Sci-Fi Romance Quarterly, Issue 10

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Speaking of #diversity...

Over the past twelve months, I’ve been noticing an uptick in the number of posts and tweets around the topic of diversity.

As a small, brown Asian woman who mostly writes nonwhite protagonists, I’m very happy to know that the voices of people like me are starting to penetrate the writing and reading landscape. Speaking as a non-white woman, however, I wouldn’t want to think that, by championing diversity, we are trying to take the voice away from others. This shouldn’t be a space where one group of people should automatically lose out (or feel they’re losing out) because someone else is finally getting some recognition. It’s my personal belief that the co-existence of a plurality of views is the optimal situation, which is why I’d like to suggest that diversity isn’t just about One Thing. Indeed, seen in its proper light, diversity can be sought out and championed everywhere. Allow me to share some examples.

Diversity in experience. I can tell you that our Fiction Editor, Diane Dooley, is ecstatic when she discovers a debut author. If you go back through our Fiction archives, you’ll see that we have a good representation of writers for whom SFRQ was their first sale. Even though it was all Diane’s work, I can’t help but feel inordinately proud of our efforts in helping support new writers. I’d like to see more anthologies with this kind of vibe. For example, too many SF collections I pick up have the same old names making up the contents. I’d love to see editors shake things up a bit and get out of the predictability rut. I know, I know, it has to do with the pulling power of famous names, but a reader can still hope.

Diversity in intimacy/sexuality/relationships. Wow, have we come a long way in this! And SFRQ continues to be very much open to GLBT stories, but I’m still seeing a dominance of human-human stories. How about human-alien? And, by alien, I don’t mean just-stick-something-on-her-ears/nose Star Trek type aliens, but something really different. How about an alien robot? How about falling in love with a ship? How would you feel if a planet fell in love with you? How would that work? I don’t know, but wouldn’t it be interesting finding out?

Diversity in profession. As much as I’m utterly meh on Firefly, Joss Whedon did an admittedly wonderful thing in creating engineer, Kaylee Frye. But that doesn’t mean I want every capable heroine to be an engineer trying to coax an additional kilojoule of energy from her engines by cross-patching the secondary power relays. The family are in a bit of an Arrow/The Flash glom at the moment, and we adore Felicity Smoak. Okay, the IT stuff? So not realistic, but Felicity is smart, brave, capable and yet vulnerable. Some smart SFR author out there could pitch a heroine who, at the story’s climax, uses recursive algorithms to tie a tachyon transmitter to input from a nearby quasar in order to set up an amplifying resonance loop to completely blow the invading fleet into smithereens and...lookie here...no

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space-grease needed. (Or any gratuitous Arrow references.) Of course, the nearby planet would need some kind of shielding in order to...no, I’m not going to figure it out here! But I’d like to see the heroine being taken out of the back room and given something else to agonise over. Something that puts her on the bridge, rather than in the nacelles, giving her a whole new world to explore. To use the Star Trek schema again, why not a female cyborg Head of Security? Why not a female telepathic astronavigator? Why not a female alien tentacled starship designer? Why limit a capable woman to the bowels of the ship when she can roam freely throughout it?

Diversity in length. I’m talking about stories, get your mind out of the gutter! :) We writers like crafting long stories. I myself have become a novel writer over the past couple of years, but I’ve come to realise that perhaps I’m getting a bit too comfortable with novel-length stories. Short stories are a bitch to write. Whenever I think of them, I imagine using a magnifying glass to carve objects out of a grain of rice. I don’t “do” short stories...which suggests that maybe it’s high time that I tried. The same applies to you. Try something out of your comfortable zone, like an SFR short story. And, once they’re done, you can submit them to SFRQ! So there you go. Like everything else in the world, diversity is a movable feast. Whenever I read a story written by a brand-new author, whenever I cheer for a heroine who isn’t a soldier or engineer, whenever I marvel over how much universe has been packed into a few hundred words, I believe I’m championing diversity. It’s everywhere. You just have to look. *** Which is a nice segue to that time of year again: the SFR Galaxy Awards. I’ve always liked the Galaxy Awards because they put resonance over category. As complex beings, we have many likes and dislikes; many things that appeal to us. And the Galaxies mesh with that completely, because it doesn’t force you to mark a story that includes your favourite type of character above or below another that contains your favourite setting. Both appeal and both are rewarded.

Moving forward, we hope to make the first issue of every year an SFR Galaxy Award issue. The team and I think that the best way to promote SFR is to promote its awards, and we’re starting with the Galaxies. If any other body would like to take part of an issue to write about their own SFR or SFwRE awards, drop us a line and let’s talk. We don’t bite...hard. ;) Thanks for downloading this quarter’s issue. Now go read!

Kaz Augustin

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December We strive to include as many sci-fi romance releases as possible, but with current time constraints, we apologise in advance if your release was no included in our round-up

POSH BYTES (C. Rose, anthology, a unique opportunity beyond his wildest imaginings. $2.99e, $14.99p, indie) "FALL INTO POSH BYTES, WHERE EVERYONE IS BEAUTIFUL...In a universe where anyone can choose to be beautiful, who really is? Appearances can be deceiving, and usually are. When reality is shaped by illusion, anything can happen.Science and art converge in the luxe glamour of BeautyWorld. These loosely connected Tales of Whimsey and Woe explore the concept of perceived beauty, and how the lives and loves of Posh Bytes' colorful characters are affected for the better or worse because of it.In a world where everyone appears to be perfect, what can possibly go wrong?"

"Supernova" - Mink is a rising, young supermodel who craves perfection and immortality, and will go to any lengths to achieve her goals.

"Shark Bait" - Shark is a professional thief, unable to complete a heist to steal celebrity sex pheromones for the black market. Is he being set up for failure?

"The Death Mask" - Beetle is an elderly mortician who crosses paths with a young woman unable to deal with the death of her mother.

"Clover Fields Forever" - Clover is a beauty and fashion program junkie who can't stop spending money, despite the consequences.

"Moth to Flame" - Moth is an unassuming fashion programmer who gets drawn into the dark world of corporate espionage and human slavery.

UNTOUCHABLE LOVER: Worlds of Lemuria: Earth Colony #1 (Rosalie Redd, novel, $.99e, $14.95p, indie)

"Eye of the Beholder" Lavender is a woman who hasn't been able to get over the death of her spouse until the day she meets an unusual man who captures her heart. Will His crown or a forbidden female? One tough choice. the secrets the two keep from one another jeopardize their budding relationship?

A devastating war…

"The Hawk" - Sparrow is an astronaut whose Across the globe, shape-shifting Lemurian world is turned upside down after an accident that warriors battle against a deadly enemy in the dark claims his neural implant and almost costs him his of night. The prize—Earth’s most precious life. Surprisingly, his limitations provide him with resource—water, and the fate of humankind. To

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unite the soldiers, Lemurian gods send the diverse species to the underground Keep to join forces with their brethren and contend against their adversary.

Saber, a wounded Trivator, believes he is no longer a fit warrior, much less strong enough to claim a mate. Scarred, he does everything in his power to push away the delicate human female he has fallen in love with. He knows that she deserves a warrior An illicit allure… who can protect her, not one that will need her While searching for his missing healer, King Noeh constant help. didn’t expect to find an unusual, green-eyed Taylor Sampson may be human, but that doesn’t female chained to the wall in an abandoned make her weak. She and her two older sisters asylum deep in the survived living on Earth woods, evidence of her for four years after their torment in the branding world went crazy. She is iron at her feet.

Captivated, he rescues the all grown up now and petite female and brings has her eye on the one stubborn Trivator that her to his underground captured her heart seven home. Despite the years before. requirement to select a queen of his species by Taylor has one last the next new moon or requirement in order to lose his crown, a complete her schooling. forbidden attraction Once she finishes, she blooms. plans to show Saber that he is the man she wants, A tormented soul… but when the planet she Haunted by the memory is on erupts into a civil of her dead mate and war, she is trapped child, Melissa can’t behind enemy lines. escape her past or her future. On the run from her When Saber discovers that Taylor has been left controlling master, she didn’t intend to get behind, the warrior inside him refuses to think of captured by the enemy, or be rescued by a her as collateral damage in a savage battle for brooding, handsome king. When she succumbs to power. her need for a male’s blood and drinks from the Journey to a lawless, alien world and discover honorable king, she can’t ignore the compelling what happens when the beast awakens inside a desire he ignites in her soul. damaged Trivator warrior when the woman he Note: intended for mature audiences only (age loves is threatened.

18+)

CHALLENGING SABER: The Alliance #4 (S.E. Smith, novel, $3.99, Montana Publishing)

ATROPHY (Jess Anastasi, novel, $3.99, Entangled Select: Otherworld)

No one on Erebus escapes alive...

Sometimes it takes losing the one thing closest to a warrior’s heart to wake the beast that lives inside Twelve years on the prison planet Erebus makes a man long for death. The worst part for Tannin him…

Everette is that he was framed for murder. He's

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innocent. When the ship Imojenna lands for emergency repairs, Tannin risks everything to escape...only to find himself face to face with the captain's undeniably gorgeous sister.

Zahli Sherron isn't planning on turning Tannin in.

In fact, she actually believes him. Sure, he's sexy as every kind of sin, but he's no criminal—so she hides him. But no one escapes from Erebus and lives to tell about it. With every day that passes, Zahli further risks the lives of the entire crew...even as she falls in love with a man she can never have for herself.

SPACE INVADERS (Catherine Rose, short story, $.99, indie) 1.5 Million years ago the earliest humans nearly vanished. We survived but no one knows how.

Rumors and myth were all the remained of a past that seemed impossible.

Until now.

The sphere has been found again.

The countdown to the next stage of human evolution is about to begin, and humanity might not survive this time. Or at least not those that are marked for removal.

(Note-this contains some violence, adult themes & erotic material)

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January We strive to include as many sci-fi romance releases as possible, but with current time constraints, we apologise in advance if your release was no included in our round-up

SCI-FI CINDERELLA (S.R. Booth, novel, $3.99, indie) A secretive civilization works as Earth's guardian angel, but for the upcoming disaster, they're going to have to bring in Outside help.

Tamara Worth thought her "life plan" was finally getting on track when the whole thing crumbles beneath her. Now she's doing what she can to piece it back together. Even if that means working for a shady company and a very average man who absolutely doesn't fit in her life plan but who she unexpectedly finds irresistible.

Nick Walsh is anything but average IF you can see through the shroud he has to wear. He's destined to rule Aerth, but without a strong woman by his side, his powers won't be strong enough to protect the world. Tamara shows up as his perfect match, and he's pleasantly surprised, until he realizes she'll never be happy trapped in his small part of the world. Now that he's met the woman of his dreams will he be able to settle for anything less?

When Tamara disappears, he might not have a choice.

PEYTON’S DOLL, Part One: The New Earth Series #1 (Felicity Kates, serial, novella, $.99, indie) She's not what the doctor ordered, but she's just what he needs.

1000 years after Earth has been devastated by a viral plague, the few survivors turn to genetic

engineering and advanced robotics to ensure the future of the human race. But not everyone is happy with artificial life living amongst humans, least of all Peyton Chase, a doctor with a harrowing past.

When he’s ‘gifted’ with a state-ofthe-art companion that he can’t send back, Peyton is far from pleased.

She’s sentient. She’s sexy. She’s everything he doesn’t want complicating his life. He nicknames her Hell. She nicknames him lots of unladylike things, at least in her mind. Because there are rules to a relationship like theirs. Master and Slave. She’s supposed to obey him in all things. But if that’s true, why can’t she stop meddling in his life?

Unfortunately, time is running out for Hell. Her own desperate past is about to catch up to her with deadly results.

This book is part one of a serial sci-fi romance series.

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DARK DEEDS: Class 5 #2 (Michelle boss and ex-boyfriend look like a fool. After weeks of research and leg work, she finally Diener, novel, $4.99, Eclipse) Rescue might just be the death of her.

Far from home . . .

Fiona Russell has been snatched from Earth, imprisoned and used as slave labor, but nothing about her abduction makes sense. When she's rescued by the Grih, she realizes there's a much bigger game in play than she could ever have imagined, and she's right in the middle of it.

discovers the holy grail of bounties and sets out to reel it in.

Only, the alien Tulan bounty hunter, Finn Strydom, beats her to it. Rushing to the payload and bickering all the way, the two find themselves stranded on an abandoned ship with no hope of rescue. A last minute confession leads to a hot close encounter as the two face death.

Far from safe . . .

Battleship captain Hal Vakeri is chasing down pirates when he stumbles across a woman abducted from Earth. She's the second one the Grih have found in two months, and her presence is potentially explosive in the Grih's ongoing negotiations with their enemies, the Tecran. The Tecran and the Grih are on the cusp of war, and Fiona might just tip the balance.

MATED WITH THE CYBORG: CyOps #2 (Cara Bristol, novella, $4.99, indie)

Kai Andros’s orders were simple. Get in. Gather the intel on the terrorist organization. Get out.

Then he met her. Mariska. Beautiful. Innocent.

Ignorant of her father’s atrocities. And Far from done . . . marked for Fiona has had to bide her time while she's been a death. His orders prisoner, pretending to be less than she is, but said nothing when the chance comes for her to forge her own about saving her. destiny in the new world she's found herself in, she But he did. He grabs it with both hands. After all, actions speak went offlouder than words. mission. [* A review of this book is in this issue.]

Can a rogue cyborg outrun both Cyber DEADLOCKED (Libby Sinclair, Operations and novella, $1.99, indie) the terrorists to Brielle Connors, former officer for the elite bounty save the woman he loves? hunters the Cavalier Security Corp, is on a mission. To get her job back and make her old

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Mated with the Cyborg is an action-packed erotic sci-fi romance between a man with a mission and a woman with a secret that jeopardizes their lives and the fate of the galaxy.

heightens, Merq discovers that he may not have as much control over his actions as he thought he did.

Further complicating their tangled relationship, Armise may be just as compromised.

Desperate to learn the truth, Merq and Armise put themselves directly REASON FOR EXISTENCE in the path of a (Richard Botelho, novel, $.99e, powerful enemy. $14.95p, Windstream Publishing They’ve spent fifteen years of their lives Company) on the knife’s edge When David Jordan, an extraterrestrial human in of trust and loyalty. appearance, agrees to What they learn help U.N. Secretary about each other’s General Nicholas pasts—and what it Straka resolve an means for their escalating nuclear future—will bring crisis, he also learns them together or he must defuse a definitively tear horrifying plot to them apart. exterminate humanity by a hostile Merq’s life has always been at risk race of beings who —one bullet away despise human culture. Somehow, he from death in sacrifice of his mission. As his focus begins to shift, Merq may be too late to understand must thwart both what, and who, is most important in his life. crises before a worldwide Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of intervention is graphic violence, forced genetic modification, launched by his genetic experimentation, genetic experimentation superiors, destroying human innocence in the on children and torture. process.

Genre: Erotic Romance, Gay, Alternate Reality, In Reason for Existence, David learns the origins Men in Uniform, Futuristic and Science Fiction, of human conflict, the nature of secret societies, Action and Adventure the true meaning of friendship, and the enduring PRETTY HUMAN (Kayleigh Sky, qualities of love.

novel, $6.75, Pride Publishing) FALLING, ONE BY ONE: The Borders War #4 (S.A. McAuley, novel, $5.25, Pride Publishing) Whether Armise lived or died was never supposed to matter to Merq.

As the fight for the kids of the jacquerie begins and the war between Opposition and Revolution

Seeking absolution for his past in a fiery death, a young space force pilot crashes his ship on a desert planet.

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When Ellis Ligoria, King of Xol, witnesses a space ship hurtling to the planet’s surface, he rushes to the scene of the crash and joins the search party for survivors. As night descends, a strange compulsion leads him to the site of an underground city. Here he rescues a badly injured Jem. During his recovery, it is discovered that Jem is part Xolan.

Not only that, but he’s a genetically submissive variation called a Xolani. Ellis has no desire to care for a Xolani but cannot resist his desire for Jem. Taking him under his protection, he brings him home to his family.

Desperately wanting this new life, Jem claims to be a solitary Vagabond, a loner without family or home. A man nobody wants or is looking for. Safe for the first time in his memory, Jem has hopes for a happy future. He is falling in love with Ellis and adores his new family. All he wants is to live a quiet life as Ellis’ consort, but as his secrets sink him deeper and deeper into a prison of lies, he knows that he cannot hide his true identity forever.

Marrying Ellis is a dream come true, but he’ll never escape the brutal man he is running from.

Arturo is on the run for murder, and trying to survive in the wild west. He was creeping by undetected until he was snagged by Ezekiel Estridge, a sinister man who has need of Arturo's talents as a thief to steal back a collection of inventions created by his father and stolen by a traitorous friend.

But Arturo isn't the hardened criminal his wanted posters claim, making him less than ideal for the job. For one, he's not actually a cold-blooded killer, and refuses to become one for Ezekiel. The payment, however, is enough gold to pay off the price on his own head, so he agrees to the job. But theft and avoiding murder are easier said than done, and the growing attraction between him and his strange employer doesn't help matters.

THE SPACE MERCHANTS OF ARACHNE: The Space Merchants #2 (Wendie Nordgren, novel, $1.99, indie)

Teagan Alaric Montgomery Lee Soon called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice, Jem must fight to stop a powerful monster bent on has travelled through Galaxic revenge. space, married the man of her dreams, and FOR ALL THE GOLD IN THE gained the loving VAULT (Jasmine Gower, novella, family she always $3.99, Less Than Three Press) has needed.

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However, news of her father’s capture and execution by the Parvac Empire throws Teagan’s life into turmoil. Fearing her Parvac grandfather, General Valen, plans to abduct her, Teagan is desperate to avoid her grandmother’s fate. Never again to see Yukihyo or her family is a nightmare that forces Teagan from the stars to remain on Arachne.

Caught in a power struggle between the Galaxic Government and the Parvac Empire, Teagan’s fate hangs in the balance. Being protected by the Galaxic Militia, her family, and thousands of sentient Arachnean Silk spiders, may not be enough to prevent Teagan from losing everyone she loves.

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February We strive to include as many sci-fi romance releases as possible, but with current time constraints, we apologise in advance if your release was no included in our round-up

ELECTROMANCER (Daco, novel, $3.47, Crimson Romance)

She couldn’t get him out of her mind—and that’s when the trouble started.

With a heart as pure as platinum and electricity at her fingertips!

FBI Special Agent Alana Matheson is good at her job, despite a past that would make even a seasoned agent cringe.

She has no time for the outside help the victim’s family has brought in on a kidnapping case, no matter how good-looking he is.

Soaring like a falcon at the speed of light!

She’s …

ELECTROMANCER! When arch villain Momo threatens to destroy the world with The Big Zapper—a weapon of mass destruction the likes of which has never been seen before—it’s up to Alexa Manchester and her new electricityharnessing superpowers to stop him.

But galactic tracker Gabriel Cruz is no ordinary private investigator, and the skills he brings to the job will save both their lives.

Because Lana and Gabriel are not the only ones seeking an unusual little boy and his mother.

With a little help from her Their rivals in the chase sexy chauffeur, Sigfred are not of this world, and only an alliance built on Sawyer, and some the bonds of love can ensure that Lana and Gabriel exciting encounters with the mysterious and beat the alien hunters to their prey. handsome Blue Arrow, soon Alexa’s love life is [* A review of this book is in this issue.] charged up, too. And to defeat the seemingly invincible Momo, it might just take the naturally super power of love to save the day.

Offering all the Kabam! Pow! Zap! of beloved comic book sagas with the beating heart of a love story, this over-the-top, genre-blending send-up is sure to delight superhero fans and romance readers alike.

TROUBLE IN MIND: Interstellar Rescue #2 (Donna S. Frelick, novel, $2.99, INK’d Press)

COUNTDOWN TO ZERO HOUR: Black Ops: Automatik (Nico Rosso, novel, $3.49 Carina Press)

Former Special Forces agent Artem "Art" Diaz is tattooed, muscular and undeniably dangerous. He's also deep undercover, posing as mob muscle for a deadly bratva boss. His mission: gain the Russians' trust. Then lead the strike team that will take them down.

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Chef Hayley Baskov knows better than to get involved with someone with such close mafia ties, but the handsome bodyguard who brought her to this sprawling estate full of ruthless mobsters is inexplicably kind. A little flirtation may keep her safe amid the growing menace.

As Art's timetable for action escalates, so do his encounters with Hayley.

Stealing what illicit pleasure they can keeps them both sane in the face of evil. But when things get dangerous, Art has to tell her about his assignment, bringing her deeper into the shadowy world of black ops…and putting her life on the line.

listens to the local radio station where DJ Milo does all-night requests. After many late nights spent with Milo on the phone, Eastyn realizes he is actually Milo Struthers, former guitarist and backing vocalist of the band Lightning Years. Only now, after a bad accident, Milo has been reduced to a sophisticated AI that runs the radio station, struggling for a proper body and autonomy…

PROJECT ORDELL (Susanna Hays, novel, $6.99, Dreamspinner Press)

Ordell Rutledge lives in the small town of Blackwick where he helps in his father’s modest automaton shop. While he enjoys interacting with the few people who grace his father’s business, he feels isolated because he can’t relate to them. For ten years, life’s been quaint and peaceful, but Ordell has a secret: he is an Now Art has a new objective: protect Hayley from automaton, sentient enough to pass as the men who'd see them both dead. human.

Ordell’s life is upended when the person he trusts most betrays him.

The planet Zaffre is known Heartbroken, he sets off for Linnesse, a for two things: blue sand city that accepts deserts and the fact it's automatons as people number one in robots mechanics and AI software and is booming with the latest technology. development. Eastyn With another sentient Ptolemy, a human worker from Earth, patrols Zaffre's automaton, Elias main loading docks during Griffith, at his side, they overcome obstacles and his night shifts. Ever since uncover the strange truth behind Ordell’s past. But sometimes the past is best left in the dark. coming to Zaffre with his sister, Genna, his life has been easier—but also far too quiet.

HOMESICK AT SPACE CAMP (Francis Gideon, novella, $3.99, Less Than Three Press)

To break up the monotony on one of his shifts, Eastyn

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For the Love of a Steampunk Heart: Firebend Chronicles 1.0 (Leah Ross, novel, $.99, indie) Sixty-four years ago, the Blast changed everything. The modern, interconnected world died and two disparate societies took its place. The pioneers founded their own world in the frontier of the Fringe. The rest crowded themselves into dome cities and cut themselves off from the world. Fringer or Domer. One or the other. Never both.

Until now.

Nick Massey is an inventor and mechanic, a Domer struggling to break out of his poverty-stricken existence and escape his tragic past. He’s brilliant. He’s talented.

He just lost his job.

With nothing keeping him in the city, he leaves his meager life behind and strikes out for the wild unknowns of the Fringe. He’s hoping to find happiness and purpose. Instead, he finds Zander.

Zander Pennington is a Fringer, born and bred, a lifelong resident of the town of Firebend. He’s tough and resourceful and absolutely intolerant of unknowns. As a partner in the region’s most lucrative mineral mining operation, he doesn’t have time to deal with anything but business.

Business is what he knows. Business is his comfort zone. Nick is not business.

Despite their inherent differences, Nick and Zander must learn to trust each other and work as

a team to thwart the danger that threatens them and all of Firebend. It’s the danger they can’t fight, though, that could break both of their hearts and destroy their lives.

CRASH AND BURN: Cyborg Sizzle #3 (Cynthia Sax, novella, $2.99, indie) Crash was manufactured to be one of the best warriors in the universe. The cyborg has spent many human lifespans fighting the enemy. But, unlike his battle-loving brethren, he doesn’t enjoy killing. When he escapes the Humanoid Alliance, he vows to never end another life.

Then he meets Safyre, an infuriating human female, and he considers breaking his vow.

Safyre will do anything to save her friend, the being she loves like a sister. She’ll ravish a huge hunky cyborg, kiss his best friend, and invoke scorching hot desires the male never realized he could feel. Dark soulful eyes, a quick wit, and a tempestuous passion won’t divert her from her mission.

Love, and a planet-destroying weapon, however, might stop her permanently.

Crash And Burn is Book 3 in the Cyborg Sizzle series and is a STANDALONE story.

It is also a dark BBW Cyborg SciFi Romance.

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March We strive to include as many sci-fi romance releases as possible, but with current time constraints, we apologise in advance if your release was no included in our round-up

TRAPPED: Condemned Series #1 (Alison Aimes, novel, $2.99e, $7.99p, indie) You use me for protection. I use you for pleasure.

Simple as that.

Cadet Bella West has one simple objective when she joins the scientific mission to Dragath25, the notorious penal planet housing Earth’s condemned. She will accept any risk to enable her siblings to share in the disappearing resources reserved for Earth’s elite. But when her shuttle crashes, her simple mission becomes complicated fast. Now, to stay alive she’ll have to depend on one of Dragath’s own. But such protection doesn’t come free.

THE COLD BETWEEN: Central Corps #1 (Elizabeth Bonesteel, novel, $11.99e, $12.99p, Harper Voyager) Deep in the stars, a young officer and her lover are plunged into a murder mystery and a deadly conspiracy in this first entry in a stellar military science-fiction series in the tradition of Lois McMaster Bujold.

When her crewmate, Danny, is murdered on the colony of Volhynia, Central Corps chief engineer, Commander Elena Convicted of a crime he Shaw, is shocked to didn’t commit, ex-soldier learn the main suspect is her lover, Treiko Zajec.

Caine Anders has She knows Trey is innocent—he was with her become more beast than when Danny was killed. So who is the real killer man after eight grueling and why are the cops framing an innocent man? years on an unforgiving planet of dirt and rock— and even more treacherous inhabitants. He doesn’t Retracing Danny’s last hours, they discover that his death may be tied to a mystery from the past: look out for anyone but himself and he certainly the explosion of a Central Corps starship at a never grows attached. So when the bold female wormhole near Volhynia. For twenty-five years, offers him pleasure in return for protection, he takes the deal without hesitation. He never expects the Central Gov has been lying about the tragedy, even willing to go to war with the outlaw PSI to how her touch will alter him. Or the realization protect their secrets. that saving her may be the key to his own With the authorities closing in, Elena and Trey salvation.

But caring for someone on Dragath25 may be the head to the wormhole, certain they’ll find answers on the other side. But the truth that awaits them is greatest hazard of all. far more terrifying than they ever imagined . . . a conspiracy deep within Central Gov that threatens

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all of human civilization throughout the inhabited reaches of the galaxy—and beyond.

when she saves his life the night he arrives. From a planet called Haven, Sarit is a breed of human created to survive the unhospitable planet and who are now seen by many as less than human.

DUST ON THE WING (Parker Foye, novella, $3.99, Less Than Three Press)

Though it causes resentment and brings her new trouble, Kara defends Sarit against abusers and builds a friendship with him that soon becomes the Captain Tam spends his life best part of her world. Try as she might though to travelling through space on enjoy the time they have together, even with the danger they face, it's impossible to forget that his beloved ship, the Paradigm Princess, and he eventually Sarit will return to traveling the stars and she'll be left more alone than ever. likes nothing better than being alone with the horizon.

However, when a routine stop on his favourite planet brings an unexpected new crew member, he breaks routine and agrees to take her on board—because if Tam plays this through, the powerful Marquis will owe him a favour. Surely that's worth a detour.

THE CYBERNETIC TEA SHOP (Meredith Katz, novella, $3.99, Less Than Three Press)

Clara Gutierrez is a highly-skilled technician specializing in the popular 'Raise' AI companions. Her childhood in a [* This book isn’t SFR, but migrant worker family has left her Romantic SF.] uncomfortable with lingering in any one place, so she sticks STINGER (Katya Harris, novella, around just long $3.99, Less Than Three Press) enough to replenish Kara was born and raised on the cold mining her funds before she planet of Reach, and moves on, her only has dreamed her constant companion whole life of being Joanie, a fierce, somewhere else. Stuck energetic Raise with an abusive hummingbird. mother and a dead end job, she longs to experience the worlds she only sees on the vid-screens.

Then those other worlds come to her by way of a stranger,

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Sal is a fully autonomous robot, the creation of which was declared illegal ages earlier due to ethical concerns. She is older than the law, however, at best out of place in society and at worst hated. Her old master is long dead, but she continues to run the tea shop her master had owned, lost in memories of the past, slowly breaking down, and aiming to fulfill her master's dream for the shop.

OPEN SKIES (Yolande Kleinn, short novel, $4.99, Less Than Three Press)

When Clara stops by Sal's shop for lunch, she doesn't expect to find a real robot there, let alone one who might need her help. But as they begin to spend time together and learn more about each other, they both start to wrestle with the concept of moving on…

Eleazar Dantes isn't the first client to hire them to locate lost family, but he is the most unpleasant. For double their usual fee, though, Kai and Ilsa will tolerate a lot—even Dantes' insistence that he tag along on the investigation. A high stakes hunt is no time for distractions. When Kai realizes his true feelings for Ilsa, his timing couldn't be worse.

AT THE EDGES (Alden Lila Reedy, novella, $3.99, Less Than Three Press) Joan and her starship crew are in the business of slaves—specifically, rescuing as many as possible from the oppressive Empire. After dropping off their latest passengers and resupplying, Joan and her second-in-command, Luana, decide to ferry out citizens looking to escape imperial clutches.

It means they risk taking on spies, but when the first meeting goes well, they decide to chance it.

But a trip that starts well soon turns sour, between problems with the ship, passengers asking uncomfortable questions, and a confession from Luana that Joan fears will only end in disappointment and destroy the friendship they've already built.

And before they have a chance to sort their problems out, the whole journey abruptly goes from bad to worse…

Partners for seven years, Ilsa and Kai are the best Professional Finders in the business. There's nothing they can't track down, no matter how hazardous the path or unfamiliar the star system.

Because as the trail they follow grows more dangerous, Kai and Ilsa begin to doubt they'll find Eleazar's missing daughter alive.

WANDERING STAR (K.M. Penemue, novella, $4.99, Less Than Three Press) Zane and Sixia are Jacks, meaning they'll take on almost any job, though most of their time is spent running cargo and hunting bounties across space.

While on Venus, they take on a job well outside the usual: deliver Isais, a slave,

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to his waiting master. The job comes with explicit instructions not to treat Isais like a person, but it's not long before Zane finds himself enjoying Isais's company more and more.

Adding to the stress is the fact that someone doesn't want them completing the job and doesn't mind leaving them dead if that's what it takes. But if they somehow manage to make to the delivery point, Zane fears letting Isais go will prove infinitely harder than keeping everyone alive.

QUICKSHOT (Pippa Jay, novella, $.99, indie)

—while making a living, and trying to keep a lover who can tolerate her twitchy trigger fingers, are the extent of her ambitions.

Then a kiss from a passing stranger, and a promise of the biggest score in a long time, tempt her.

Devin fulfils more than one need, but he comes with more trouble than one woman can handle. And this time it'll take more than her guns to save her. She'll have to trust a man again.

WARNING: adult Sal, a legal carrier (just about) of whatever comes content including her way, puts her trust in just two things: her guns. explicit sex, bad language, and implied Keeping out from under Imperium eyes— extreme violence. especially those belonging to a certain Ehi Wahu

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All I Got for Christmas (Genie Davis & Pauline Baird Jones) Review by Marlene Harris This is definitely a “mixed-feelings” type of review. And it’s not so much that I have different feelings about the two novellas in this collective as that I have mixed feelings about both of the novellas in this collection.

Let me explain…

There are two stories in this collection, Riding for Christmas by Genie Davis and Up on the House Top by Pauline Baird Jones. While I liked the concept of this joint release, I had some issues with the executions.

Completely different issues with each story.

Riding for Christmas felt more like a ghost story than science fiction romance. The time travel element is a weirder than normal bit of handwavium, but the science fiction aspects, such as they were, felt like the story would have been better served if they had been fantasy or paranormal elements instead. Considering the setting, the Native American trickster deities, either Coyote or Raven, would have served just as well as the aliens to make this story happen.

In 1885 Sam Harrington is captured by aliens, and put in stasis for a century. Then on a whim, or perhaps a desire to find an excuse to let Sam go, the aliens let Sam out for Christmas, at the sight of the old farm he was on his way to visit during that snowstorm that obscured the aliens way back when.

Sam discovers the granddaughter of his old friends, visiting the derelict ranch that she has just inherited. The lives of everyone connected to Sam went badly after his disappearance, and Jane MacKenzie is all that’s left.

She’s an orphan whose drunken grandfather didn’t want her, but still left her his broken down ranch.

Sam’s one night of freedom coincides with Jane’s visit to the ranch, where she gets lost in a snowstorm. She and Sam spend one night together outside of time, where they talk and comfort each other, but share nothing more than a kiss.

The aliens return Sam to his own time, and Sam has the future that he should have had, including marriage and children and grandchildren. That lonely future that Jane Mackenzie was part of never came to be—but it is still the life that Jane remembers. Until she has an encounter with another Sam Harrington, and they swap ghost stories.

The story had a very cute concept, but the characters didn’t speak to me. Or the situation didn’t. Or something I can’t put my finger on. Was it all outside of time? How did the aliens manage to futz with time?

And more than once at that. We don’t get quite enough of either character to really feel the story.

20 And it always felt more like a ghost story than SFR to me. The aliens are as nebulous as that ship they hid in the snow.

Escape Rating for Riding for Christmas: C+ Up on the House Top was a lot funnier than Riding for Christmas. And there is also a lot more heart in the story, or perhaps that’s more meat.

Gini comes back to her mother’s remote cabin in Wyoming for Christmas, with her twin sister’s two recalcitrant step-children in unintended tow. Van her husband Bif (they’re his kids) had an emergency at work, and never do come to get the terrors. No one can figure out what kind of work emergency they might have a NASA without a ship in space, but Gini does eventually find out.

As much as anyone finds out anything about the real truth in this story.

Because when Gini gets to her mother’s, the love of her life is waiting in the cabin along with mother. But it’s been 20 years since Gini and Dex broke up, Dex is now the County Sherriff and Gini is entertaining a surprise marriage proposal from her rich and chilly boss.

It’s a weird meeting made even weirder by the presence of Gini’s mother Desi, who has always been a bit “out there” and is further out there than normal. Things get even crazier the next morning, when Gini and Dex wake up to discover that they have reverted to their 13year-old selves, at least physically, and that 80+ year old Desi is now about 7. Which seems to be the age at which she was originally captured by the little green men (and possibly one little green woman) who are all over the house.

Gini isn’t sure whether to go with the flow, fear for her sanity, or try to take the house back from the invading forces. Those little green men say that first contact never goes well, but this particular instance is proving to be a humdinger.

21 By the time the dust settles, the men in black have been foiled by decorating the flying saucer on the roof as an extra terrestrial vehicle for a big green Santa, and life is back to normal. Except that the little green men have taken their little friend Desi away with them, and that Gini’s 13-year-old self finally had the courage, or perhaps the self-centeredness, to finally ask Dex what went wrong all those years ago.

The story has a lot of things to say about the relationship between adult children and their aging parents. It also manages to get a fair number of licks in about the normal self-centered phase that teenagers go through.

And there are plenty of geeky in-jokes to make SF fans laugh and chuckle.

But the story lurches from one crazy incident to another, and at points it feels more like an excuse for those in jokes than an actual story. And this reader never did figure out exactly what purpose those two real kids served in the plot. The girl was not just selfish, but completely unlikeable from beginning to end.

And there’s an “it was all a dream” ending. The question left in the reader’s mind is which parts?

Escape Rating for Up on the House Top: B-

Archangel Down (The Archangel Project. Book One), G Cockel Review by Jo Jones In the year 2432, humans think they are alone in the universe. They’re wrong.

Commander Noa Sato plans a peaceful leave on her home planet Luddeccea ... but winds up interrogated and imprisoned for her involvement in the Archangel Project. A project she knows nothing about.

Professor James Sinclair wakes in the snow, not remembering the past twenty four hours, or knowing why he is being pursued. The only thing he knows is that he has to find Commander Sato, a woman he’s never met.

A military officer from the colonies and a civilian from Old Earth, they couldn’t have less in common. But they have to work together to save the lives of millions—and their own.

Every step of the way they are haunted by the final words of a secret transmission: The archangel is down. (Blurb from Goodreads)

22 Commander Noa Sato and Professor James Sinclair find themselves together in a fight for their lives. A fight where nothing is as it seems.

Noa is on leave and has come to visit her brother. She is arrested; questioned about The Archangel Project and put in a work camp.

James is shot down when he comes to visit and wakes with a huge chunk of his memory missing. James finds Noa after she escapes.

They need to get off the planet and that common goal keeps them together.

Don’t look for a lot of romance in Archangel Down. Do look for a story that sets the scene for the next books in the series. Everything that happens to Noa and James helps build the world they find themselves on. There is non-stop tension as both work to find a way to escape the planet. At first neither trusts the other but they have no choice about working together to stay alive. The relationship between the two is very slow building, adding to the tension in the story.

The big question throughout the book is, what is the Archangel Project? Why was Noa questioned about something she had never heard of? Why did they say the Archangel is down after James is shot down? There are hints about the answers to these questions but do not look for them in this book. Those will come in the next two books.

At first Noa and James are the only two characters in the story. As they plot and plan their escape, other characters are added to the mix. The slow introduction allows for better and more complex character development.

James and Noa spend most of the book working toward a relationship based on trust. There is just the hint of romance. Most of Archangel Down develops the world, sets the plot in motion and fleshes out the characters.

Look for more in Noa’s Arc, book two in the Archangel Project due out soon.

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Blue Galaxy (Diane Dooley) Review by The Book Pushers Publisher: Carina Press Publish Date: May 9th How I got this book: NetGalley Falling in love is easy; staying alive long enough to enjoy it just might be impossible.

Javan Rhodes, the hard-drinking, disreputable captain of space freighter The Kypris, took a mission to save himself from hitting the bottom of the food chain. Transporting Sola, a beautiful young aristocrat, from Earth to an unknown destination on the outer rim of the colonies is lucrative, but also highly illegal.

As tough as it is to evade both the law and the lawless, the hardest part of the job is not falling in love with his irresistible cargo. Just as he decides that he will never be able to hand her over to the warlord she must marry, he discovers that Sola has been playing a very dangerous game—one that could not only cost them their lives, but could also affect the balance of power in an increasingly dangerous universe. (Blurb from Goodreads) It’s no secret that I love a good Sci Fi Romance, especially one set in space with epic battles and fun plot twists. When I saw new author Diane Dooley’s new release, I knew I had to get it.

While I wasn’t absolutely blown away, I was pretty impressed by this debut book.

Captain Rhodes is looking to forward to his newest mission, taking one of the Earth’s equivalent of royalty and transport her to a far unknown location. His only rule is to not ask questions, and after one look at Sola, Rhodes knows he is going to have a hard time keeping him hands to himself, as well as his questions.

As the two set off on a journey to the outer worlds, they begin to care deeply for each other, but when Sola reveals her big secret, they two have much bigger problems then their mutual

24 desire for each other. Next thing they know they are being hunted far and wide. When everything is finally laid out on the table, will they be able to move past their many obstacles and just be together?

There were a lot of things I enjoyed about this book, mainly the world building. I really liked the differences in social class, and how both Rhodes and Sola dealt with the issues surrounding them. The conflict within the world itself, especially surrounding The Dictator and the quest for absolute power was fun and exciting to read about. While the plot seemed to drag in certain places, other times it would pick up and run, taking me on a journey I’ll never forget.

At first the romance between Rhodes and Sola didn’t work for me, mainly because Rhodes fell instantly “in love” with Sola, and usually that is just one of those things that irks me. However, as the romance progressed I did find myself enjoying it more, getting pulled into the passion between them. Plus, when Sola reveals her big secret, I liked the way Rhodes handled it, especially given the severity of her deception.

One of my favorite part of Sci Fi Romance books is that the plot is constantly twisting and turning, things are never exactly as they seem, and sometimes the bad guys are really good.Blue Galaxy has some great twists that I didn’t seem coming, and totally loved. While the blurb hints that there is more going on with Sola than meets the eye, I was completely stunned at her revelation. It was fun and unexpected and a great turning point in the story.

More and more I’m seeing short stories without chapters, and while I might be the only one, it really kinda bugs me when they are left out. While the lack of chapters doesn’t exactly take anything away from the story, it’s just weird… Blue Galaxy is shorter, only about 60 pages or so, but the story itself is told in a great way, wraps up everything nicely and left me wanting more. I do hope that Dooley will continue to write in the genre: her style is engaging, her voice is fun and her world is exciting.

All in all, I give Blue Galaxy a B-

Dark Deeds (Class 5 #2) by Michelle Diener Review by The Book Pushers Publisher: Eclipse Publish Date: 4 January 16 Reviewed by: E How I got this book: From Sci-Fi Romance Quarterly Far from home . . .

25 Fiona Russell has been snatched from Earth, imprisoned and used as slave labor, but nothing about her abduction makes sense. When she’s rescued by the Grih, she realizes there’s a much bigger game in play than she could ever have imagined, and she’s right in the middle of it.

Far from safe . . .

Battleship captain Hal Vakeri is chasing down pirates when he stumbles across a woman abducted from Earth. She’s the second one the Grih have found in two months, and her presence is potentially explosive in the Grih’s ongoing negotiations with their enemies, the Tecran. The Tecran and the Grih are on the cusp of war, and Fiona might just tip the balance.

Far from done . . .

Fiona has had to bide her time while she’s been a prisoner, pretending to be less than she is, but when the chance comes for her to forge her own destiny in this new world, she grabs it with both hands. After all, actions speak louder than words. (This blurb came from Goodreads) After hearing several people I share reading interests talk about Dark Horse, Book 1 of Diener’s Class 5 series, I gave it a read and provided a review in last quarter’s issue. It was an enjoyable story set in a very large universe and I was interested in seeing what would happen next. Luckily Dark Deeds was available for this issue and I think I almost sprained by fingers typing my email request in as fast as I did. I am glad to say it was worth my hurry.

Similar to Dark Horse, this story starts with a captured human woman and from there things took some very interesting turns. The story focused on Fiona and her drive to regain her sense of independence and emancipation. I really enjoyed seeing how she interacted with the different species she encountered and how she was continually working to turn things to her advantage. She might not have an immediate reaction to an event but as I

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continued reading, I loved seeing how she would come back later and make her point known usually at the expense of someone who deserved it.

Hal was a contradiction in some ways – he wanted vengeance but at the same time he also demonstrated mercy. He was on a mission to hunt down some pirates after they hurt his crew and killed innocents when his ship stumbled across Fiona, an abused captive, and from there his best plans were continually thwarted. I liked how his first instinct was to protect and not just to protect Fiona but his crew and any others around him unless they were actively trying to kill him. I thought it was admirable that he continued with that mindset after defeating the enemy but not killing him. I thought that really said a lot about who he was on the inside. I thought he was a more fully developed character then the hero from the first book even as he dealt with his own particular struggles.

Diener has done a great job of giving each Class 5 a different personality and maturity level. The main Class 5 in Dark Horse seemed much more infantile and evilly devious, while the secondary Class 5 was just full of rage. The Class 5 here seemed more adult and determined to get revenge but willing to listen. I have to say in some respects they remind me of McCaffrey’s Brainships only they didn’t start with an equal symbiotic self-aware relationship but they have the same drive to learn and needed a mission.

I enjoyed watching Hal and Fiona together even though their romance didn’t seem as strong to me.

It appeared based more on physical attraction and admiration of their respective abilities then emotional depth. I think the science fiction aspects of world-building, and character development were stronger then Dark Horse which I enjoyed. I also thought Diener was able to tie events which kicked off Dark Horse and Dark Deeds to a recognizable timeline which added a great deal of depth.

However, I would still like to see the couples outside of stressful events and get an idea of the rest of who they are. Even the small glimpses of Rose and Dav in this story didn’t manage to convey more then they were still together romantically and acted as a formidable team.

After the events of Dark Deeds I find it hard to believe the Tecran will be able to have any sort of plausible deniability about violating the Sentient Beings Clause or that they were planning war. I also think some other member worlds have some explaining to do. Diener has left the door open for all sorts of other adventures. There are still two Class 5 ships under “enemy” control and one who is sort of a free agent but doesn’t have any strong loyalties to any particular individual. I don’t think it will be as “easy” to free the other Class 5s and I wonder if there will be a “human” for all. I will continue to look forward to the next book and maybe do some finger exercises in preparation for typing my review request.

I give Dark Deeds a B+

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Europa, Europa (KS Augustin) Reviewed by RK Shiraishi (This book was provided by Sci-Fi Romance Quarterly in exchange for an honest review.)

Salvia has been genetically engineered from human DNA, and various aquatic creatures, to do surveying in the deep seas of Jupiter's moon Europa. Salvia is so far from human that she does not think of herself as human though she is sentient and can communicate. Her handler is Doctor Faisbain, the only human she has any real relationship with. But Salvia is unhappy working on the planet alone, and demands that she be given a partner to continue working.

A partner is engineered for her—Rhus, who is male. Salvia hadn't expected that nor had she expected the beginning of romantic affection and sexual feeling for Rhus. Meanwhile, the corporation has plans to replace Salvia with Rhus, believing that Salvia is no longer cooperative. They have trackers on both Salvia and Rhus to force their compliance.

Salvia and Rhus discover their love for each other-but also a personal journey of seeing themselves as a separate, sentience species and desiring a life of their own.

I enjoyed the story of Salvia and Rhus. This is mainly Salvia's story—she begins the chain of events and is the main point of view character.

Salvia's relationship with Dr. Faisbain is complex, but the whole 'evil corporation' is a bit one dimensional. Still it is a powerful story, well told.

I appreciated that the writer made use of the concept of genetic engineering both in creating her post-human characters and describing the environment they exist in. (There is a postscript about the science behind the concept). Be aware there is some explicit content.

This is a novelette and will be enjoyed by fans of KS Augustin and those new to her unique style.

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Farryn’s War (Christie Meierz) Review by Normalene Zeeman First of all, I loved this book. The characters were unique, the world building was stellar, the plot was very intricate while keeping to a main storyline that kept me interested and turning pages as fast as I could.

We initially meet Farryn after a scuffle in a bar turns bloody—his blood—and he needs help from his most current concubine to repair the tissue. I don’t much like him at first as it seems he doesn’t treat his women well and doesn’t have much respect for women at all. We discover he thinks he has been betrayed by his soulmate, has been exiled from his homeworld, Tolar, and is currently pursuing a tightly focused quest for world dominion on his new home, Far India, and that is all that keeps him going. We meet some of this subordinates and they are dangerously fun members of the local Mafia and deliciously quirky, but fiercely loyal to Farryn.

Soon we find out his relationship to his women is much more nuanced than it at first appears.

Farryn and the other Tolar are all vegetarians, live very long lives, have peds, small flipper-like flanges, instead of toes but their feet work the same and the rest of their body is mostly human-looking. Some of them are empaths, some high functioning and others barely empathic at all. Farryn has been exiled for killing a mother and child during his time as the ruler of the world when he was power-crazed.

His soul bond with his mate, Sharana, was severed and he was exiled offworld.

We meet Sharana as she sets off to find Farryn and tell him she still loves him and wants to be with him no matter where he is. She feels that if their soul bond was still intact she would be able to find him more easily but a tip from a friend, Lord Bertie of the planet Brittania and scion of a formidable galaxy-spanning, pharmaceutical company helps her to narrow the search to Far India. Bertie is a good friend to both Farryn and Sharan and wants them reunited if possible.

29 Bertie is a stereotypical British Lord, but has humor and smarts and is very funny.

Sharana get captured by Central Command, a galaxy-spanning intelligence agency, as soon as she hits the ground and is used by the ruthless agent, Adeline Russell, who will torture her to get Farryn to do what she wants based on what she thinks she knows about the bonding relationship. The story from there on is Farryn trying to find Sharana and rescue her and Adeline trying to learn about the Tolar and their secrets from Sharana. The storyline has depth and breadth as we learn a little about the history of the Tolar and the civilization as it is now in A.D. 2533.

The setting is alien but still familiar as it is based on the spreading cultures of Earth as they settle planets outside our system. Much of the clothing and decorations are based on Earth items so they are familiar and, of course, there is coffee and tea. The descriptive passages explaining the ties between Farryn and his friends/frenemies/enemies are very familiar if you have enjoyed the plans-within-plans of The Godfather.

I was way more interested in the plot than in the sex, of which there is almost none, but the deep feelings between Sharana and Farryn were enough to keep me happy all the way to the end and beyond.

As you get closer to the end you learn more about Tolar and some very cool things happen—you meet sentient ships, you learn what happened to the Chairman in the very beginning, you meet Bertie’s brother and some very cool Tolar outcast warriors and at the very end you find out there are three more books set in the world—yay!

As I said, I LOVED it and now am looking to read the other three in the Tales of Tolari Space: •

1- The Marann

•

2 – Daughters of Suralia, and

•

3 – The Fall

Journey Between Worlds (Sylvia Engdahl) Review by Jo Jones Eighteen-year-old Melinda Ashley never wanted to go to Mars. She had her life all planned out - marry Ross and become a teacher. but when her estranged father convinces her to take an interplanetary vacation, she finds herself tempted to leave behind her comfortable existence on Earth.

30 Mars isn't at all what she expected, and when she meets Alex Preston, a second-generation Martian colonist, she finds herself on a surprising new path. Sylvia Engdahl's classic novel has been revised and updated by the author to reflect new discoveries and research about Mars. (Blurb from Goodreads) Sylvia Engdahl wrote six novels between 1970 and 1981. They were written for young adults but many older adults found and loved them.

Today Engdahl has updated and re-released them for a new audience. She says that while Journey Between Worlds is Science Fiction, it is mainly a love story. If you only look at the bare bones of Journey Between Worlds, it is girl goes to Mars – girl meets boy- girl falls in love with boy and stays on Mars. It is much more than that.

While one journey between worlds is between Earth and Mars that is not the main journey.

That one is the journey Melinda takes. As the story starts, she is graduating from high school and has a nice safe future planned in the little Oregon town where she lives with her great-grandmother. Then her father gives her a big surprise for her high school graduation. He has business on Mars and has arranged for her to go with him. That starts an entirely different journey for Melinda. She does not want to go but does not want to hurt her father’s feelings. Getting on the ship to Mars starts Melinda on an entirely different path from the one she had all planned out. That path starts when she meets Alex who is returning home to Mars after living on Earth for several years. As days, weeks and months go by, Melinda begins to grow and change.

The world that is depicted in Journey Between Worlds shows a very realistic picture of colonies on Mars.

Melinda starts with many fears about life away from Earth. As she spends time on Mars, she begins to change her way of looking at how she wants her life to progress. She starts to realize that what she wanted in life was much less than what she needs and deserves. Going to Mars and meeting Alex were the two main things helped her change. The love story between the two builds slowly. It takes a situation where Melinda must face her greatest fear to realize that she loves Alex and does not want to leave Mars.

31 While this is a very nice coming of age love story it is also makes the case for space colonization. Engdhal feels that we must move off Earth for the human race to grow and survive. That theme runs throughout the book. If you read and like Journey Between Worlds you should look up Engdhal’s recent Science Fiction books written for adults.

Trouble in Mind (Donna S. Frelick) A joint review with Marlene Harris and Norm Zeeman Marlene: I read and reviewed the first book in this series, Unchained Memory last year on Reading Reality and Weirde reviewed it in an earlier issue of SFRQ. I think I liked the first book more than Weirde did, but as always, your warp speed may vary.

I was certainly looking forward to seeing where the author took her exploration of alien abductions, both from the perspective of humans who remember the trauma, the aliens who exploit those humans, and the good guys who want to shut the whole thing down.

For those who love the X-Files, there are certainly elements of that kind of “truth is out there” mystery. Both that there really are aliens doing unspeakable things to us, and that our government is both covering up that fact and committing some unspeakable acts of its own.

The truth is out there, and it doesn’t want to be found.

Norm: As ex-Army Intelligence, I can’t comment, but you can picture me very quietly and unobtrusively shaking my head. I can neither confirm nor deny!

Marlene: The story in Trouble in Mind takes place several months after Unchained Memory, and uses the characters from the first story to hook us into the second. Asia Clarke is one of the few humans who is immune to both the alien and human mind-wipe process. (Retcon doesn’t work on everyone). Her husband is the psychiatrist who allowed her to access her hidden memories. Their adopted son, like Asia, is a survivor of the aliens’ experiments. His parents just don’t know exactly what experiments Jack was subject to.

As this story begins, Asia and Jack are kidnapped. None of the witnesses are mind-wiped, this action occurs in plain sight in broad daylight. The cops bring in FBI detective Alana Matheson to work the kidnapping. The presumption is that the husband is the real target, that he pissed off some bad people who are holding his wife and son as collateral damage. They are sure that if they dig deep enough into his past, they will find just where and how he’s “dirty.”

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Norm: The TBI is the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. I learned that from all of Jefferson Bass’s Body Farm mysteries, which I love. When our heroine, Alana, meets our hero, Gabriel, the passage is sensual and visceral with imagery for all the senses. It’s a lovely change to hear how competent both of them are first then learn later on that they are both smokin’ hot.

Marlene: Just as Norm picked up some of her background information for this book from The Body Farm series instead of having it included in the book we were actually reading, I got some of mine from Tony Hillerman’s Navajo Mysteries, for parts of the story that come later.

Ethan calls in Sam and Rayna, Asia’s interstellar rescuers from Unchained Memory. And they, in turn, bring in Gabriel Cruz, an interstellar recovery agent. While none of them are sure exactly who kidnapped Asia, they are certain that it wasn’t Ethan, and that it was connected to her time in alien custody. They also assume that Asia is the target, and that Jack just wouldn’t let his mother go.

Norm: I think I missed quite a lot by not reading the first one. I didn’t feel an immediate connection with the characters, although Gabriel’s hotness came through loud and clear. Descriptive passages are tight with excellent word usage to get the world building exactly right. You can feel the savage wind, see the neon sand, smell the fetid garbage and hear the noisy bar. The train comes up from underground like “a sand dragon breeching.” I love the imagery it presents and it feels vividly alien. The fight scenes on pages 23-5 are well-plotted and incredibly visual in scope with not too much violence and gore but you still get a good feel for Gabriel’s expertise in defense.

Marlene: Sam, Rayna and Ethan are about half right. The people who took Asia and Jack were just after Asia. But there are intergalactic forces right on their tails, chasing after Jack. At first, it doesn’t matter who is after whom, as long as Gabriel can track down Asia and Jack and retrieve them from their kidnappers.

Until it all goes pear-shaped. Gabriel falls for the cop, and his brothers come chasing after Jack, and him. And the fate of the universe turns out to be held in Jack’s small hands.

Norm: The mental conversations that go on are

33 well-defined, although even the humans seem to pick it up very quickly. Alana spends an inordinate amount of time in the middle of the story freaking out about Gabriel being in her head and that makes her seem a little less professional and more like a “girl”. I get that she’s FBI and familiar with dead bodies and gruesome crime scenes, but get over it and move on. It felt like this was a plot device to make Gabriel want to take care of her and I didn’t buy it.

Marlene’s Escape Rating B-: I struggled with the first half of this book. There is a lot going on, and it didn’t feel clearly explained. And I say this in spite of having read the previous book. We don’t get enough time with any of the various factions to really understand who is after whom and for what purpose.

Norm: I struggled with the middle and felt it was too long and too wandering with little to no forward movement and I SO got tired of all the arguing.

Marlene: Amen on the arguing. It went on way too long and got far too overwrought for people who are supposed to be so professional and sensible. Or something like that. But I also wanted to Alana to just...Deal.

With. It. Some of that is still true at the end, but the action in the second half is fast and furious enough that it carries the reader past some of the less-explained bits.

The story begins with Ethan, Alana and Gabriel as our points of view. The story they follow is pretty clear.

Asia and Jack have been taken, Ethan wants them back, and because he knows more than he can possibly tell the cops, he brings Sam and Rayna in. The cops are rightfully suspicious of any of Ethan’s friends, and of Ethan. That the husband is responsible may not be true in this particular case, but it is the way to bet.

While Alana and Gabriel are still marking territory as far as who gets to do and see what in Alana’s investigation, we see two other points of view. A high-level government official on the planet that relies on human slave labor is planning a coup, and his assistant is secretly spying on him for the resistance.

And Gabriel’s half-brothers, who appear to be evil personified, are dragged into the case by that government official to track down Jack. Which means we have no clue about who grabbed Asia.

There is also a lot of unexplained and unrelieved evil going on. It’s not that Gabriel’s half-brothers are the scum of the galaxy, although they are, it’s that they inherited their scum of the galaxy gig from their shared father, and that they seem to revel in it. The older one at least comes off as evil for evil’s sake.

We also don’t see quite enough of the governance of that mining planet to get fully invested in that plot twist either. While the official is evil for aggrandizement sake, we don’t get quite enough there, either.

Norm: I especially liked those parts on the alien planet with the Rescue spy, Ardis and her greedy, evil overlord and loved how even aliens can be led around by their reproductive parts – some of those parts made me laugh out loud. I wish there had been more of this integrated into the story as without her part, evil would still have overcome the galaxy.

Marlene: I agree. I also liked Ardis and her part of the story, but there just wasn’t enough of it to really

34 integrate it into the whole. Maybe Ardis needs her own story?

And we follow along with Asia and Jack as their kidnappers take them across the country, still with no idea who went after them. Because it wasn’t either Gabriel’s brothers or the Mining Planet official.

Norm: I also would have liked a little more explanation of who all the competing parties and how they fit into the story, if it was moved a little closer to the beginning. I hate going into a new story confused, and staying that way for longer than 50 pages is painful.

Marlene: All of the above setup felt like both too much and not enough for this reader. There wasn’t enough background for the various interstellar factions, but they were all unrelievedly grim. And brutally evil. Asia and Jack are in a deep well of loss and depression, because they are in the middle of being kidnapped and are certain of their upcoming death or enslavement. It felt like too many bits of awful stuff without hope or light or in some cases, much explanation or backstory. Gabriel and Alana are at the beginning of several long and nasty fights, because they need each other (and want each other) but are hedged about by too many dangerous and necessary secrets.

In other words, the first third or so was darker and grimmer than I like.

It all comes together in a place and a way that is surprising and interesting but again, not very well explained.

When Asia, Jack, the kidnappers, the intergalactic scum and Gabriel and Alana all meet up for one final pitched battle, they are in the middle of Navajo country, and get help from the spirit world in ways that are difficult to follow, but ultimately result in changes for the better.

I think I understood more of what was going on at that point from my earlier readings of Tony Hillerman’s books than anything that was explained in the story. The last battle was epic, but the mythology and legends that set it up aren’t all in this text.

Norm: I liked the battle and got much of the imagery and mythology from the same Hillerman experience. I appreciated the aside where Ardis and the maguffin part on the alien planet save the day from another POV. I like it when all the loose ends are tied up.

Marlene: And on that other hand, part of the story is the triumph of not just good over evil, but also of love over hate. Not just Jack’s love for his adopted parents, but also the love that Gabriel and Alana find with each other.

Norm: I loved the HEA for Gabriel and Alana but they really had to work for it, and I hope that we get Trevyn’s story next.

Marlene: And I’m with you on that last point. It does look like we’re heading for Trevyn’s story next, and that’s an excellent thing. Hopefully a thing that comes with more explanation of the interstellar political situation.

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Write for us

THEME FOR ISSUE 11: ALIEN LOVE Length: 2,000 to 7,500 words.

Payment: 2.5 cents/word (US) paid upon publication, promotional biography with two links, and a complimentary quarter-page advertisement.

Deadline for Issue #11: 15 May 2016.

Rights sought: Six-month exclusive world digital rights from date of publication; non-exclusive thereafter.

Other info: One short story will be published per issue. Please send only edited and polished work.

Due to time constraints, we are unable to give personalized feedback on rejected stories.

Stories that tie-in to a previously established world will be considered, but story must stand alone.

All sub-genres of science fiction will be considered.

Any heat level, from sweet to erotic, will be considered. Original, previously unpublished fiction only.

No fan fiction, please.

STORY SHOULD MELD THE SCIENCE FICTION AND ROMANCE GENRES, AND MUST HAVE AN UPBEAT (HEA/HFN) ENDING. NOT QUITE SURE WHAT WE’RE LOOKING FOR? READ OUR ORIGINAL FICTION IN PREVIOUS ISSUES. READ ALSO OUR FICTION EDITOR’S TAKE ON WHY YOUR STORY GOT REJECTED. No multiple submissions. No stories that have previously been rejected by us. Simultaneous submissions are accepted, but please inform us if the story is placed elsewhere.

Submit! Standard manuscript format, please, only at our website via the Submissions page.

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Godsfire, Cynthia Felice (1978) Review by Ian Sales It’s not all that often the cover art on a science fiction novel gives a good indication of what’s inside, but Godsfire‘s actually does a halfway decent job of setting out precisely what the reader can expect to find. To wit, a race of cat-people (who are not always naked, but never mind). And humans.

But in Godsfire, the word “human” refers to the cat people, and homo sapiens are actually their slaves – in fact, a discussion of the “humanity” of the slaves is one of several themes driving the novel’s plot.

Heao is an academic, or rather, a member of Academe, a sort of philosophical and scientific thinktank which advises the ruling prince of the city, as well researching things simply for knowledge’s sake.

She is also a gifted cartographer, so much so her nickname is “Pathfinder”. The highland town where she lives was recently conquered by a lowland “King-conqueror”, and now life is slowly returning to normal. Heao meets the enterprising merchant lowland Baltsar, and through him learns more about his slaves – which are rare in the highlands. She accompanies Baltsar to meet the Kingconqueror, drawing a new map of the

landscape as they travel from highlands through badlands to the lowlands, and even finds a quicker route. It transpires that Heao, the King-conqueror and the head of their religion, Tarana, have all had dreams which affect the destiny of the race and somehow involve “godsfire”. And such dreams are taken very seriously…

Godsfire is essentially a sustained piece of worldbuilding, but it’s a bravura piece. Felice handles her cat people with a remarkable degree of invention, and their physiology and society reads as surprisingly convincing. It’s the small details – their diet, their lack of distance vision, the way they use their tails to signal mood or add colour to their speech. It’s only halfway through the book, for example, during a conversation between Heao and her slave Teon that it becomes clear the characters are colourblind. The physical details of Heao’s world are also cleverly constructed – the book’s blurb calls it the “shadowlands”, which refers to the land beneath the “skybridge”.

Heao’s people believe this is used by the gods, one of which carries godsfire, the great heat that provides sufficient light to live beneath in

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the shadow beneath the skybridge. The land is limited by the Evernight Mountains to the north, the sea to the south, and there are apparently other peope to east and west which prevent expansion up and down the coast. It’s not exactly hard to figure out the actual set-up, but Felice does an excellent job of remaining within the viewpoint of her creations.

The first half of the novel introduces the main cast and their world. It then leaps forward nineteen years. Heao is mated to Batlsar, and they have a daughter. She also believes the slaves (ie, homo sapiens) are as fully human as her people, which means by law they should not be enslaved. But to free them would destroy the economy, not to mention upset religious dogma. As a result Heao is shunned by the guardians of the temple, which means she is ostracised by the entire town. Eventually, she is forced to recant, after her mentor is poisoned.

This leaves her free to lead an expedition through the Evernight Mountains, because she’s the only person who could so so. On the other side of the mountains, out from under the

skybridge, she learns the truth about godsfire, and about the slaves.

Science fiction novels which tell their stories from the viewpoint of an alien are not unusual.

Such novels in which humans feature as “alien” to the protagonists are perhaps less common.

It’s a difficult trick to pull off – not only do the aliens have to seem sufficiently human for a reader to find them sympathetic, but the humans also have to appear sufficiently alien for the plot to work. Felice manages this successfully – and this despite the fact humans are there in the narrative from pretty much the first page. It’s true the world-building is the most impressive element of Godsfire – and that nineteen-year jump in the story does make the story feel a little disjointed – but it’s worth noting that Heao is a well-drawn protagonist.

Perhaps she’s a little too special in some respects, but she’s a thoughtful and sympathetic viewpoint, and this without sacrificing her alien nature.

Worth reading.

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Sexy & Cerebral Comics for the SFR Crowd The Cosmic Lounge with Heather Massey There’s so much to love about comic books. Comics are great in large part because they deliver the visuals of a film with the coziness of a book. Not only that, but with more adult-oriented comics being made than ever before, stories can include nudity, sex scenes, adult themes, and gritty action. I’m a fan of comics, but frankly I’d be a bigger fan if more sci-fi romances were released in that medium.

While it’s easy to envision sci-fi romance comic books, making them is another feat altogether. The surge of SFR ebooks in recent years indicates the ease with which many authors can generate stories in this genre. And many said authors are willing to write on spec with the promise of royalties later.

Finding artists willing to do the same type of labor of love in order to team up with authors and create SFR comics is tantamount to asking for the moon.

Ideally, such artists will not only be talented, but also experienced in writing for the comic book medium (which also includes tasks such as coloring and lettering). The chances are low that aspiring SFR comic book writers could find an artist willing to put in months of work on a project that might not generate liveable-wage profit for months or years, if at all.

Therefore, it’s no wonder few comics exist that are specifically SFR in nature. Various SF and superhero comic book series include romance subplots, but I’ve been hard-pressed to find many that feature sci-fi romance as the main ingredient. It’s difficult enough to get any comic book released, let alone a niche SFR one.

I did, however, discover three titles that lean heavily toward SFR and/or hold strong appeal for SFR readers. And finally, my budget caught up with my interest and I was able to read them—with an eye, of course, toward sharing them with you!

Saga – Brian K. Vaughan (writer), Fiona Staples (artist) When two soldiers from opposite sides of a never-ending galactic war fall in love, they risk everything to bring a fragile new life into a dangerous old universe.

From bestselling writer Brian K. Vaughan, Saga is the sweeping tale of one young family fighting to find their place in the worlds. Fantasy and science fiction are wed like never before in this sexy, subversive drama for adults. *** Saga is pretty much what the blurb promises. It also features a mix of magic and tech, a complex space opera setting, and a diverse cast of characters and gender identities. A few major content alerts for violence, gore, sexual imagery (some romantic, some raunchy), and mature themes. Saga is a wildly popular comic book series as evidenced by its Eisner, Harvey, and Hugo award wins. As of April 2016, there will be 36 issues.

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I’ve read up to issue 22. Saga begins with the birth of Marko and Alana’s daughter rather than their meet-cute. I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, Saga isn’t advertised as an SFR and it hasn’t ended yet, so all bets are off regarding romance genre conventions. And yet, Alana and Marko’s romance is a key part of the story. Without their romance, the whole story falls apart. Even the actions of the secondary characters revolve around their relationship.

Beginning the series with Hazel’s birth certainly marks an exciting entry point and the focus on a family of fugitives is highly compelling. Personally, though, I would have loved this series quite a bit more if it had begun with the romance, especially since a flashback scene showing how they met is incredibly exciting (and, er, violent).

Saga feels like it’s being written and illustrated by two people who really get romance, so it’s puzzling that they didn’t begin the series at the time Marko and Alana’s romance began. Given the antiromance sentiment among many comic book fans, though, I could understand if Vaughan and Staples made a deliberate choice to structure the story differently than traditional romances. It’s almost as though they put the romance in a Trojan horse so they could have their cake and eat it, too.

Meanwhile, as an SFR fan, I’m sitting here thinking, wow, are there non-romance readers and even anti-romance readers enjoying Saga who don’t realize how central the romance is to this series?

Creatively, Vaughan and Staples made a sound choice, yet now I really crave an SFR along the lines of Saga, specifically one that begins with the romance. Saga provides a taste of what such a comic could be like. My eyes are officially peeled for one!

One caveat: issue 19 of Saga introduces an element that sheds doubt on the couple’s HEA status. I plan on reading further, but wanted to provide a heads up for those who’d want to know. At the very least, where romance readers are concerned, issues 1-18 provide an emotionally satisfying story about Alana and Marko’s romance, marriage, and birth of their first child.

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Trillium – Jeff Lemire Award-winning and fan favorite comics creator Jeff Lemire spins the tale of two star-crossed loved through space in time in TRILLIUM! It's the year 3797, and botanist Nika Temsmith is researching a strange species on a remote science station near the outermost rim of colonized space.

It's the year 1921, and renowned English explorer William Pike leads an expedition into the dense jungles of Peru in search of the fabled "Lost Temple of the Incas," an elusive sanctuary said to have strange healing properties.

Two disparate souls separated by thousands of years and hundreds of millions of miles. Yet they will fall in love and, as a result, bring about the end of the universe. Even though reality is unraveling all around them, nothing can pull them apart. This isn't just a love story, it's the LAST love story ever told. *** The blurb doesn’t quite clearly describe Trillium’s premise, so I’ll expand on it further.

In the far future, a sentient virus known as the Caul is wiping out humanity. Nika Tensmith, a botanist, has found a cure, but since Trillium is on a planet belonging to another species, she simply can’t just harvest it at will. William’s South American expedition brings him to a lost temple and, through a series of strange events, he meets Nika.

Trillium is an ambitious project that uses upside down panels to convey Nika and William’s parallel worlds. It’s gimmicky, but a new-to-me gimmick; therefore, I feel it helped immerse me in the two separate worlds and timelines.

I was curious about what a comic book writer-artist without a background in SFR would do with a story that mixes SF and romance. Such experiences can go either way once one ventures outside the genre proper, so I adjusted my expectations accordingly.

I had no idea where Trillium was going to take me, so I enjoyed the ride; however, I found the story inscrutable at times. At other times, various elements seemed derivative. Emotionally, the romance felt flat. For a comic that strongly advertises a “love story,” it seems like Trillium could have used at least one more issue to flesh out the romance.

Nika and William are likeable characters, but they don’t get to spend much time together interacting.

The strength of their bond is mainly rooted in their psychedelic cosmic link. Therefore, I’d categorize

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Trillium as romantic SF. I consider Trillium to have a bittersweet HEA. One scene brought tears to my eyes, so the story engaged me to an extent. I found the ending moderately satisfying and fitting for the tale. Trillium struck me as a comic that uses romance as a vehicle for commentary about various themes rather than one in which the romance itself is the main goal.

Sex Criminals – Matt Fraction (writer), Chip Zdarsky (artist) A SEX COMEDY FOR COMICS Suzie's a normal girl with an extraordinary ability: when she has sex, she stops time. One night she meets John... who has the same gift. And so they do what any other sex-having, time-stopping, couple would do: they rob banks. In the vein of THE 40-YEAR OLD VIRGIN and BRIDESMAIDS, Image Comics invites you to come along with MATT FRACTION (Hawkeye, SATELLITE SAM) and CHIP ZDARSKY (Prison Funnies, Monster Cops) for the series that puts the "comic" back in “comics” and the "sexy" back in “sex crimes.” *** Sex Criminals’s high concept premise sounds pretty gimmicky.

And it is gimmicky—there's no way around that fact. Sex sells, right?

Fortunately, various story elements balance the gimmicky premise. The main one is the grounded, genuine characters who deal with real, poignant issues even while they navigate a fantastical setting. The story’s heartfelt tone, angst, and humor make this series an engaging read.

Sex Criminals stars the very likeable Suzanne, a dedicated librarian, and Jon, an adorable guy who's an actor by trade. We learn about their life experiences against the backdrop of an external plot: Suzanne's library is in danger of being destroyed by the bank, so she and Jon use their orgasmic timestopping powers to rob that very same bank in order to save the library. There are also a few villains in the mix, ones with mysterious origins and motives.

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Sex Criminals has strong appeal for SFR readers. After a darling meet-cute and lusty rolls in the proverbial hay, Suzanne and Jon experience relationship woes and conflict while learning to master their joint powers. They also grapple with ethical considerations—is their bank robbing truly a victimless crime?

This R-rated story features plenty of nudity and raunchy humor. At the same time, it delivers a sex positive perspective. Later issues feature a range of sexualities among the secondary characters, so we get to see, for example, how an asexual character exhibits her superhuman power.

There’s a lot to enjoy about Sex Criminals, but the series isn’t over yet, so an HEA is uncertain.

Saga, Trillium, and Sex Criminals add up for a fun adventure and bode well for future comics that place the SFR experience front and center.

If comic books just aren’t your cup of tea, but you enjoy superhuman stories in ebook form, consider checking out author Daco’s Electromancer, a recent release featuring a superheroine who wields the power of electricity. See the book’s entry in this issue’s New Releases section to learn more!

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Secret Aliens Opinion from Ashlynn Monroe I think at one time or another everyone has wondered if they have a special place in the world. During adolescence, the idea that there is something that makes us lesser than our peers is a normal part of growing up. I think this is why the alien within concept appeals to me so much as an author. I have the chance to explore that turmoil. At one point or another in everyone’s life, they are an alien, deep down.

When a hero or heroine doesn’t know who they are, I can identify with them. These are the kind of stories I like best. I write stories about the fantastic, but the characters have to be real enough to step off the page. Readers gift authors with the suspension of disbelief, but that courtesy doesn’t extend to unrealistic characters. No matter how out-of-this-world a story is a sympathetic character can pull it together and make the journey possible.

I’ve always been drawn to stories about strong women. A woman’s strength is usually in her soul. A story where the heroine just rolls over and accepts a bad fate doesn’t appeal to me as a reader, so I’d never do one as a writer. Inside all of us is a little voice that asks us if we’re good enough. When I was young, I wasn’t sure what my place was in the world. Some of that uncertain young woman found its way into Annika, the heroine of my new novel Spirit Bonded. She’s grown up in a small Wisconsin town with no idea that she’s an alien. Annika is faced with a terrible choice when her destiny is revealed. She can save the world she doesn’t remember and leave Earth, or hide from her birthright and stay safe. I started writing her story two years ago.

The story morphed from young adult to new adult.

As an avid movie fan, I’m always looking for a movie with romance, excitement, and a strong female lead For me, the biggest appeal of sci-fi romance is the unlimited possibilities. As a writer, reader, and woman sci-fi romance delivers the idea that our reality doesn't define our destiny. I love creating new worlds to explore the human heart. Taking emotion into new realms proves how important human feelings are in the evolution of what we can become. Showing our best selves and our worst traits in the

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context of another world is an exciting part of what makes me want to write. I escape with my characters. The best writers leave a small piece of their soul behind in every book. I hope when people read my work I’ve given enough life to my characters that they stay with the reader like the memory of a friend.

As an avid movie fan, I’m always looking for a movie with romance, excitement, and a strong female lead. I loved the movie Jupiter Ascending. Jupiter’s story was similar to Annika’s, so I was very drawn to the character. Sadly, there aren’t many movies with women who have the power to save others. Too often male characters save the day. I’m so excited to see the newest Star Wars movie due to the female lead. I just hope the story lives up to my inflated expectations. I write romance because loving is the bravest thing someone can do, and this is the best platform I’ve found to showcase female bravery.

Celebrate women and read a romance novel today.

Book Blurb from Spirit Bonded: When you've been deceived your entire life and everyone suddenly wants to use you for their own purposes, how do you know who to trust?

Annika thought not knowing her parents was rough, but knowing the truth is even worse. She has always felt out of touch with everyone around her. Since she was a teenager, she's seen impossible things. When she's suddenly attacked by shadowy creatures, the truth come out, and it changes her life. It appears Annika has an out-of-this-world destiny, and if that wasn't crazy enough, she's beginning to accept the fact she's an alien.

It helps that she has some friends to see her through. Cas, her best friend, is bitter that in the chaos he lost his birthright to be her magical protector, Jai is crazy and trying to make his death wish a reality, and Mikol is…hers. Her guardian is the only part of her insane new life that makes sense. The feelings growing between them are forbidden. But rules don't stop Annika from wanting more than his ability to shield her from the darkness. When Annika is with her hot-as-hell bodyguard she knows what it is to really be human.

Can she save a distant planet from a tyrannical ruler and find a way to be with the man she loves?

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The A to SFR of Audiobooks, Part 2 Craft by Veronica Scott

Welcome to Part 2 of our article on science fiction romance audiobooks!

Last issue we talked about audiobook narrators and authors’ favorite scenes. We continue the conversation this issue by asking authors S. E. Smith, Elizabeth A. Bailey and Pauline Baird Jones which was their best selling audiobook title at the moment.

S. E. Smith, New York Times and USA Today Best Seller: That's a tough one. I would say at the moment it is a toss up between my Alliance series and my Dragon Lords of Valdier. Both are doing very well. I think it is because of the way David (the narrator) was able to bring both series to life and give the listeners a vested interest in the characters.

Deborah A. Bailey: Of my fiction titles, Hathor Legacy: Outcast is the best selling so far, though my other fiction books are not far behind. My novels have sold faster, probably due in part to the promos I did on Audiobook Blast. But Kristin (the narrator) has also been promoting as well, and that certainly helps.

Pauline B. Jones: Girl Gone Nova. Brad Langer

was a lucky find (a friend arranged the connection) and I was also lucky that the book had a stipend from ACX, so it was worth it for him to do it.

Veronica: Wreck of the Nebula Dream is probably my best selling audiobook. Who can resist a “Titanic in space” kinda plot?

Just as with books in a series, sometimes knowing where to start can be a problem. Here are the authors’ recommendations: S. E. Smith: I would recommend either Abducting Abby: Dragon Lords of Valdier Book 1 or Hunter's Claim: The Alliance Book 1. Both are excellent reads and great world building. I'll soon have Tink's Neverland: Cosmos' Gateway Book 1 and Voyage of the Defiance: Breaking Free Series by Suzanne Elise Freeman available as well. I have both David and Suzanne narrating for me. What is great is the narrators are just as close a group as the authors are.

Deborah: Actually, though Hathor Legacy: Burn is the 2nd book (and the longest so far at over 11 hours) I'd suggest that one. Kristen did terrific work and when I heard it I felt like I was listening to someone else's book. I know that sounds funny, but what I mean is that I was able to enjoy it as a listener.

There are details in this book that answer some

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questions raised in Outcast, so I think the reader will get the full picture of what the series is about (and also get a feel for Kristen's range as a voice artist). Book three, Hathor Legacy: Revelations is in progress, and I'm hoping to have the audio version out sometime next year.

individual readers who preferred audio CDs, as well as in libraries, bookstores, and larger chain stores such as Costco, Sams, Target, and more.

In addition, the audiobooks are available through Blackstones subscription site: Downpour.com, Audible, Amazon, and iTunes.

Pauline: Hmmm, I would say, either Out of Time or The Last Enemy. Why not my best selling audio book? Because Girl Gone Nova is book two in my Project Enterprise series. Out of Time is, IMHO, a fun story. You don’t have to have read or listened to any of my other books to enjoy it. And The Last Enemy is first book in a series (and it’s free on Amazon, so you can get the audio for 1.99). The narrator has gotten high marks from listeners. He did a great job.

I would highly recommend developing a good relationship with your narrator. They need to know your likes, dislikes, how the characters sound in your head, and if you need to change a sentence to work better in the audio format.

Sometimes what sounds good in writing doesn't necessarily sound good in audio. That is one reason I now use the Speak function to read my manuscripts as I write. Also, look at what fits your business structure in the long term. I have audiobooks with just ACX which supplies to Audible and iTunes and with Blackstone. There are a lot of things to consider. Audiobook production is not cheap, it is a large investment and you want make it a rewarding experience for yourself as well as the reader.

Deborah: First of all, if you think you'll be creating an audio version of your book, get the audio cover done when you have your book cover done. I created two of my covers myself because the original designer was unavailable.

Decide how much money you want to spend on production. I pay up front for production (instead of splitting the royalties) and that works for me. I'd also suggest picking narrators who will perform as opposed to just reading. Of

Veronica: Mine can be listened to in any order – they’re standalone titles!

And to conclude our two part series on SFR audiobooks, the authors share a few tips for anyone wanting to dive into creating audio versions of their titles. A behind the scenes glimpse!

S. E. Smith: As with any medium, offering customers a variety of media formats is important. I chose to work with Blackstone Media to distribute my audiobooks in CD formats so that they could be available to

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course, the narration should fit the content. But if a narrator reads with no inflection, it'll become hard to keep a listener's attention over several hours.

Not only are audiobooks perfect for listening on the go, but they provide another way to experience a story. If I hadn't enjoyed listening to them, I wouldn't have given the audio format a try for my own books. I'm very glad I did.

Pauline: I hear some authors jumping in who have never listened to an audio book. I wasn't a big audio listener, but I had listened to audio books and knew what I liked. At least listen to some samples of audio books by authors you like, or who write similar books to yours. Check out some of the forums where audio listeners hang out.

Their comments are eye opening.

Listeners have strong opinions about narrators. Really strong. But in the end, you have to find the narrator that clicks with you, with your book/s.

Until I started my own adventures in getting my books into audio, I’d been a pretty casual audio book listener. Mostly confining that listening to road trips with my kids. Now I use audio books to let me “read” at times when holding a book isn’t possible. And with WhisperSynch, I can make a smooth transition from listening to reading. It’s pretty darn cool. I’m not sure I should admit this, but sometimes when I can’t sleep, I’ll pull up one of my books and listen to it. It’s kind of like a visit with old friends. And, as I mentioned above, it’s given me a new appreciate for the power of word choice.

Veronica: I’ll finish with a few thoughts in general and then talk a bit about marketing

audiobooks.

First, before you begin, make sure you have the rights to creating an audiobook. This would be addressed in your contract if you’re traditionally published. For us indies, that’s never a problem. I had two fantasy audiobooks done by Carina Press and Audible and I had no involvement in the process whatsoever. I missed out on all the fun!

There really aren’t any well established venues that I’m aware of for promoting SFR audiobooks specifically. There are review sites for audiobooks in general but my experience has been they often have no idea what to do with SFR. I did run a few ads in Audiofile magazine at one time but probably my best avenue has been doing giveaways on Facebook. Audible is very generous with free download codes for promoting your audiobooks. I saw that Audible itself is running a very slick TV commercial campaign and one of the images is a woman listening to a science fiction novel from her beach chair.

For the author, investing in audiobooks is a long term strategy to ensure that you’re not missing out on sharing your stories with the fans who really prefer to listen to SFR. It’s also a LOT of fun to listen to talented actors bringing your characters to life! I’ve enjoyed every moment of my collaboration with Michael Riffle, the actor who narrates my books. His insights into the characters have been fascinating and helped spur my creative thinking on future books, especially sequels.

So I wish you happy listening!

For more information on S. E. Smith and her books, you can visit her website at

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http://sesmithfl.com/ For more information on Pauline B Jones and her books, you can visit her website at www.paulinebjones.com

For more information about Deborah A. Bailey, you can visit her website at http://dbaileycoach.com/brightbooks/

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To Shape the Dark Editor Athena Andreadis In our ongoing quest to connect you with stories that both expand the mind and capture the heart, Sci-Fi Romance Quarterly is excited to feature an interview with speculative fiction guru Athena Andreadis, whose latest project is To Shape the Dark, an anthology about women scientists and the destinies they forge.

SFRQ: What inspired you to produce To Shape the Dark?

Athena Andreadis: As a research scientist, an unapologetic feminist and a nomadic cross-culture cosmopolitan who detests artificial splits (work versus family, intuition versus logic), I wanted to restore visionary science in SF without its traditional accoutrements of heedlessness to larger contexts and of socially inept scientists who need to be babied and buffered by self-denying helpmates. The success of The Other Half of the Sky allowed me to take this risk.

As with The Other Half of the Sky, I wanted (and got) swashbuckling with layers, ambiguities, dilemmas; nuanced characters, echoing histories, original worlds and societies. And interwoven with that, the real agonies, ecstasies and dilemmas of working scientists.

Scientists are humanity’s astrogators: they never go into the suspended animation cocoons but stay at the starship observation posts, watching the great galaxy wheels slowly turn while they chart destinations and attend to the hydroponics. To Shape the Dark is part of that vigil.

Please share the Table of Contents with our readers.

[Note: interested readers can see the first paragraph of each story here.]

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Athena Andreadis – Astrogators Never Sleep (introduction)

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Constance Cooper – Carnivores of Can’t-GoHome

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M. Fenn – Chlorophyll is Thicker than Water

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Jacqueline Koyanagi – Sensorium

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Kristin Landon – From the Depths

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Shariann Lewitt – Fieldwork

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Vandana Singh – Of Wind and Fire

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Aliette de Bodard – Crossing the Midday Gate

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Melissa Scott – Firstborn, Lastborn

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Anil Menon – Building for Shah Jehan

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C. W. Johnson – The Age of Discovery

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Terry Boren – Recursive Ice

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Susan Lanigan – Ward 7

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Kiini Ibura Salaam – Two Become One

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Jack McDevitt – The Pegasus Project

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Gwyneth Jones – The Seventh Gamer

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Cover art and design: Eleni Tsami

Describe a few of the worlds, characters, and themes readers can expect from this anthology.

The stories in this volume have at their centers women passionately pursuing their science while enmeshed in their kinships and societies. Their vocations range from quantum physics to interspatial mathematics; their societies extend from city-states to galactic empires; their spacetimes range from an alt-ancient Egypt to eras so distant that Earth has been forgotten – or never existed; the aliens they encounter go from viroids to space-faring cephalopods. Many of the scenarios unfolding in this gathering are vastly improved, absorbing versions of pop films, TV series and games (I spent happy hours thinking of whom to cast in them). And the stories are full of echoes from myths, songs and stories that ever haunt us humans.

In the context of science fiction anthologies, what makes To Shape the Dark unique?

To Shape the Dark places writing quality and originality of imagination above agendas; tries to restore to SF the sense of epiphany, the pleasures of rigor and collaboration, the braiding of discipline, craft skill and imaginative play inherent in real science; and remains stubbornly accessible while avoiding clichéd tropes from both the Leaden and Meta Ages of SFF. (Too) many argue that science and scientists are hard to portray excitingly in SF but both aficionados and detractors of “hard” SF confuse accuracy with verisimilitude. What matters is the larger context— the lucid dreaming and where it takes the reader’s mind. So I didn’t specify scientific accuracy for the stories; I specified respect for the scientific method and for the questing, aware mind. Scientists are as fallible as any human, but they have the great privilege and responsibility of shaping the dark. That’s what SF shows too rarely, in my view.

As with your space opera anthology, The Other Half of the Sky, female characters take center stage in To Shape the Dark. Tell us why that aspect is important.

I expound the reason at length in the introductions to both anthologies. I find it odd and redolent of several parochialisms that much of SF – a genre priding itself to leaps of imagination and unusual configurations – still doesn’t treat women as fully human.

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Specifically connected to the motivation behind To Shape the Dark, science-based wonder is the core of SF. Yet its writers have mostly cast science as either triumphalism or hubris and exalted the lone (and almost invariably male) genius, neglecting such crucial attributes as cooperative labor and pride in craft. Ask an SF reader to name a woman scientist in the genre: the likeliest reply will be Asimov’s Susan Calvin.

I asked my partners in this venture to show me women scientists, mathematicians and engineers who passionately pursue their explorations, are not subject to the snooze-inducing conflict of work versus family and are aware of the limitations and consequences of their vocation; and for cultures where science is a holistic endeavor as necessary as art—or air.

Where can readers find To Shape the Dark as well as more information about it?

To Shape the Dark will be published by Candlemark & Gleam, the swashbuckling small press that published The Other Half of the Sky. If all goes as we plan – and so far it looks like it will – it will appear in April of 2016 and be available on the C&G site (where readers can purchase print and DRMfree ebook in one fell swoop). It will also be sold on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Kobo and have a page on GoodReads.

What book are you looking forward to reading next?

Of books written in English: the next works of Tracy Chevalier and Susan Fraser King (historical fiction), Tana French and Jon Loomis (mystery), Mary Oliver and Olga Broumas (poetry); Mary Lovell’s bio of Jane Digby and Mark Mazower’s next historical exploration, whatever his topic. Finish Adrienne Mayor’s The Amazons. Plus, of course, the new works of protostars and main-sequence luminaries I invited to Candlemark & Gleam!

Thank you so much for joining us here at Sc-Fi Romance Quarterly. One last question: what’s your favorite part about being involved in projects like To Shape the Dark?

Thank you for inviting me, Heather! I particularly relish the background discussions with the authors when we’re sculpting the stories, a process that gives me glimpses into the larger universe behind each work. Often, what I already knew of a particular universe is what made me invite its creator to contribute to one of my anthologies. For this project in particular, I was immensely gratified that each story protagonist has a different vocation and most of the protagonists are old(er) but respected and heeded – all this without any prompting from me!

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Echo 8 (Sharon Lynn Fisher) Release date: Feb. 3, 2015 Publisher: Tor Books Formats: Print $15.99, digital (all formats) $9.99, audio $19.95 Links: Amazon – Barnes & Noble – Author's website

SFR Galaxy Award for Best Physics Lesson (Judge Anna McClain) In Echo 8, Ms. Fisher took me beyond the year of college physics I studied and have mostly forgotten. She made it understandable and then applied it to parapsychology, making it plausible. The addition of scientific language and information made the story so much more than a romance and added even more substance to the tale.

The basic but singular premise of Echo 8 was fascinating. With each chapter, the complications kept piling on, constantly making me wonder where the story was headed. I found Echo 8 to be complex, emotionally intense, scientifically speculative and one of the most intriguing books I read in 2015.

BEYOND HELP But a stranger in a strange land, he is no one.

—Bram Stoker, Dracula Seattle Psi Training Institute—August 10, 2018

The man on the floor was transparent.

He tracked Tess as she crossed the room, stopping a couple meters away from him. He studied her, and she knew he was trying to understand. Trying to remember.

Her heart ached for him. He was human, after all. At least he had been.

“How do you feel?” Tess asked, taking another step toward him.

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“Close enough, Doctor.” The low, cautioning voice came not from the fading visitor, but from the FBI agent who’d moved to stand behind her. Tess did what she usually did when Ross McGinnis spoke to her in that tone. She ignored him.

“Where . . . am . . . I?” The visitor’s voice scraped like dry leaves blowing across pavement. “Who are you?”

“I can answer those questions for you, but . . .” Tess swallowed. “It’s going to come as a shock.”

He blinked at her, and his gaze slid around the lab. The equipment had been removed, leaving nothing to look at but the exposed brick walls, painted ductwork, and gleaming hardwood floors.

“Where am I?” he repeated.

There was no time to make him understand. He had maybe an hour to live. But he deserved what little explanation she could offer.

“You’ve come here from a different Earth.” His gaze snapped back to her face, and she could imagine what he was thinking. “There was a catastrophic impact event—an asteroid. The destruction knocked some of you loose from your own reality. Brought you to ours. We don’t know how or why.”

He stared at her, long and hard.

“Who are you?” His voice was stronger now, more insistent. But it still had a hollow, echoing quality.

“My name is Tess. I’m a parapsychologist.”

One corner of his mouth twisted. Tess started to ask if he was in pain—but then realized the halfdead transparent man was smirking at her.

“This is a joke, right?”

She frowned. “I’m sorry. No.” Tess debated about how much to tell him. Compassion for the dying man warred with her sense of duty. She had a responsibility to glean as much information as she could from him. The lives of people on her own Earth depended on it.

“What’s your name?” she asked as he continued to study her.

“Jake.”

“Jake, I’d like to ask you some questions.”

“How about you answer a few first. Like why do I feel like a pile of grated cheese?”

“That’s complicated.” She knelt on the floor so he wouldn’t have to look up at her. “Your dislocation left you unable to sustain life energy.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

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“I’m afraid I don’t have a more scientific explanation for you. The impact somehow relaxed the laws of physics as we understand them. Weakened boundaries between our universes, which allowed some of you to pass through to our Earth.”

“I got a D in high school physics,” said Jake, “but I’m thinking that shouldn’t be possible.”

“Some scientists believe we might one day be able to communicate with parallel worlds, and communication is just an exchange of energy. But the short answer is since you’re here, it’s possible. And without the connection to your own world, well . . . you’re broken, for lack of a better word.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.” His eyes searched around the room. “There are others like me?”

“We know of as many as twenty. And more keep popping up.”

“Where are they?”

She studied his face, which was little more than a ghostly residue. “They died, Jake.”

“I’m dying too.”

“Without a transfusion of energy, yes.”

He gave her a tired smile. “I don’t think my insurance covers that.”

“I’d help you if I could. Unfortunately the effects of—” “Doctor,” interrupted the agent, “I think you’ve told him enough.”

The Echo’s ticking clock, and her compassion for his situation, shaved a slice off her already thin tolerance for the Bureau’s interference. Glancing up she said, “Agent McGinnis, please do your job and allow me to do mine.”

The agent’s dark eyes registered no surprise. From their first handshake—months ago at the International Echo Summit in Washington D.C.—they’d generated neon sparks of animosity that had singed anyone within a three-meter radius.

As she glared at him, his gaze cut back to Jake. The agent frowned. “Doctor . . .”

She returned her attention to her subject—or to the spot on the floor where he had been.

“No,” she groaned. She stepped toward the empty corner, kneeling.

“Careful, Doctor,” warned the agent.

A dead bulb in the overhead light flickered on, and she jumped. Glancing down at the floor she noticed something that looked like chalk dust. She reached out and touched it with the tip of a finger.

“Tess!” the agent shouted. But it was too late.

White heat seared up her arm, and she screamed.

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Sharp pains slashed down her body, a riptide of razors. Tess’s life gushed out of her and into Jake, who rematerialized before her eyes. He gave a long, low moan, and Tess felt him strengthening, pulsing with her energy.

He rose to his knees as she fell back onto the floor, head striking the hardwood. He crouched over her, hands sliding up the outsides of her thighs. She gave another cry of agony.

From far away she could hear Agent McGinnis shouting. But Jake’s arms coiled round her like serpents, and Tess knew she was beyond help.

THE MESSENGER Though they have proven malignant thus far, I’m convinced they are not malign. They are not murderous by nature. As with any predator, we’re dealing with a survival instinct.

—Echo Dossier, Prof. Alexi Goff, University of Edinburgh One week earlier

Tess walked slowly to the conference room, dreading the impromptu meeting with her supervisor, Seattle Psi Training Institute Director Abigail Carmichael.

Tess knew Abby had just received notification about Tess’s appointment to the Echo Task Force.

She would almost certainly try to talk Tess out of the post, despite the fact Tess had been nominated by a man they both respected—Tess’s mentor, Professor Alexi Goff.

The post was dangerous, and Tess was young—the youngest task force member by a decade. But the White House had approved the appointment, and Tess had accepted. Everything was official now.

Opening the door to the conference room, Tess was surprised to find two people waiting for her.

The unexpected—and familiar—face scrambled the mental notecards she’d assembled for her anticipated argument with Abby.

Black hair and a suit to match, accented with a vividly blue tie. Handsome and clean-shaven, with eyes that might be blue or gray—the only thing indecisive about him, in her experience.

He took a few steps toward her, and she glimpsed a shoulder holster as he offered to shake her hand.

“Tess,” began Abby, “I believe you’ve met Special Agent Ross McGinnis.”

“Yes,” replied Tess, taking his hand.

She’d never understood why the Bureau had sent this man to the summit. He was clearly hostile to the sort of work she did. She was used to skeptics. To rigid, fear-based ideas about science that hardened even the highly educated in the face of compelling evidence. But someone like him didn’t belong at a summit created to address a very real international threat. Dozens had died at the hands

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of Echoes. Many more might if they couldn’t find a way to stop them. This was no pseudoscientific woo-woo.

She supposed he’d had similar reservations about her—a young post-doc rubbing shoulders with the world’s greatest minds. She questioned it herself daily. But Goff was in the thick of it, and her collaboration with him—albeit long-distance—had rendered her more qualified than even the Nobel laureates in attendance.

“What brings you to Seattle, Agent McGinnis?” She offered him a chilly smile.

He exchanged a glance with Abby, and the tiny gesture of uncertainty—of deference— caused her heart to jump into her throat.

“What’s happened?”

Abby came a step closer, fingers brushing Tess’s arm. “Agent McGinnis has brought some news about Professor Goff.”

Tess backed away, bracing a hand against the conference room table. “He’s dead.”

She didn’t need confirmation; she felt the truth of it in her gut. Might have felt it before, had she not been preoccupied with the appointment.

She sank onto the edge of the table, and Abby moved to sit beside her. They both glanced at the agent.

Nodding, he said, “Six hours ago. The fade attacked him.”

Tess closed her eyes. Echo 7, the only one currently in confinement. “Are you sure about this?”

“I spoke to the SAS agent assigned to Goff. I’m sorry, Dr. Caufield.”

Goff was thorough and methodical. He had taken every precaution. Tess knew because she’d been video-conferencing with him since 7 was picked up by the SAS. Before that, in fact—after his interviews with 5 and 6. But 7 was almost gone when they got him—hadn’t fed in days. Had Goff seen the window of opportunity closing and started taking risks? Until someone could discover a nonlethal way of sustaining Echoes—of conducting energy transfers without killing the donor—the current shoot-on-sight policy would stand. That was an escalating tragedy neither she nor Goff could stomach. Because anyone who spent five minutes with one could see they weren’t monsters.

Yet Goff was dead.

Abby slipped an arm around Tess, and she realized she’d begun to tremble. “I want you to take a couple of weeks off. Fly to Scotland for the service. You can decide about the appointment later.”

Tess glanced again at Agent McGinnis, who stood waiting and watching. She didn’t want him here.

She could feel the cracks in her composure forking and expanding, and she didn’t want him reporting back to his superiors how the new task force member had gone to pieces when she heard the news.

“Why did they send you?” she asked.

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He was a cool customer. No hint of emotion.

“I’ve been assigned to you,” he replied.

Tess gripped the edge of the table, lips arcing down. “What do you mean ‘assigned to me’?”

“Assigned to protect you.”

“Protect me from . . . ?” But she knew where this was going.

“No one wants to see what happened to Goff happen to you. There’s growing evidence the Echoes are drawn to members of the task force. I thought you were aware.”

Tess was aware. Goff wasn’t the first to die. He’d hypothesized there was some kind of entanglement involved—in the quantum sense, where entangled particles were able to share information across distances without contact. “Spooky action at a distance,” Einstein had called it.

It was like the Echoes knew where to go for help, at least on a subconscious level.

Though as of yet they hadn’t managed to help a single one.

Despite all this, she didn’t quite buy the agent’s explanation. It felt like interference. Like they weren’t sure whether they could trust her to do her job. Goff had openly disapproved of the FBI’s policy regarding Echoes, and Tess suspected the disapproval ran both ways.

“You don’t have to do this,” interrupted Abby. “Not for Goff, not for anyone. Tess . . .” Abby’s voice deepened. “I’m asking you not to do this.”

Abby had complete authority over Tess in her role at the institute, but she could do nothing to stop this appointment, and both of them knew it. She was the only maternal figure in Tess’s life, however, and Tess appreciated her protective impulses.

“Goff was the only one who understood,” Tess said simply. “Now it’s just me.”

She did have to do this. She had believed in Goff, and his efforts had cost him his life. She couldn’t let that be for nothing. And she still believed it was the right thing to do.

The director rose and turned from her, toward the window, resting her hands on her hips.

Tess slipped off the edge of the table and glanced at her new colleague. “Welcome to Seattle, Agent McGinnis. If you’ll excuse me . . .”

Tess was barely out the door when the first sob heaved out of her. She hurried down the corridor and up the central stairway toward her apartment.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs behind her.

“Doctor, wait . . . I need to talk to you about—” She rounded on him, startled to find him close behind her. “Later, Agent McGinnis,” she snapped, her voice raw with grief.

He sank backward a step, and the controlled lines of his face loosened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize —”

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She turned and ran up to her apartment, closing and locking the door behind her.

*** —the two of you were so close.

Ross felt like an ass. He turned and headed back down the stairs.

They’d gotten off on the wrong foot now. Though really that had happened at their first meeting in D.C. On orders from the Bureau’s director, Ross had been seated next to her at the summit’s opening dinner. She’d taken an immediate dislike to him.

I’m sure it had nothing to do with questioning the validity of her life’s work. Asking her how it was possible to train people in a skill that had never been scientifically validated had probably not been his smartest move ever. Her resentment had been palpable. And her accusation that he was criticizing a field he knew nothing about had been deserved. It was a mistake someone in his position should not make. But when she’d explained her line of work to him over the bouillabaisse, she’d unknowingly pricked a nerve.

He’d been ordered to stay close to her at the summit, and it soon became clear that assignment had been compromised. It was difficult to subtly shadow someone who was actively avoiding you.

He’d confessed his sins to Bureau Director Garcia, with far less fallout than he would have expected. He had not been reassigned. Garcia did not seem to care that Dr. Caufield hated him.

But it was going to make his job a hell of a lot harder.

She’d accepted an apology from him on the last day of the summit, but it hadn’t thawed her even minutely. Now he’d brought her news of the death of her colleague. He doubted he could recover with her, but he had his orders and he had to try.

Instead of going back down to the conference room, he stopped on the second floor, where they’d assigned him the studio apartment directly below Dr. Caufield’s. He tossed his bag on the bed and started transferring his clothes to the dresser and closet. The room was spare, with battered secondhand furniture, but he’d slept in far worse places.

His thoughts returned to Caufield and all he’d learned about her for this assignment. He’d scrolled through dozens of images of her on the ride to the summit location on the outskirts of the capital. As he’d studied her features, his gut had told him she was going to be difficult. His gut was hardly ever wrong.

But it was hard not to wonder whether he’d created his own reality in that hour before their first meeting. And then fulfilled his own prophecy with that barbed comment at dinner. That was his problem with psi abilities in general. How much of it was simply self-deterministic, even if on a subconscious level?

There was more to it than her being difficult, or a psi expert, though. When she’d taken her seat beside him—smiling warmly, her auburn hair wafting jasmine with every turn of her head—parts

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other than his gut had responded in unexpected ways. That was a recipe for disaster, and he had to consider the part it might have played in his antagonistic behavior.

But Ross had been a field agent for ten years. Far from his rookie days, loyal to the Bureau and unfailingly professional. He could deal with one moody, sexy scientist. *** For two days Tess holed up in her apartment on the third floor of the Seattle Psi building, a renovated, circa-1900 elementary school. The abandoned Colman School had been slated for demolition ten years ago when the nonprofit Pacific Northwest Psi Foundation stepped in and converted it to a research and training facility, as well as onsite housing for scientists. Tess and Abby had offices on the second floor and apartments on the third. The first was reserved for meeting areas, break room, and research space and equipment.

Agent McGinnis had been given one of the apartments used by visiting researchers, and he was far too close. Tess knew when he was showering or shaving. Video conferencing or talking on the phone. Entering or leaving the apartment. She knew he didn’t play loud music or watch TV. She heard him moving around at all hours and knew that like her he didn’t sleep more than a few hours at a time.

She resented that she’d been forced to become so aware of him. But for now it was better than having to deal with him face-to-face. The loss of Professor Goff was a suffocating weight. Tess needed space to work through it, and she needed time to find her footing on her new assignment— without the interference of an outsider with an unknown agenda.

Thankfully she had a lot of catching up to do. The first item on the agenda: acquiring the details of Goff’s death. Unfortunately that one proved easy to tick off, because the investigation ended at a file that had been sealed by SAS Special Projects, Britain’s counter-terrorism unit.

We’ll let Agent McGinnis earn his keep on this one. She fired off an email asking him to throw his weight—and if possible, the Bureau’s—behind her request to unseal the file.

After that she dove into a lifetime’s worth of reading on the Echo threat. McGinnis had gotten her access to the Bureau’s case files, and the University of Edinburgh, where Goff had worked as director of the Koestler Parapsychology Unit, had sent her his Echo Dossier, an electronic packet of research notes and video files. She was also playing catch-up on in-progress task force discussions.

Grave as the situation that had led to this appointment was, it was impossible not to feel a little heady about working directly with world-renowned physicists, biologists, and psychologists.

Tess had a long-enough task list to justify holing up for a week, even considering the fact Abby had temporarily reassigned her Seattle Psi projects to other staff members. But on the morning of the third day, having exhausted her food stores and—more critically—her coffee supply, she was forced to head down to the center’s café for breakfast.

She arrived at 7 a.m., hoping to avoid chitchat with her colleagues, and intending to grab coffee and a bagel before heading back upstairs. But as she scanned her meal card for the sleepy barista, Agent McGinnis appeared before her.

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“Good morning, Doctor.”

“Good morning.”

He crossed to the dispenser for brewed coffee and picked up a mug. Tess seized the opportunity to escape.

“Could I talk to you for a minute?”

Damn. She froze in the doorway, taking a deep breath before turning. “Of course.”

“Why don’t we sit outside so we won’t be interrupted?”

So much for hopes of being rescued by a colleague.

Tess followed him to the double doors that led out to a small patio with a cluster of tables and umbrellas. It was the first week of August, and so far this summer they’d had nothing but rain. But the sky was finally cloudless this morning, with the sun just peeking above the hill to the east.

“Will you be warm enough?” he asked, holding the door for her. If nothing else he was considerate.

She held the edges of her cardigan together with her free hand. “I’ll be fine.”

The patio faced the grounds that had once been a playfield for the school, now a rhododendron garden with benches and graveled walks. She sipped her latte and breathed the fresh morning air. It felt good to be outside while the rest of the world was just waking up. Almost the rest of the world.

She glanced at her companion.

“I didn’t know you and Goff were so close, Doctor. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Tess managed a polite smile. “Thank you.” No one but Abby would know. Goff had been more of a father to her than her real father, despite the long-distance working relationship. “What did you want to talk about, Agent McGinnis?”

“I wanted to brief you on the measures we’ve taken to ensure your safety.” His long fingers pressed the sides of his mug, fingernails lining up in neat, clean rows. She curled her own fingers, with picked-ragged cuticles, into her palms.

“Your building has minimal security,” he continued, “so I’ve called in agents from the Seattle Field Office to help me keep an eye on things. At least two of us will be on duty at all times. And you have my cell number—I’m here for you twenty-four-seven, Doctor. Call me about anything, anytime.”

Tess lifted her eyes to his face and studied him more closely. He was as neat as his fingernails— clean-shaven, with short-cropped dark hair. The black suit deepened the overcast gray of his eyes.

She’d never seen him in anything else, and she wondered if he wore it every day.

“Do you have questions for me?” he asked.

“I’ve been wondering what I’m supposed to do with you, Agent McGinnis.”

He squinted a little and picked up his cup. “I’m not sure how to answer that.”

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“You said you’re here to protect me. Are you going to follow me around?”

He smiled. “You’re direct, aren’t you?”

“It saves time. I’m busy. I work better with people who are direct with me.”

“Noted,” he said with a nod. “I’m afraid the answer is yes. We will be monitoring you, as unobtrusively as possible. In fact we have been already—I have an agent walking the upper floors day and night.”

Tess raised her eyebrows. She really had been buried in her work. How had she failed to notice strangers pacing the creaky hallways?

“I’d also ask that you pay more attention than you normally do to your surroundings,” he continued.

“The fade that killed—” “I’d prefer not to refer to them that way, if you don’t mind. They’re people. What’s happened to them is not their fault.”

McGinnis considered this, tapping the side of his cup. “As I understand, we don’t really know why it’s happening, do we, Doctor?”

“That’s true,” she conceded. “But I think it’s dangerous to dehumanize them.”

“That wasn’t my intention. If you’re more comfortable with the term ‘Echo,’ I’ll use that.” He sipped his coffee. “I’m sure you’re aware the Echo that killed that French biophysicist two weeks ago appeared not five feet in front of him. The man never had a chance. I can’t save you from that, so I need you to stay sharp. If anything odd or unexpected happens, even if it’s just a funny feeling, like someone watching you, drop what you’re doing and find me.”

Tess suppressed a smile. One of her ongoing projects at the institute involved helping research subjects sharpen their precognitive skills. She’d become an expert on “funny feelings”—which McGinnis had made it clear during their first meeting he didn’t believe in.

But she let it pass. “I understand.”

“Do you have any experience with firearms?”

Her stomach clenched as she anticipated what was coming next. “I don’t like guns.”

“It’s something we might want to consider.”

“I don’t see the point. When they’re hungry, bullets are useless. Energy depletion affects their mass, so—” “I’m aware, Dr. Caufield.” There was a bite in his reply. She watched his features smooth, and his tone evened out as he continued. “But we’ve observed that some are more aggressive than others.

Some will feed even when they don’t need to. At those times they’re vulnerable, and a gun could save you.”

Tess shook her head. “I have no training. I’ve never even held a gun.”

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“That’s easily remedied.”

“Agent McGinnis, I don’t want to shoot anyone. You’re aware I was assisting Goff. He nominated me for the task force so we could collaborate more directly. I have every intention of going on with the work he was doing. I can’t do that until I have a subject to study. If one lands in my lap, the last thing I want is to shoot him.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be your call to make, Doctor. I have orders to keep you alive.”

Tess clenched her teeth. Arguing with him was the least productive thing she could do. But she couldn’t get past resenting the fact they hadn’t consulted her about sending him.

“I understand you have your orders,” she conceded. “But I assume you have no authority to force me to carry a gun.”

“I don’t.”

Relaxing at this confirmation, she continued, “I hear what you’re saying, and you’re right that there is some evidence Echoes are drawn to task force members. Do you suppose we could compromise?

Some nonlethal device?”

His frown deepened as he considered. “We haven’t tested electroshock devices against Echoes. But it’s better than nothing.”

Tess nodded and rose from the table. “All right. If you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.”

“There’s one more thing, Doctor. Please.” He gestured to the chair, and all the blood rushed to her face as she sat back down. Professional courtesy was important to her, but she didn’t want him getting the idea he could order her around.

“You should know that the Bureau wasn’t entirely onboard with the research Goff was doing.” Ah, here it comes. “Don’t misunderstand. Everyone had tremendous respect for what he accomplished.

For what he was able to learn about them before he died. But the Bureau is most concerned with mitigating the threat.”

“Are you here to tell me how to conduct my research, Agent McGinnis?”

“Doctor, try to—” “Yes or no?”

The agent’s lips pressed into a hard line. His gaze shifted to the playfield. She could see the artery in his throat pulsing.

“I’m not a scientist. The White House has tapped your expertise, not mine. But the Bureau is taking the lead in managing this crisis, and they do expect us to work together. As for Goff’s research, obviously we have no authority over how other countries choose to oversee the efforts of their task force members.”

If nothing else, she had to admire his ability to evade a direct question. But the answer was clear enough.

64

*** Over the next few days Tess found it easy to return to the policy she’d adopted in D.C.—focus on the task at hand; avoid her new shadow. She didn’t have cycles to spare on him.

As long as he stuck to his job and stayed out of her way, they’d get along fine. But the last words he’d said to her never completely left her thoughts: “they do expect us to work together.” It was only a matter of time before their interests collided again.

But for the moment she was still playing catch-up. The other task force members from the life sciences had been happy to help her get up to speed. She was not all that surprised to find that, in true academic fashion—and in spite of the task force’s stated purpose of cross-discipline collaboration—cliques had formed. Her life sciences colleagues, like herself, had been focusing on understanding the Echoes, and she got the sense their work was considered low priority—unlikely to bear fruit that would help resolve the crisis.

The physicists and cosmologists were focused on discovering the cause of the dimensional dislocations in hopes of shutting it off, and their work seemed to be most in the spotlight. They spent a lot of time debating which of the various theories regarding multiverses had been validated by the appearance of the alternate-Earth visitors.

The investigative experts had thrown all their resources at finding better ways to track Echoes. No one had any clear idea of how many were at large. The reports of mysterious deaths were edging up, but thanks to next year’s US presidential election and the water riots in the developing world, big media hadn’t taken notice yet.

Tess wasn’t political—that was Abby’s job as director—but she knew the upcoming election was likely a major factor in the Bureau feeling pressured to get a handle on the Echo crisis as quickly and quietly as possible.

As the only parapsychologist on the task force, Tess struggled to find her place, especially after the loss of Goff. Welcoming as her new colleagues had been, she knew that many of them were politely masking the same prejudices McGinnis had revealed at the summit. For some people it didn’t matter how many dramatic results you dumped in their laps—they simply felt too threatened to see it.

The end of the week rolled around without Tess even noticing. On Friday after the close of business, desperate for something with sugar in it, she headed down to pilfer from the kitchen. The café was run by a contractor, and the residents were supposed to stay out after it closed. Occasionally someone broke the rules and a memo would circulate, reminding the staff that the contents of the kitchen were not institute property. Tess had been one of the more persistent offenders.

She’d just poured a glass of orange juice when she heard dress shoes tapping on the hardwood floor.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to report that.”

Her heart jumped, and she turned to find Agent McGinnis frowning at her from the other side of the counter. “Unless you’re prepared to share.”

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Tess suppressed a smiled and got down another glass, carrying both over to the counter. “I should warn you that our deviant behavior is sure to be the subject of a sternly worded memo.”

“Well, if they try to prosecute, you can blame me. I’ll take the rap.”

She held up her glass. “Honor among thieves?”

He clinked his against it. “Hardly. I’m trying to make you like me.”

Tess chuckled, sipping her juice to cover the blush that had taken her by surprise. “I didn’t realize it was—” She broke off as she heard a rattling noise in the lobby, just on the other side of the wall from the kitchen.

McGinnis glanced at the café entrance, and the sound came again. “Someone’s trying to open the front door.”

Tess slipped from behind the counter, but he caught hold of her arm. “Wait, Doctor.”

“Don’t!” she protested, tugging her arm back. The sudden contact had jolted her, but the extremity of her reaction surprised her.

He let go and held up his hand. “Wait here until I see who it is.”

“It’s just the delivery guy,” she said. “They forget to use the buzzer after hours.”

“Doctor—” She slipped away from him, trying to shake off both the man and the way he made her feel.

She grasped the bolt and slid it free—and gave a surprised cry as whoever was on the other side shoved the door open, hard. McGinnis grabbed Tess around the waist and dragged her away.

A shadow stumbled through the door. Not a shadow—an Echo stood gawking in the low-lit lobby, shoulders hunched, eyes raking slowly over the stairway and sparse furnishings.

“Head for the stairs,” McGinnis hissed, drawing his sidearm. “Go up and get behind a door that locks.”

Tess’s heart pounded as he edged her toward the stairway. “We need to get him to the lab.”

“Doctor, upstairs!”

She was scared—every bit as scared as the agent clearly thought she should be. But she had not joined the task force to run away at the first opportunity to make a real contribution.

“If we lose him he’ll just end up hurting people,” she reminded him. “You know you can’t shoot him while he’s half faded. Let me try.”

McGinnis hesitated, gaze riveted to the visitor, who stood quiet and bemused in the entryway.

Finally he let go of her, saying, “Stay close to me.”

Tess took a couple steps toward the Echo, and McGinnis followed.

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“Hey, you okay?” she asked.

The bearded man seemed to notice her for the first time. She watched his confusion and distress evolve into something else. He took a step, reaching for her, but she staggered backward.

“You can’t touch me, okay?” she warned. “It’s dangerous.”

The agent’s arm shot around her waist again, and he pulled her against him as he moved toward the corridor behind them.

“We want to help you,” Tess called. “Follow me, okay?”

Tess and the agent backed across the floor, the Echo following, and together they slow-danced toward the lab where the scientists ran their experiments.

“What’s wrong with me?” the visitor asked. His voice had a subterranean quality, like it was rising up out of a well.

“I can explain, but we need to get you someplace safe first.”

“Am I . . . are you . . . real?”

“Yes, I’m real. So are you.”

“I’m so tired. I’ve got this strange, sort of aching . . . itch. I need . . .”

He took a couple quick steps, reaching for her again, and McGinnis forced her to the floor. “Stop!” the agent ordered. “You can’t touch her.” He shoved open the lab door on his left. “You can rest in here.”

One of the other agents—Perez—had appeared in the corridor and stood with her pistol at the ready.

But she was as helpless as they were. All of them were at the Echo’s mercy. It was up to him whether this worked or not.

The bearded man stared into the lab.

“It’s okay,” urged Tess, rising to her feet. He blinked at her, bewildered. “You’re going to be okay.”

He walked into the lab, and McGinnis closed the door behind him, locking it with a click. Through the window in the door she saw the Echo turn, startled.

Tess punched the intercom button beside the door. “The lock’s just a precaution. Don’t be afraid.”

He glanced slowly around behind him and then moved farther into the room.

Tess turned off the intercom and sank against the door.

McGinnis blew out a long breath. “Jesus, Doctor.”

He reached for her arm, but his hand hovered a moment and he gestured with his fingers instead.

“Come away from the door.”

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Tess righted herself and turned to peer into the lab. The Echo had sunk down in a corner of the room, head resting on his folded arms. As she watched him, his form sank lower until he lay flat on his back staring at the ceiling.

“He doesn’t have long,” she murmured. Tess had watched Echo 6 die. One minute he’d been hungry and dangerous, pacing tiger-like in a lab much like this one, and then some kind of switch had flipped. Over the course of the next several hours he’d faded away until fatigue and paralysis set in, and then finally he just wasn’t there.

This one wouldn’t make it until morning.

“We can’t afford to take any risks,” said McGinnis. “Perez, notify Dr. Carmichael. We need to get any staff out of the building ASAP. Everyone but Carmichael and Caufield.”

Tess pressed the intercom button again. “You okay in there?”

No reply. No sign of movement.

She turned to McGinnis. “We don’t have much time. I’ll watch him for an hour to be sure, but I don’t think he’s getting up again. If he doesn’t, I want to go in.”

McGinnis was shaking his head before she finished. “No. It’s too risky.”

“Have you been paying attention? He was more dangerous five minutes ago than he is now, and he didn’t touch me.”

Still he shook his head. “He tried. If you want to talk to him, do it through the door.”

Tess braced a hand against the wall. “Talking to them—asking them questions about what they remember—it’s all we’ve got right now. You understand that, right? This is my job now. I need to talk to him before he’s gone, and it’s useless to keep shouting at him through the goddamn intercom.”

McGinnis raised his hand to his head, rubbing his temples.

“This is important, Agent McGinnis. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

He dropped his hand and met her gaze, his expression flat. “You win, Doctor. We’ll watch him for two hours. Then I go in with you.”

68

Blue Yonder (Diane Dooley) Release Date: September 29, 2015 Publisher: Decadent Publishing Format: Ebook Price: US$2.99 Links: All Romance Ebooks – Amazon US – Amazon UK

SFR Galaxy Award for Best Scene Stealer (Judge Jo Jones) Baby Jack is just full of surprises in this romance. H helps reconnect two people who have a past but have been apart for a long time. A very well-developed 45-page long story.

Chapter One Face mask firmly affixed, Daniel Morneau strolled beneath the crumbling edifice of the Acropolis.

The warm glow of sunset had turned Athens golden, and the gusty winds had blown the usual polluted haze out to sea. High above the Acropolis, a comet streaked its way across the sky. How many times had the ancients treated each appearance of this comet as a sign of the end of times?

This time, though, it was. The end of the world was no longer nigh. It was on them.

Daniel walked on, in no particular hurry. His day, which had started with his very last backgammon battle with his old friend, Stratos, was drawing to a close. One last payment to pick up, then he would visit some favorite places for the last time. Say his final good-byes to the city and the planet.

And to Isabel.

He turned down an alley, listening to the distant booms of spaceships being slingshot out of Piraeus Space Port. The ships were all headed for Lunar Base where their occupants would be loaded onto massive arc ships and dispersed throughout the far-flung colonies. He’d be heading out himself

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soon into that great blue yonder. Everything was arranged. “Next week,” Vangelis had said. Daniel didn’t have to worry about a thing, didn’t have to concern himself with the swirling rumors. People were saying there wasn’t going to be enough time and ships for everybody. What would the dictator do with those left behind? Kill them? Probably. Daniel shrugged. His place on an outward-bound ship was assured. He’d earned it, and he didn’t have it in him any longer to worry about anyone else. Except Isabel.

Athens seemed so empty, the bustle he’d come to associate it with almost entirely absent. Almost.

He’d turned a corner and encountered a lengthy line of a few hundred silent, shuffling people outside Yannis’s market. Some glanced up at him, recognized him then avoided his eyes as he walked by. Daniel stopped to stare. So many old men and women, a few in wheelchairs. It couldn’t have slipped their notice that they were lowest on the evacuation priority lists. The guard stationed at the door nodded at him nervously as Daniel approached him with a question.

“What’s Yannis selling?” He tried to remember the guy’s name but gave up. He was one of the lower-level men, there to provide protection for whatever price gouging Yannis was doing today.

The man stepped forward. “Suicide pills.” He glanced around before leaning closer, directing whispered words through his face mask into Daniel’s ear. “I heard Yannis say they were fake, but that he was making a killing.”

An old woman dressed in black scurried out of the market, adjusting a face mask before tucking more of them into her cavernous bag.

“They’re no longer distributing masks for free,” the man continued. “Yannis is selling them, too, if you need some.”

Daniel took a last look at the gathering of sad and desperate people. Suicide pills. So it had come to that?

“Hey, did you hear about Roma?” the man said, his voice hushed.

Daniel nodded. He’d wet his feet years before in that ancient city when it had already started to go under. Now it was no more, following so many formerly great cities of the world since the icecaps and glaciers had melted. Athens, though, was still dry, its water still fresh. But it wouldn’t be for much longer. Maybe suicide pills were the right idea. Better than starving. Or drowning in your own diseased lungs. He closed his eyes to the elderly people. His parents had never gotten the chance to get old. It was almost a rarity these days.

He shook off his thoughts, strolling around the corner and then through the back door, pausing to enter the lock combo from memory. Yannis’s wife, Dora, sat at a table in the back room, packing small, dry oranges into bags, her face as miserable as always.

She looked up as he entered. “That bastard Vangelis is still charging us for protection?”

Daniel pulled down his mask. “You’ve got a guard on your door, don’t you? Pay up. And watch your fucking mouth.”

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Dora stood then grumbled her way to a desk in the corner of the room. She pulled an envelope out of the top drawer before turning and tossing it onto the table in front of Daniel. He opened it, spilled out the multicolored creds, and started counting. Halfway through, he heard an impossible noise.

Dora crying? He glanced up into the stony face. Nope. He doubted a tear had ever dropped from those grim eyes. He turned toward the sound. In another corner was a cage with a mattress inside.

Holding on to the bars and sobbing piteously was a small child.

“A baby? I haven’t seen one of those in forever.” He rose and went over, crouching down and gazing into the limpid brown eyes of a half-naked little boy. “How old is he?”

Dora shrugged. “Eighteen months, maybe. Something like that.”

The boy reached a hand through the bars and clutched one of Daniel’s fingers. He stared down at it.

Such a small hand. His fingers were thin, but he held on with an impressive grip. A fat tear slid down the child’s face, leaving a clear track through the dirt.

Daniel turned back to Dora. “Is he your grandson?”

An amused snort exploded from Dora, the closest he’d ever seen her to happy. “My grandkids are grown and working for a warlord on Greenpath. I’ll be joining them soon enough. And that useless daughter of mine will take care of me in my old age. Whether she likes it or not.” She stabbed a bony finger in the direction of the child. “That right there is our ticket off this fucking planet. I’m gonna be retiring in style.”

Daniel looked back at the boy. “He’s for sale? Who the hell is gonna buy an extra mouth to feed?”

“Some Blue bastard. But he won’t be feeding the kid for long. His own brat needs a new set of kidneys, and the family can’t leave until then. I negotiated an excellent price.” Dora smirked at her own cleverness. “The Blues are abandoning the city, the whole planet. You know what that means?

It’s time to get the fuck out of here.”

The little finger clutched harder, and the boy let out a sob. Poor kid. It was almost as if he’d understood the old bat. Daniel reluctantly disengaged his finger from the child’s grasp and went back to the table. He started recounting the creds. “Where’s his mother?

Dora shrugged again. “Who cares? What kind of stupid bitch would bring a baby into this world?

He was being experimented on up at the hospital, so I’m doing him a favor.”

Daniel paused. “A favor that’ll kill him.”

“Whatever. The Blue is paying me enough for a ticket off this shithole. Me and Yannis both. Tell Vangelis this is his last payment. We’ll be gone this time next week.”

Daniel proceeded with his count. “You don’t need to buy a ticket. Won’t you be evacuated for free?”

“Everyone says there won’t be enough arc ships, and we’re low on the priority list. Too fucking old.

I ain’t ready to die yet, and I don’t want to be assigned a destination. I want Greenpath. My daughter owes me, and I’m gonna collect.”

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Daniel had heard about the assigned destinations. No useful skill? Then it was forced labor in the asteroid mines, the desolate salt fields—or worse. Daniel’s skill was smarts and muscle, useful to Vangelis, if not anyone else. He finished his count.

“You’re short two hundred creds.”

“It’s all we’ve got!”

“Didn’t you just say the Blue paid you a shitload of money?”

“He hasn’t paid yet,” she whined. “Plus, the guard has been late for work every day.”

Daniel stood and approached her. Time to earn his keep. He bent his head and put his mouth to her ear. “Go get the rest of the money from Yannis. Or I will take one of your kidneys as payment.”

She cringed away from him. “Yannis went out. I don’t know where he is.”

He lowered his voice further still. “Find him. Get the money. Bring it to me. Or get the money from the store. I don’t care. Just get it for me. Now.” He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a knife, turning it, making it flash in the dull light.

“You’re as big a bastard as Vangelis, Daniel Morneau. You know Yannis would kill me if I gave you uncounted creds.” Dora grabbed her shawl, pulled up her face mask, and fled the room.

Daniel sat back down at the table and settled in for a wait. Using his knife, he sliced up one of the oranges, finding they were much juicier inside than he would have guessed. The scent of oranges always reminded him of Isabel. Her favorite fruit, he’d bought a basket of them as a wedding present for her and Jacques. Food hadn’t been in quite such short supply back then. Daniel slurped on the orange wedges, remembering his best friend and the day he’d introduced Daniel to the woman Jacques intended to marry. Isabel, with her waist-length hair, bold spirit, dark eyes, and infectious laugh.

“She doesn’t laugh anymore,” he announced, looking over at the child. Not since Jacques had died.

She was still beautiful, though her smile had disappeared. When last he’d seen Isabel, her black hair had been chopped, barely grazing her brown, bare shoulders.

“Da,” the boy whimpered, stretching an arm between the bars.

Daniel looked down at his orange. “This? You want a piece?”

He lifted a section and took it over to the kid. The boy grabbed it and immediately started to gnaw.

Looked like Dora had been saving money by not feeding him. Daniel shook his head. Poor kid.

What a shitty end to such a short life.

The child dropped the gnawed orange and stretched his sticky fingers through the bars again, grabbing onto Daniel’s hand. “Mama.”

Daniel laughed. “Nope. I ain’t your mama. Sounds like you didn’t have one, little guy.”

The boy leaned his head against the bars, his eyes filling with tears again, his hand tightening around Daniel’s finger.

72

“Can’t help you, kid,” he muttered. “I would if I could.”

The child slumped against the bars. He looked dejected, almost as if he’d understood what was being said to him.

“But I tell you what. You want out of that cage for a few minutes?” Daniel pulled his hand away and slid the top off the cage. He stood and, leaning forward, scooped the child up and off the dingy mattress. Daniel held the child under his armpits, and they stared, face-to-face, into each others’ eyes.

“Da,” the kid said. “Da-na. Da.” “Trying to say my name? Dan-yell. Dan-yell.”

“Da-na. Da-na.”

“Well, you’re a clever little fellow, aren’t you?” Daniel bobbed him up and down. “And you weigh more than I’d have thought. They weren’t starving you in that hospital.”

Dora had said they were performing experiments, but he didn’t have any marks except for grime.

What the hell kind of person would experiment on a little kid like this? He pulled the child against him. The boy immediately reached an arm around Daniel’s neck and laid his head against his chest.

“Da-na,” he murmured, sounding almost contented. He peeked up at Daniel, his eyes large and trusting. “Da-da.”

Daniel’s heart twisted. This was crazy. He should put the kid back in his cage and go wait upfront for Dora’s return. He should do that. He really should. The boy snuggled his face into the crook of Daniel’s neck, wiggling slightly to settle himself more firmly in Daniel’s arms.

“Da-da,” he said, then closed his eyes.

Daniel attempted to unlock the little arm from his neck, but as soon as he managed it the arm wiggled free and coiled its way back again. He looked to the door, hoping Dora would march through it with her hatchet face and rescue him. But when Yannis “went out”, there was no telling which whorehouse he would be in. Athens still had a few of them, even with most of the population being evacced to the stars. He scowled. He himself hadn’t gone in one since he’d seen Isabel plying her wares a few months ago. He’d tried to talk to her, but she’d scurried off to an upstairs room with a customer, showing Daniel nothing but her back and an imperious toss of her hair.

Looking down, he saw the kid had grasped a fistful of his shirt and was holding on tightly, his knuckles white. Daniel sighed. Were kids this young supposed to be this clever? Or was he just desperate for some kind of human warmth and affection? He’d obviously decided he needed to be saved, and Daniel seemed to be his choice. Not that the kid had any other options. This was ridiculous. He was just here to collect the protection money for Vangelis, not involve himself in this doomed creature’s problems. Shaking his head, he put a hand on the thin back of the child, feeling the ribs beneath the skin, imagining the scalpel cutting in toward the kidneys. He cringed at the thought, holding the baby a little tighter. A wild thought entered his brain.

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Looking around, he noticed an old rucksack. Inside were cloth triangles, like the one the baby wore, some plastic bottles, and packets of off-yellow powder. Daniel tossed in a few oranges and slid a fat envelope out of his pocket. The day’s take. Vangelis’s money. He tossed it in the rucksack and then zipped up his jacket, tucking the baby inside, snug enough that he wouldn’t need a mask. He threw the rucksack over one shoulder, pulled up his mask, then paused at the door. What the fuck am I doing? This is a bad idea. A stupid decision. He looked down at the kid, at the little hand clutching his shirt. He closed his eyes, remembering something he had tried so hard to forget. Another little hand that had once held onto him for dear life. He opened his eyes, grinned wildly, and marched out the door.

It was dark. Good. He slipped confidently through the mazelike alleys of the Plaka. Couldn’t go to his place. Vangelis would look there first. There really was only one choice of where to go. No matter the time that had passed and the promise he had failed to keep, there was only one person he could trust. He’d find a family for the kid, pay someone to evacuate him. At least he’d live.

Daniel took a right, then a left, then another left onto a dark dead-end street. The small house at the end was run-down and looked abandoned, but he knew Isabel still lived there. She’d never willingly leave the home where she’d been so happy, the house where her beloved husband, Daniel’s best friend, had died. The comet burned in the sky above, the only light, as Daniel slipped around the back of the house.

Chapter Two Isabel pulled on her face mask and trudged wearily toward the factory gate, another evening shift done. She was exhausted, already having worked so much overtime that week, what with the factory running constantly, churning out nutripacks to supply the arc ships. Now it was time to rush home, get changed, and spend a few hours seeking out a man who would pay a lot of creds for the use of her body. She’d try the house up on Syntagma. The owner only took ten percent, and there were still a few Blue customers with plenty of creds wanting one last fuck for the road before they evacced. And for another ten percent cut, the security guys would make sure she wasn’t treated violently. God, she hoped she didn’t run into Daniel again. That look on his face when he’d seen her….

She put her head down as she passed through the gates, ignoring the guards as they eyed the leaving factory workers.

“Hey, you. Visconti!”

Shit. She’d paid the fee, the bribe that was supposed to get her out the gate without being searched.

Her pockets, like everyone else’s, were stuffed with high-protein nutripacks. Shit. She shuffled over to the guard.

He looked her up and down. “Relax, Visconti. I’m just delivering a message.”

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She breathed a sigh of relief. She needed this damn job. The creds were okay; it kept her supplied with nutrition, and, most of all, it meant she only had to whore part-time. She mentally totaled up her savings. A couple more weeks and she’d be free. One very expensive ticket to the planet of her choice. No more factory, no more whoring, no more Earth.

“Vangelis wants to see you. He’s at his regular taverna. Go straight there.”

Fuck. She knew exactly what he wanted. She nodded. “Thanks.”

Straight there. Good. He’d see her in her threadbare work coveralls and hopefully wouldn’t be making her an offer she’d be all too happy to refuse. She’d best hurry, though. A Vangelis who was kept waiting was an angry Vangelis.

Isabel stuck out her arm and waved down a riksha. She showed the painfully thin runner a glimpse into her pocket. “One if you walk; two if you run.” He nodded eagerly. “Plato’s Taverna in the Plaka. You know it?” He nodded and gestured her in to the riksha.

“Me go fast,” he murmured and, indeed, he took off at a pace that seemed impossible, especially since he had no mask to protect his lungs.

He barely spoke Standard, she realized. Looking down, she saw he had no shoes. Still, the sticks of his legs pumped furiously, eager for the two measly nutripacks she had offered him. What part of the world did you wander in from? Just another wetfoot escaping the rising oceans. From the looks of him, this one was from the North.

She’d been the same ten years earlier, drifting in on the rising Mediterranean. They’d arrived in Athens, she and her older sister, Lisabet, clothed in rags and almost desperate. Lisabet had seen the writing on the wall and had shipped out for the star colonies as soon as she could. Isabel had met Jacques, and there was nothing, not even her beloved sister’s pleas, that could tear her away from her love. Or from Daniel.

The three of them had all found work. Jacques as security for an important Blue, she at the factory, and Daniel with Vangelis. Jacques, lithe and quick-witted with the laughing green eyes, and Daniel, darker, quieter, more intense. A large man, but surprisingly gentle, his eyes as blue as one particular summer’s day from her childhood. Oh, how things had changed. Jacques wasn’t laughing any more, and Daniel, no longer gentle, had disappeared further into Vangelis’s dangerous underground world, declaring he was sick of being on the bottom of the food chain. It had been over a year since she’d seen Daniel until, a few months ago, he’d shown up, frowning, disappointed, and looking ready to drag her out of that whorehouse by the hair. Fuck him. She’d barely seen him after Jacques died.

Once so close…. She shook her head. Fuck him. Then acknowledged that that was exactly what she had done.

The riksha pulled up at Plato’s, and Isabel gave the runner his two nutripacks. Karma. She could use some. She slipped him another pack.

“Me thanks,” he said, smiling gratefully. “My have small son.”

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She walked away shaking her head. A child? In this terrible place? Why the hell would anyone do that?

She pulled open the door of the taverna and slipped inside. Vangelis was at his usual table, surrounded by his flunkies. She looked for Daniel. He wasn’t there. Good. She hated seeing him all cold-eyed and heartless. And she didn’t want him to hear whatever Vangelis was going to offer for her. Not that she was ashamed. No, she just associated Daniel with Jacques, who’d have been horrified by what she’d become. Jacques had always been the decent one. Daniel? Not so much, not after he joined up with Vangelis.

“Isabel Visconti. What the hell are you wearing?” Vangelis laughed and waved her over. He seemed in a good mood, at least. She approached his table, and he shoved a man out of her way. “Give the lady a chair. Poor thing’s been on her feet all day. Get her a drink.”

The man shuffled off and returned with a glass of ouzo and a jug of water. Isabel put a tiny splash of water in the drink and watched it turn cloudy. No matter the food shortages, there was always, always booze. She swallowed it down, aware Vangelis was watching her closely, his dark eyes curious.

“I got your message, Vee. What do you want?”

He poured her another drink. “What do I want?” He leaned back in his chair. “Lots of things.” He casually slid his hand down and cupped his balls. “How about you?” He indicated her glass.

“Drink.”

She tossed it down and dropped the glass on the table. “I just got off work, and I’m tired. What do you want?”

“Why you still at the factory? You can make more money with this.” He reached forward and pulled the zipper on her coveralls down, slowly. He stopped; disappointed with the T-shirt she wore underneath. “And you wouldn’t have to dress so ugly.” He leaned back in his chair. “Where is Daniel Morneau?”

She started. “What?”

“Your friend, correct? Your very close friend.” He leered. “The reason why your husband killed himself.”

“That’s not true!”

Vangelis laughed. “No one cares if you fucked your husband’s best friend. Well, except me. Where is he?”

Isabel glowered at him. What have you gone and done, Daniel? “I haven’t seen him. He works for you. How the hell should I know where he is?”

Vangelis’s smile disappeared. “Liar. You saw him recently. I was there, too, remember? And from the way he was looking at you, I’d say he was quite intent on fucking you again.”

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“It wasn’t—” Vangelis held up a hand to silence her then gave an expansive shrug. “You know, Isabel, I never liked your husband.” He poured her another ouzo. “I offered him and Daniel a job. Daniel said yes.

Jacques told me to go fuck myself. Drink.”

Isabel reached for the glass and drank it without taking her eyes off him.

“Daniel has…absconded. With something that belongs to me. And with another item that belongs to one of my clients. I want them both back.” He tipped his head, took a long slug from the bottle, and then set it back on the table. “I shall be leaving this benighted planet soon. And before I go, I want to fuck the wife of the man who was too proud to work for me.”

Sucking in a breath, Isabel tensed. “I can’t do that, Vee.” “No? And why not? I’ll pay your usual fee.”

What could she say that wouldn’t infuriate him? I hate you and always have? You took our friend from us and turned him into a soulless thug? Your sadistic tastes are only too well-known? She sighed. Those wouldn’t work. But she had to say something. “You…you’re married. It wouldn’t be fair to your wife.”

He grinned. “Alethia is far too sensible of a woman to care. You should be sensible, too. I will pay you well. And I will pay you even more if you find Daniel for me.”

Isabel suppressed a shudder. Barely.

“If you don’t find Daniel, I’ll still be generous. I like you, Isabel. Always have. But I’ve stayed away from you. I’ve respected you. Well, until you turned to whoring. Now….” He smiled. “You’re just another woman for sale. No reason to deny myself.”

Isabel’s heart was speeding and thumping, her fingernails grinding into the arm of her chair. How am I gonna get out of this? How the fuck am I gonna get out of this? What the hell did Daniel do?

She spoke loudly, hoping her voice didn’t show any fear. “Will you hurt him? For what he’s done?”

Fuck. Her voice had trembled.

Vangelis hadn’t missed it. He lit a cigarette. “I want him back. He’s never done anything like this before, has been loyal to me for ten years. I’ll hear him out, and he still has a berth on the ship I’ve chartered. Our slingshot is already scheduled at Piraeus. We won’t even have to go on one of those overloaded behemoths either. I’ve chartered a very nice, very expensive ship for the entire journey.”

He inhaled deeply and thoughtfully on his cigarette then blew out the smoke in a steady stream toward her. Even the touch of tobacco smoke, from his lungs to her skin, felt ominous. Her skin crept, a judder forming in the base of her spine. His lips curled back in the reminiscence of a smile.

“If Daniel isn’t there for launch, then I’ll take you in his place. And then I’ll fuck you all the way to the Epsilon Quadrant. I’m told the journey takes six months.” The smile dropped from his face.

“You had best aim to please me. Because if you don’t…”

He snapped his fingers.

The man who had vacated the chair approached, smiling politely. He stood directly behind Isabel,

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nudging up close to her, his crotch touching her back. She tried to lean forward, but his fingers grasped her shoulders, holding her lightly, insistently. Beads of moisture gushed from her pores in a stone-cold sweat, and she found her hand reaching out, grasping her glass. Something hard dug into her back, and her arm stretched toward Vangelis, the glass shaking. He carefully tipped a long pour of ouzo into the glass. Soon, a long thin stream of water turned the liquid cloudy. Isabel pulled it to her lips and quenched her parched mouth with a deep swallow, closing her eyes as the fire went down her throat.

Vangelis set the jug of water down with a heavy thud. “If I’m not pleased with you, I’m afraid you’ll have to earn the rest of your passage flat on your back, twenty-four seven, entertaining the rest of my men.”

The man behind her lifted a hand and, with one knuckle, gently stroked the hairs that were standing up on the back of her neck. Isabel raised her eyes to meet Vangelis’s. His lids were heavy, giving him a deceptively sleepy look. But his eyes were cold dead things in their sockets. When his mouth formed into a smile, his eyes didn’t change.

“I’m sure you’ll do excellent business. Maybe even have paid off your debt before we get to the next fucking planet.” He snapped his fingers again, and the man behind her retreated, his touch leaving her slowly, reluctantly. “Do you know where Daniel might be?”

“Maybe.” The part-time taverna, open weekends only, where Daniel used to go play backgammon with the old men? “I don’t even know where he lives.” That place up in the mountains where the trees used to be? He used to like to take a blanket and go sleep near an old broken shrine. He’d taken her and Jacques there. It was his favorite place; his secret place, he’d called it. Could he be hiding out there?

Vangelis watched her, amused. “I know where he lives. We have that covered. And I have many men out looking for him.” He took a long drag on his cigarette, reached out with his foot and nudged hers.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and they’ll find him. Drink.”

Isabel sipped.

“Finish it.”

She tipped it back, her stomach rebelling. She had to get out of there. Her stomach roiled, and she clenched her body, trying to hold everything back.

“You can go.”

She stood up, locking her knees to keep from staggering. Turning, she felt dizzy and put a hand on the table to steady herself. Vangelis reached out and grasped her wrist, circled his fingers around, touching on her pulse point, smiling at its rapid pace. His eyes dropped to her breasts.

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“One of those Blue bitches in Kolonaki is selling her clothes.” He handed her a card with an address on it. “They’re fleeing the planet and trying to take as much money with them as they can.” He turned to the man on his right. “Give her all your creds.”

The man stood, pulling a thick envelope from an inside jacket pocket. He leaned over and shoved the packet inside the top of her coveralls, the back of his hand rasping roughly against her breast.

Vangelis stubbed out his cigarette and sat up straight. “Don’t ever come before me wearing such ugly clothes again. Next time? Dress to please me. I like my whores to dress like whores. Tits out, slits to the ass. Tacky, but expensive. You know the type of thing? ” Isabel nodded. “I-I came straight here from the factory, Vee. I have to wear this stuff to work. But I won’t come straight from work again. I-I’ll change first.”

Vangelis stood then pulled Isabel to him. “Your foreman was a hard man to bribe. Very hard. He said you were a good woman and a good worker. But…everyone has their price. Even you. Right, Isabel?” He brought her hand to his mouth and lingered over it, inhaling, before kissing it lightly.

Never had a kiss felt so much like a threat. Isabel pulled her hand away, but Vangelis only smiled and raised an eyebrow at her. “So, in the end? You don’t work there anymore.” He shoved her away, his hand to the small of her back, toward the door. She stumbled in its direction. From behind her.

“I’ll see you soon, Isabel. One way or another.”

She pushed her way out into the cool night air, staggered to the corner, then vomited, again and again, into the street. What have you done, Daniel? What have you done? My dear friend. What have you fucking done?

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Sucker Punch (Pauline Baird Jones) Author: Pauline Baird Jones Release date: July 19, 2015 Publisher: Pauline Baird Jones Format: Ebook (Epub, Mobi); and in print in One Two Punch bundle Links: Author's website – Subscribe to author's newsletter

SFR Galaxy Award for Best Futuristic Romance With Ties to Contemporary Romantic Suspense and Contemporary Sci Fi Romance By the Same Author (Judge Riley Moreland) Prior to reading the An Uneasy Future series, I had already read books in both Ms. Jones' The Big Uneasy and Project Enterprise series. In Sucker Punch, I was pleasantly surprised to recognize names and technology from these seemingly unrelated series. Is that lazy writing? Or is that deviously imaginative? I pick devious.

Each time I finish a book by Ms. Jones, I appreciate her talent even more. Creative plots, smart-alecky writing, a sassy heroine and an intriguing hero are her sci fi trademarks that are present in Sucker Punch. Detective Violet Baker and alien partner Dzholh Ban!drn, otherwise known as Joe, are investigating a murder. The MITSC (Men in Top Secret Colors) are interested in the case too. I finished Sucker Punch last summer and I am still grinning as I recall the story to write this article. There are a lot of laughout-loud moments while Baker and Joe solve a serious case. And there is quite a bit of made up science fiction – another Pauline Baird Jones trademark.

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Chapter 1 Violet Baker did not look at guys as accessories, but it was kinda cool dating a guy—okay an alien named Dzholh Ban!drn that she called Joe because she couldn’t pronounce his name—who matched her eyes and her name. Way better than shoes or a coordinated tote. He was for sure prettier than anything in her closet. And purple, in all its shades, was NON’s “national” color, so he wouldn’t go out of style any time soon. Even better, Joe was a guy she most wanted to kiss and who wanted to kiss her. That hadn’t happened for a while, mostly because about ninety percent of the datable males in the New Orleans New Police Department were relatives. It was a Baker-rich environment, which made it a dating desert. And the few guys who had wanted to date her? Most of them couldn’t get past all the cousins and Captain Uncle to kiss her.

On the downside—did there always have to be one?—was the sentient nanite sharing Joe’s brain.

And the fact that Joe wasn’t only here on an intergalactic cop exchange program. He and Lurch were hunting a dangerous and ruthless…something or other that liked to cook people from the inside out. This something or other could hide inside people, which had resulted in a minor misunderstanding during which Joe had almost shot her with his ray gun.

But she was over that.

A kiss had made it, if not all better, then ninety percent that direction.

And the truth was, if she had been hosting this something or other, being shot was quicker than being painfully cooked from the inside out. So she might be one hundred percent better. Or ninetynine. Yeah, for sure ninety-nine.

She studied Joe’s profile, her gaze lingering on his lips. All right, she might be one hundred percent okay.

Except for…

She looked morosely out on a world that was, if not forever changed, then destined to be markedly different for a very long time.

Hurricane Wu Tamika Felipe had been one for the history books. A book she wished she could read in hindsight and not be currently experiencing. Though living through it was better than dying during it. She’d had her doubts about surviving one or twenty-five times.

“The trouble with surviving a hurricane,” Vi glanced at Joe again, as he steered their new-to-them skimmer through a reconfigured New Orleans New, “is that then you have to get through the aftermath.”

She’d never been that fond of math. So far aftermath wasn’t floating her skimmer either. It was a lot like the before-math, but with less rain, less wind, and no utilities. Oh, and a city requiring all emergency hands on an unrecognizable deck for an indefinite period of time.

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“Oh, look, there’s Jackson Square,” Vi said, as she spotted the familiar lines of the cathedral. “I wondered where it got to.”

Well, maybe unrecognizable wasn’t the right word. She could see landmarks—why did they still call them that?—in the air space that was New Orleans New-ly Rearranged, but not in their place in the air space that had been NON. “And there’s Lake Pontchartrain,” she added. At least it hadn’t moved, just expanded its borders for a bit. “Lots of white caps down there.”

“WTF caused considerable disruption,” Joe observed. “Do you wish me to log the location for Jackson Square?”

“I got it.” She entered the coordinates in the hastily cobbled-together program designed in hopes of putting Humpty Dumpty, aka NON, back together again.

The bright idea, conceived fifty years ago, to lift the city up out of the flood zone, had clearly failed to anticipate the effects of 200 MPH-plus winds on floating structures maintained by underperforming, aging thrusters. The problem had been further complicated by the anti-collision technology—though the anti-collision tech had performed better than the thrusters, much to the delight of the Anti-Collision Board, who had almost been voted redundant in the last election. Of course, performing correctly had helped scatter the various parts of the floating city even further when WTF tried to bump everything into everything else.

The City Alignment Board, who had been magnificently confident in the run up to the storm, were now deep in CYA mode—about the only thing aligned about the Alignment Board. They were lucky everything was mostly offline. The shell-shocked NONians playing “Marco Polo” in a huge and very unfamiliar pool might have time to get over it. Though Vi wouldn’t make book on that. This was a lot to get over, Vi concluded, watching another piece of the French Quarter floating beneath them.

Somewhere out there in the drifting bits of city was home. She hadn’t seen it since reporting for duty well ahead of WTF. At this point it didn’t matter that she didn’t know where it—or where her parents were. After working overtime ahead of, and during, WTF all emergency services were now in mop-up mode, snatching sleep and food on the go. At least she’d heard from her parents and knew they were okay, if not particularly happy. Eventually someone in her seriously extended family would find and log them into the database. And eventually they’d get far enough ahead of the emergencies that she’d get to go home and sleep. If she didn’t die from exhaustion first.

There were crews heading down from a variety of cities up north. The city fathers were hoping the utility guys could help repair the umbilical—which was also not as durable as advertised—that had supplied the city with utilities. Hospitals and essential services had emergency generators, unearthed from old emergency stores, but most of the city floated darkly over the slowly receding lake that was usually known as dirt side, or more officially, New Orleans Old. While it was possible to fly above the fragmented city, without lanes or traffic indicators, it wasn’t fun and tended to verge on life threatening. Only emergency vehicles were supposed to be up there,

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but people needed food, water and help. And for many, their skimmers were the only way to cool off in one thousand percent humidity coupled with August heat.

If someone was keeping score, it was NON: 0 and WTF: a seriously big number.

It wasn’t just crapeau on a cracker. It was a cracker buried in tons of crapeau and topped with a nasty cherry.

Joe opened his mouth, but closed it again. Joe never wasted his words, particularly in stating the obvious. He settled for flicking her a sympathetic look. The warmth behind the look took the edge off her morose. She wasn’t quite used to the notion that her alien partner liked her like that. Super easy to get used to perfect features and yeah, perfect build, too, but—they had a lot to work out before they could call themselves a couple, if that’s what Joe even had in mind. He was from another galaxy. And she wasn’t sure—if invited—that this Baker could go where no Baker had gone before. She wasn’t sure Joe would survive to take her anywhere when all the Bakers found out he’d kissed the girl.

And then there was Lurch. A tiny, sentient computer living inside Joe and witness to the few kisses they’d exchanged. Because she didn’t want to think about Joe’s…internal entity, she said, “Still not seeing the FEMA MEC. Geez, I hope it’s not moving, too.” NON had stopped rotating as fast as WTF when the storm moved northeast and was downgraded. But the crazy air currents in its wake had created odd drift problems. “You see anything on your side?”

Joe did much better with questions.

“I do not.”

Sometimes he did better.

“Isn’t that some of the Irish Channel there?” Nothing channel-like about the scrambled blocks of houses now. Someone had logged it into the Ninth Ward, unless it was a different section. Which it could be. Because this wasn’t where the Ninth Ward used to be. Okay, she was pretty sure this wasn’t it, but it was getting harder to remember how it had been when dealing with what it was now.

“It does appear to be some of it.”

It was going to be a delicate—and expensive—job piecing the city back to its previous configuration. Assuming that was even possible. And they managed to get three times more money than was needed, because yeah, graft.

The more NON changed, the more it didn’t. Even when it really did change. Which it pretty much had this time.

Most of their runs since the storm had been from HQ to Point Needs Help But Probably Won’t Get It Because It Can’t Be Found. Their search operation wasn’t helped by FEMA, who had been slapping blue tarp things on every other roof, making the few landmarks still left harder to spot from the air. No one was quite sure what the tarps were for. When asked, their vid spokesperson—

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and quite possibly the only FEMA person not lost out in the city—had sobbed, “We’re doing the best we can in a difficult situation.”

If that was their best…

The one thing that should have been easy to spot—the FEMA MEC—was proving to be elusive.

Not that she was that eager to find it. Once there they’d have to leave the cool confines of the skimmer and check out a dead body. Last time they’d done that they’d ended up in a whole pile of trouble—trouble that was not completely resolved. But she didn’t want to think about Joe’s evil something or other. The evil that men did in the tent city was sufficient unto the day. Or something like that.

“That’s got to be it.” Vi pointed at neat rows of what looked like white lines drifting on the outer edges of the ragged NON. It was the only straight lines of anything they’d seen since leaving HQ. The tents had been set up on emergency platforms hauled in by the underperforming FEMA, or so she’d heard. Didn’t seem like that great of an idea, but it was probably better than setting them up dirt side when it was still hip deep in water.

According to Joe’s Lurch—the nanite could sift through history in a blink—FEMA had never been very good at doing anything, so it was mystery how expectations remained so high. It seemed their only strength lay in finding their way to a trouble spot and staying until things were significantly worse. Whereupon they’d pull out, so that the locals caught the follow-on flack.

The only bright spot about their current assignment was that it delayed the moment they got to play Russian roulette with another meal-ready-to-eat back at HQ. The meals might be ready but she needed time to be ready to eat one. The old packages had lost their labels, making meal time feel like a series of bad, blind dates. Not that labeling would have helped. They’d probably lost their taste several decades back, so it was better to keep expectations really low.

Joe banked the skimmer, making a low pass over the platforms to find a secure LZ. A distinctive puke green FEMA transport lifted up from what appeared to be the service area and Joe grabbed the spot, causing a squawk of outrage over the communications grid. Joe shut it down, and then their engines. She popped the rear hatch and scrambled out. When she got to the rear, Joe had already activated the controls to release the body bag. It emerged smoothly, a stark and silent contrast from the one in the skimmer they’d crashed in the storm. Its body bag had developed some definite quirks, such as wanting to be carried once the body was on board. So old school.

The new body bag was the sole upside to being out of the skimmer, which technically wasn’t a big upside. It was hotter than she’d expected. It always was in August. And if one thought one was prepared? August would up the ante, because that’s the kind of month it was.

She stretched her back, to one side and then the other. It didn’t help. Like WTF, tired had moved on, leaving something greater than exhaustion, but just shy of dead. There wasn’t even a word for it.

She should have grabbed a cat nap on the trip here, but Joe had needed her blood-shot eyes. The low budget skimmer didn’t have enough tech for safe navigation through everything-is-different.

And honestly, cat naps just made her feel worse at this point. Felt like it was taunting her body with what might of been but wasn’t going to be for a good long while yet.

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Of course, Joe looked refreshed and relaxed, no blood-shot red marring his gorgeous eyes, probably because of Lurch. It seemed there were benefits to sharing your innards with a nanite. Apparently it fixed what ailed him, though only if he wasn’t dead. Which he wasn’t. It was hard to like either of them at the moment, though this did not lessen her longing to kiss Joe again. Except, did that mean Lurch got in on the action, too? And the scary part? She kinda wished she had a nanite to fix her up.

Which kind of creeped her out.

Nothing made sense, but this was the Big Easy. One didn’t expect sense to be made here, even on normal days.

They didn’t have coordinates to input into their body bag, so Vi tossed their CSI gear on it and then set it to follow them. The movement sent her a whiff of something not great. She glanced around.

Not enough people close enough to blame. Her last shower had been right after their retrieval from New Orleans Old. She was kind of afraid to do the math on how long ago that was. Sure wasn’t about to sniff an armpit. Though that might clear some of the fog from her brain. If it didn’t knock her out.

She studied her surroundings slowly. This was her first experience with a FEMA Mobile Emergency Center. Kinda hoped it would be her last. It was probably better than nowhere to stay, but not by a whole lot. Containers of MREs, those mysterious Meals Ready-to-Eat, were stacked behind Points of Distribution for the meals, water and ice. Her gaze encountered line after line of blue coffin-like structures.

“What do you suppose those are?” She jerked her chin toward them and then wished she hadn’t when she felt hotter.

Joe studied them for several seconds, then offered, “I suspect they are latrines. Note that one section is for males, one for females, and the other section for the gender conflicted.”

“Really?” Curiosity did a slow climb inside her head. It had always been her biggest failing.

Probably. At least in her top ten. She trotted over to the closest one.

“I would advise you not—” Joe began too late.

Vi pulled the door open and recoiled. “Holy crapeau on who knows what?” No question curiosity was her biggest problem. She put a hand over her nose and blinked rapidly. “Can’t un-see that.” Or un-smell it.

When she got close enough, Joe murmured, “Lurch did attempt to warn you.”

Vi hoped she wouldn’t need to use one of those things. Might be better to wet her pants. At least then she’d know whose pee she was sitting in. She had no idea the past was that primitive.

There was a roar and brief air movement as several emergency transports lifted off, making room for others to land. Whole setup kinda reminded her of a beehive. She’d seen vids of them in school.

Lots of buzzing. Lots of movement. No clear sense of why. She glanced around again. No hope of producing any “honey” here. She repressed a shudder.

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There was a muted, but different roar behind her. She looked back, saw one of the big tugs pulling in another tent platform. At this rate most of NON would be living in tents. Curious, they paused to watch technicians connect the platform and then the surface of the platform seemed to shudder.

With a ripple tent after tent gradually rose toward the midday sun. It was kinda of impressive. She opened her mouth to ask if Joe thought they were air conditioned when a woman emerged from a tent on an already populated platform. No, no conditioning there. The white surfaces of the tents quivered in the wind caused by the tug, a reminder that they were, in the end, just tents. Affixed to a very hard platform.

Joe said, “Curious.”

“Do Garradians have emergency procedures?” Vi asked, not because she was that curious but because it gave her a good reason to look at him. Instead of tents and latrines—as fascinating as those were.

“We try not to have them.” He looked at her and added, “Emergencies.”

“That’s…good.” She blinked a couple of times, not sure she believed him. Being stuck in NON post-hurricane on account of losing an evil something or other kinda looked like an emergency to her. She gestured toward the sea of occupied tents. “I’m guessing our vic is in there somewhere.

Let’s get done here before…” She jerked her chin toward the latrines and made a face.

“Indeed,” Joe said.

The caller had given their location by platform number, then in tent rows. Sort of. Ten in, then five to the right. Of course, that location depended on where the caller had begun their calculations. She could tell Joe was doing some figuring—or Lurch was—and followed him into the gridded pathway between two tent lines. It felt a bit deja vu of their last adventure with a body, only without the wind, rain, crypts and tombstones. And this one had a lot more people watching. But still, heading into a weird place looking for a body. Okay, that wasn’t deja vu. It was SOP for a homicide detective. But this was something new in weird, even by her usual and necessary, very low standards.

Vi didn’t think she’d ever seen tents quite like these. She touched one, gave Joe an awed look.

“Fabric?” Everything old was, well, it was still old, but suddenly necessary in a new way.

Sweaty, dispirited denizens watched them move past. Even the kids looked subdued, though everyone stared at Joe and stirred restively. It wasn’t that aliens were so unfamiliar, but until Joe, Vi hadn’t seen one up close and personal. Just on news vids and such. So chances are none of them had either—at least none with purple skin. Who knew if other-skinned aliens walked among them?

A few looked away when they saw her looking, making her wonder if she’d questioned or arrested them sometime. She was too tired to attempt any mental matching. It was hard enough to put one foot in front of the other, with the heavy, soaking heat giving some serious pushback, like it thought it was gravity or something. Guess air could get uppity when it was, well, up. The ones who did look at her, their eyes bothered her. Took her the length of the row to realize why. They looked like those vids of refugees. This was NON, not some third world, well, world. Things like this happened

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on other planets, backwards ones. This wasn’t supposed to happen here. Despite overwhelming evidence of the incompetence of government, people had believed the city would come through the storm almost unscathed. Even if government let them down there was always their voodoo queen, Marie Laveau, protecting them from the grave. Maybe she’d rolled over or something.

At least the looting had been minimal. Early looters had been unable to find their way home and gave themselves up. One of them, so she’d heard, asked to be shot. Wasn’t sure she believed that.

Unless he’d seen one of those latrine things.

She stopped. “It doesn’t smell right.”

Joe gave her a puzzled look.

“It doesn’t smell like New Orleans. It’s wrong….” New Orleans smelled like a lot of things, bad things, yes, but good things, too. Spicy and flowery and…New Orleans. Bad enough to get wrenched from their homes, but this—she shook her head. For some reason it made the unfamiliar feel more so. And wrong. “No wonder everyone looks depressed.”

They wanted to go home. She saw it in their eyes. It was probably in hers, too. Home. Even if she found it, would it be home? Or something that looked like home, only different? The more things changed… change wasn’t that popular in the city that care forgot. Only it forgot to forget the city this time. Karma—with the help of Maw Maw Nature—had given them a total smack-down.

“Are you unwell, Vi?” She looked up, meeting the concern in his eyes with a wry smile. “I’m okay. Thanks.” She glanced around. “This is all a bit…messed up. Hard to wrap my brain around.”

His hands twitched, probably with a desire to help her, but they’d decided touching was a bad idea at the moment. She didn’t know about him, but she needed every ounce of energy to stay on her feet. When—if she kissed him again, would that make them a threesome? Bad enough she had the hots for a slightly purple alien. But with another alien in his brain? Did that make her kinky or something? Because she didn’t mind as much as she felt like she should. She looked up to find Joe looking at her. Had she said that out loud?

“Shall we proceed?”

Didn’t seem to have, though Joe could be splendidly oblivious. “Yeah, let’s find our vic and get out of here.” She let him go first. At least studying his backside—which was as great as his front side— distracted her from thinking about Lurch.

In the end, it was easy to spot the tent with their suspicious death. A small crowd had gathered, one somewhat contained by a couple of uniforms. It was comforting in a way. At least that hadn’t changed, though it was missing the Lucky Dog cart. A pity that. A Lucky Dog would have erased some of her homesickness for what had been. Put off a better smell. The crowd parted at their approach, with some encouragement from the two uniforms. Vi grabbed their CSI tech off the bag, then activated the bag’s controls. She set the parameters as narrow as it would let her, since the scene had probably already been compromised. The corpse was still in the shadow of the tent,

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which was a mercy that wouldn’t last forever, though the smell had definitely breached containment. Even in the brave new future, corpses smelled bad.

The bag “taped” the scene first, a red grid taking shape to seal off the area, but the tent was small enough that parts of the grid protruded from the top and sides of the tent. It flashed red, releasing a swarm of collection probes. Mostly they buzzed futilely around the space. It was a tent. On a platform. That had probably been picked clean prior to the call to report the body.

Vi arched a brow at the uniforms, caught the shorter one studying her as if she were interesting. She gave Vi a tentative smile.

Since she was too tired to answer questions, Vi asked one, “Got an ID yet?”

The gal cop looked at her companion.

He frowned down at his tech. “Seems he’s a squatter, a dirt sider—” Vi felt a chill and deja vu. Didn’t mind the chill. It was stinking hot, but could have done without the deja vu. Her deja had not liked the vu lately.

“—name of Jimbo.”

Vi knew it was coming, but was still a struggle not to do the sharp inhale. Couldn’t do anything about hands curling into tight fists at her sides. She hoped the probes took their time. She was in no hurry to see how he’d died—the grid turned gold, indicating they could go in. Oh great, if the ‘it’ Joe was hunting had killed again, this was something else she wouldn’t be able to un-see.

*** It wasn’t that bad. Not the thought Vi expected to have about a dead body. Certainly not the thought she expected to have about Jimbo. But after her recent schooling from WTF, she’d had to revise her definition of “the worst” up by quite a bit. Or was that down? She was never sure about that.

She had been sure ‘it’ had got him just like it got the others. Had expected to see that look of horror from being torched from the inside out. Only Jimbo looked surprised, not cooked. He looked a bit simmered, but that was probably from the humidity.

“Maybe his heart conked out,” she murmured, keeping her voice low. Usually they just bagged and tagged, but the circumstances weren’t usual. They needed to do a bit more assessing so the body could get in line at the right morgue. For some weird reason, the morgues hadn’t shifted position that much. It was kinda wrong, while being helpful.

She worked her way into where she could kneel next to the body and started the CSI scan. This tech also released tiny probes, like a hundred pinpricks they descended on the body. Data flashed on the screen. Joe’s hands flexed once, but he didn’t breach this field either. Those little dudes stung like a son of a gun. Curiosity was a detective’s friend, except when it wasn’t.

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“He appears surprised,” Joe finally said, waiting for her all clear signal so he could ease the body up just enough to examine the underside. After a long look, he lowered the body again, giving a slight, very slight shake of the head.

Her device beeped as it delivered the first scan results. “Look at his hands,” she directed, trying to make sense of what it was spitting out. She paused the auto-scroll and flipped back, a frown gathering between her brows. Maybe the CSI techs did earn their little bucks.

“Vi.” Joe’s soft tone pulled her gaze back to where he had one of the vic’s hands turned palm up.

Bingo. Well, half of one. As exit sites went, it wasn’t its best work. Or its worst. But at least they knew ‘it’ had left the building, er, body.

The question was, who was the new host of the awful whatever? Vi looked back, scanning the crowd visible through the tent opening. According to the tech, Jimbo had died approximately twelve to fifteen hours ago. That was odd, too. It wasn’t like the tech to be that approximate. Usually it was, like, death occurred between 0125 and 0128. Will attempt to refine with further data. She tapped the screen, but it didn’t offer even the hope of a more precise time of death. It didn’t shrug and go, “whatever,” so it was weird she felt like it did. There were those in the department who felt the tech trended toward AI-ness. Sometimes she was one of them.

“Detective Baker?” The female cop crouched by the opening, angled to see past Joe, though she did flick him a look that was on the curious side. That the look lacked appreciation was both odd and a relief—since said detective was younger and prettier than Vi. They hadn’t introduced themselves upon arrival—she’d been too tired—but her name might be visible on uniform. And if it wasn’t, well, the odds were always high that at least one Baker would be at any given scene at any given time. Vi considered saying what, but the output of energy felt too high. Couldn’t even manage an arched brow. Settled for an inquiring look and that was almost a bridge too far.

“One of the witnesses says she might have seen something.”

Vi was mildly impressed. Most witnesses wouldn’t even admit to seeing nothing. Before Joe could offer to talk to the witness—who probably wouldn’t talk to him—Vi handed him the tech and crawled out of the tent. Straightened herself in stages. Painful stages. Neither of the uniforms offered to help her up. She might be glad about that because she might have taken the help.

Probably against regs to get helped in front of the general public. Regs were full of stupid stuff like that.

“Are you all right?”

The question and the concern appeared genuine, so Vi twitched the sides of her lips. “I’m fine, Officer—” She peered at her lapel, but it wouldn’t quite come into focus.

“Benson, ma’am.”

“Benson.” Vi repeated it in hopes of slotting it into her short-term memory until the end of this encounter. “Thanks,” she tacked on, a bit belatedly, but Benson smiled so the time lag might be less

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belated than it felt. She studied Benson with some interest, mostly because it required less energy than meeting the witness. She was young, pretty. Apparently not related. Looked the type to interest a lot of her cousins. Dark hair, dark eyes, suspiciously well-pressed uniform. Eyes held a bit of hero worship that made Vi’s heart sink.

She leaned in and said softly, “I hear you were dirt side during the storm.”

Vi gave a sort of shrug. “It wasn’t as fun as it sounds.”

Benson laughed, even though it wasn’t meant to be funny, and if anything the hero worship increased. “What was it like?”

“Wet.” Vi thought a minute. “Windy. Hope to never do it again.” To head off more questions, she asked one of her own, “What was it like up here?”

Benson looked startled, then chuckled. “Wet. Windy. Hope to never do it again.”

It was Vi’s turn to chuckle, though she didn’t go overboard with it.

Benson turned slightly, gazing toward the city. “New Orleans New really is new now, isn’t it?”

“That it is.” The horizon blurred slightly. She rubbed her face. She gave a shake. “So where’s this witness who might have seen something?”

*** Joe watched Vi move out of sight, then turned back to the corpse. There was much to puzzle him about this death. Why had ‘it’ chosen not to torture this victim to death?

It would have needed to take care here where everyone is housed so close together, Lurch reminded him. Screaming would attract unwelcome attention.

It could have muffled the sounds.

Then I would postulate that Jimbo was not alone when it decided to egress the body. Possibly a third person was present?

And if Jimbo died screaming within minutes of that person leaving…

Exactly.

Jimbo was fortunate that its need for stealth exceeded its need to torture its host to death.

Indeed.

Lurch sounded as sober as Joe remembered it ever sounding. No question the events on the surface during the storm had sobered them both. Joe had lacked time since the storm to question the nanite on just how it hoped to eliminate the threat their enemy posed, not just to this place, but to who knew how many universes. It was clear he’d failed to ask the right questions when the nanite proposed their partnership. Not that he was certain he’d have known the right questions. “Will I die in screaming agony?” hadn’t been on the list, though it was now.

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Can you look around very slowly?

Lurch would be looking for evidence of time stream activity. It was Joe’s research that made it possible for them to track ‘it’ to this world. Before Joe’s discovery, the time stream was a great place to hide, particularly for a nanite-controlled human. Joe was not sure how Lurch had learned of his research into time stream tracking. It had nanites in many places, he’d learned after their blending. All of Joe’s “training,” in this world and the others where they’d hunted, came from program downloads from Lurch—programs designed from the knowledge of previous hosts, Joe had gradually realized. Joe could only marvel at the wealth of knowledge he’d glimpsed during their time together, though he hadn’t liked it at first. The sense of becoming something other than himself had been unsettling. And Joe wondered if streaming vids of Dragnet had been meant to be helpful or a joke. Lurch did have an odd sense of humor.

A sense of humor that seemed to enjoy watching Joe fall for Vi. Why it did that when it knew Joe couldn’t keep her—Joe tensed as he realized that if it had entered the stream, then the “not keeping her” would start now. With increased concern, he finished his slow, visual scan of the interior of the tent.

No sign of time stream activity in here.

Would it have risked disappearing outside? Joe knew the ‘it’ was quite willing to take big risks, but that seemed excessive.

Probably not, but we still need to assess. We can’t afford not to.

It was true that the trail would degrade rapidly. How odd that time was of the essence even in relation to the time stream.

The tech Vi had handed him beeped, then produced another set of preliminary results. Joe did not mind the interruption to his thoughts. Lurch also indicated it had completed the data collection phase, so he triggered the body bag to commence the collection process.

He moved out of range as the bag made course adjustments until it had centered itself over the corpse. Straps shot from the bag toward the body, going under it, then pushing beneath and connecting and contracting. The body rose toward the bag until it was snug, then the bag itself rotated until the body was face up. He left it hovering within the partial cover of the tent and scrambled out.

The open air was a relief after the stuffy interior. The crowd had mostly dispersed, moving in the general direction of the sustenance point of the distribution platform, some also moving toward the primitive sanitation structures. He turned in a slow circle, trying to keep it casual, so that Lurch could look for time stream activity and capture the faces for later analysis, just in case ‘it’ was still here, waiting and watching. He would not want to linger in this place, but it had apparently lingered for some time down on the surface. This might be marginally better. Joe looked past the faces now, scanning the horizon and the drifting blocks of what had probably been some of the Garden District.

Based on what he knew of the mansions, if the inhabitants were in them, they would not be enjoying their current view of the FEMA MEC.

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They are most likely enjoying a view far from this place.

Joe conceded this point to Lurch. Those that could had evacuated during the run up to the storm.

Looting had not, up to now been much of a concern, but he would imagine that given time, those houses would look quite tempting to those camping here.

Once they can spare the people, I suspect the police presence here will be increased.

It made sense. Presently people were too shell shocked to be too much trouble. And their basic needs were being met. It would not take long for that to change. He’d seen the longing for home in her eyes, heard the desire for a return to normal in Vi’s voice. When that didn’t happen quickly, shock would be replaced with anger.

It was something he could understand.

I am sorry I got you into this.

Joe watched Vi returning and found he could not be as sorry as he should be. Which might be one reason Lurch encouraged Joe’s interest in his partner.

Vi took his arm and turned him away from the remnants of their crowd. “Let me see that report for a minute,” she said. He extended the tech, and she scrolled rapidly through the results, then made a face. “Just as I thought. Jimbo wasn’t a harmless dirt sider. He was cooking meth down there somewhere.”

“Meth?”

“It’s a very, very old school recreational drug, a lot cheaper to make than some of the designer drugs, so the profit margin is higher.”

Lurch filled in the historical details for him as Joe said, “But wouldn’t the scanners—” He stopped at her ironic look.

“At the corner of New Broom and Political Expediency you’ll usually find a streetcar named Graft.”

Joe lowered his voice further, casting a look around before asking, “Did your witness admit to seeing someone?”

“Wouldn’t have if she’d known who she saw. I ran some mug shots past her. She picked Afoniki out of the lineup.”

Joe knew enough about the crime family to be impressed. “He was not alone.”

Vi looked surprised. “No, he wasn’t.”

“That is most probably why the death was so…benign.”

“A good reason to never be alone with anyone. Ever again.” She frowned down at the device. “I wish we’d managed to save the post mortem data from our dirt side adventures. There’s a lot of chemicals in and on old Jimbo. I wonder how many of them are consistent with, you know, your friend. Maybe we could come up with a test or at least a way to track—”

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Joe put a hand on the device. “May I?” She relinquished her hold, and he scrolled through the data until—the chemical he used to track it through the time stream—he tipped it so she could see it, his eyes filled with warnings. Her nod was slight, her gaze sober.

“Let’s get him to the morgue.”

Joe triggered the commands and followed her down the ramp, the body bag humming softly in their wake.

“If it is Afoniki,” she said, “that could be very bad. The combo of über criminal and über evil whatever…yeah, that can’t be good.” She stopped as a very sleek, very dark transport hovered over theirs, then dropped down with no apparent interest in the “no LZ” painted into the grid. “That might be bad, too.”

“Who is—are they?” He modified the question as two men slid out in well-coordinated synch. They were of the same height and similarly dressed in soberly crisp suits. Their eye wear was also the same and reflected as well as deflected the sunlight.

“It’s the MITSC—they used to be the Men in Black, but people started to catch on so now they are the Men in Top Secret Colors. The color is supposed to randomly change, so we won’t recognize them. And you can be arrested for saying whatever color they are wearing out loud.” She shook her head. “Like they wouldn’t stand out no matter what color they wear.”

“They…monitor…extraterrestrials,” Joe said, uneasily, after Lurch once more filled in the information gaps for him.

“Let me do the talking. But have your papers ready, just in case.” She glanced around. “At least there are a lot of witnesses.”

The eyes on them were significant, but Joe was not certain that would provide any advantage if these men wanted to make him disappear.

Could they know? Suspect?

I am uncertain, Lurch said, though with more curiosity than worry. Interesting. They look almost the same, though with less black. As it finally picked up on Joe’s deep worry, it added, if they attempt to seize us, we can enter the time stream.

It didn’t need to add that neither of them wanted this outcome, though not for exactly the same reasons.

It was clear Lurch had had dealings with them before, but Joe did not—yet again—have time for questions. The two agents watched their approach with a somewhat troubling lack of movement.

When they were close enough, each man thrust a hand into the interior of his jacket, extracted IDs and extended them in a blur of movement that made sure they lacked time to see, let alone process them. The IDs were thrust back in the jackets. Then the lips of one of the men moved.

“We’ll be taking over, Detectives.”

“Taking over what?”

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The other man indicated Jimbo’s remains with a head movement. At least Joe hoped it was Jimbo that interested them.

For a long moment, Vi didn’t move or speak, just stared at them.

“We’ll need all the data you’ve collected as well.”

So it was the body that interested them.

“You’re not taking our body bag or our tech.”

It did not appear that either of them moved, but the rear of their transport opened and a sleeker, darker body bag zipped out, stopped smoothly next to theirs. Straps shot from it and theirs retreated as if burned. The body transferred swiftly, the bag not just taking possession, but a shroud of some kind slid over Jimbo, hiding him from view. The bag paused by Joe and something like their tech, only better, disconnected from the side of the bag. At Vi’s nod, Joe extended their tech. There was brief connection, then it retracted again and the bag slid back into their transport.

Joe looked down at the tech. It blinked back at him with a “memory empty” notification.

There was a silence, then one of the men spoke. “This is no longer your crime scene, detectives.

Move along.”

Chapter 2 “Do you think they are after…your friend, too?” Vi waited until they were airborne before speaking.

She looked around as if she suspected the sky was listening in on them. He could not blame her. Joe gave the question careful consideration. He knew that Lurch always feared being tracked. It was why it worked so hard to obscure its origins. It was the First of the nanites, and had it remained the first and only, this quest would not be so challenging. Its memory went back a very long way, and he was not sure he’d seen the beginning of it yet. It had exceeded the original nanite programming when it became sentient, though Joe was unclear how it began replicating, or the mechanics involved. Lurch easily created drones—non-sentient versions of itself—but sentient replication was a much more complicated process, he felt sure.

There was a further mystery surrounding Wynken, Blynken and Nod, a deeper connection there that stretched back deep into the past. Joe knew this more by how Lurch reacted when any of the three nanites were mentioned, though he had gotten brief glimpses into the past when they were integrating. The loss of Blynken had hit it hard, so Joe tried not to think about it any more than he had to. The fact that Blynken had been killed by Nod was a source of both pain and fear. If Nod could be corrupted by a rogue program, then might not all the nanites also be at risk? This was, Joe knew, the deepest, darkest core of its fear. And why Lurch hunted so hard to find the co-opted Nod and stop it.

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“It is more likely they are tracking the trace substances left behind.” It was the only thing that the nanites could not control, the telltale signs of passing from one host to another. If the MITSC were tracking it, or even suspected its presence, well, it would be most dangerous for those two agents no matter what special governmental resources the MITSC could call upon.

“If they find out about our witness, they’ll go pay Afoniki a visit,” she said, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Pretending to investigate the murder. If it’s just the substance that interests them, then who knows what they will do.”

Tiredness lingered in her face, but the huntress in her showed signs of life.

“Do we know how to locate Afoniki? Would he not have evacuated prior to the storm?”

“We always know how to locate Afoniki. He’s had an ankle bracelet on him since he was like, fourteen.”

Joe did not understand why the court ordered tracking device was called that. It was an implanted chip, not a bracelet and it was no where near his ankle.

She bit her lower lip. “Of course, he probably knows a way around it. He’s got a bigger budget than we do. But if he’d been expecting trouble, he’d never have gone near Jimbo. He has people for that.”

“Is your witness quite certain it was Afoniki?”

“Picked him out without prompting. He’s a good looking guy.”

Joe felt a stab of something in the region of his heart. “It is possible he was less concerned, because of the storm.” Many services had been disrupted during WTF. Joe felt certain that keeping track of Afoniki’s location had not been a high priority during the height of the storm—which would make it a good time to commit a murder. But he hadn’t. He’d waited for Jimbo to surface and gone to talk to him. “How did he know where to find Jimbo?”

“Jimbo probably used a FEMA phone to contact him. They’ve been handing them out with the meals and water. We can probably track it down if the men who used to wear black aren’t one step ahead of us.”

“We did not find such a phone at the scene.” Had it been pilfered by someone or had Afoniki taken it when he’d been assimilated by it?

“Don’t know why anyone there would grab it. They’ve probably all got one.”

It has a vested interest in making that record go away, too, Lurch pointed out.

That might be more suspicious than the visit, Joe countered.

Or it wishes us to locate it again.

Joe didn’t ask why ‘it’ would do that. It had demonstrated severely erratic behavior during the storm. The only certainty about it was that it would kill and continue to kill until they stopped it.

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She gave him a speculative look. “Can Lurch take us off the grid? Just until we find out if the men in drab are heading for Afoniki.”

Joe felt his mouth turn up in a grin. “It has it, er, covered.”

Vi’s grin almost stopped his heart. “I think I love Lurch.”

Was it possible to be jealous of a nanite? Before he could answer that question, Vi spoke again.

“So how do we tell if he’s, you know…?”

Joe sighed. “If we had the answer to that question, I would not have almost shot you during the storm.”

“Oh right. And touching…” “…will expose it, but it also exposes Lurch to it.”

“You can’t go around shooting people you think are hosting it. There has to be a way to figure out who—” her voice trailed off and she was silent for several seconds. “What about those substances?

Are they only left there after death?”

“They are present at integration,” Joe said, shifting a bit uncomfortably. The fact that the MITSC might have identified and were tracking the substance was unsettling, since his body also had them.

“But confirming their presence requires contact.”

Vi turned to look at him, cautious hope in her eyes. “Maybe not. You see, Afoniki’s ankle bracelet also tests him regularly for drugs. Unless he’s figured out a way to fake that, which he probably has.

But—the tests must still happen or appear to happen.” She frowned. “We’d need to be careful, though…make sure the boys in drab don’t get notified, too. They are way too close for comfort.”

I am on it. Lurch sounded the most hopeful he had in, well, Joe wasn’t sure how long, but certainly as long as they’d been partners.

“So if he is the one, then how do we stop him and you know, save Nod?” Lurch flinched, hard enough to cause Joe to clench his hands. The skimmer swerved. He quickly corrected his course. But she’d noticed.

“You can’t just kill him—it?” she asked.

“Do you not think Lurch has tried to find a way? The risk is too great. There is no evidence that Nod still exists as a separate and distinct entity.”

“But what’s the evidence that Nod doesn’t?”

“The murders. The torture. The fact that it killed Blynken. Nod would not willingly participate in such things. Lurch attests to this. It has known Nod the longest, knew it the best. It would fight, would have fought until defeated.”

Silence for at least a minute.

“Wynken, Blynken and Nod, one night sailed off in a wooden shoe…”

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Joe blinked.

“Were there three?” she asked.

“Yes. Three separate personalities, but all living in a single host at, well, birth.” Why had he almost used the word “decanting?” He was unsure, but noted it felt right. “That was their designations, their names,” he admitted, wondering how she had discerned this.

“Do…you know…did they pick their own names?”

Joe felt Lurch’s affirmative, which made him wonder about its name. “Yes, they do.”

“Interesting. Sailed on a river of crystal light, into a sea of dew…that’s from a nursery rhyme.

About setting sail, well, on the surface. Actually it’s about sleeping, dreaming…” Her voice trailed off. She gave a shake. “So they split up and that’s when it happened?”

“Lurch postulates that had they not separated, that by combining their strength, they might have prevailed over the rogue program. That what had been their strength became instead, their weakness.”

She blinked at this, but to his relief didn’t ask how Lurch knew this.

“What about Wynken?”

“Wynken was damaged trying to save Blynken.”

Silence.

“Nod…” He nodded. “Wynken is…recovering.” Mourning. Possibly damaged beyond repair, according to Lurch.

“I’m sorry.” She sounded sorry. “But doesn’t that make it even more important to try and save Nod?” Joe sighed. “It was while attempting this that Wynken was injured.”

Another silence. “Oh.” She slanted him a wry look, said as if trying to ease the tension, “Sometimes you sound more like a scientist than a cop.” She chuckled.

He managed to echo something he hoped sounded like a chuckle. He had played many roles during the hunt for it, but at his core he was a scientist. That she’d sensed this was disquieting and yet not unpleasant. He had believed he would dislike playing a cop, but it had many advantages he had not foreseen. He glanced at one advantage and almost sighed. He had lost much of his detachment during the storm.

Much? Assuming you had some before….

Do you have an update for me? Joe was most eager to change the subject.

Afoniki is scheduled for a drug test in thirty-seven minutes. If it has taken him over, it would notice the test being moved up. So we must wait for the regular test window.

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He took a mental breath, trying to get his thoughts back on task. Does that give you enough time to prepare?

I believe so. No need to rush to his location.

And if it is inside Afoniki?

I believe I can use the access to upload a disabling virus. I have been working on it, but did not know how to safely deliver it.

Joe had been aware that killing ‘it’ might kill them. This was a most hopeful development, if it didn’t detect and disable the virus.

I would advise a policy of distraction when we arrive. If it is distracted, it will give me more time.

And the virus time….

Joe glanced at Vi. Based on the last time he’d seen Vi question Afoniki, distracting would not be a problem.

*** Afoniki had a nice place, though his view, like the rest of NON, had been shifted by WTF. It had originally been located in the Warehouse District, snugged up against where the river would have been before the rising. Based on his current location, his riverfront property had moved up river.

Even moved, his view wouldn’t be that different. The river was the river. A muddy ribbon winding through varying shades of deep green. But his neighbors had changed. Vi recognized a Bucktown restaurant off to the right that had also shifted out of place during the storm and some low rent property off the left side.

In the old days, the ground floor had been used for utilitarian purposes, probably loading and unloading ships, and the upper floors were about the esthetics, but the super rich had transparent first floors these days, so they could take advantage of the dirt side views, too. So, even shifted, he still got some of the benefit of being riverfront in more ways than one. Since he hadn’t moved too far out of place, Vi suspected he had better thrusters. Probably could have held his air space if it hadn’t been for collision problems during the storm.

Vi had a feeling that if Afoniki wanted his old address back, he’d probably get it. Shouldn’t be a problem for him. He’d know who could get it done and how much it would cost him. With the taxpayers picking up the bulk of the tab, of course.

She popped her door, letting the thick, hot air rush in and clambered out against it. Her door slid down, and she looked at Joe across the skimmer.

“So how do we play this?” Vi wished they were going on a date instead of into a potentially lifethreatening meeting with an evil something or other. “We don’t have a crime, thanks to the men in super secret drab.” It felt kind of anti-something to be going in without a crime. Upset the delicate balance between the good guys and the bad. “We can’t just stop by to check on him. He and ‘it’ would smell a rat.”

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“We found many chemicals and organics on Jimbo. Perhaps…a contamination issue?”

Vi considered this. “It could work, not for long, but hopefully long enough.”

“We just need to keep him talking, distracted for about ten more minutes,” Joe said, setting his watch.

Ten minutes. Surely she could blather on for ten minutes. Best case would be getting Afoniki talking, but he pretty much had a “no talking in front of the cops” rule. He even resisted admitting that his name was Afoniki.

An escalator wound up to the middle of the structure, like a corkscrew, taking visitors to where all the utilitarian stuff happened. His property even had power, she noted, when the escalator activated at the pressure of her foot on the bottom step. It was interesting, though sadly, not illegal. He was allowed to have emergency power. She rose smoothly, the corkscrew of the stair oddly soothing. It also made the air move, which was nice.

They entered into a setup that appeared benign. Could have been any business reception area. It was discreetly classy, though currently tended by a goon instead of a benignly elegant female. Vi, going out on a mental limb, postulated she’d been unable to get to work. Even a bad guy couldn’t control Mom Nature. Though she’d bet money she didn’t have that he’d tried.

It was cooler and smelled better than outside. The storm had for sure stirred up the muck at the bottom of the swamp. She angled her head, pretending to look at some artwork, and took a cautious sniff of herself. Maybe the gently moving air would help dissipate what the storm had stirred up at the bottom of her armpits. At least she didn’t have a habit of shaking hands with Afoniki, so she could keep her distance. She tried to identify the good scent, but all she come up with was: expensive.

She recognized the goon filling in at reception. And he knew her. They exchanged looks of mutual…something. Wasn’t respect. Might have been a bit of “I’m not here to arrest you so don’t make me change my mind” on her side. His gaze had some “I ain’t done nothing, so don’t get your knickers in a twist” to it. His gaze shifted to Joe. He’d made the news when he arrived, but she didn’t think they’d arrested the goon since Joe’s arrival, so he might not have seen Joe up close before. Joe’s cool gaze must have made him uneasy, because he pressed a button and a door slid open with a pricey-sounding whoosh. Vi kept her eyes on the goon until he looked away and the door closed between them.

Hard to feel it was suddenly safer when this meeting might involve an ‘it’ bent on causing widespread pain and destruction. She’d seen its work and was not eager for this possible confrontation.

There was another goon and another set of escalators. One that went up and one that went down. Vi followed, with her eyes, the one twisting up toward another floor. Straight ahead, a bank of seriously high windows appeared to look out over the city. Only it was NON the way it used to be, not the way it was now. The down escalator was equally elegant, a definite upgrade from the one outside.

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The goon grunted and jerked his chin toward the down escalator. Like the one outside, this activated at pressure from her foot. The slow spiral down gave glimpses of the artificially generated views. It made the high ceiling appear higher and the room bright and light. At the bottom, the view through the transparent floor was the real deal. She’d have probably hesitated before stepping out, but the escalator slid her smoothly onto what seemed like nothing. The effect was that good. And it was that clean.

She looked past the floor, hoping it would help with her sudden vertigo. Afoniki’s block had been shifted over the old Metairie cemetery, she realized, after studying it for several moments. It had been some kind of racetrack prior to becoming a city of the dead. From this angle, the track made an elegant curve through the dead space. Pieces of old freeway poked up out of the green spaces here and there, and she could see the skeletons of old buildings, heavily coated with moss, though all of it showed signs of fresh scarring from WTF. From this place, she could better see the standing water glinting where it had not glinted before WTF. From a distance, it was pretty. Until she remembered what it was like down in the goo.

The low hanging clouds shifted, giving her a glimpse of what might have been the old airport. Had its floating version shifted, too? She hadn’t been over that direction to see. It shouldn’t matter.

Logically one knew that floating locations floated. Moved. But…New Orleans had always been this thing and now it wasn’t. It had been shuffled like a deck of cards, and no one knew if it could be put right, even if her mental metaphor was so wrong it was embarrassing. Two wrongs still didn’t make it right, as her Great Grand Paw Paw liked to say.

She spotted a lean, elegant figure gazing, well, she wasn’t sure if he was looking at the fake or the real reality, over by one of the windows. He did look a bit posed, which made her lips twitch. Vi couldn’t deny that the sight of him made her pulse twitch a little. Snakes could be pretty, as long as one didn’t forget that they could also be lethal. She could never decide if Afoniki flirted with her because she was a girl and it bugged her many relatives or—well, the why didn’t matter. They were as opposite as—north and south poles weren’t opposite enough, even for someone really bad with metaphors. More like the equator and whichever pole was the coldest. Was that a metaphor? She wasn’t sure. She was sure she had a headache that was getting worse.

Vi knew she was trying to keep her thoughts light so she wouldn’t panic. Were they walking into some crazy nanite battle? Would it all be fought out of sight? Was it dangerous to them? Could it be contained or would there be collateral damage? She should have asked more questions. She knew that now. Maybe. She might not like the answers. She’d known that at some level, so had been afraid to ask. It had seemed straightforward heading over here, but now it felt a bit like falling into a maze. One as murky and dangerous as what they’d faced on the surface. Only without the wind, rain and green ooze. So better, without actually being better.

Afoniki turned to face them, as if he’d just become aware of their presence, which she knew he hadn’t. They’d never have been admitted without his permission.

“Detective Violet Baker.” A dramatic pause. “This is an unexpected…pleasure.”

The hint of surprise was as fake as his smile. Did the dude ever have a normal human reaction? Of

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course, them coming here was unexpected. They usually “met” at HQ in an interview room. Which brought her circling back to wrong and would-things-ever-be-right-again?

Afoniki’s gaze flicked Joe’s direction and real interest gleamed in the dark depths. It was true that Captain Uncle hadn’t let Joe play good cop in interrogation yet, which was a pity because he really was a good good cop. He was also a bit distracting, which would have been helpful. Funny how hard it was for Orleanians to get used to purple skin when they had no problem with purple everything else.

“A partner who matches your eyes. How charming,” Afoniki murmured. “He must be a huge hit at Mardi Gras.”

This annoyed her, even though it had been her first thought at their initial meeting.

He moved toward them, but didn’t make the mistake of holding out his hand. They were handcuffing, not handshaking acquaintances. It was a nice bonus, not being on handshaking terms, if he was currently playing host to an evil something or other that liked to switch bodies through physical contact. Which just showed it was possible to find the good even in a bad situation.

“This is—” she stopped and sent Joe a wide-eyed look.

“I am Dzholh Ban!drn,” he said. It still sounded like her cat coughing up a hairball, not helped by the almost imperceptible bow he offered with the words. “Intergalactic Law Enforcement Exchange Program.”

In the past six months, she’d noticed that the depth of the bow reflected Joe’s notions of someone’s importance. He’d for sure nailed it this time.

“That’s quite the view you’ve got.” She touched an elbow to a tall, semitransparent cabinet and studied the view again. One wasn’t supposed to fear heights in a floating city, but one feared them less when one couldn’t see exactly how far one would fall if something malfunctioned. “Is it better or worse?”

“It is…different.”

Yeah, he’d spent way too much time with lawyers.

“Change can be satisfactory.”

Afoniki cast Joe a doubtful look.

“Except when it’s not,” Vi said, possibly a bit too emphatically.

A real smile spread across Afoniki’s face. Who’d have thought they’d find common ground in the aftermath of a big old storm? Vi noted the smile failed to spread to his eyes, which were so cold, she lacked a metaphor for how much. One brow rose over one cold eye, and he indicated the sumptuous seating with a touch of hesitation. As if he weren’t sure how long they planned to stay, but he did have company manners. For now. Vi didn’t kid herself that their “welcome” mat could easily be pulled out from under them. Which brought her mind back to the floor. She eased over to the couch, trying not to look eager or relieved, and sank down. It was as comfortable as it looked, which was

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sad, because she still didn’t feel comfortable. What if he had a button that would drop all of it, or the section she sat on, into the goo of NOO below?

If she hadn’t seen the evil something or other’s handiwork, her imagination might not be running quite so wild. But she had. She glanced around, as if studying the fixtures. He had a good decorator.

Even the furniture had a lightness to it that went against the vid portrayals of bad guys homes as dark and sinister dens of iniquity.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” she said. Most of it.

“My designer was most…satisfactory.”

Vi was pretty sure that was a double entendre. Not everyone looked beneath his surface—or cared to look. Lots of money and good looks were all that mattered. Vi, well, she always felt a bit dirty after spending time with him. This time she’d arrived dirty, so she was ahead of the game.

“Can I offer you something? A beverage? Food?” His gaze lingered on her face. “A bed?” Joe must have tensed or something because he added, “For sleeping, of course. You look exhausted.” His gaze shifted to Joe. “You as well, naturally.” His gaze flicked between them, both piercing and unsettling.

Vi looked at Joe and danged if he didn’t look tired. She had to give Lurch chops for knowing how to set the stage.

“Thank you, but no, thank you.” She wasn’t sure how to start a non-hostile, non-interrogation. “I’m fine. We’re fine. Thank you.”

He shifted from one foot to the other, his hands sliding into the pockets of his perfectly fitted slacks.

He didn’t say that they needed to get to the point, but his lips lost their pseudo-friendly curve. Vi hesitated, but this wasn’t a power struggle, at least not yet. Afoniki hadn’t killed Jimbo, and the meth lab was probably sleeping with the fishes. If a meth lab could sleep. Would the fish be high?

She firmly reined in her thoughts. This was not the moment to lose the plot.

“In a rare turn of events, we aren’t here to talk about legalities.” Or lack thereof. She gave an amused shake. “Feels really odd.”

“Indeed.” His other brow rose to the same height as the first. He crossed to a chair that faced her, flicking a brief curious glance at the still-standing Joe. He didn’t seem too worried about power positions, though, since he sank into it, stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles, his hands once more finding their way into his pockets. Was that where he kept the buttons that would drop them into the river?

“And what does bring you—so happily—into my presence?”

“We’ve just come from the FEMA MEC.” “Really?” He looked mildly interested. “I hope you didn’t eat anything there. I’ve heard stories.” He gave an artistic shudder. “One can only hope they are wild rumors.”

Vi grinned. “We have the same food at HQ. Sadly, not rumors.”

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“I have never doubted your courage, Detective.”

Vi had, but she didn’t say so. She tried to think of something to continue the nonrelevant conversation, but couldn’t. Luckily Joe picked up the slack, though chatting wasn’t his forte either, so he just went with the plan.

“Some surface dwellers, what you call dirt siders, were evacuated there after the storm and one of them died last night. There are concerns about possible contamination risks for anyone who came into contact with him.”

Afoniki was a cool customer. His face didn’t change. He didn’t even blink. He didn’t ask either, but then he’d probably learned how not to blink or ask back in kindergarten.

“Indeed? How unfortunate.” He didn’t say it wasn’t his problem, but she felt it quivering in the air between them.

“It seemed a bit far-fetched,” she said, adopting her I-didn’t-want-to-but-have-to mien, “but someone said you were there yesterday evening?”

“Indeed?”

He didn’t say he hadn’t been there, so she added, “We are required to warn anyone who had contact with the vic. Regs.” Since no one had read all the regs, it was easy to trot them out as an excuse for just about anything. Had it been long enough yet? Vi wanted to look at her tech, needed to know the time, but didn’t dare look away from the bad guy. And whatever might be lurking inside him. A pulse throbbed painfully behind one eye, possibly keeping time with Joe’s countdown.

“Regs,” he echoed, his tone was smooth but just a hint of a crease formed between his brows.

“We can scan you for contaminants or you can see your own doctor, but I wouldn’t wait too long.

Our vic went down pretty fast.”

“Isn’t it fortunate that I was nowhere near the MEC?” She thought about asking him if he was sure, but it’s not like it was something you’d be unsure about.

“Well, they say everyone has a double.”

He did not seem enamored of the idea of a double. Which made her wonder if he really did have one. And if he did, what he’d do about it. She could see where one might come in handy for a bad guy, as long as it didn’t get around he had one. Which it just may have. She pretended to check her tech. “So, just to be clear, you don’t know a dirt sider, name of Jimbo?”

This question verged into interrogation range, because she’d bet money he did know Jimbo and would bet even more money he’d never admit it. On the tail of the question, tension seeped in, stealing some of the brightness from the room. She really wished she’d asked Joe what to expect when…whatever was going to happen happened.

“Jim…bo?”

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“Dirt sider,” Vi said, trying for light and adding a shrug, just in case she missed the mark.

“Indeed.” He shifted, uncrossing, then crossing his legs the other direction. “I thought the surface had been evacuated prior to the storm?”

Deflect a question with a question. It was his SOP. But it would know that, if it was lurking in there.

If it was in there, it would know that she knew Jimbo hadn’t been evacuated.

“We did try. The storm got worse faster than expected, and we got separated from him. I was surprised he made it off the surface, actually.”

“Dirt siders are resilient.”

“They are,” Vi agreed, “until they aren’t and die.”

He shrugged. “Everyone dies. Eventually.”

Was this a veiled threat? The fact that it was true didn’t make it not a threat. Something dark passed in the sky underneath them. Vi blinked, but Afoniki stiffened. His attention shifting from her long enough she risked a glance at Joe. Was that…?

He nodded to her silent question. Did that mean the MITSC had talked to the uniforms or were they following her and Joe? Had they had time to tag them? Had they needed time? Lurch had taken them off grid, but they were the MITSC. According to legend, they’d always had better tech than anyone else. She loosed an internal curse. She’d hoped to avoid having the MITSC and Joe’s evil something or other in the same space they were.

Afoniki’s gaze found her again, something more than speculation in his somehow empty gaze.

“Well, if you weren’t at the MEC, then we’d better get moving.” It was already too late. The boys in drab were probably parking next to them right now. But that didn’t lessen her flight or—no, it was pretty much a flight instinct. No fight in there at all. And what would ‘it’ do if the MITSC shouldered their way in? In a tech versus tech battle, Vi felt like she had “collateral damage” tattooed on her forehead. Unfortunately “serve and protect” was imprinted on her DNA, and the mandate included clueless men in drab, even if they had stolen her body and body of evidence.

So that ruled out asking for another exit, even though Vi was pretty sure Afoniki had several.

“We still need to track down the other person….”

“Other person?”

Vi couldn’t put her finger on just why the question felt menacing. She really wished she weren’t standing on the transparent floor. She turned enough to see him, while still moving toward the escalator. Not that it represented safety. There could be crazy, bad guy traps on it, too.

Electrocution. Metal teeth. She blinked. Or maybe she was just really tired.

“Yeah, your double was with someone. Just someone not someone’s…double.” Yeah, she was really tired. “I guess it could have been someone’s double, but not someone that someone recognized as someone’s…double.” She wished she could make herself stop talking.

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Joe had his usual lack of expression on his face, but she sensed he wished it, too. Vi clamped her lips shut. Felt more words try to punch their way out. She had one foot on the escalator when the two men in drab appeared at the top. On the upside, the sight of them killed the babbling impulse.

*** Vi’s sudden lack of coherency was troubling. And confusing. Most unlike her.

She is scared.

What does she fear? Joe had not seen her show fear, even when he believed he would have to shoot her. She was the bravest human he had ever met. And the most—he cut off that thought as unprofitable.

It. Oh. He paused, studying her. This does not look like fear. Or what he thought fear would look like on her face. She appeared exhausted. And she did not seem to care for the transparent floor. If he were honest, he did not care for it either.

She had to move aside as the two MITSC agents descended. They had a certain… …flair…

Joe could only agree, though with reluctance. He knew he lacked flair. Why this bothered him more than his current lack of information was also not clear.

They should not have it. They should blend in, merge.

So why aren’t they?

And what do they know? Or not know? Lurch finished, instead of postulating why they were showing their flair.

The two men descended at the same rate that Vi and Joe had, but it felt longer and more…more. Joe noted that Afoniki had risen to his feet, taking his time, as if this were theater and he followed a script. Afoniki didn’t move toward the two men. And they didn’t move toward him when they reached ground level. What did they know? And if they knew—did they have the tools to contain it?

To remove the threat? That he wished they did know how to contain it—well, wishing did not make things so. This he had learned during his time in this place. And the other places he and Lurch had hunted.

No one wanted to be the one to break the silence, but in it, Joe sensed the power struggle playing out as gazes clashed and wills were tested.

For himself, Joe found it easy to not speak, since he did not know what to say, or what question to ask. It was possible the MITSC were following the same trail they were, that they had talked to the officers at the MEC, but their purpose in coming here was unclear. The air in the room was thick with testosterone and menace. The clash of strong men against a strong man. Predictably, it was Vi

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who broke the stalemate.

“We were just leaving,” she said, pointedly to the men blocking the escalator.

“Your purpose in being here?” one of them asked.

Joe thought it was the one on the right.

“Not your business,” Vi shot back.

“What is, er, their business?” Afoniki inquired, strolling a few steps closer. His thin mouth curved a bit, but his expression never altered that Joe could ascertain. Prior to this meeting, he’d only watched him through the screens in interrogation. He’d believed those screens had removed some of the man’s humanity. He did not think this anymore. This was a man who’d never had humanity.

He was as without conscience as the ‘it’ they hunted. The thought of combining two such evils was…not a happy thought.

Could this man give up his autonomy? Is it strong enough to subdue him?

That is an interesting question. Lurch sounded intrigued, somewhat curious.

Is it in him? Joe realized the nanite had not said. The time must surely have passed, lost in the arrival of the MITSC. Inconclusive.

What did that mean? Joe had questions. Vi would have more questions. If they could manage to exit their current situation still functioning. He better understood the earth phrase “touch and go.” And Vi’s more earthy crapeau on a cracker.

The two men did not clear the escalator. They did extract their badges, using same technique of flash and stash. Afoniki held up a hand.

“I’m afraid I wasn’t able to see them.” He strolled closer and held out a hand.

Vi made a small movement, quickly checked. The two men paused, then held up the badges once more. Something in their stances that…suggested Afoniki read from a distance.

“Smith and, er, Smith. And what department…?”

“A classified department.” This time the other Smith spoke.

Vi gave him a Look. Afoniki’s brows rose. He shrugged.

“Fair enough.” He went to a beverage setup close by and poured himself something. This time he did not offer anyone anything. He turned to face them, lifting the glass and sipping from it as his gaze studied the two men, then tracked to Joe and Vi. If ‘it’ had infested Afoniki, then it had found fertile ground for its evil. Joe sensed something feral in the cooled air. The fine hairs on his body rose.

Could these two make a major crime figure and two police detectives disappear?

They think they can. Lurch felt more than usually ironic.

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The silence stretched—and snapped when their communication tech shrilled. Even the two MITSC jerked at the sound. Afoniki appeared to tense.

“It is the Captain,” Joe said. The air changed, though Joe was not certain if it was for better or for worse.

Vi tapped her device. “Captain Uncle?”

The two Smiths exchanged looks. Joe thought he sensed uncertainty from them. It was one thing to make a couple of detectives go missing, but when one of them was related to most of the police force and beyond….

Vi’s side of the conversation was not overly informative, until she looked at her timing device.

“Yeah, we’re heading in right now. Be there in ten. Or less.”

Afoniki set down his glass and moved toward Vi, sending the tension scale rising again.

“You forgot your card, Detective.” He held out a white square that Joe knew was a business card.

Normally not something to fear, but ‘it’ could use even this innocuous electronic device to wreak havoc if it had been infested with drones.

With an almost imperceptible pause, Vi took the square. Joe noted that her fingers did not touch Afoniki’s. That reduced the risk, but did not eliminate it.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she said, lightly, turning away before Afoniki could respond. She strode up to the two Smiths. Their pause was very perceptible, but they finally stepped aside, one to the left, the other to the right.

Vi angled to avoid brushing against them as she stepped on. A move Joe mimicked. As they were lifted up, Joe looked back, wondering if they’d ever see Afoniki again.

That he did not mind, did not overly trouble Joe. He saw the two Smiths watching him and looked away. But he carried the look in their eyes with him as he followed Vi out.

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Her Scandalous Affair (previously titled “Restoration”, KS Augustin) Author: KS Augustin Release date: January 2015 Publisher: Challis Tower Price: US$4.99 Format: Ebook (Epub, Mobi) Links: Book page at Challis Tower – Author's website – Subscribe to author's newsletter

SFR Galaxy Award for Best Exploration of Real Life Issues in an SFR (Judge Heather Massey) Her Scandalous Affair features a forbidden May-December romance. Van is a mature, older heroine with a fully-realized life, including friendships, family, career, and the complications that come with her advancing age. A philosopher by trade, she’s tasked with helping the hero, Eton, re-integrate back into Rahfonian society after he’d lived among aliens since childhood.

Her Scandalous Affair is remarkable in a number of ways. Chief among them is the story’s non-Western setting. It’s the type of story element that makes me go, “Oh wow, I really needed this! The whole genre needs more of this!” Her Scandalous Affair is character-driven and prompts one to reflect on the impact of major life changes and milestones, especially as it relates to aging. The plot is of the quiet kind, focusing as it does on Van’s day-to-day work with Eton and their forbidden romance.

There are no “shoot ‘em ups,” space battles, or violent confrontations. This story is about deeply personal stakes as opposed to external ones. Her Scandalous Affair is a cerebral palate cleanser and the subtle creative choices are wonderfully innovative.

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Chapter One The office was cold, but Van had expected that. She drew her jacket closer around her body and tried not to fidget while she waited for Yical Blen. He had been uncommonly busy of late; too late, she'd heard, to even meet up with his departmental peers at the sector park. She wondered if the summons to his office had anything to do with his preoccupation. Usually the institute ran on silent, well-lubricated wheels, but the rumours she'd been hearing...

Administrator Blen entered in a bustle of movement. He shot her a small, tight smile then proceeded to lock down the room. Van's eyes widened as the door slid shut behind her, the windows beyond darkened, and the soft hum of white noise filled the air.

“Is this really necessary, Yical?” she asked.

“Good day, Van,” he said, not answering her question. “I've taken the liberty of suspending your slate's normal functions for the time being.” He settled in his chair, but couldn't seem to get comfortable. If Van didn't know better, she would have said he was...afraid. But what would the administrator of a small and prestigious institute be scared of?

“Van, I've been given information...” He paused. Shifted position again. Stared at her and blinked a few times. “How closely do you follow the news?”

“Is this a lesson in civic responsibilities, Yical?” Her voice was mild.

“How close?”

“As much as any other in my position.” Her shrug was a small, elegant rise of a shoulder. “I have to keep up-to-date if I hope to convince undergraduates that I haven't yet reached senility.”

Blen's lips didn't even twitch. “So you've heard of the Ithari, then?”

“The Ithari?” Van frowned. “You mean that alien species we've just contacted? Yes, we've begun discussing them in a few of my tutorial classes. I believe they're not at the same level of technology as us, which makes for some very interesting thoughts on inclusion, exclusion, perceptions of progress, and so on. Still, it's difficult to arrive at any firm conclusions because what we're hearing is being filtered through so many levels.” Her voice grew wistful. “I wish we had the opportunity to invite one here, so I could question it in person, instead of relying on second- or third-hand reports.”

He looked down at his desk. “You may just get your wish.”

Blen muttered the words, but Van picked them up well enough. She straightened and her eyes brightened. “One of them is coming? Here? That's wonderful, Yical.”

He batted down her enthusiasm with a wave of his hand. “No, no. Sorry. Nothing like that. I didn't express myself well. It's more like...we've been given an opportunity.”

He said it as though something nasty had just bitten him. Hmmm, that was definitely not the kind of reaction she was expecting from Yical Blen. Administrators usually fell on such opportunities like fasters on a juicy steak; Blen looked as though his meal was about to consume him.

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“This is completely confidential, Van,” he said. “Nothing is to go beyond the confines of this office.”

She glanced pointedly at the opaque windows. “As if it can.”

But it still took many long minutes before Blen opened his mouth again. “It's not common knowledge, but we didn't have first contact with the Ithari seven months ago. We've actually been communicating with them for more than a year.”

Van wasn't surprised. She'd been around too long to be startled by anything the planetary government did. “I presume this is because of the treaty we're negotiating with them?”

“Yes, exactly. We needed to be at the stage where they trusted us fully before the Ergifani found out about them, so the details were kept secret as long as possible.”

“Because we were afraid the Ergifani might have negotiated something with the Ithari while we dithered?”

“An entire species of merchants,” Blen complained, “with nothing better to do than go around undercutting their partners. Of course we had to keep things quiet. The planetary council made sure any information regarding the Ithari was locked down so thoroughly, it was an incarceration offence merely mentioning their name.”

Van watched Blen closely. “The news reports say that we are operating at unseemly haste in negotiating this trade agreement.”

“Yes, of course they would say that. As far as the rest of the planet's concerned, we've only known the Ithari for a few months. Now you know that it's been much longer.”

“And I presume it's progressing well?”

“Well enough. I suppose.” Blen looked down at his desk again. “I'm not sure. On a 'need to know' basis and all that.”

Van's lips tightened. She was starting to run out of patience. “Yical, why are you mentioning all this to me? What does an interstellar trade agreement have to do with the Emaak Institute?”

He was quiet for such a long time that Van thought he was ignoring her. Then he said: “They have a Rahfon native.”

She stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

He tensed his fingers then clasped them together and rested them on his desk. “It seems that, thirty years ago, a vessel crashed on their home planet. A Rahfon stellar yacht.”

“Stellar...?” Van frowned. “But stellar yachts didn't exist thirty years ago.”

Blen looked up at her. “Actually, they did. It's just that not many people could have afforded them back then. This particular family could.”

“So there was just one family on the yacht? It wasn't a prototype commercial venture?”

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Blen shook his head. “We think we know who they are. A scion of the Albess family.”

“Oh.” Van didn't know what else to say.

“That's right. Louis Albess got his share of the inheritance when his uncle died and spent all of it on the most extravagant spacefaring vessel he could afford. He, his young wife and two children went off on a jaunt—a Grand Tour of Rahfon space, he said—and were never heard from again.”

“Tragedy seems to stalk that family like a vengeful slithcat. But if we've found them—” “Not 'them'. Him.” “Not the whole family?”

“The Ithari say that by the time they reached the wreck,” Blen held up a single finger, “they only found one person alive. Louis Albess' son.”

“And we're sure it's—” “We told the Ithari what kind of tests to run. His identity's been confirmed.”

“Well.” She let out a breath. “Pity there's nothing left of his family's fortune. Poor soul.”

“It gets worse. At the time they found the crash, the Ithari didn't know who or even what he was. A different species, certainly, but one they'd never encountered before.”

Van drew in a sharp breath. “What did they do to him?”

“It's nothing like that,” he hastened to reassure her. “They treated him like one of their own. Even fostered him out to one of their biologists, who brought him up with the rest of her family.”

“I can hear a 'but' in your voice, Yical.”

Blen spread his hands. “They want to give him back. Now that they've found out exactly what species he is, they want to return him—give us the chance to restore him to Rahfon society.”

“And this is a problem because?”

“He doesn't know anything about Rahfon or Rahfon society, Van. He can't even speak our language.”

Van shook her head. “Surely there would have been systems aboard the yacht that would have taught him the essentials.”

“An alien-to-the-Ithari system? Running on alien-to-the-Ithari hardware? They said it took them years to figure out our physics, but they were still stumped when they got the basic ship systems running. They said that engineering theory was the easiest because it's pretty much standard across the galaxy. But, by the time they started understanding anything in the social or linguistic spheres, the Abless boy had already been in Ithari society for almost a decade and fully assimilated.”

“How old is he now?”

“Thirty-five.”

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“Still a child!”

“That's the only piece of good news I have for you. By Rahfon standards, he should still be studying. Which is why,” Blen licked his lips, “it's been decided that you should be the one to teach him how to be Rahfon again.”

Van stared at him. “Me?” Blen remained silent.

“Yical, this isn't a job for me. You should be talking to exo-biologists, exo-linguists. Hads, exoanything.”

“The situation's a bit more complicated than that. And the Ithari want you.”

“The Ithari want me?” That didn't make any sense. “But...isn't he already living with an Ithari biologist? Wouldn't it make more sense for him to transfer across to a Rahfon biologist? In fact,” Van asked, as a thought struck her, “why are they only talking about the boy now? Shouldn't he have been transported to Rahfon a year ago, when we first established contact?”

“There were,” Blen glanced away for a moment, “complications.”

“What kind of complications? On the Ithari side?”

“No. On ours. You have to understand how it looks, Van. We establish first contact with a species we've never encountered before and, suddenly, they tell us they have one of our species. The planetary council was sceptical.”

“They didn't believe the Ithari had a Rahfon survivor?”

“Not until they ran the tests we requested.”

Van was wry. “Lucky for them.”

“But that still brought up other questions. Where did the survivor's loyalties lie? If we accepted him unconditionally, would he spy on us for the Ithari? Send them sensitive information? The council debated for months over the issue.”

“We debated over whether to accept one of our own species back to the planet of his birth? Yical, that's despicable behaviour.”

“They were thinking of Rahfon, Van, and of Rahfon society. In their place, I don't know that I would have done any differently.”

“Hmmm. And now I presume he's free to return to his homeworld?”

“Yes.” Blen paused. “As long as you are the one to guide him back into society.” He stopped her objections with an upraised hand. “I know how difficult this must be for you, Van. You've got Retirement to think of, a lot of changes coming up in your life, a lot of transitions. If it were up to us, we would have picked a low-level scientist, just as you're suggesting.”

That hadn't been what she'd suggested, but Van kept silent.

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“Unfortunately,” Blen said, “although we could make recommendations, the Ithari insisted on having the final word. I think they were upset over how long it took us to come to a decision.”

“How do they even know about me?” Van asked.

“Three months ago, after we agreed to have the survivor repatriated, they had us send them details on all instructors on Rahfon, in addition to our list of preferred candidates. We tried to object, but they threatened to shut down negotiations if we didn't agree.”

“There must be thousands of instructors on Rahfon.”

“Tens of thousands,” Blen said.

“And only three months to read through them? That seems a very short time to me.”

“The Ithari are,” he hesitated, “short-lived, compared to us. They approach everything at a much faster pace. The scientist who fostered Abless, for example? She's already dying.”

“After only thirty years?”

“They say she was already of mature age when they found the vessel.”

“Maybe the Abless child was harbouring some Rahfon bacteria in his body. Maybe he infected her —” “We checked. They only live for about sixty years. Seventy at the most. You see, as far as we can tell...”

Only seven decades of life? That seemed strange to Van. The Rahfon had already made contact with other species and the one thing they all had in common was longevity. How could the Ithari have ventured to the stars without a similar advantage?

Blen, not noticing her preoccupation, kept talking and Van only tuned in at the last moment. “...of the things they're hoping to trade with us.”

She frowned. “I'm sorry, did you just mention longevity treatments?”

“A natural foundation for trade,” Blen said, nodding. “The Ithari are excellent engineers and, from scientific papers they've released to us, we know they've developed several alloys we'd be interested in. A number of Rahfon companies are already interested in setting up research facilities and fabrication workshops in Ithari space. In return, we will work with their medical specialists to develop gene therapies for their species in order to prolong their lives.”

“You're going too fast for me, Yical.” She shook her head. “I don't know anything about alloy fabrication and, to be honest, I don't want to know.”

He smiled. “It's clear you're no scientist, Van.” “No, I'm not. I'm a Rahfonist and philosopher and, apparently, the person the Ithari have chosen to restore this Abless boy to Rahfon society. Could they be mistaken?”

“You mean, by picking you? If they were after a philosopher, I'd say they couldn't have picked

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anyone better qualified. The Emaak Institute has been proud to have you as a faculty member for more than twenty-five years.” He lowered his voice. “Can I let you in on a secret? The other institutes were as mad as freezing kendels that they didn't get it. Seems that when we were all supposed to forward our staff's details, more than a few slipped in some additional 'inducements'.”

“Inducements? You mean, they attempted to bribe both the planetary council and the Ithari?”

“Well, it's not called a bribe in a war, is it? And this was one of the fiercest battles I ever took part in.” Blen's eyes shone. “One prestigious organisation offered the Ithari purpose-built complexes, and as many assistants as they required, for however long they wanted. Another offered to 'smooth' the trade negotiations through some high-level connections.”

“And what about us, Yical? What did we offer?”

Blen narrowed his eyes. “Don't go all hard-core Rahfonist on me, Van. What we offered was no more than any other entity of our standing would offer. And, by the sounds of things, actually a lot less.”

Van crossed her arms and waited. Under her withering stare, Blen cracked first.

“All right. We guaranteed absolute privacy for him, a full-time Rahfonist to tutor him (that's you), as well as a team of guards and carers to ensure that he remains safe at all times. In addition—” “No,” Van cut in. “Can we go back over something?”

“Er, well surely we can talk over the details—” “You said that the institute offered a full-time Rahfonist as tutor.”

“That's right.”

Van exhaled. “Yical, you know that's not true. I have a full workload this year, not to mention the field trips to the alien settlements on the other side of the planet. I suppose I'd have a bit more time if Nuisa hadn't injured himself surge-jumping over—” “That's all irrelevant, Van. As of this moment, you are off the active teaching roster.”

“Off?” Her voice rose. “And when were you going to inform me of this?”

“I'm telling you right now.”

“Yical...” She breathed out and started again. “Yical, how can you have a Rahfonist teaching at this institute and still behave so unethically? You've forwarded my name and details, consulted with the planetary council, made recommendations, and had me taken away from my students in the middle of the semester, all without even consulting me?”

“These are unusual circumstances, Van.” “Unusual circumstances are exactly the time when we should be sticking to our ethics, not throwing them away.” She ran her gaze over him, in much the same way as a scientist would peruse a new form of bacteria. “I'm of the opinion that you require a refresher course in what it means to be a Rahfon. In fact, I'm wondering if the entire planetary council needs one too.”

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She held up a hand when Blen opened his mouth. “I understand that the Ithari have brought a complication to the table and, no doubt, they're eager to have a member of a previously unknown species off their claws, or tentacles, or whatever it is they have, but he's not here yet, we're still planning for his arrival, and already you have contravened some basic civilities. You should have spoken to me first about this change in my duties.”

“I'm sorry, Van. I would have, but we didn't have time. When the Ithari gave us their final approval five days ago, I had to give them an immediate answer, and we've been hard at work nailing down the details ever since. I didn't have the liberty that a month or two of time would have given me.”

Van stared at him, but Blen didn't budge, his expression apologetic but resolute. “All right,” she said. “Now onto my next point. Did you say, 'guards'?”

“As much for his safety as anyone else's. The planetary council insisted on it, and even the Ithari agreed it would be a sensible precaution.”

“Private quarters, carers, guards...me. How much is all this costing?”

“You don't have to worry about that. It's all being covered by the council. We have full funding approved for a period of six months.”

“Only six months?”

“Van,” Blen ran a hand through his hair, “why are you being like this? I thought someone like you would've jumped at the chance of getting a real alien in her hands.”

“I thought you said he's Rahfon.”

“Rahfon on the outside, Ithari on the inside.” Blen was irritated. “Think of it, Van. Think of all the papers you could write on this. It would increase your already formidable reputation. You could set up your own consultancy once you reach Retirement. I'll even talk to the council and suggest we retain you as Ithari liaison, if we get such an opportunity.”

Van shook her head slowly, in admiration. “And if I ever forgot how you talked me into joining Emaak, Yical, I think I've just been forcibly reminded.”

He watched her carefully. “Does that mean you'll do it?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course you have a choice. I know it appears that I've been crashing through all your objections but the final word is yours. Say no and, I promise, I won't bring it up again.”

The smile he gave her was so tentative, with a dash of pathos, that Van burst out laughing. “You win, Yical. I'll get myself ready for Master Abless. I presume you have some material for me to look over?”

“The Ithari have already forwarded enough information to keep you busy for months.” He reached for his office input pad and tapped on it, frowning every few seconds at the clearscreen floating in front of him. From Van's side, she saw blurs flash across the air between them. “I'm sending you the biologist's reports...” tap-tap-tap, “psychological profiles—from an Ithari perspective, of course...”

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tap-tap “...some background information on Ithari society...” tap-tap “...and a confidentiality agreement.”

“Does that mean I'm not to tell anyone of this?”

“Not even your family. The news will get out eventually, but we'd rather not force the issue.”

A small light gleamed green on her wrist. She glanced down at her bracelet. “All your files have transferred across. How long will I have to go through all this? Three months? Four?”

“One week.”

“What?” She stared at him. “A week? Yical, I can't analyse everything—anything—in a week!”

“Just skim it, get a feel for what you're getting into. I don't imagine you'll be with him for more than a few hours a day, leaving you the rest of the time to become more familiar with the material. He'll be your full-time workload, remember?”

“A week,” Van said, her voice soft.

“If anyone can do it, Van, you can.”

He smiled at her proudly and Van got the distinct impression she had capitulated way too easily.

Chapter Two Through with the meeting, Van left Blen's office. Checking her bracelet, she confirmed that what Yical had told her was correct. Replacement instructors had already been assigned to her classes, and her texts and notes had been shared with them. She was now officially off the teaching roster for the next six months. She should have resented the pre-emptory manner of her reassignment, but couldn't. A thread of excitement rose in her belly. Restore an alien-reared Rahfoni to society? Yical had been right. Nobody in the history of the planet had ever done that.

She stepped out through the institute's main doors and took a deep breath, scanning the precinct.

She was curious about how it looked when she was normally busy in class. She heard children playing and focused on the park in front of her. During the day, it was used as a playground and set of outdoor classrooms. Small figures in vibrantly coloured clothing danced around two taller figures. To their right, a group of older children were taking samples from the lush green vegetation that fringed the narrow creeks that emptied into an oval lake. Beyond them, a cluster was sitting cross-legged in a circle. At this distance, it was difficult to see who was the teacher and who were the pupils, but this was the biggest concentration of youngsters Van had seen in years. It looked like the precinct's entire population of younglings was present.

By the time dusk fell, the area would be altered and configured for adults—the short railings around the lake and waterways would disappear, entertainment domes would rise from beneath the grassy surface, and acoustic shields would be put in place to keep venues private from each other.

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To her right, partially eclipsed by the institute's campus buildings, were the supporting industries of the precinct—food markets, shops, some accommodation and general maintenance facilities. She normally sent Rek to do the grocery shopping but, occasionally, liked to saunter to the market herself, especially if she knew out-precinct merchants were visiting. Perhaps she could introduce the Abless boy to the markets. She found it cheerful and invigorating, full of the scents of Rahfon life. It would be a good introduction to what it meant to be a Rahfoni.

This morning, knowing she had an impossible deadline to meet, she turned left, walking briskly down the wide promenade towards the residential area. There was enough traffic around to be comforting but not claustrophobic, and she nodded to people she recognised. They smiled and nodded back.

She liked the Emaak precinct because it was smaller than the Rahfoni average. Before Yical Blen poached her, offering her a package she couldn't refuse, she'd been teaching at Disen, a region easily twice as large and three times as busy. People came and left the major spaceport city on a regular basis, quickly moving on to other opportunities, and Van had found it difficult to form more than a handful of cursory relationships. Favil had loved it, of course. He loved everything that was dynamic and exciting. When Van had left for Emaak, Favil hadn't followed.

The residential buildings hove into view as she approached, rising up out of the surrounding landscaped shrubbery like neatly separated plates of white. The panes of yellow, blue, green and pink crystal glass that separated the levels of each building glinted in the sunlight, giving the area a bright, hyper-realistic glow.

She really should be grateful to Yical for rescuing her from Disen's overwhelming anonymity.

Emaak may be smaller, but it was also more intimate, more soothing. Her creative and academic output had more than doubled in the first ten years after her move. Whereas, in Disen, she had been a competent philosopher, in the quiet of Emaak, she was able to pull her ideas and experiences of social chaos together in such a way that she was now one of Emaak's stars—a Rahfonist and philosopher who had her pick of conferences. She was truly content, something that a person could only aspire to when reaching the major life-event of Retirement.

Van reached her building and, with only the slightest of pauses so her identity could be confirmed, the foyer doors slid open. She climbed the wide stairs of the residential block up to the second level, palming the door's access panel in an offhand gesture born of habit.

There was a moment of silence when she entered, then a bright voice greeted her. “Am I mistaken, or did you leave for work less than two hours ago?”

Van smiled. “Noticed, did you?”

She looked at the AI unit now approaching her. Rek trotted forward and sat down, his tail swishing gently from side to side. From his relaxed facial expression, Van could see he was in a teasing mood.

“Hard not to when the door interrupted my mid-morning nap,” he said.

“Yical Blen gave me a new assignment.” She sobered and dropped her voice. “Ultra-high privacy,

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Rek. Nothing I say or watch is to go beyond these walls.”

“So I can't tell the fresh pawgury trader about it.”

She smiled. “As much as I love steamed pawgury...no.”

“I shall set up the appropriate protocols. All communications will be on a delay, with acknowledgement-required handshakes for all incoming calls. That should give you enough time to suspend whatever you're working on should someone contact or visit you.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you like a kevey? I can make one for you just the way you like your men—dark and sweet.”

“That would be lovely.” She walked over to the largest console in the living room, fishing her slate out of her bag. Glancing down at it, she noticed that Blen had uploaded one hundred and sixteen files. This was going to be a long week. She acknowledged the device interlock on both devices, set the transfer for encryption and walked back to the sofa.

“How are we doing for food?” she asked, raising her voice.

Rek's muffled tones carried from the kitchen. “Thinking of staying in?”

“No 'thinking' about it. I have an entire week of enforced solitude. Lots of information to absorb.”

“I see. In that case, no, we don't have enough food.”

He entered the room. He had changed to bipedal mode and was carrying a steaming mug in one hand. “Would you like me to go to the market today, instead of tomorrow?”

Van took the mug, tasting the dark, aromatic liquid with pleasure. “Good idea. Use the opportunity to purchase extra groceries. I'm not sure when I'll be free. Nice kevey, by the way.”

“Thank you. I presume your current assignment will be lasting for more than a week?”

“That's right. All in all, I'm going to be away from my regular duties for the next six months. This first week is just preparation time. How did you know?”

“You are preoccupied. Your voice is exhibiting stress. I would have guessed that whatever is troubling you will not be resolved in a short time.”

She looked up at him and shook her head. “You can read me like a neo-hoth novel.”

“That's how I was programmed.” He folded down to a quadraped so Van didn't have to strain her neck. “So you are off regular duties for six months?”

Van nodded.

“I am scanning your schedule. If you're going to be otherwise occupied for such a length of time, you need to make some decisions about upcoming commitments.”

Van hesitated for a moment, then groaned and hit her forehead with the palm of her hand. “You're talking about the East Rahfon Conference on Order and Chaos, aren't you? How could I have forgotten?”

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“You are one of their speakers. You also promised a column for Rahfon Today magazine and an interview for Philosophy in Life.”

She took another sip of kevey. “I don't know. I can't make the conference. Will you pass on my apologies?”

Rek nodded.

“As for the column and interview...”

“I can analyse past issues of the magazine, with particular emphasis on articles from previous Rahfonists, cross-referencing social questions of that time. I'm sure I can suggest something from one of your previous papers.”

“Yes, please do that.”

“I will also contact the editor of Philosophy in Life. Perhaps she can forward the questions in advance. We can record your answers here and send them to her.”

“It's not ideal but,” she paused, “I think that's the best I can do for now.”

“Do you want me to refuse future engagement requests?”

“Yes. I don't need the distraction. And it'll only be for six months.”

“Very well. I shall contact the conference organisers then go to the market.”

“Thank you, Rek.” Even though she knew the AI unit was her personal property and entirely trustworthy, she waited for him to leave before she moved Yical's files to a new folder and opened it. From the looks of things, everything had been translated into Rahfoni. That should make things slightly easier.

Van skimmed the file names and metadata, using the larger console to help organise the overwhelming amount of information available. She created sub-folders—Early Life, Most Recent, Ithari, Health, Other—and further classified the files. By the time she was ready to delve into the actual data, more than an hour had passed. Rek hadn't yet returned, but Van wasn't worried. He often used the time away to download news from Emaak-specific sources and interact with his friends.

Where to start? After some thought, she chose “Early Life”, then the file with the lowest number.

“Play,” she told the console.

A laboratory appeared on the monitor. Van saw benches, long-legged chairs, and familiar looking equipment—was that a server bank? Those rounded oblongs over there looked like sensor displays —but the lighting was very bright and everything looked sheathed in bright metal. When the first Ithari came into view, standing in the middle of the frame facing the camera, Van held her breath.

She had flippantly mentioned “tentacles” to Yical but saw now that she was wrong. Not tentacles but certainly claw-like appendages. The Ithari individual she was looking at was tall and spindly, with the kind of leg musculature that made each step look like a bounce. There were only two

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fingers on each hand with one opposable thumb. Its language appeared to be a combination of vocalisations and deliberate body movements. Rahfoni subtitles flashed above its head.

“I would like to make this recording of the specimen we retrieved from the crash in [untranslatable],” it said. “If I could ask my assistant to bring it here...”

Another Ithari entered the frame, leading a small Rahfon child. Yes, about five years old would seem right. He was naked and walked stiffly, as if ready to bolt in an instant. Van had to quell a stab of sympathy and the instinctive spasming of her hands. This had already happened thirty years ago.

There was nothing she could do to change it.

“It is a warm-blooded creature. Its skin is thin and easily lacerated. Skull capacity is proportionally large, indicating the potential for higher brain function. Fluid analysis has revealed a blood chemistry different to ours, yet with some similarities in nutrient uptake, morphology, and thermoregulation.”

Van watched the young boy, her gaze lifting occasionally to the subtitles to keep track of what was being said. He was standing very still, a stance unnatural in such a young child. Almost catatonic. “...fluid from its eyes. We have analysed it. It contains water, salts, [untranslatable] and enzymes of the [untranslatable] group. It appears to be unrelated to any biological function that we can ascertain, but is accompanied by flushing of facial tissues and high-pitched vocalisations...”

Poor thing. He was gripping an Ithari's hand as if his life depended on it. Did the Ithari have pain receptors? Was he hurting it? Had they hurt him? “...autopsies of the other bodies retrieved in an effort to further classify this being. Unfortunately, with only one living specimen available, benchmarking our findings remains problematic, however we have established some baseline measurements that we hope...”

The second Ithari—the one identified as an assistant—tugged on the boy's hand and began moving in a tight circle. The boy followed, executing a full turn in front of the camera. “...not encountered a species like this before. Our report has been tabled...”

Van was shown the boy doing another turn, then the video cut out abruptly.

The console chimed, indicating that playback was complete.

Van looked down at her hands and found them curled into fists. The muscles in her entire body were tense and rigid and she had to make an effort to relax them so she could take in a full breath. She hadn't expected such a visceral response to the image of a Rahfon child being examined by aliens like a...a specimen. That's what they had called him.

Specimen.

They hadn't known any better. To them, he was a specimen.

Yes, she should concentrate on that, she thought, blinking back tears of emotion. From what Yical had said, they had taken care of Abless for the past thirty years. They wouldn't have done that if they hadn't come to respect and care about him in some way. And they had kept working on the

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crashed space yacht, slowly decoding information from the damaged ship's systems. None of these actions indicated a ruthless, uncaring people.

But she couldn't forget the image of the young boy—in shock and terrified. If only the tasks the Ithari had carried out could have been reversed: decode the systems first, then raise the child. But how were the Ithari supposed to do that? If the Rahfon had been thrust into the same situation, Van doubted they could have done any better.

Finishing the kevey, she put the empty mug to one side and chose another file, skipping over an entire sequence. This one had a timestamp marked a year later.

“Play.”

It took a while for Van to sort out what she was watching. Unlike the sleekness of the lab, she was now looking at things that appeared to have no function. It was a room and, beyond that, high walls.

The light was still bright, but less blinding than before. Two small Ithari galloped into, then out of, the frame. There were spikes on the floor (weapons?), a table containing bulbs that made crackling sounds as they rocked to and fro. Why were there rags next to the spikes? What were those stains on the floor?

Then it dawned on her. She was looking at a home! Fascinated, she leant forward, her gaze moving from one object to another. Were those rocking things toys or plants? And what about the deadlylooking spikes? Surely they couldn't be toys.

An adult Ithari arrived and picked up the rags. Its body language was stiff. It perched on a tall stool and looked into the camera.

“This is weekly report sixty. I am Biologist Ar [unintelligible but sounding like 'sack'].”

The biologist who had fostered the boy! But was it male, female or other? The swept back ridges on its head were rounded, perhaps indicating a female, but it seemed a larger individual than the two Ithari from the previous video, so perhaps it was male? There were so many questions here but Van forced herself to put them to one side. For the moment, she had to let the information wash over her.

She needed an overview before she began drilling for specific answers. “[Unintelligible but sounding like 'Ob'] is adapting well to life. Its weekly health report showed a deficiency in iron and I have requested another four weeks' worth of supplements from the Central Lab. Side-effects have been greatly diminished and I have confidence in the revised formulae.

“At this point, we believe Ob is an immature hermaphrodite form of its species, as it exhibits both male and female characteristics. As you can see,” an image of Abless, looking slightly older, flashed on the screen, “it has external genitalia indicative of male penetration, yet it also has dormant fat glands on its chest capable of nutriment production and feeding. We believe there are also immature organs capable of young-bearing in its torso.”

The frame returned to the biologist. “I have requested further data drops from the team handling the alien translations and hope to have my hypothesis confirmed very soon.”

Van raised her eyebrows. It wasn't a bad analysis, as far as it went. Incorrect, but logical.

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“It is a very social animal, often requesting physical touch when it exhibits clear signs of anxiety or, contradictorily, happiness. My children are quite taken with it, although I have had to restrict the range of physical activities Ob participates in as some have resulted in injuries to its body.

“Cognitively, Ob is intelligent but has problems with language. Its mathematical ability is solid and average for a child at the [unintelligible] level. I will be attaching my written findings to this report.”

The screen went blank.

Van was still digesting what she'd seen when Rek returned.

“You look deep in thought,” he said as he skimmed past, taking the empty mug in his mouth.

Van kept staring at the screen. “I have lots to think about.”

“Lunch will be ready soon. We can discuss it then, if you like.”

“Yes.” Van's voice strengthened. “Yes, why not.”

Van's best thinking always happened when she had someone to talk to and—considering the magnitude of what she was undertaking, and the amount of data she had to sift through—she'd have to talk to someone soon or burst! Under the circumstances, and considering the security precautions, Rek seemed the best choice.

She rose from the sofa, leisurely padding after her votary down a short flight of steps into the kitchen. Behind him, and through the panes of crystal glass, Emaak stretched, a jigsaw of overlapping green circles cut through with grey, white and blue.

“The groceries will be delivered within the hour,” Rek said, looking up. “Would you like me to set the table?”

“No, I'll do it.” Van walked to a wall unit and pressed one of the panels. It slid forward and petalled open. She took out a setting for one—an antique placemat, a set of cutlery that had belonged to her paternal grandfather, and a more modern plate, rippled around the squared off edges.

“What are we having for lunch?” She knew she'd be the only one eating, but it felt more convivial including him in her daily rituals. She placed the mat at one end of the table and began arranging the other items on top of it.

“Since today is a special occasion—a top-secret confidential mission that you haven't told me about yet—I decided to get some roasted braefon with steamed red pawgury, dressed greens and a sidedish of hosvah sauce.” Rek winked at her across the counter. “The vegetable merchant told me he'd been keeping the pawgury specially for you.”

Van smiled. “I'll have to take a walk down there and thank him in person. Any other news around the market?”

“I met Nex. She told me you'd probably be hearing from Ageta later today as your name was mentioned before Ageta left for work this morning.”

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“That's nice. I haven't seen Ageta for a while.”

“And there's a new play opening next week. It was a big hit in the capital and the company's touring the continent. There is also a Traydor art exhibition opening next month.”

Seeing that her meal was almost ready, Van walked back to the dining table. It was a long, polished piece of timber—a luxury, considering she was often the only diner—but she hadn't been able to resist it. After Rek, it had been the first thing she'd bought for herself after moving to Emaak. She pulled out a chair and sat down.

“I don't know, Rek,” she said. “I'm not sure how busy I'll be over the next month...”

“I've booked two tickets for you at the theatre. They're for the week after next. I can always release them if you can't make it, but they were going fast and I was afraid I would have missed out if I'd waited any longer.” Rek slipped a plate and shallow bowl in front of her, following it up with a glass of chilled wine, then he took a seat to her left.

“In that case, thank you. Put it on my schedule, with a reminder.” Would the Abless child like to see a play? Or was two weeks too early to attempt such an activity?

Rek nodded. “Executed.”

Lunch was excellent, as Van knew it would be. Rek's culinary upgrade, an expensive accessory twenty-five years ago, had been worth every credit of its price.

The conversation over the meal was light. Rek recited the major news items of the day, interspersing them with a few comic pieces. Van sipped at her wine and listened.

“—and the trade negotiation with the Ithari species is on schedule to be signed within the next few months. Ah.” “What's that supposed to mean?” Van asked, keeping her voice light. “'Ah'?”

“I don't know exactly what the connection is, but your secret project has something to do with the Ithari, doesn't it?”

Van stared at him for a second, then a wry smile curved her lips. “Physiological indicators giving me away again?”

“The Rahfon are full of them. From what I've heard, many more than the Ergifani. Which is good. I would find serving one of the Ergifan less stimulating.”

Van laughed. “That's just mischievous, considering that votaries like you are originally Ergifan technology.”

“Ergifan technology that the Rahfon have improved upon with specialised programming.”

“You're biased.”

“Of course. Because I'm Rahfoni.”

She saluted him with the glass. “In that case, we'll have to see what kind of magic we get from the

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Ithari that we can improve on.”

“Your project does have to do with the trade negotiation, then?”

“No.” Van shook her head. “Not quite. Why don't we clean up here and I'll explain.”

As they cleared the remainders of lunch from the table, Van gave Rek a capsule description of Blen's assignment and what she was supposed to achieve over the next six months of work.

“Yical gave me more than a hundred files and only a week to absorb them,” she said, leading Rek to the living room.

He sat on his haunches and looked at her. “What is your initial aim with the data?”

“Hmmm.” Van tapped the bowl of her glass with one finger. “I want to get a feel for this child's growth. Not necessarily physical at this point, although I'll go through that again later. I'm more interested in his emotional state and how that's evolved.”

“And you have more than a hundred files, you say?”

“One hundred and sixteen.”

“An interesting problem. I could filter the files, looking for emotional cues and splice them together in a single video ribbon.”

“That's a great idea. How long will it take?”

“If I stop all non-core activities, I believe it could be done in less than an hour.”

“Then please do it, Rek. It sounds like an excellent idea.”

The votary froze in position, his head cocked attractively to one side as he processed the files.

While waiting, Van finished her wine and caught up on her journal reading.

Forty minutes later, Rek moved again. “I have finished,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “Would you like to begin?”

Van took a deep breath. “Yes. Why not?”

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Minder Rising: Central Galactic Concordance, Book 2 (Carol Van Natta) Author: Carol Van Natta Release date: May 28, 2015 Publisher: Chavanch Press Format: Ebook (Amazon, Kobo, Nook, iTunes, Google Play) Links: Book page – Author's email

SFR Galaxy Award for Best Slow Burning Romance (Judge Jo Jones) Lieren and Imara are acquaintances who haves secrets. It is Imara’s son Derrit that starts to bring them together. The romance is slow to develop but very believable.

CHAPTER 1 * Planet: Concordance Prime * GDAT 3238.203 * Minder Corps Field Agent Lièrén Sòng stared at his no-kick fizzy drink but didn’t see it. He had shrunk his world to as small as he could make it, but even from six meters away, he could feel the big bald man sitting at the bar broadcasting a prickly synaptic haze of barely contained violence as he stared at the dark-skinned woman behind the bar, as if trying to hypnotize her. Lièrén might have let it go, might have followed protocol to stay out of it, but he couldn’t. He counted the bartender as a friend, even if she didn’t know it.

The bar had cleared out early that night. Only a half-dozen patrons occupied the booths and nursed

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their drinks, chems, and solitude. The piped-in music, a lilting jig in ancient British folk tradition, now jangled in his head like a wind chime warning of an approaching storm. It made him want to put his hands over his ears, but that wouldn’t shut off his sifter talent.

It was yet another problem piled onto a truly lousy day. He’d awakened from his prescribed afternoon nap with a jolt, another dream of falling. Unsurprising, since only six weeks ago, he’d actually fallen several thousand meters out of a high-low flitter that was breaking apart and on its way to a fiery crash and burn.

After three weeks of trauma care and reconstructive surgery, he checked into the long-term residence hotel for the duration of his continued rehabilitation, which included being treated by another sifter for his post-traumatic experience therapy. His recovery had been slowed due to withdrawal symptoms from his Citizen Protection Service-mandated program of enhancement drugs, which he couldn’t take while his new cloned liver integrated with his body. Beyond the headache, dry mouth, and sweat flashes, his primary minder talent felt thick and muddy. It didn’t help that he’d run out of the temporary replacement enhancement drugs the CPS's medics had prescribed for him. He hadn’t noticed until he’d gotten back to his hotel room that day, which wasn’t like him. He was forgetful, but usually well organized.

He wanted his ordinary, balanced life back, where he mostly stayed in ships and space stations, and where the weather was controlled and it didn’t rain whenever it felt like it. There were too many empty drawers to fill in the hotel room, a silent reminder that his few personal possessions had been destroyed along with the flitter. His replacement clothes, even though autotailored to his exact measurements and range of motion, felt too new.

He shouldn’t be feeling sorry for himself, because at least he’d lived through it. His senior field unit partner and friend, Fiyon Machimata, hadn’t been so lucky.

If Fiyon had been with him now, he’d have insisted on going someplace more upscale. The Quark and Quasar, which was a part of the residence hotel, was designed as a family-style pub and was much more congenial than the hotel’s restaurant, which had marginal food and surly service. The pub had two- and four-person booths and an eclectic mix of round tables of varying heights, suitable for adults and children alike. The decorator had lined the walls with mysterious metal pieces purporting to come from preflight Earth sailing ships and farm equipment, but Lièrén suspected they were copies of random machine parts that caught the designer’s eye. Behind the bar’s simulated wooden façade, the prep area and the dispensary were modern, if not exotic or extensive.

When he’d first visited the bar after moving into his hotel suite, he wasn’t sure he liked the music, which was billed as “preflight British traditional,” even though whoever selected it had a rather elastic definition of the style. It had grown on him in subsequent visits, to the point that he looked forward to the live musician scheduled to perform the next week. It was… odd to be able to plan things like that. Usually his job kept him constantly traveling.

The lowlight of his already zhào chū day had been being stuck in the metro station while the city figured out how to reroute the skytrams because of an accident. A ground hauler had crashed into

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the pillars of the passenger platform, killing at least thirty people outright and flooding the area trauma centers with the injured. If he hadn’t stopped to help an older couple with toppled packages and wayward grandchildren, he might have been back in the trauma center again himself, and back to waking hallucinations of falling. He was glad he didn’t have to go anywhere near the gruesome ground levels where the victims had landed.

After another nightmare had terminated his too-short nap, Lièrén had been too irritable, thirsty, and unsettled to stay in his hotel room another minute, so he’d gone to the bar. It had been surprisingly crowded for an early weeknight, and he’d retreated to a back corner booth to get away from the pressure of the unknowingly broadcasting patrons. He was only a low-level telepath, so their current, running thoughts didn’t bother him from a distance, but his high-level sifter talent meant he couldn’t avoid feeling the ebb and flow of them. Without the CPS enhancement drugs helping him control his talent, the active minds around him felt like constant raindrops on a sunburn.

The usually boisterous server, Rayle Leviso, who chatted with and teased everyone, had thankfully left him alone that evening. Once the bar emptied, Rayle had slid out early, too, leaving only Bartender Sesay… Imara, she’d invited him to call her, to deal with the few remaining customers.

She was cheerfully competent and wasn’t given to idle chatter, and it didn’t hurt that she was easy on the eyes. Even her outgoing son, Derrit, was thankfully quiet tonight.

In the earlier crush, Imara had asked if Derrit could sit with him to do his homework. Lièrén had nodded and said less than was polite, but his pounding headache made it difficult to do anything more. The medics and healers had done admirable jobs in repairing his ribs, diaphragm, lung, and liver, but they couldn’t do anything about the withdrawal symptoms, owing to his sifter talent that made most chemical painkillers useless. His choices had been to stay in the rehab unit for another three weeks with the constant company of a healer, or deal with the pain and discomfort on his own.

He valued his privacy more than his comfort, although it was hard to remember why on nights like this one. At least he wasn’t having to regrow teeth—he’d heard from other rehab patients that it took months for the new ones to feel like they belonged in their mouths.

Tonight was the first time Lièrén had spent much time with Derrit, and he’d been relieved that the boy’s mind was blessedly quiet. Once Lièrén had considered it, he realized Derrit was a natural shielder. Talent detection hadn’t ever been one of Lièrén’s strong suits, so the boy was probably at least mid-level, if not better. When the crowd had thinned and more booths opened up, Lièrén could have asked Derrit to move, but he’d left the kid alone. He looked busy and productive, and that kind of concentration was hard to achieve for eleven-year-old boys.

Hell, it was hard to achieve for thirty-two-year-old men. He’d been given part-time CPS desk duty in a local field office while his flitter accident was being investigated. In an odd quirk of fate, though his field unit was officially based out of the main office in High Spires, this was the first time he’d ever been on Capet Dedrum itself, more commonly known as Concordance Prime, or visited its galaxy-renowned showcase capitol city.

Repeated interviews with the staff from the CPS Office of Internal Inquiry suggested they thought there was something questionable about the accident. Since his assignment for the last twelve years

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had been conducting covert field interrogations, it was easy for him to identify the agenda behind their questions. He’d already requested an advocate to look out for his interests, as was his right as a de facto member of the military. He knew he was innocent of any wrongdoing, but the OII investigators might take some convincing.

So far, his desk duty had been to catch the field office up on its neglected data cubes—crossreferencing, prioritizing, tagging, and threading—which wasn’t helping his headaches. He liked administrative work, and took pride in creating and keeping order, but it was mind-numbingly boring after a while.

Because of his “trade office” experience and training, he was supposed to be available to the field office for occasional tasks suited to his talents, but they hadn’t asked, probably preferring to use sifters they knew and trusted. It was just as well, since he still had little stamina, and his talent continued to feel different and unreliable while on the latest temporary drug protocol. The local field-office supervisor, Tom Yamazaki, was new to Con Prime. Despite his Japanese last name, he didn’t speak the language, and precious little Mandarin, which he’d need if he planned to make a career in Spires. Lièrén had only met Yamazaki once in person and hadn’t been introduced to the other agents in the new office, who all must have gone to the same conservative autotailor to get the group rate. They acknowledged his presence from time to time, but mostly, they ignored him.

It had been disheartening to realize that with the death of his partner, his only friends now were Rayle and Imara. They’d shown more concern and care than people he’d known for years. Only his supervisor had sent a generic “get well soon” ping. To the overworked medical and therapy personnel, he was a CPS auth code and a barely remembered name. To everyone else, he was just another tourist on the metro.

And now, it looked like the capstone to this particularly lousy day was the bald man at the bar who’d been heavy-handedly hitting on Imara and getting nowhere. He was probably drawn by her pretty face and wide smile that invited laughter, and her crazy, coiled hair that always looked like it was on the verge of breaking free from its restraint. To Lièrén’s chagrin, he’d only noticed the situation because young Derrit had seen the trouble and was watching them like a hawk. Lièrén had a sinking feeling it would be more trouble than Derrit could handle.

Rule number one in covert field units like his was not to draw attention to himself or the unit, and rule number two was to follow rule number one. Lièrén had led anyone who asked to believe that his title of “field agent” was CPS-speak for “office twonk,” and that his unit’s mission had to do with trade support. Procedure said he should leave now, or conveniently fall asleep and see nothing, but the bald man’s haze of violent discord was slicing through Lièrén’s talent like a fistful of forceblades.

Derrit abruptly stood and began sidling toward the bar, focusing on his mother with the intensity of a laser beam. Lièrén’s headache flared, and second later, the bald man grabbed Imara’s hand. Lièrén sat, frozen in indecision.

In the blink of an eye, the bald man muttered something in what sounded like German, then stood and tried to drag Imara from behind the bar.

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“Leave her alone!” shouted Derrit, closing in fast and latching onto the man’s arm.

The bald man snarled and backhanded the boy, sending him flying a meter or more into some chairs.

# Imara Sesay was sorry she’d let Rayle leave early for rehearsal, now that the hairless chitsiru seated at the end of the bar had taken to staring at her like he was a cobra and she was his next mousy meal. The bald man and his buddy, another asshole, had arrived an hour before, obviously prechemmed, so she’d refused to serve them anything with a kick. The second asshole had gone back to his room to sleep it off, but asshole number one stayed and tried to interest her in a hot-connect in his room, or even the bar’s storeroom. He’d spent the last thirty minutes refusing to believe her “not interested” replies to any of his increasingly crude invitations, and disdaining the joyhouse discount token she’d offered.

She straightened and evened the edges of her trays and glasses as she casually looked around to see if there was any help to be found in the customers, but the bar was practically empty. Under the counter, she activated the security alert system and, after a moment’s hesitation, keyed a Priority Two ping, meaning they should come as soon as possible, but it wasn’t an emergency. In the four years she’d been a tender, she’d never had to call a Priority One. She was relieved to see that Derrit was safely out of the way with the nice CPS man, Field Agent Lièrén Sòng, who was still recovering from a horrific accident.

She’d planned to make Derrit move to another booth, but as long as Lièrén wasn’t complaining, she left her son where he was. Not that Lièrén ever complained. He was unfailingly gracious and softspoken. Even in pain, as he clearly was tonight, he’d never been rude. She liked Derrit to get exposure to other people, more specifically males, since Torin had died five years ago, leaving her without a husband and Derrit without a father. She’d been known to convince the occasional patron to give Derrit impromptu lessons, in exchange for free drinks or chems. As a result, Derrit knew how to use a phase blade as an impromptu spot-welder, how to position softlights to make people look good on holo camera interviews, and how to calculate the lift-weight ratio for a hexquadium antigrav flitter.

When she’d first met Lièrén three weeks ago, he’d seemed surprisingly frail for a handsome man in his prime, but nearly dying in a high-low flitter crash would do that to anyone. He’d only survived because his fall had been broken by some trees, or so the newstrends said. He no longer held his upper torso as carefully, and he hadn’t lately dozed off while waiting for the hotel restaurant to deliver his food, but he was far from fully recovered. He was nice to look at, with his well-defined shoulders and narrow, tight hips. Too damn bad he was a transient.

She probably shouldn’t have allowed herself to privately call him by his first name, but she liked him. Maybe he’d at least stay long enough to teach Derrit something. Even on nights like tonight, Lièrén was still polite and patient, traits that would be useful when teaching a gregarious elevenyear-old with energy to burn and a nanosecond attention span.

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The overbuilt bald man at the bar waved to get her attention and grabbed his mostly empty glass.

“Hey, Törtchen, how about sharing some of that sweetness with me?” He waggled his glass and sloshed the dregs of spiced fruit juice around, but he was staring pointedly at her breasts and licking his lips. He’d opened his tunic earlier, as if the bar was too hot, making sure she noticed. His muscled, hairless chest had the perfectly even golden tan only found in a body parlor. Since he was following the latest fashion trends for hairlessness and skin tone, he should have had them do a little subcutaneous fat removal while he was at it. Starting with between his ears.

She forced a chuckle and pasted a professional smile on her face. “Did you just call me a pastry?”

“No, that’s Torten. You’re too dark and juicy for that. Why don’t you come up to my room, and I’ll teach you some more German, like saugen meine Schwanz.” His leer was so overdone that she almost laughed for real, but she didn’t think he’d appreciate it. He’d already taken her lack of interest as a combined insult and challenge. She wondered what exotic chem he’d taken before he arrived, because it sure as hell made him delusional if he thought she was putting her mouth on any of his anatomy.

“No thanks,” she said. “Refill?”

“How about I fill you instead?” He made a rocking motion with his hips.

The guy just wasn’t giving up. She turned away so he wouldn’t see the look on her face, which would probably piss him off. Irritating customers was against hotel policy. She wasn’t shocked—the newest noob youngster on the road crew where she worked days came up with better sexual innuendo—but his one-track mind had gotten old, fast.

“Fine,” he said sourly. “Give me a refill.” He pushed his glass toward her.

She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see Derrit sidling up to the bar, like he wanted to ask her something. She tilted her head and gave him a look that told him to go sit down, but he ignored it. She gave him a harder look, not wanting him anywhere near the asshole, as she reached for the glass.

She was startled when the bald man’s hand closed over hers. All of a sudden, her head felt like someone was squeezing her temples from the inside.

“Let go,” she said between clenched teeth, trying to pull her hand free.

Instead of releasing her, he snarled, “Gottverdammte Schützennen,” and started to pull her around the corner of the bar. What the hell did he mean “goddamn shielders”?

Derrit grabbed the man’s arm and pulled hard. “Let her go!”

With hardly a glance, the man backhanded Derrit, sending him flying back into some chairs. Imara began kicking at his shins and swearing loudly, hoping someone from security would hear her.

Damn her pride for not calling a Priority One. He slapped her, hard, apparently thinking that would shut her up. She spat blood. “Farking trottel!

That all you got?” Even as she called him a moron, she started to crouch down low enough to throw

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an uppercut punch into his crotch, but suddenly the pressure in her head turned off like a switch and the man slowly collapsed to the floor.

She watched him slump against the bar, then looked up to see Lièrén Sòng leaning over the man, his hand on the man’s neck. Derrit, bloody nose streaming, was crawling toward the bald man, a truly angry look on his face. Before she could process what was happening, Lièrén gave Derrit a hard look.

“Don’t do it,” he commanded forcefully. Quiet, gracious Lièrén was nowhere in that tone, and it was enough to stop Derrit in mid-reach.

“Don’t do what?” she asked, looking back and forth from Derrit to Lièrén, who looked paler than she’d ever imagined an ethnic Chinese man could.

She saw Lièrén glance at the four remaining patrons, most of whom were carefully looking anywhere but toward them. He met her gaze.

“This húndàn is a straight telepath.” His voice was low as he indicated the bald man. “Derrit was going to clean him, but with anger driving his talent, the man would probably end up blank-slated.”

Imara only barely stopped her jaw from dropping in shock. She looked to Derrit, then to the man on the floor, then back to Lièrén. “What did you do to him? The bastard, I mean?”

Lièrén sighed, and a hint of reluctance crossed his usually serene expression. “I’m a sifter.”

“A what?” Imara was having trouble kicking her brain into forward motion. She grabbed a bar napkin to wipe the corner of her mouth where she felt blood seeping. Her jaw was going to be sore for a while. Adrenalin made her hands shake.

“A different kind of telepath. You have to decide now what to do—call the police, call hotel security, or let Derrit and me fix the man’s memory.”

“Fix it how?” Her filer’s memory finally started working, and she remembered what she’d heard about the types of telepaths. Sifters mostly worked with brain chemicals.

Lièrén’s reluctance became more pronounced, but she thought it had a tinge of resignation. “I’ll twist him, and show Derrit where to clean.”

“You’re a twister, too?” Imara felt herself go pale. Twisters could undetectably change people’s memories. It was a frightening talent.

Lièrén nodded. He was proposing to invade the telepath’s mind to alter or erase the inconvenient memories, with Derrit’s help. She told herself she’d have time to be astonished later.

She looked at Derrit as he used his sleeve to blot the blood from his nose, which had slowed to a drip. While she’d really like to leave the bald man a lasting, painful legacy for daring to hurt her son, the hotel management’s unwritten policy was “no trouble with customers meant no penalties for employees.” She went with her gut feeling that she could trust Lièrén.

“Twist and clean him.” She hoped it was the right choice. The last two patrons in the bar were too chemmed or drunk to move. The smarter ones had already cleared out. “But do it fast,” she said

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quietly. “Security will be here soon, because I sent them a Priority Two ping earlier. Whatever you do has to match the flat video from the security cameras, in case they look.”

Lièrén nodded. He looked pale, but steady, as he motioned Derrit closer. He crouched down in front of the man and gently took Derrit’s hand and put it on top of his own, the one touching the man’s neck.

She watched them both for a minute. Derrit’s open and expressive face showed a variety of emotions, chief among them wonder and delight. Lièrén’s face was serene, almost like he was meditating. He was probably killer in bluff games like hype or poker.

Imara felt like her mind was trying to fly apart at the seams, so she gave herself the task of arranging the bottles and boxes on the bar’s display shelves into perfect symmetry. She wasn’t a very good liar because her filer’s memory never let her forget the truth. To save her job and keep Derrit safe, though, she’d lie like a rug, as her granny liked to say. It was dawning on her that her son was going to be a powerful minder, stronger than his shielder father. She’d already suspected Derrit was developing a shielder talent, but the cleaning was a surprise. She wondered how Lièrén had known.

She kept glancing at the entryway, expecting the evening shift security team, Poltorak and Okonjo, to walk in any second. She needed to clean the blood from Derrit’s face, but she didn’t want to disturb him. She managed to unearth a knit shirt left over from a live band appearance. The shirt would be too big on Derrit’s skinny frame, but better that than the bloody one he was wearing. It wasn’t Derrit’s first fight, but it was the first one with a grown man. She could tell his nose was already swelling up, and he might have the start of a black eye. All she could do was apply a flexible cold pack until she could get him to the medical clinic for a quick treatment. Since she was the only licensed tender available until the night shift arrived, it’d have to wait a few hours.

She wanted to pace, demand answers, and try out the bar’s flame torch on the bald man’s bushy eyebrows, in no particular order. Instead, she scrubbed and polished the bar top until it gleamed, sliced fruit rind twists by hand with exacting precision for the next shift, and refilled the napkin dispenser. It felt like it was taking hours, but a glance at the clock told her it had been less than ten minutes when Lièrén and Derrit finally stood up.

Imara triggered the cold pack she’d pulled from the bar’s supply and handed it to her son. “You know the drill. Fifteen minutes on, ten minutes off. Lie down in the booth.” Derrit did as she asked without hesitation, meaning his nose was hurting a lot.

“Sit, before you fall,” she told Lièrén in the same no-arguments-I’m-your-mother tone, pointing to the barstool next to the one the bald telepath had monopolized. Lièrén smiled faintly. He looked exhausted and pale, but she’d seen him look worse, those first few days after he’d moved to the hotel.

Just as she opened her mouth to pepper him with questions, Poltorak and Okonjo finally arrived.

“What happened here?” asked Poltorak. She was a short but wide woman with a thick Russian accent and a ready smile. Okonjo was a tall, thin black man who looked like the wind would blow

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him over, but he was a ramper, a minder talent that made him stronger than he looked and wickedly fast. On him, bald was a good look.

Imara pointed to the telepath, still slumped on the floor, but now stirring. “Pre-chemmed guest.

Wanted me for sex, and got unhappy when I turned him down, which is when I sent the Priority Two. He tried to get physical, then passed out. I didn’t serve him anything with a kick—you can check the dispense logs.” It was the truth as far as it went, and skipped over Lièrén’s and Derrit’s involvement. Fortunately, Poltorak was just as familiar with the hotel’s unwritten policy about no trouble and didn’t ask any more questions.

“Is good, then. We take him back to room, let him sleep.” She and Okonjo helped the woozy telepath sit, then get to his feet.

Okonjo looked to Imara. “English?” She nodded. “Mister… sir…” asked Okonjo solicitously of the man he was supporting. “What room are you in?”

Imara surreptitiously watched the telepath’s face for some sign of cognition, but he was really looped.

Okonjo sighed and thumbed his percomp to ping the front desk. “Iggy? Got a guest, can’t remember his room. Use security QB-2 and take a look.” Okonjo and Poltorak turned around with the man so he faced the discreet camera eye above the bar. Okonjo tilted the man’s head back so his face was clearly visible.

“He came in with an associate who called him ‘Karl,’ and he speaks German,” said Imara helpfully, loud enough for Iggy to hear. “The other guy mentioned the fourth floor.”

After a moment, Iggy came back with a fourth-floor room number. Okonjo and Poltorak halfcarried, half-walked the man out of the bar.

Imara waited a few long seconds more to make sure they were really gone, then turned to Lièrén.

“What will he remember?” She kept her voice low and quiet.

“That he had fantasies about you, but the last chem he took was chaotic, making him feel dizzy and fluxed, and then—fade out. The next thing he’ll remember is whatever the security team does with him. Even if they show him the video, he won’t remember assaulting you and will probably blame it on a bad chem reaction. Since you didn’t serve him any, you’re clear.”

Imara was impressed by how well the story fit together, and disturbed. She hadn’t realized how… chillingly effective high-level minders could be. “What did you do to him to make him drop like he was in 3G gravity?”

“Sifters can modulate synapses, neurotransmitters, and hormones. I flooded his receptors with a monoamine…” He trailed off, looking almost embarrassed. “I apologize for the tech speak. Think of it as doping, like applying a happy-drug slap patch.”

She wanted to ask a hundred more questions, but she needed to prioritize them. “Let me get you something to drink, on the house.”

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“Thank you. Water would be welcome.” His shoulders were drooping, and one of his eyes was halfblinking with each heartbeat. Damn, but the man was polite, even when he was in agony.

“Would you like a painkiller to go with the water?” She dropped three ice cubes in a glass and started filling it. “I have several in the dispensary…”

He shook his head. “You’re kind to offer, but most chemical painkillers don’t work on sifters. I’d need a healer to follow me around for a few hours.”

“Really?” No wonder it was taking him such a long time to recover. She couldn’t imagine not being able to slap on a pain patch after a hard day on the road crew. “Well, that flatlines.”

“Yes,” said Lièrén, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement.

She handed him the glass. He nodded his thanks and took several swallows before setting it down on the coaster in front of him. “I have a new liver, among other things. While I’m recovering, I can’t be on my normal enhancement drug program, and the withdrawal makes me dry-mouthed.”

It was the first time he’d confided so much in her. She knew firsthand about withdrawal symptoms.

“The headaches, too?”

“Yes, and sweat flashes.” His smile was sardonic. “Still, I’m getting better every day.”

Despite his humor, she could tell he was all but done in for the night. “One more question, and then I hope you’ll go back to your room and rest.”

He ducked his head once. “As you wish, Bartender Sesay.” His overly subservient tone made her laugh.

“Cheeky brat. I told you, call me Imara. How did you know about Derrit’s cleaning talent? I guessed he was probably a shielder, because his father was, and I’m a filer, so it stands to reason he’d have some sort of talent. How did you know Derrit wanted to clean the telepath guy?”

He shrugged one shoulder, then winced. His neck muscles were probably as tight as a drum, considering how long he’d been enduring the headache. “Sifters can detect talents, though I’m not all that good at it. Derrit was angry enough to drop his shields, so I felt the… activation of his cleaning talent. It can be difficult to control when you’re mad.”

“I see. That’s how you knew the asshole was a straight telepath? He was activating, too?”

“Yes, though mid-levels like he is are usually better at containment. Whatever he chemmed himself with weakened his control. I could feel it even from back there.” He pointed to the far booth where Derrit was still lying with the cold pack across his face.

Imara badly wanted to get all the answers she could from him immediately, but she couldn’t justify torturing him any longer. He was only staying with her now out of good manners, and perhaps protectiveness. “You’ve got to get some rest, Agent Sòng. The security team will monitor the assho…uh, valued patron, so Derrit and I will be fine.”

He gave her a tired but genuine smile. “I would be honored if you would call me Lièrén.”

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“Shì de, dāngrán, zūnjìng de xiānshēng.” Yes, of course, honored sir. She gave him an exaggerated bow. “Whatever honored sir desires.”

He laughed. “You speak Mandarin very well.”

“It was the official language on Capet Dedrum for six hundred years until the CGC moved in and made English the galactic standard. Mandarin is still primary with the long-timers, so it made sense to learn. My tonal control is iffy, though. I’ve come close to unforgivably insulting people more than once.”

“In that case, I’ll remember to ask first, rather than assuming I’ve made you mad.” He drank the last of his water and stood. “Goodnight, then.”

As he stepped back, she had the absurd impulse to ask when she’d see him again, like she was a fifteen-year-old at the end of a first date. Instead, she gave him a casual salute and a smile.

Once he was gone, she pulled out the knit shirt she’d found earlier and took it to the far booth, where her son was just sitting up.

“Here, trade me shirts. How’s the face, bata?”

“Mom!” he complained, drawing out the vowel. “I’m not a baby.” He stood and pulled off his own bloody shirt and handed it to her, then pulled the other one on. It hung nearly to his knees.

“No, you’re not. How’s the face, doddering old man?” She tilted his chin left and right, examining his face for bruising. The sooner they got to the all-hours medical clinic to get the bruising and swelling taken care of, the happier she’d be. She might even have them do something about her sore jaw and cut lip.

Derrit rolled his eyes. “It’s okay. It hurt worse when I ran into the light pole.” He’d been a lopar, recklessly horsing around on a friend’s street coaster.

Imara felt supremely lucky that it was a rare dead night at the bar. She looked at the one patron still there, an older-looking woman slumped and gently snoring in the booth closest to the hall to the fresher. Bookkeeper Shola was a bi-weekly regular who claimed to be an insomniac, but somehow managed to sleep several hours in the bar, regardless of the noise level. Imara would wake the woman when her shift ended, as usual.

She turned back to her son. “So, tell me what happened tonight.”

“You’re not mad at me, are you? For getting in a fight?”

She brushed the unhurt side of his face with her thumb. “No, but you know I worry about you.

Mother’s prerogative. You have to learn when to pick your battles. He could’ve really hurt you.”

“Tatay would have kicked his ass.”

“Your father was an adult man, and you will be, too, someday, but not yet. Tell me about what you and Agent Sòng did together.”

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Derrit’s eyes lit up. “It was absolute zero! He spoke in my mind, like Tatay used to, and showed me the guy’s memories and what needed erasing. I could see… well, feel him working, and it was like he was, like, weaving a basket. He showed me how to pick up the right strands. Agent Sòng’s mind is… smooth, maybe, like road glass, but the blond guy, his mind is yuck. Like when that waste reclamation line burst and you had to recycle all your work clothes.”

“And how do you feel now? Your father used to get heavy sinus congestion if he overused his talent.” She smiled and brushed the tip of his swollen nose with her finger. “It’s probably hard to tell right now, but think about it, okay? Human bodies provide negative feedback for a reason.”

“Mom, what does a cleaner do? I didn’t know I was one.”

“You have a net account. Why don’t you look it up and tell me?” She pointed toward the bar’s net terminals along one wall. “And look up sifter and twister, while you’re at it.” It was a good way to distract Derrit from the pain he wasn’t admitting to, and finding out more about Lièrén. Or at least about his talents.

Imara was very tempted to distract herself by mixing something from her dispensary, but she knew from hard-won experience, it didn’t solve anything. She’d had enough of making herself numb after Torin’s unexpected death, and would never go back there again. Detoxing on her own had been painful. She had to be coherent and present so she could do what was best for her son. Plenty of people wouldn’t look past their fearful distrust of minders to see the warm, fun-loving, protective boy, who was so much like his father that it made her heart swell with bittersweet memories.

CHAPTER 2 * Planet: Concordance Prime * GDAT 3238.206 * Imara put the last drink on the bar and caught Rayle’s eye so he’d know the big table’s order was ready. He was always gregarious, but tonight, he was practically incandescent, flitting in and out among the tables, dancing and sometimes singing to the music, teasing the kids, and flirting shamelessly with the adults. It was a boisterous crowd, and there was nothing Rayle loved more than an audience. His hair was newly sky blue with winking lights, his eyebrows and eyelashes had a blue neon metallic sheen, and drops had made his irises look shiny silver, all in preparation for the upcoming dance performance he was in. He’d been a part of the publicity session just that morning.

He was offering tickets to anyone who seemed remotely interested.

Because she was watching for him, she noticed when Lièrén Sòng arrived, a day later than she’d expected based on the pattern he’d established. All the booths were taken, including his preferred small one in the back, so he chose to sit at the end of the bar. Rayle noticed, too, and after serving the big table and stowing the tray, he made a beeline to Lièrén to take his order, even though it was

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usually Imara’s job to serve the people at the bar. It amused her that Lièrén would always get excellent service as long as Rayle was around. Or if she was around, if she was honest.

Out of habit, she glanced at Derrit, who was playing an online game at one of the kiosks. She allowed him an hour an evening, to make up for being stuck in the hotel. One of the few perks she got as an employee was free use of the net terminals, which made it easier to put off updating the housecomp and percomps for her and Derrit. Spires, even out in the Rim where their apartment was located, was a hideously expensive place to live, which was why she supplemented her day job as a road-crew leader with bartending for the hotel.

Over the last three days, Imara had thought a lot about what to do about Derrit. She’d been careful not to make him feel that she disapproved of his talent, because she’d had enough of that as a child, and she’d only been a farkin’ low-level filer, hardly a minder worth registering in the eyes of the CPS Testing Center. Premium talents like Derrit’s were a double-edged sword. He’d have more career choices than she ever did, but resentment and prejudice could make a minder’s life hell.

He was still a child, no matter how responsible he was for a boy his age. She was concerned that he didn’t know what he was doing and could get hurt, or might unintentionally hurt someone else, and that he wouldn’t tell her because he wouldn’t want to worry her. Her husband Torin had been very protective and had a tendency to keep troubling details from her, and she recognized the same habit developing in her son. Torin had started it because too many details used to overwhelm her, but she was older now and better at staying focused, and she didn’t want Derrit to adopt Torin’s behavior.

She was kept busy for the next ten minutes with dispensary orders. Rayle could prepare the flats and fizzies, but only she was licensed to dispense the kickers—alcohol, chems, inhalants, or alterants— that made up about half the bar’s business on busy nights. She trusted Rayle’s judgment, but it was ultimately her decision as to whether or not to serve the kickers, because it was her license. It was legal in Spires for a tender to serve high-test to a ten-year-old, but it was also likely to get the tender personally sued if the kid sustained lasting injury because of it. Her personal policy was to not serve kickers to anyone under seventeen, and the hotel’s managers backed her up because they didn’t want to get sued, either.

Finally, she had a lull, and she drifted down to the end of the bar where Lièrén sat. He looked healthier than he had three nights ago. He smiled when he saw her.

“If I might ask, who selects the music for the bar?” He gestured up toward one of the ceiling speakers. The song playing sounded a lot closer to Japanese surashu thrash than a British pub tune.

His brown eyes were almost black, and when he looked at her, it felt like she had his undivided attention. It was unexpectedly nice. Most of her customers usually had a dozen other things on their minds, and rarely saw her as a person.

Imara smiled back. “Probably some automated algorithm that chooses based on lyrics or whatever keywords the artists tagged it with. Why?” “Rayle is having trouble improvising choreography that doesn’t look like an insect attack.”

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She looked to where Lièrén was pointing, then laughed out loud. It drew Rayle’s attention, and he wended his way through the tables to join them.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

She gave him a teasing smirk. “You. Where’d you find the termite hill to dance on?”

Rayle rolled his eyes and leaned closer to Lièrén to nudge his shoulder playfully. “Says the woman who says she can’t dance at all.”

Lièrén smiled but didn’t nudge back. “I can’t, either, though I respect your difficulty in performing to this particular piece. I think the singer is complaining about glass shards in his Scotch, which would explain the shrieking.”

Rayle was about to answer when a customer from across the room shouted for him. Rayle gave a little salute to Lièrén and darted away.

Lièrén gestured toward where Rayle had stood. “He looks very, uhm, blue tonight.”

Imara laughed, delighted that Lièrén was feeling well enough to joke with them again. “It’s for a show. Don’t tell him you noticed, or he’ll be delighted to show you that all of his hair is now electric blue. The man has no shame.” She shook her head. “At least dancers aren’t expected to get full-body makeovers for their roles like holovid actors are.” She pointed to his empty glass.

“Another red fizz, or maybe some water?”

“Yes to both, please.” She quickly took care of him, then checked on the other people at the bar and filled several orders for Rayle. As nice as it was to have a busy night, because it made the time go fast and the tips were good, she really wanted a few quiet moments with Lièrén. She wanted to ask him a favor.

The next chance she got, she asked if he’d eaten yet, and offered to order something.

Lièrén gave her a slight smile. “A kind thought, but I’ll pass.”

She didn’t blame him—the hotel restaurant was unpopular for good reason. “I could send Derrit to the kitchen to make a sandwich. He makes a pretty mean flatbread with toasted cheese, and that’s not just a mother’s pride talking.”

“Thank you, no, but perhaps later.” He looked regretful. “The new drug regimen affects my appetite.”

“Sorry to hear it.” She rested her forearms flat on the counter and rounded her back in a stretch.

She’d been on her feet for the whole shift. “May I ask, do all CPS minders get enhancement drugs?

I’ve only heard general conversations, but it seems like they do.”

“The telepathic and telekinetic minders do. The enhancement drugs also help with focus and maintaining control. I’m not sure about the patterner class. Filers like you, and the forecasters and such, don’t seem to need it.”

“I don’t know about that. I used to get distracted by, well, everything under the sun, but I’ve worked on it.” She shrugged. “Of course, I’m only a mid-level, and a late bloomer at that. I don’t envy you

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being told to take daily drugs because it’s ‘good for you.’”

“The benefits outweigh the cost. I will admit to not liking being told to exercise for that reason.

Being closely monitored while using force exercisers and treadmills is… uninspiring.”

“You should come to a dance class with me,” said Rayle, who had stepped up behind Lièrén without him noticing and overheard the last few words. “It’s impossible to be bored when you’re dancing.”

Lièrén shook his head. “I am not yet able to participate in such activities.” He sounded actually regretful, not just polite, but Imara didn’t know him well enough to tell the difference.

Rayle winked at Lièrén. “I’ll take that as a ‘maybe.’” He turned to Imara. “The long-limbed, sexy man in the clingy green kilt at table six wants another gram of loupomak. They’re celebrating because he won a frontier planet homestead lottery.” He rolled his eyes. “They’ll probably tip me in lottery tickets. Can’t pay the rent with lottery tickets.”

Imara never forgot a bar order, so she didn’t even have to think about it. “Nope, he’s already had two. Offer him some intwinden or canab. Or a Red Blossom token, to take the edge off.”

“Red Blossom?” asked Lièrén.

“Joyhouse up the north walkway,” replied Rayle as he fished in the drawer, then held up a red, ovalshaped smart chip with a red flower on it. “First come, first served!” He twirled away.

Imara snorted. “You’d think that joke would get old with him, but you’d be wrong.”

Business picked up again, and she had to abandon Lièrén for a while. She was worried that he’d leave before she got the chance to talk to him. He’d probably stay if she asked, because he was always accommodating, but she didn’t want to take advantage of him. Well, she did, because in addition to being nice, he was a handsome, sexy man, but he was also a transient who could be gone tomorrow. She had an ironclad personal policy not to get involved with transients, no matter how plasma hot they were. She’d seen enough of that with her mother’s always-outbound parade of lovers. The favor she wanted to ask was for Derrit, not for her.

Derrit was working on an assignment for school that he wasn’t ready to show her yet. He got that trait from his father, who had loved building suspense before revealing some secret project. Like the time he’d learned to crochet and made an afghan throw for Derrit as a solstice gift. That the afghan was decidedly polygonal instead of square hadn’t mattered to her adoring son in the slightest. On busy nights like tonight, she set up a tiny table near the pantry for Derrit, or he’d never get any work done, especially when other kids came in. Derrit was very social, again like his father. She herself was shy by nature, or at least she had been, until she’d had to learn not to be, so she could put food on the table. Shy road-crew employees got little respect, and bashful bartenders got few tips.

Miraculously, Lièrén stayed, and took the opportunity to snag his favorite booth once it became free. Remembering his dry-mouth problem, she sent Rayle with another glass of water. It was sometimes still hard to remember that in Spires, or more officially, Novi Nadezhdi, potable water was plentiful and cheap enough to offer for free. She’d grown up in a near-desert, where the only oasis was a hundred kilometers away, and water was how wealth was measured.

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After refusing to serve brandy to a thirteen-year-old, it got her wondering how old Lièrén was.

Certainly over seventeen, because the CPS didn’t hire children as field agents, but he looked about twenty-five. Even without the standard rejuve treatments that everyone got, he’d probably look young most of his life. Whereas her people, especially the women, looked like the proverbial old crones by the time they were fifty, without treatments, and she was behind on hers. She didn’t skip the regular health maintenance checkups and procedures, because she was all Derrit had, but body work at her age was considered elective. She even skipped the expense of a body parlor for her hair, meaning it had grown longer and shaggier than ever, despite occasional home trims. On the other hand, her great-times-three grandmother was still alive and running her own sheep station at age 168, so at least she had natural longevity going for her.

She knew why she was worrying about her looks, when she usually couldn’t be bothered. He was sitting in the back booth. Even though she was only thirty-seven, she was still probably too old for him. Twelve- or fifteen-year age differences didn’t matter much these days, what with increasing human life spans, but it was still a consideration for a successful relationship. She rolled her eyes at the direction of her thoughts. She had no business whatsoever thinking about a relationship with a transient. Maybe she needed to visit the Red Blossom to take the edge off.

Finally, the big party at table six broke up, which seemed to be the signal for other patrons to leave, too. The crowd thinned out, and Rayle took a break so he could make something to eat in the kitchen. As employees, they were allowed to use it unless the restaurant was busy, which was hardly ever. Derrit had made himself an omelet there earlier. Thank Neptune he thought cooking was an adventure, and was now responsible enough to be trusted in a kitchen.

She loaded the glassware into the quicksan in the corner, rather than send it to the kitchen. The unit was fast, but small, so it would take several loads. It wasn’t worth the argument with the resentful restaurant staff to ask them to do it, even though it was their job. She straightened up the supply bottles and boxes, and entered ordering notes for those that were running low.

The second Rayle came back, she asked him to watch the bar for a few minutes. She poured a flat orange for Derrit and took it to him, then took her glass of kelasa and slid into the vacant seat in Lièrén’s booth.

Whatever he was reading on his very elegant, highpowered percomp was making him frown, but when he looked up at her, he smiled.

Suddenly, she was nervous. “I’d like to make you a proposition.”

At his raised eyebrows, she realized how it sounded.

“Oh, sorry, not like that. I’m trying to propose a

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trade… I’d like to….” She was sounding like a complete idiot. “I’m not chemmed, I promise. I want to ask you for a favor.” She took a deep breath. “I’d like you to teach Derrit to use his talents. I know you’re still recovering, so I’ll understand if you’re not able to, but I’m just a general filer, and I can’t do it, and I don’t know anyone else. In trade, I’ll serve you whatever you want for free, as long as you’re here. I know it’s not much, but he could really use the help in learning to control his talents.”

She looked at his altogether too-handsome face as he considered her words. She hoped for Derrit’s sake he’d agree, and at the same time, hoped he’d take her for a babbling fool and turn her down, so she wouldn’t be tempted by him anymore.

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Meet the Editorial Team Editor: Kaz Augustin is an ex-Brisbanite (Australia) who loves space opera, SFR and all things geeky. She lives in Malaysia, where she loves the shopping for tech gadgets, but hates the heat! Her website is at www.KSAugustin.com and she and her husband also runSandal Press and Challis Tower (Books). If you’re a Twitter fan, you can find her at @SandalPress . Send all feedback about this magazine to editor {@} scifiromancequarterly {.} org Fiction Editor: Diane Dooley is the Fiction Editor for Science-Fiction Romance Quarterly. Born in the Channel Islands, raised in Scotland and now resident in the USA, she is an author, an editor, a voracious reader, an unrepentant troublemaker, and a geek of intergalactic proportions. You can follow her on her blog or on Twitter . Live long and prosper!

Releases Editor: Heather Massey is a lifelong fan of science fiction romance. She searches for scifi romance adventures aboard her classic blog, The Galaxy Express as well as the new Galaxy Express 2.0. She’s also an author. Her stories will entertain you with fantastical settings, larger-than-life characters, timeless romance, and rollicking action. When Heather’s not reading or writing, she’s watching cult films and enjoying the company of her husband and daughter. To learn more about her work, visit HeatherMassey.com.

Our reviewers Toni Adams is here to voice her opinions. Toni Adams resides in Los Angeles. Among the normal plane of reality, she has B.S. in Molecular, Cellular Developmental Biology and works as a veterinary technician. She has dealt with Felis catus, canus lupis familiaris, reptilian creatures, various avians, lagamorphs, rodentians, chelonians, and testudines. In her loving care are four felis catus, one canus lupis familiaris, and one pogona vitticeps. In summary, she really loves animals.

When she is able to shed off the shroud of a Responsible Adult, she partakes in so many guilty pleasures that the guilt has long worn off. To name them all would make your brain explode from the sheer power. Just know, that it involves a blue police box, ponies with absurd markings on their rumps, a norse alien god, a rock band from the nineties, gaming (trading cards, board games, consoles), random international romantic dramas, and lots of crafting. The guiltiest pleasure of all has been decades of reading romance novels. From corset ripping heroines to gun toting she-devils, she continues to devour story after story.

Romance and science fiction is a blend that can either intoxicate her to dangerous levels of excitement or entice boiling frustration. Bring on the excessive transfer of heat and get some hydrogen elements shakin'!

The Book Pushers are six book-loving girls from around the world who share a love of all things romance. From small town contemporaries, to sweeping historicals, to gritty paranormal, to the futuristic science fi, they read it all. They are known for their fun, conversational style joint reviews, and can be found lurking on their website, on Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads, and Booklikes.

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Marlene Harris is currently the Technical Services Manager at The Seattle Public Library. She's also one of the co-editors of SPL's Romantic Wednesdays feature on Shelf Talk, which gives her a chance to expose her love of romance novels. In addition, she's also a reviewer for Library Journal's Xpress Reviews, and the author of their annual Librarian's Best Ebook Romance feature.

Because she can't resist talking about the books she loves, and occasionally the ones she hates, she has her own book blog at Reading Reality . In her professional persona, before coming to Seattle she previously managed Technical and Collection Services Departments at libraries in locations from Gainesville Florida to Anchorage Alaska to the Chicago Public Library.

Jo Jones is a retired pilot who, after retiring, had an RV and traveled 6 months out of the year. After traveling seven years she left on a trip and realized that she was ready to spend more time at home so she sold the RV. She isn't giving up travel; she just takes the trips that did not fit with RVing.

When at home, she gardens, reads, plays bridge, hikes, visits with friends, and volunteers. Jo is an unabashed big cat lover and shares her home with TC, her shelter cat. Both of them live in the Ozarks in Northwest Arkansas which, they unanimously agree, is one of the best places in the country to live.

RK Shiraishi R.K. is a long time science fiction fan, as well as a fan of all things fantasy and paranormal. She spends her spare time deep in the world of classic SF television, movies, and even radio plays. Her alter ego is as fantasy writer Echo Ishii. Her first novella, MR RUMPEL AND MR GRIMM is available from Less Than Three Press. You can follow her on Facebook (RK Shiraishi), Twitter and Pinterest (mrsbookmark).

Psyche Skinner is a working scientist with a taste for imaginative fiction. She is constantly seeking novels that combine hard speculative science with well-rounded characters--although she also appreciates a good space opera.

Rachel Cotterill grew up hiding from the real world in a succession of imaginary lands, and has no particular wish to return to Earth. She likes fast-paced plots, greyscale morality, and characters who remain believable when they find themselves in situations that are anything but. She’s always searching for her next favourite author, and is half of the feminist SF book blog Strange Charm, which exists to showcase the best in speculative fiction by female authors.

When she isn't reading, Rachel is professionally and perpetually indecisive, splitting her time somewhat haphazardly between writing, computer science, linguistics, recipe development, and travel. Rachel's third novel, Watersmeet, is a romantic and optimistic fantasy published earlier this year. You can find her on Twitter at @rachelcotterill.

SFF Dragon is an avid reader, some might say bookworm, who lives in England and grew up on a steady diet of home cooking and proverbs. When her head wasn't stuck in a book, she was out being active or volunteering to do charity work. As an adult, animals, any type of sport involving cars, swimming and lots of reading are her main past-times. She also likes watching war, western, spy, sci-fi/fantasy, Christmas stories of any kind and romance films and series, and thinks the best ones include all of these categories.

She loves science fiction, paranormal romance, urban fantasy and any feel-good Christmas story

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which she reads all year round to maintain her perspective on what's important in life and loves nothing more than a happy ending. She has individual Degrees in Computer Programming and Business Studies, a Masters in HR Management and shares her home with her partner, loads of gadgets, and thousands of books and DVDs. When not reading, which isn't often, she can be found doing anything from learning a new language to designing and making her own clothes and jewellery, as well as gardening for a little light relief. You can find her on Goodreads and Facebook.

Cyd Athens, a pronoun-fluid, over-fifty, alternate-lifestyle living, SFWA member, associate editor of the Unidentified Funny Objects (UFO) anthologies, aspiring professional author, and speculative fiction aficionado from 45° 29 30.65N, 122° 35 30.91W The public library was Cyd's gateway drug.

Find Cyd online at www.CydAthens.net Ian Sales has recently been working on a quartet of novellas, the Apollo Quartet. The first, Adrift on the Sea of Rains, was published in 2012. It won the BSFA Award for that year and was shortlisted for the Sidewise Award for Alternate History. The second book, The Eye With Which The Universe Beholds Itself, was published in early 2013, and the third book, Then Will The Great Ocean Wash Deep Above, in late 2013. The final novella, All That Outer Space Allows, will appear in 2014. He is represented by the John Jarrold Literary Agency, can be found online at www.IanSales.com and he also tweets.

This issue's contributors Our Opinion writer, Ashlynn Monroe has been dreaming up stories all her life. She started to put them on paper at thirteen, but it wasn’t until she was thirty that she decided to share them with others. She’s a busy mom with a full time job, fantastic friends, and a unique sense of humor. She’s just a regular girl who’s in love with the idea of happily-ever-after. She’s honored to be multipublished by some of the best electronic publishers in the industry. Ashlynn survives each day by dreaming up her next tale of romance. Her latest, Spirit Bonded, is available through Beachwalk Press.

First-time entrant in our Craft column, Amazon best-seller Veronica Scott is a three-time recipient of the SFR Galaxy Award, and has written a number of science-fiction and fantasy romances. Her latest release is Star Cruise: Marooned (audiobook coming in 2016). You can find out more about her and her books at https://VeronicaScott.wordpress.com/ This issue’s interview was with Athena Andreadis. Athena was born in Greece to parents who were part of the WWII resistance, spent her adolescence under the military junta and was lured to the US at age 18 by a full scholarship to Harvard, then MIT. She spent her adult life doing basic research in molecular neurobiology, focusing on the mechanisms of mental retardation and dementia. She has also given many invited talks (that included NASA venues and the 100-Year Starship Symposium) on the biological and cultural issues of space/planetary exploration and settlement.

Athena is an avid reader in four languages across genres (though she has an accent in all of them unless she's singing) and cherishes every moment she gets to spend with her partner, Peter Cassidy.

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She’s the author of To Seek Out New Life: The Biology of Star Trek and writes speculative fiction and non-fiction on a wide swath of topics. She conceived and edited the widely acclaimed feminist space opera anthology The Other Half of the Sky. Her work can be found in Scientific American, Harvard Review, Belles Lettres, Strange Horizons, Crossed Genres, Stone Telling, Cabinet des Fées, Bull Spec, Science in My Fiction, SF Signal, The Apex Blog, World SF, SFF Portal, H+ Magazine, io9, The Huffington Post, and her own site, Starship Reckless. As of late 2015, Athena is the owner and chief astrogator of Candlemark & Gleam.

Cover artwork by KS Augustin.

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Get ready for a step back to the future in Issue 11, hitting the stands on 30 June 2016!