Team Krista #8: DRIVERS

Title: DRIVERS
Genre: Science fiction
Word count: 84,000

Query:

Ash Palmer sold his life for 150,000 dollars. The money will go to his parents, and he’ll go to his grave. All he has to do is drive a supposedly unmanned vehicle into battle for a foreign army, and it will all be over. This time, the inevitable second thoughts won’t steal the ending Ash seeks.

It’s the suicide to end all attempts, but Ash just isn’t any good at dying. When he and Zephyr, another driver, make it back from their first mission, Ash discovers that she understands him better than he thought possible. So many reasons to die, yet one reason to live might overrule them all.

Unfortunately, their employer won’t let either of them quit. He’ll kill them to advance his career. They know too much. And inside each vehicle is a self-destruct to destroy all evidence of the human drivers if anything goes wrong.

Ash has a plan to override the self-destruct and escape, but it’s a suicide mission in and of itself. The future looks darker by the hour. Giving his life to save Zephyr’s is a far better death than Ash has ever faced. But is it really the best thing for her? Maybe the question isn’t whether he has the courage to die for Zephyr, but whether he has the courage to live for both of them.

First page:

I don’t exist anymore. Not as a real person, anyway. I’m more like cargo. Expensive cargo, with my own guard and a corporate jet. The steps down to the tarmac are steep but sturdy. The sky arches overhead, splashed with clouds. A city squats nearby, skyscrapers reaching. And the air smells foreign.

I’m not a prisoner, exactly. I’m an employee. My first day on the job has been everything they promised--exciting, new, well-paying. My last day on the job is less than a week away, though they’re not certain exactly when. That’s too bad, because I’d really like to know when I’m going to die. Mostly, I just want to get through the days until then.

My guard hands a passport to another man who must be airport security.

“Ash Palmer,” he mutters, glancing up at me. I guess it’s my passport. This ain’t normal airport security. There’s no metal detector, no customs, not even a desk. Just the one guy who writes something in a book and doesn’t bother stamping passports.

There were three others like me on the plane, each with his--or her--own guard. Mine looks like Yul Brynner: bald, sharp jaw line, intense manner. He collects the passports of the two recruits who went through security first, drops them into a small vinyl pouch with mine, and waits for the girl behind me.

She’s the only girl. The guards, security guy, and the other recruits are all men. I suppose that applies to me as well, though I’m still more comfortable with “boy.”