.

That is enough, I interrupted. The two

NBLFs, Odysseus and Achilles, claimed that you stole

from Clive Baxters estate. Is this true?

Yes and no, answered Sarah. Outside of lab

grown stuff, food is pretty scarce. The old geezer died a

few months back, but his factory is still running on

autopilot. I snuck in to grab myself a bite. It's hardly

stealing if the guy is dead. But the next thing I knew,

these two apes were coming after me and they seemed

like the 'maim first, ask questions later' types, so I wasn't

in any hurry to stick around.

Yes, I said, the Social Independency

databases also show that Mr. Baxter is deceased, but for

some reason these two believed otherwise. Are you

certain, Odysseus, that your master is not dead?

Clive Baxter is not dead, he repeated.

Hmm. No bother, I suppose. If hes dead, hes

dead. If hes not dead, then hes probably long gone on


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28 Matthew Trotter

one of those ships. I looked Sarah over. Do you have

any injuries that require medical care?

Couple of scrapes. Ill live. Sarah wrapped her

arms around me, tighter than I could have expected from

someone of such stature. She leaned in close and

whispered, thank you for saving me.

I nodded and moved on to the other matters at

hand. We need to bury Achilles.

Even if I didnt think the idea was completely

ridiculous, piped in the senator, where do you think

were going to do that?

I looked around. Beneath our feet and as far as

we could see was a thick sheet of concrete. Even the

skies, being so littered with skyscrapers, appeared to be

covered in their own mix of cement, glass, and steel.

My masters estate, offered Odysseus. It has a

large yard. At a brisk walk, its probably twenty minutes

away.

Do you have a tow-line? I asked him.

Yes.

Well make it in five minutes.

Odysseus and I each attached our tow-lines to


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Max After Earth 29

what was left of Achilles.

Sarah, climb up on my back. Senator, you can

ride on Odysseus.

Senator McRorian waved his arms frantically.

Oh, no. Id rather walk twenty minutes, even in this

heat, than get a ride on Serial Killer Bot 9000.

Suit yourself. I knelt so that Sarah could wrap

her arms around my neck and her legs about my waist.

The warmth of her skin on mine, her soft arm hairs

tickling at my neck, and the expansion and contraction

of her lungs against my backtactile sensations were

such a distraction, but certainly a welcome one. Well

see you in twenty minutes, Senator?

Senator McRorian grumbled. You know what?

Fine. Just fine. I'll hitch a ride on that thing; but if he

kills me, I will personally come back to life and end you.

You hear me, Max?

I smiled. Loud and clear, Senator.


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About the author

Matthew was born in Hillsboro, Oregon on Friday the13th in the year of the Red Rabbit. He now lives just west

of Portland, Oregon with his tortoise, Avicenna. When he

isn't working on his next novel, he's practicing Tai Chi,

indulging his creative energies in the kitchen, or

maintaining his blog at

GoingBackwardMovingForward.com.

You can follow Matthew on Twitter at @RealMattTrotter,

or find more about the upcoming release of Max After

Earth at the Max After Earth Facebook Page.
http://www.goingbackwardmovingforward.com/http://twitter.com/#!/RealMattTrotterhttp://www.facebook.com/pages/Max-After-Earth/189258537784462http://www.facebook.com/pages/Max-After-Earth/189258537784462http://twitter.com/#!/RealMattTrotterhttp://www.goingbackwardmovingforward.com/

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