Illegal Aliens 6

Welcome to weekend writing warriors. Many fine authors, and me, contribute short snippets for your delectation. This is the start of a new work, Illegal Aliens. It is something of a cross between a horror story, a science fiction tale, and a romance.

Roland, an archaeology instructor at Reading University (academic ranks in the UK are different than in the US, he’d be an assistant professor in the land of the free), is on his way to London. He’s on call when something unusual turns up in the works on the new underground. After an interesting conversation on the train, he arrives to find the odd item – a block of Roman Concrete which is covered in inscriptions.

This blurb starts after he’s caught a cab back home, or close enough (his local).

A few minutes and twenty pounds later, Roland stood in front of the Roebuck; he paused before entering the old pub; through the door in the brick face below the timber and stucco; it had been his local when he had started as a junior faculty member at the university. It was still his local, after … after his wife and son had disappeared; they’d planned to move, even looked at houses that were much nicer than the terrace they lived in, but events had intervened.

He pushed the door open, relaxed in the comforting familiar buzz of voices, and walked up to the bar.

“The usual?”

“Nah, maybe curry for a change, and a pint.”

“Courage?”

Roland laughed, the local brewery’s name seemed oddly appropriate, “Directors’ ale if you have it.”

The barkeep drew him a pint, placed it on the bar, and went to place his order in the kitchen.

Roland found a table, off in a corner by himself where he could watch the television; it was playing reruns of some murder mystery or another; a show that wasn’t entrancing enough to distract him from his thoughts; he took out his camera and studied the pictures.

“Odd all those religious symbols … it will make a good paper,” He started transcribing what he could make out of the inscription onto a sheet of paper; fragments of Latin eroded by time and bomb damage; there were hints of Greek, and a run of Occam’s runes.

My sincere apologies for abusing semi-colons.

Using Courage here is a bit of an anachronism. Founded in 1787, they finally closed in 2010, but until then were based in Reading. You could see the brewery from the M4. It’s still brewed by Charles Wells, but it isn’t quite the same.

You can find my, well our, works here.

Author: Amelia

A mild-mannered professor of computer science in real-life, I remove my glasses in the evening to become, well, a mild-mannered author in my alternate reality. I mostly write sweet romantic fiction, although with an occasional science-fiction or paranormal angle thrown in. I have interests in history, mathematics (D'oh), and cryptography. I'm also something of an Anglophile, and know that country pretty well. In addition to writing, research, and more writing, I volunteer with the scouts. I'm something of a nature-nut, enjoying long walks in the country with almost ultra-light gear, boating, and identifying wildlife. View all posts by Amelia