by Trinity Pierce (@trinitywrites.bsky.social)
YA Science-Fiction
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Query
I am seeking representation for METAL BONES, PLASTIC HEART, a YA Science-Fiction standalone novel complete at 85,000 words. It will appeal to those who enjoyed the slow-burn romance of The Dividing Sky by Jill Tew and the intense and gritty atmosphere of Mindwalker by Kate Dylan.
Eighteen-year-old Renaya Gillox is more comfortable with code than with people after growing up in an isolated mansion with only robots to talk to. When her estranged father–the co-founder of a robotics mega-corporation–dies under suspicious circumstances, he leaves Renaya a mysterious gift: an android named Alecto. Alecto doesn’t remember much, but he insists his friend Damian’s life is in danger.
Convinced Alecto’s missing memories can prove her father’s death was murder, Renaya travels with Alecto to the city of Neo Vaultira. There, she uncovers memory chips that link Alecto, Damian, and Renaya’s father in unexpected ways. However, the city’s dangerous elite know there’s a secret hidden within the chips, and they will stop at nothing to obtain them. Renaya must help Alecto reclaim his memories so she can unravel the mystery of Damian’s disappearance and her father’s murder before she ends up in a coffin of her own.
This manuscript won the 2025 #RevPit competition and its themes were inspired by my personal experiences with loneliness and grief during a childhood shaped by instability. I have bachelor’s degrees in multimedia journalism and Japanese, and I currently teach English at an elementary school in Minoh, Japan. My articles have been published in the Walla Walla Union-Bulletin and the Daily Evergreen.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
First Five Pages
Chapter 1
From a distance, the mourners looked like clusters of penguins huddled together. I fiddled with the end of my braid, strangling my fingertips with strands of black hair until they turned blue. A shiver ran through me as a cold breeze kissed the back of my neck; I tossed my braid back over my shoulder. I’d take the clean, freezing air over the stench of other people’s breath any day of the week, thank you very much. They could keep that.
In front of me, the coffin swayed above a six-foot pit. I tried to shut it out again. Think of wildflowers. Puppies. The beach. Dad’s wind-tousled hair and grinning face crash-landed into my mind. Just like that, I was back in reality, the frigid graveyard mud soaking through my boots, into my body, until it reached my lungs and stole my breath away. The chains lowering the coffin creaked as unbidden memories flashed through my mind like pictures from an old 2050s BrainTuner: laughter, shared ice cream, a warm hand stroking my hair. By this point, the memories were faded, worn. I’d turned them over in my head the way I’d turn a rock before skipping it across water. Those priceless, few moments we’d shared. I gritted my teeth.
For the funeral of the co-founder and CEO of Genesis Dynamics, the number of guests was smaller than it should’ve been. I counted maybe fifteen or so. I glanced at the General Security drones buzzing nearby. Based on the tight formation they were arranged in, the Gen Sec drone handler was experienced. His response to my list of questions about Dad’s death was filled with the same language the rest of these Neo Vaultira zombies used: “unforeseen circumstances” and “under official review” and blah, blah, blah. Someone new to the job wouldn’t have dodged my questions so gracefully. This handler guy was probably sitting in a nice, warm hotel room somewhere right now, watching us from miles away. I blew on my hands.
Whatever. It was hard to hide the truth from me when there were more drones than people here. Obviously, it was too risky for a real ceremony after the incident. No one would say what that incident was, of course. I’d spoken to four people, and they danced around it with the same skill as the drone handler. Incident. Situation. Unfortunate event.
I wanted to grab them by the shoulders of their black coats and shake them until their eyes rolled around in their sockets. Say it__, I’d scream, say it was murder. As if anyone would admit it. For them, it was more than a death–it was an opportunity. The lunar colonies had a better chance of independence than I did of proving Dad’s murder. It was clearly an accident. To say otherwise would be conspiracy, and conspiracy theorists didn’t end well in the American Corporate Coalition.
One of the penguins broke off from the block of monotone clothing. A short, stocky woman with long, pink hair and a cybernetic arm drifted toward me. I leaned back on my heels. I’d get to deal with Jarra and yet another sob-filled talk. Fantastic.
It was weird to see her broken like this. It freaked me out, to be honest. Her usual patient smile had never cracked, no matter the situation. That included the multiple times I’d begged her to keep my crappy English grades out of her stupid monthly reports. Not that Dad had said much about it. Mom was the one to do that. Another ache hit my chest and I shoved numb fingers into the pockets of my leather coat.
Jarra’s hand jittered; it was locked into a fist again. She’d need to find a new way to get MedTech coverage now that both of her bosses were dead. “I’m sorry, Naya. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you,” she said.
Here we go. I stared at my feet and forced a hoarse “thank you” past the lump in my throat.
“I know you’d like to think you’re all grown up now,” Jarra said, “but if you ever need anything, you can always call me.” Jarra tapped the side of her head, causing a thin metal disc implanted in her temple to flicker a white light. At least her Metabutton seemed to be functioning.
Eyes cemented to the ground, I nodded. Jarra wrapped me in a tight hug, her locked fist pressing into my back. Under normal circumstances, Jarra’s hugs threatened to squeeze my insides out. This hug was weaker, though I couldn’t tell if it was because Jarra’s arm was broken or because the hollow pit in my stomach left lots of room for my organs to shift. I bit the inside of my cheek for the millionth time in a week. Jarra walked away, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue clutched in her working hand.
A man dressed in a sharp black suit approached me next. Two muscled Sentinels flanked him. I sucked air through my teeth. Sentinels–they looked more machine than human. Cybernetic implants and augmentations covered every portion of their being; an article by The Daily Reaper had buzzed for claiming Sentinels relied on daily doses of the latest addictive black market drug, glimstim, to manage their side effects. The paper went under shortly after.
I avoided looking at the creatures, instead fixating on the man in the suit–Chrim Mitchell. So, he’d actually come, unlike Mom’s funeral. His mouth was set as thin as the blade of a knife, and his high cheekbones and bushy eyebrows were the same as those in the dusty photographs that lined Dad’s bookshelf. The last time I’d seen him was in an EvoSynth advertisement.
“Renaya.” His voice was soft, gentle. It didn’t match his sharp features. His words fell from his chapped lips like cotton candy flowing from a volcano. The wind ruffled his hair, locks changed from the advertisement's bright red helmet of hair gel to a subdued brown with jagged lines of gray streaking through it. “I know there's not much that can be said, but I want you to know your father was a brilliant man.”
I kicked at a rock.
“It's such a terrible situation,” Chrim continued. "No one could have expected something like this.”
That was the one thing he had right: I didn’t expect to put my BrainTuner on my head, turn on its hologram screen, and have a tabloid headline burn into my eyeballs. “SHOCKING TRAGEDY: Old 2020s Era Car EXPLODES Into Pieces, Genesis Dynamics Co-Founder Benjamin Gillox DEAD After FIERY INFERNO.” I thought I sucked at writing, but the author of that “article” managed to do the impossible and suck more. The title was clickbait–Dad was a sentence out of the whole thing. The rest was mostly about the dangers of groundies versus hovercraft. As if anyone cared.
“I’m glad you’re alright,” Chrim said. “I’ll ensure you receive all the funds and benefits due to you as Ben’s daughter.”
What he meant was he was going to throw some money at me and go back to pretending I died with his own daughter. I stared at him until he cleared his throat. He couldn’t even look me in the eyes.
“Thank you, Mr. Mitchell,” was all I decided to say. It took every drop of willpower not to bring up Mom’s funeral. If Vera was still alive, she would’ve jumped in and changed topics, protected both her father and her best friend. I swear she had a freaking sixth sense or something that told her when I was about to snap.
“I mean it, Naya. I owe a lot to Ben's genius.” His eyes flashed neon green, Metabutton not required. Advanced tech–a hidden cyber body modification, befitting of the remaining founder of Genesis Dynamics. He sighed. “I apologize, but I need to be back in Neo Vaultira before sundown. Take care.”
I nodded, watching him bend his tall frame over the abyss Dad rested in. That was goodbye, then. He was a shell of the man he was before Vera died from her own “accident.” He used to care. I used to accept things at face value. Clearly, we’d both changed.
I turned on my heel, the water of a muddy puddle splashing underfoot. This was the perfect opportunity to escape from this ceremony with perfumed, gelled people sporting painted frowns and glistening eyes. I fumbled around in my pocket for a button and pushed it. Seconds later, a car came bumping down the potholed street. It still felt weird to be able to leave places whenever I wanted. Jarra gave the keys to me as an extremely delayed birthday present. No better way to say “happy 18th birthday, also sorry your dad’s dead,” than giving me what I wanted after I didn’t need to use it anymore.
This groundie was another one of Dad’s favorites from his collection of ancient stuff, but it wasn’t the favorite. The car he’d loved was a rustbucket I’d nicknamed “Sammy” after its ugly salmon-pink color. He worked on it all the time, knew it inside and out. It was the same one that “spontaneously” exploded and killed him. The taste of blood filled my mouth. I ran my tongue over the scarred insides of my cheeks and relaxed my clenched jaw, then stepped into the car without saying goodbye.
People could try to keep their eyes closed to the truth, but once I had answers, I was going to rip their lids open.
And I was going to get my answers.