Synopsis

From a secret government project in a remote patch of the southwestern American desert, the new, slightly altered humans escape their generations-long imprisonment, triggering public hysteria. The new humans struggle to survive, the project staff wrestles with guilt, and the public grapples with biases, in a speculative near-future allegory of racism.

Reviews

From Amazon:
“SCALIES [is] an entertaining and compelling read . . . Datz weaves a vivid near-future tale about why these occupants choose to break away from their seemingly idyllic setting, why the government fears them getting out, and the conflict created as they enter the general population. The intricate cast of fragile characters enlivens the pages and adds to the enjoyment of this contemporary story.”

“. . . [uses] a clever science-fiction adventure to explore undercurrents of racial injustice infecting contemporary society. A rollicking good read with great pro-social values.”

“I was truly swept away in another reality for the duration. I can already see the movie version.”

” . . . a riveting page-turner! Intriguing and believable near-future sci-fi premise. Features complex, well-drawn characters with a sincere nod to diversity. Fast paced action keeps you hooked and guessing!”

Excerpt

     “You asked for this meeting,” Barry said.

     Sam considered that opening statement:  It was an indisputable fact, explicable in the small world of Sam’s employment, but not in the larger world of good, evil, and beauty. No time for such limitless speculation now, however. “They’re getting out again,” Sam said. “You know I do my best, but it’s like,” and Sam paused, looking for what it was like in the photo, on the wall, of Barry with a former U.S. Secretary of Something. Failing to find it, he said, “You know what it’s like.”

     Barry sat, his hands folded on his desk, with only an occasional glance at his computer screen. “Indeed I do,” he said.

     “They’re kids, it’s like joy-riding,” Sam said. “They always come back.”

     “Have they been seen?” Barry asked.

     “No press reports.”

     Barry waited.

     “My friends outside have seen them. There’s no other way I could know. In town, and by the convenience store.”

     “How many times?”

     “Once in each place.”

     “How?”

     “By accident,” Sam said. “Just happenstance.”

     “So you don’t know totals?”

     “No.”

     “How’d they get out?” Barry asked, his tone shifting from neutral to prosecutorial.

     Sam shrugged.

     “It matters,” Barry said, and Sam could hear the sound of incipient boiling.

     “It’s always different,” Sam said, trying to hide his despair. “A hole in a fence, a tunnel, some overlooked gap in a system somewhere.” He waved his arms to encompass the universe.

     “Bribery?” Barry said, his voice dangerously quiet.

     Sam leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and looked at the carpet. He shook his head, “The last case of that was a couple years ago.” The memory was not pleasant—but then, few memories of this business were.

     Barry swiveled sideways toward his window, leaned back in his executive chair and clasped his hands behind his head. The squeak of the chair made Sam look up at him.

     There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

     “The chips installed in them are pretty useless, aren’t they?” Barry said to the window, speculatively, as if about weather.

     “Totally, unless we catch one individual and scan him, or her, and then all it does is speed the identification.”

     “Yeah,” Barry said. “The chips were another good idea that failed.”

     Another long silence.

     “Barry,” Sam said. It was a plea.

     Barry sighed at the ceiling. “Only thing that works, Sam,” he said.

     “Only temporarily,” Sam said, clutching at straws.

     “Of course. From time to time we all need a dose of something.” Barry swiveled back and faced Sam across the desk. “And then, after a while, we need it again.”

     Sam said nothing.

     “What does Cheng say?”

     “I haven’t spoken to him lately. I expect he’ll have ideas about who they are, but nothing definite.”

     “I don’t totally trust Cheng.”

     Sam thought that redundant, since Barry totally trusted nobody.

     “But talk to him,” Barry said. “Make him give you a name.”

     Sam said nothing.

     “Sam,” Barry said, Sam knowing that the utterance of his name was always a prelude to an indisputable order, “don’t make me talk to Cheng myself. I don’t like talking to him.”

     Of course he didn’t. Cheng was human.