A sixteen year old Welsh hill-farmer, a human-alien hybrid and a robot life-form with a bad sense of humour take on an alien leader set to invade Earth in this Young Adult sci-fi romance.

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Teenager, Joe Kendrick, thinks he’s got problems. The farm he’s looked after since his father’s suicide is failing and his brother wants to sell it, his girlfriend has dumped him and his normally down-to-earth Nan starts muttering about seeing UFO’s. And all Joe wants is to live a ‘normal’ life.

Then he saves suicidal stranger Sarah from drowning. What Joe doesn’t know is that Sarah is a human/alien hybrid, sent to test viability of life on Earth, and, as she’s survived, hostile aliens are already planning their attack.

Ninety-five percent Human is available in  PAPERBACK  and  EBOOK

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Being both a lover of science fiction as well as young adult, I was completely enthralled.

Patricia Scholes

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Read the first two chapters

chapter one

There’s a storm coming. I can hear the thunder rumbling over the steady chug of the tractor and a threatening band of cloud has covered the top of the mountain, bridging the gap between earth and space. I chuck the last hay bale onto the stack. There’s sweat trickling down my face and bits of grass stuck in the sweat but I’m pleased; I’ve cut and baled all the bottom fields, by myself. Now, if I can just get it covered before the rain hits …

Forks of lightning split the sky as I drag a tarpaulin over the hay. The August sun’s burning but it won’t be long before it’s wiped out by the cloud. It’s so black I don’t see the Hawk jet skimming the summit of Cader Berwyn until it roars over my head. I duck for cover. The RAF fly training missions all the time along our valley but the noise still makes me jump; stupid really. Anyway, the Hawk banks hard left and disappears round the hillside and I grab a rope, tie down the tarp, climb on the tractor and head home. It’s the first day I’ve finished early for weeks and tonight I’m going out.

The day’s turned dark and I don’t make it back before the rain starts, huge spots as big as your fist. Lightning flashes so close the air crackles and the hairs on my arms stand on end, then the jet takes another pass, trailing some imaginary enemy along the mountain top.

The farmhouse is silhouetted against the thunder clouds as I round the hill; faded creamy paintwork flaking off its solid, grey stone walls. It belonged to my father, and his father before him, and his father before that and … you get the idea. A stream of water runs down my neck as I turn into the yard. Then I spot Rob’s battered Fiesta and the day really turns black.

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