Sci-Fi Romance Quarterly, Issue 12

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Dialogue and Life #SFRQ In my last Editorial, I pointed out that I felt that our genre was "slipping". That, even though the number of authors writing SFR has exploded, the amount of dialogue taking place around SFR itself has actually decreased. I wrote about "drive-by postings" and took a provocative stance because I was expecting someone to comment. Whether positive or negative, it didn't matter to me; all I was after was...dialogue.

It saddens me that none of this happened. I had thought that poking my fellow authors might elicit some kind of response, but I was wrong. It seemed that the issue of engaging—between authors, between readers, between authors and readers—isn't of enough importance to expend neural cycles on.

And so here we are. If someone were to ask me right now what I think of SFR, I'd say that I was full of hope three to four years ago, but I find myself currently disappointed, and my disappointment can be traced to several things.

The first is the Andy Weir Attitude. Yes, I'm referring to the author of The Martian. When asked for his favourite authors, Weir came out with the same cadre of dead white men...Isaac Asimov, Robert Heinlein et al. Honestly, if I hadn't seen his name on the cover of The Martian, I would have thought he didn't know the slightest thing about SF! Isaac Asimov?! In all the decades since Asimov (or Heinlein) was writing, there hasn't been a single other SF author he's read or liked? What about John Scalzi, if he likes Heinlein so much? If he's a geek, how about Alastair Reynolds? Or Peter F Hamilton? Richard Morgan? Charles Stross? Kevin J Anderson? Katherine Kerr? Joe Haldeman? KW Jeter? M John Harrison? The Strugatsky brothers? (I'm just reading out random, near-Earth/hardish sf names from my own bookshelf, btw.) But all he can come up with is Asimov, Heinlein and Clarke? Seriously? I hope you can see how ludicrous a stance this is from someone who purports to be an SF writer.

I'm sorry to say that female SF/SFR writers behave the same way. Ask them for any female authors they like/have read, and most (with the delightful exception of Susan Grant, which you’ll read) can't name one. Oh, if they're pushed, in much the same way as Weir is, they can get arm-wrestled into "Lois McMaster Bujold" or "Linnea Sinclair", but there's nothing beyond that. Really? No female authors writing anything approaching SF/R since Sinclair's last novel a decade ago? No other woman writing space opera since Bujold's first story back in 1989? With "friends" like these, who needs enemies?

My second point has to do with scope. Back in the first issues of this magazine, I was buoyant about the genre. There were stories I hadn't thought of before that I thought were fantastic. We had the start of fairytale retellings with Jael Wye, Renae Jones' empath courtesan, the sweeping space operas of Nina Croft and Christie Meierz, time travel with PK Hrezo, to name a few. When I look at what's come after, however, I'm less sanguine. Military stories dominate. Did I say dominate? Military, convict and military-connected stories pound all the others into the ground. And, with some rare exceptions, we're not talking about a nuanced view either, but the kind of "Might makes right! Fight, fight, fight!" rhetoric that you find satirised in Dave Sim's Cerebus graphic novels.

As someone outside the United States looking in, the attitude is both—if you've kept up with various atrocities perpetrated (and being perpetrated) by Western armed forces—perplexing as well as disturbing. Add lack of engagement (aka passivity) from both authors and readers, and the picture gets

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downright bizarre, a strange mix of violence and apathy. SFR seems to have fallen into a default prison/military glorification rut and I'm not sure how long it's going to take before it gets itself out. I can only hope that happens sooner rather than later.

My third point has to do with work. Science-fiction isn't the easiest genre to read. It takes work for an author to set up a universe, but it also takes work for a reader to place herself there. The same goes for diversity. It takes work for an author to create a relatable character who is "Other", and it takes work for the reader to consent to this and put her own beliefs and prejudices on hold for eighty thousand words.

So imagine my dismay when I hear that readers don't like reading about "Other" (be it SF/character diversity/something else) because it's too much work. Is that why I'm seeing so many Naval-Ninjas-InSpaaaaaccceee! stories? Because it's comfortable? Comfortable for North American writers to write and comfortable for predominantly North American readers to read? If that's so, if the current crop of books don’t aspire to anything more than Any-City-USA transplanted to the greater galaxy, then I think I need to pull the cable and ask to be let off at the next stop.

Which brings me to the second part of this editorial. As some of you know, I've been homeschooling my two children. The first result is in, Son passed with Distinctions and got accepted into a UK university. Now it's Daughter's turn and she's going to be a little tougher. My writing took a fatal hit over the past year with the first offspring and, with a heavier subject load on the horizon, it's only going to get worse. This means that what little time I had to devote to the magazine will disappear completely. Upon contacting others, whose vital contributions make each issue sing, I find the same kind of situation. For some reason, the Editorial Team and several of the reviewers are in the same boat: a plague of Life. I can't see a clear schedule for the next fifteen months and the others could use a rest as well.

So this is the final issue of SFRQ for the time being. The editors have agreed to get together next year to see how each is tracking. We may tweak the magazine a little. We may introduce new sections, eliminate others, expand or contract as need be, but one thing that's constant is the fact that we all agree that (a) we like working with each other, (b) finding people you like that you can work with is extremely rare, and (c) we want to work together again. So this isn't "good-bye" as much as "be back soon". In the interim, the SFRQ blog—Galaxy Express 2.0—will still be running, so be sure to bookmark our blog site and keep checking back. Whatever we decide to do will be announced there first. I’d like to thank each and every one of our past, and current, contributors, our wonderful sponsors and you, our readers, for your time and thoughts. You’ve helped make SFRQ a wonderful magazine and I hope I can count on your support when we kickstart SFRQ 2.0.

Now that I’ve offended everyone, I’ll leave you with Issue 12. Go read!

Kaz Augustin

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July 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

BRYCE: Galactic Defenders #1 (Jessica E. Subject, novella, $2.99e, $7.99p, indie)

They’ll sacrifice everything for one passionate embrace...

A dedicated Defender…

Resa is a zero-class assassin. Her predecessor was a murderous nightmare, and she has no choice but to fill those bloody shoes. She attempts to infiltrate Aris’ life to draw out the androidcorrupting rogue agent.

The mission reveals forbidden desires that change everything.

Bryce fell in love once, but after Lalia was ripped away from him, he locked his heart from feeling anything for anyone else.

Instead, he devotes his life to the Galactic Alliance, killing every bloodthirsty Erebus he comes across.

A shunned princess…

Aris is tortured by his past. The regional governor and aristocrat once traded his half-sisters’ lives for power. Seeking to redeem himself, he makes a deal with a shady agent that could get him killed.

Lalia Comosova fell in love with the wrong man.

When her parents learned of her transgressions, they sent her to Earth to hide her error in judgment Aris is using Resa too, but similar feelings cloud his from the rest of the kingdom. judgment. With their passion unleashed, a secret A second chance? may be revealed: the real reason the Antiata family has been sentenced to death. Resa and Aris are the When these lovers are reunited after many years only ones who can stop a human-robot war that apart, they have a chance to find happiness together. But fate steps in and threatens to rip them destroys all worlds forever. apart as it did years ago.

Liberation’s Vow is the third book in a series of sci-fi romances, and it can be read as a standLIBERATION’S VOW: Robotics alone. If you like android assassins, creative Faction #3 (Wendy Lynn Clark, world-building, and sizzling chemistry, then you’ll novel, $3.99, indie) love Wendy Lynn Clark’s latest roller coaster romance.

He wants redemption. She’s using him as bait.

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Space travel without Kidnap & Ransom insurance? Not a good idea. University instructor and researcher Sara Bridges can’t afford it, so when pirates board her cruise liner, she’s taken captive along with the mistress of a wealthy man, An enemy returns to spark new tensions between and brought to a deserted planet. When a military extraction team sent to rescue the mistress refuses the Guardians and Novacorp. In the midst of the to take Sara too, she’s left to the mercies of a crisis, Nadira is given information about her parents that threatens to destroy her relationship to retired Special Forces soldier, along as consultant. the Guardians.

Reluctantly reactivated and coerced into signing

HATHOR LEGACY: REVELATIONS: Hathor Legacy #3 (Deborah A. Bailey, novel, $3.99, Bright Street Books)

While Nadira searches for answers, her partner, Jonathan Keel is enticed into the hedonistic world of the Novacorp executive class. His entertainment club attracts the elite of Hathor, but his notoriety comes with a price.

up for the rescue operation to the planet Farduccir where he once was deployed, Sgt. Johnny Danver just wants to get the job done. But when the team leader leaves one captured woman behind, he breaks away to rescue her himself.

As Johnny and Sara traverse the barren landscape, heading for an abandoned base where they hope to call Sectors Command for help, they find villages destroyed by battle and stripped of all inhabitants.

A lone survivor tells a horrific tale of the Sectors’ alien enemy, the Mawreg, returning after being The worlds of the Guardians and Novacorp pushed out … are put on a collision Searching for evidence to give the military, Johnny course where only one is captured. He regains consciousness in a Mawreg side may come out on cage–with Sara next to him. Death is preferable to top. Nadira is called on to what the aliens will do to them… And even if they make the ultimate do escape their captors, can they alert the military sacrifice to save the legacy of the First Families, in time to prevent another invasion of the Sectors? the original settlers of Hathor, while Guardians, Kasema and Deshtu PSI groups are faced with the Standalone sequel to Mission To Mahjundar (mild spoilers for Mahjundar in this story.) choice to unite or be brought completely under Novacorp control.

Old scores are settled and long-hidden truths are revealed, and at the end Nadira and Jonathan’s relationship and their world will never be the same.

HOSTAGE TO THE STARS: A Sectors SF Romance (Veronica Scott, short novel, $2.99, indie) He rescued her from space pirates … but can he keep them both safe from the far greater evil stalking a deserted planet?

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Innoviro Industries to IN IRINA’S CARDS: The Variant set off a violent Conspiracy #1 (Christine Hart, novel, $3.00, Soul Mate Publishing) earthquake in San Irina Proffer leaves mundane small-town life behind when she experiences visions inspired by a strange deck of tarot cards. To get answers, she travels from her northern British Columbia home to the province’s coastal capital. She quickly discovers a world of fringe genetic science and supernatural mystery.

Working for Innoviro Industries, Irina is drawn in by a powerful first love and compelling, yet dangerous questions about the nature of the company’s business.

Meeting other 'variants' brings Irina closer and closer to the dark truth about her origins. She finds herself at the heart of two overlapping love triangles as she scrambles to escape her employer's grip. Before she leaves the city, Irina realizes she has merely scratched the surface of a frightening conspiracy on a global scale.

Francisco. While they fight to stop the earthquake, Irina pushes the love of her life Jonah as far away as she can, trying to keep his unstable genetic degradation in check.

Irina’s friends think they’ve seen the worst that Innoviro could bring forth by the time they reach a secret facility in the Mojave Desert. As they near the property, the group uncovers a horror none of them had ever imagined.

QUEST FOR EARTH (S. E. Gilchrist, novel, $2.72, Escape Publishing) With the survival of her crew at stake, an old enemy waiting in the wings, and a mighty chieftain declaring his love, can Sherise lead her people safely home?

Honouring a pledge made in the bloodsoaked dirt of a prison THE COMPENDIUM: The Variant planet, Sherise Conspiracy #2 (Christine Hart, volunteers to lead the novel, $2.99, Soul Mate Publishing) stolen people of Earth safely home. But Irina and her renegade variant friends are when a collision scrambling to pick up the trail of their former plunges her ship offemployer, Ivan, and his globally catastrophic course and they scheme. After strategically sharing their story with emerge three hundred the media, the group heads south from Vancouver years into Earth’s to Seattle hoping to recruit more experienced— future, they have nine and lethal—variants to their cause. weeks to repair the Their attention develops a laser focus on an ship or the path back engineered disaster mere days ahead of them. Ivan to their own time will is using what staff and resources remain of close forever.

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On an earth seething with predators and dangerous —and pray he releases her in more ways than one. tribes, Sherise discovers love with the Lycanean WILLA AND THE WISP chieftain, Maaka. But can she trust him, or is he In the bayou that covers the long-ago flooded city only after her superior weapons? of New Orleans, Willa With the safety of her passengers and crew uses light to keep her paramount, Sherise must choose her alliances with safe from the creepers. great care. For an old enemy is hidden on the She never expected that planet, and he wants all her people dead. light to take the form of a brightly glowing man —a lover who ignites a BEFORE SHE WAKES: flame that just may FORBIDDEN FAIRY TALES thaw her frigid grip on (Sharon Fisher, SFF erotica self reliance.

anthology, $2.99, Penguin Random House Loveswept)

THE DRAGONFLY PRINCE

You’ve never read bedtime stories like these. RITA Award finalist Sharon Lynn Fisher blends fantasy, science fiction, and dark romance in these bold tales of seduction and sensual awakening. . . .

In post-apocalyptic Ireland, a virgin gives her hand in marriage to broker peace with a genetically modified race. But when a human rival challenges the dark prince’s claim, the bride chooses the field of contest: her own body.

THE DRAGONMAID’S SECRET On the king’s orders, a mercenary has come to ransack the village of Roussillon. But when he confronts the town’s defender, the dragonmaid Isabeau, he is seized by the call to mate—for this rogue is, in fact, a dragon-shifter.

RAVEN TAKES A PEARL Pearl is a captive of Master Raven—part man, part crow, part machine. And as she submits to the curious probing of the dark-winged inventor, Pearl discovers that her body contains mysteries even she never dreamed it possessed.

AS WINGS UNFURL (Arthur M. Doweyko, novel, $5.99, Red Adept)

Applegate Bogdanski returns from Vietnam with a missing leg, a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart. A fair trade, he thinks, for a coward, whose only remaining passion is to dull his THE GARDEN RULES grief with morphine.

After swallowing an acorn sweetmeat, Sylva is He stumbles through transported to a fantastical forest and begins each day working at training as a nymph at the behest of her faun an obscure Newark, master. But before she earns the right to please New Jersey him, she must complete three tantalizing trials. bookstore, looking forward to nothing THE KELPIE’S PRIZE and hoping it would Dragged beneath a fairy pool by a mechanical arrive soon. Enter horse, Vivi finds herself held by an alchemist Angela, who claims to claiming to be Merlin himself. Now, to escape an be his guardian angel. ancient curse, she must play the wanton seductress Neither one is an

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angel, but together, they uncover a conspiracy which threatens to undo humankind itself.

Who knew the apocalypse could be so sexy?

[Editor’s note: Per the author, this book has a romance subplot. As the main genre is SF, SFRQ is Nina can shoot a gun, tagging this one as romantic SF] start a fire, and kick some serious ass. So when a killer virus and THE OPHELIA PROPHECY (resolar storm decimate the release) (Sharon Lee Fisher, novel, country, she’s as prepared as possible to $4.99, indie) survive. She just needs Sworn enemies. Dark a motorcycle to secrets. One last hope for navigate the cluttered peace. roads and meet up with her family.

Asha and Pax -strangers and enemies -- Creed, former Marine, find themselves stranded is tattooed and tough. He’s scarred inside and out. together on the border of Loss is no stranger to him, and he avoids getting the last human city, close to anyone at all costs. neither with a memory When Nina tries to steal his motorcycle they have of how they got there. a vicious fight, but necessity and attraction force Asha is an archivist them into an uneasy alliance. They travel together working to preserve through the dangerous landscape, where trouble humanity's most lurks around every corner and they need each valuable resource -other to survive. information -- viewed as But the biggest danger just might be falling in the only means of resurrecting their society. love.

Pax is Manti, his Scarab ship a menacing presence Equally as exciting as it is sexy, Afterglow in the skies over Sanctuary, keeping the last dregs contains graphic sex and some violence, so please read at your own risk. 18+ recommended. of humanity in check.

Neither of them is really what they seem, and what humanity believes about the Manti is a lie.

DARK MINDS: Class 5 Series #3 With their hearts and fates on a collision course, (Michele Diener, novel, $4.99, they must unlock each other's secrets and forge a Eclipse) bond of trust before a rekindled conflict pushes The mind is the most powerful weapon of all . . . their two races into repeating the mistakes of the past.

Imogen Peters knows she's a pawn. She's been abducted from Earth, held prisoner, and abducted again. So when she gets a chance at freedom, she AFTERGLOW: AN APOCALYPSE takes it with both hands, not realizing that doing so will turn her from pawn to kingmaker.

ROMANCE (Maria Monroe, novel,

$3.99, indie)

Captain Camlar Kalor expected to meet an Earth woman on his current mission, he just thought he'd

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be meeting her on Larga Ways, under the protection of his Battle Center colleague.

Instead, he and Imogen are thrown together as prisoners in the hold of a Class 5 battleship.

When he works out she's not the woman who sparked his mission, but another abductee, Cam realizes his investigation just got a lot more complicated, and the nations of the United Council just took a step closer to war.

The only people she trusts are her family, especially in this time of treason against the Kalquorian Empire. When she and her three-yearold cousin are abducted by the revolt’s shadowy leader, matters of the heart no longer apply. She finds herself in a battle for their survival.

Clan Falinset left Kalquor in self-imposed exile when their parents’ illegal activities threatened their honor. Dramok Falinset, Imdiko Nur, and Nobek Wekniz only want to be left alone to live their quiet lives. Yet the drumbeat of war is sounding as traitorous forces prepare to attack Kalquor. Worse still, the revolt’s leader wants his son Falinset at his side and refuses to take no for an answer.

A wild escape attempt throws Tasha and her young charge into the reluctant care of Clan Falinset.

Imogen's out of her depth in this crazy mind game With betrayal in their past and war in their future, playing out all around her, and she begins to there is no reason to find love. Yet passion flares understand her actions will have a massive impact between those who should be enemies, leading on all the players. But she's good at mind games.

Clan Falinset and Tasha to realize that they are not She's been playing them since she was abducted. on opposite sides after all. Together they have the Guess they should have left her minding her own chance to heal. business back on Earth…

Yet the sins of the fathers have come to rest on the shoulders of their sons. Falinset must make an ALIEN HOSTAGE: Clans of Kalquor impossible choice: bow to his father’s blackmail and turn traitor to the Empire or doom his clan by #10 (Tracy St. John, super plus saving the young princess of Kalquor and the novel, $4.99, Totally Bound) woman he’s fallen in love with. ***Available Genre: Erotic Romance, Futuristic, Sci-Fi worldwide from Totally Bound with the exception of USA PORTALS: Volume 5 (Eva Caye, which is available from Tracey Cooper-Posey, Kyndra Tracy St. John's Hatch, S.A. Hoag, Felicity Kates, website.***

Corrina Lawson, Tess Rider,

Betrayal. War. The sins Veronica Scott, Seven Steps, of the fathers are visited on the sons and Carol Van Natta, multi-author the woman they love. chapter sampler, free, indie) Tasha Salter is caught in a quandary: she wants to fall in love, but past trauma keeps her from commitment.

Welcome! You have arrived at a portal to the galaxy.

Enter, and you'll be introduced by award-winning authors to worlds beyond imagining, with heroes

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& heroines who dare to take it to the edge and beyond. Count on these adventurers to take their best shot … at their enemies and at romance!

Outlaw is a standalone novel with a happily-ever-after ending, lots of action, and some very steamy scenes.

PROTECTED: Alien Mate Index #2 (Evangeline Anderson, novel, $.99, Evangeline Anderson Books)

THE TIMETRAVELING OUTLAW (Macy Babineaux, novella, $.99, indie) The year is 2026. Logan Carver is serving the sixth year of a life sentence without parole. But the corporate prison where he is held has an experimental science wing, and Logan has been volunteered against his will to test a machine that can transport living things through time.

The year is 1861. Sally Macintosh is a beautiful, headstrong young widow living alone on a ranch near Lockdale, Texas. She had a husband, not long ago. But he was murdered by a ruthless cattle baron intent on taking their land. She's about to lose all hope when she meets a stranger on the road into town, a mysterious, handsome wanderer willing to help her stand up to the man who killed her husband.

Grav N’gol is many things.

Murderer…ex-con…Alien halfbreed…

And a Protector.

More than just a bodyguard, a Protector chooses a female to ward for life and swears an oath to die for her if necessary.

Enter Leah Roth. The luscious little Earth female is supposed to be just a quick surveillance gig for Grav. He’ll check on her and report back that she’s okay—it should be easy.

Only she’s not okay.

When Grav sees Leah’s abusive husband hurting her, he swings into Logan failed the woman he loved in his own time, action. Before he knows and he makes a promise to himself to not let that it, he has Leah aboard his happen again. But his ship. When he’s given a captors in the future dangerous and difficult have him on a short mission, Leah volunteers leash, able to yank him to come alone and back to 2026 at will. If help…and somehow he's going to help Grav can’t say no.

Sally, he'll need to But as much as he feels break the hold they have on him. Only then drawn to the lovely little human, Grav knows it can he help the can never be between beautiful woman he has encountered in the them. For in his past lurks a bloody and savage secret that would turn even the most forgiving past and possibly heart against him. redeem the future.

From his past and from his true nature Leah must The Time-Traveling be...Protected at all costs.

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THE ALIEN’S CAPTIVE (Ava Sinclair, novella, $3.95e, $9.95p, Stormy Night Publications) General Augustus Bron, Commander of the Traoian Iron Guard, has never approved of the practice of capturing human women and training them to serve the rich and powerful of his world. He knows, however, that success in politics is all but impossible without the social status granted by ownership of a human pet, and with his planet in desperate need of new leadership he sees little choice but to obtain one for himself.

his planet and his pet?

Publisher’s Note: The Alien’s Captive is an erotic romance novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, medical play, elements of BDSM, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

ELLA AND THE ADMIRAL: Dryden Universe #5 (Greta van der Rol, $1.50, short story, indie)

When Admiral Goran Chandler suddenly turns up in Ella's restaurant her comfortable world is thrown into turmoil.

Ten years ago he'd been a senior commander, and captain of the frigate When she pieces Antelope. She had together a connection been Lieutenant Bulich between five missing women, reporter Phaedra then, and he'd kicked Ellis knows she is onto something big, but before her off his ship. she can go public with her story she is taken from With unexpected her apartment in the middle of the night and danger threatening, and brought to a facility unlike anything she has ever a killer stalking the seen before. To her shock, Phaedra is informed corridors of the Hotel that she is no longer on Earth, and more disturbing Majestic, Ella and the admiral must work together still, she is now the property of a huge, powerful to escape with their lives before they can consider alien warrior who will not hesitate to bare her the events of ten years ago, and what they mean bottom and spank her soundly should she dare to now. disobey him.

After an intimate, deeply humiliating medical examination confirms her suitability as a pet, Bron begins Phaedra’s training. Though taming her will require a firm hand and punishments much more shameful than a mere spanking may be necessary from time to time, he has no doubt that he is up to the task. But despite his efforts to remain stoic, his beautiful little human has soon claimed a place in his heart. When Bron’s enemies seek to use his growing love for Phaedra against him, can the battle-hardened soldier find a way to protect both

OUT OF ORBIT (Thea Landen, novella, $2.99, Decadent Publishing) Following an explosive space battle, Captain Jasmine Hale’s escape pod crash lands on an unknown planet. She communicates with some of the world’s natives, but grows frustrated when she learns signaling her crew for help is impossible.

Though she acknowledges she is stranded on Ryk

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indefinitely, she dreams of the day when she can return to piloting a ship through the stars.

Aras, leader of the Rykians, hasn’t had contact with a human in five hundred years.

Due to his lengthy life span, little excites him in his day-today life, until he meets Jasmine. Captivated by the woman who was suddenly

thrust into his world, he desires to ease her anguish while showing her the wonders of his kingdom.

Caught between two worlds, Jasmine struggles with a difficult dilemma—continue searching for a way home or accept her new life on Ryk. Choosing one means leaving the other behind forever. How will she decide?

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August 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

THE GOLDEN SPIDER: The Elemental Web Series #1 (Ann Renwick, novel, #2.99, indie)

QUANTUM: Atrophy #2 (Jess Anastasi, novel, $3.99, Entangled Publishing)

London papers scream of dirigible attacks, kraken swarms, and lung-clogging, sulfurous fogs. But a rash of gypsy murders barely rates mention.

Someone wants Captain Admiral Zander Graydon dead. Like yesterday. Zander’s convinced his attractive assistant knows more than she’s willing to say, and if he can stop running long enough, he’ll find out exactly what she’s hiding. Lieutenant Marshal Mae Petros is determined to keep her CO safe. Before she tips her hand, however, Mae has to figure out if the alluring man she’s protecting is the real Captain Admiral Graydon. Or an alien shape-shifting imposter.

Lady Amanda is tired of having both her intelligence and her work dismissed.

After blackmailing her way into medical school, she catches the eye of her anatomy professor from the moment she walks into his lecture hall. Is he interested in her? Or only her invention–a clockwork spider that can spin artificial nerves?

On the run and no one to trust…not even each other.

Captain Admiral Zander Graydon has seen a lot of action, but almost getting killed three times in one day is pushing it.

Lord Thornton, a prominent neurobiologist, Only the company of his new assistant, has been betrayed.

Lieutenant Marshal Mae Secret government Petros, makes things a technology has been stolen little easier to swallow. from his laboratory, and a Except the delectable foreign spy is attempting to perfect it via a grisly Lieutenant Marshal procedure… using gypsies as test subjects. The Petros is hiding a last thing he needs is the distraction of a beautiful– number of secrets, and and brilliant–new student, even if her spider could her presence might have heal a deteriorating personal injury. something to do with the continued attempts on Until her device is stolen and used in the latest his life. murder.

Lord Thornton has no option but to bring her into his laboratory as well as the investigation where they must fight their growing, yet forbidden, attraction. Bodies accumulate and fragile bonds are tested as they race across London, trying to catch the spy before it’s too late.

It’s no accident Lieutenant Marshal Mae Petros finds herself in the firing line alongside the charming but very off-limits Captain Admiral Graydon. She’s taken the job as the admiral’s assistant to determine if a shape-shifting alien has killed the CO and assumed his form. Whether the

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admiral is human or not, Mae finds herself getting way too close to him as they run for their lives.

Military to the core, Mae and Zander will have to overcome their suspicions of each other to work together, when they realize the fate of the entire universe is at stake.

maybe even the four planets, are in jeopardy. The Class 5's owners, the Tecran, look set to start a war to get it back and Dav suspects Rose isn't the only alien being who survived what happened on the Class 5. And whatever else is out there is playing its own games.

In this race for the truth, he's going to have to go against his leaders and trust the dark horse.

DARK HORSE: Class 5 series #1 (Michelle Diener, audible novel, $29.99, Podium Publishing) Some secrets carry the weight of the world.

Rose McKenzie may be far from Earth with no way back, but she's made a powerful ally - a fellow prisoner with whom she's formed a strong bond. Sazo's an artificial intelligence. He's saved

Winner of a SFR Galaxy Award 2016 and the Prism Award 2016 for Best Futuristic.

LOVE BEYOND BODY, SPACE, & TIME: An LGBT and Two-spirit Sci-fi Anthology (David Robertson, Cherie Dimaline, Gwen Benaway, Richard Van Camp, Nathan Adler, Daniel Heath Justice, Darcie Little Badger, Cleo Keahna, Jeffrey Veregge (illustrator), edited by Hope Nicholson, $5.00, Bedside Press) Love Beyond Body, Space, and Time is a collection of indigenous science fiction and urban fantasy focusing on LGBT and two-spirit characters. These stories range from a transgender woman undergoing an experimental transition process to young lovers separated through decades and meeting in their own far future. These are stories of machines and magic, love and self-love.

her from captivity and torture, but he's also put her in the middle of a conflict, leaving Rose with her loyalties divided.

Captain Dav Jallan doesn't know why he and his crew have stumbled across an almost legendary Class 5 battleship, but he's not going to complain.

The only problem is, all its crew are dead - all except for one strange, new alien being.

She calls herself Rose. She seems small and harmless, but less and less about her story is adding up, and Dav has a bad feeling his crew, and

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EARTH NO. 105: Book #1 (Ame Terra, novella, $2.99, Publish Green) This is Earth No. 105.

Create, destroy, and repeat. But 105 is different. It is like no other Earth.

The condition of being free from all flaws and defects is a condition which often requires repetition. Constant failure of said repetition often results in insanity.

This insanity must end.

Danna Tova Jurek is a middleaged wealthy housewife living in the snobby upper class suburb of Krenaw City. Across the river is Cetabri City where Jabpun fever has just been unleashed. The latest terrorist attack to hit Aaricem, Earth’s largest country and economic strong hold. Shem Jurek, Tova’s narcissistic husband and father of her two children, has been exposed by infected co-workers and is in lockdown at Cetabri Funds. Locked down to die.

Alina Lon, Tova’s best friend and executive director of the Aaricem Terrorist Agency, assigned Jash Majeed to be Tova’s bodyguard. Jash’s job was to keep Tova safe. Falling in love was not in the job description.

Ryker Chale is a seventeen year old senior at Cetabri City High School. On the first day of senior year, he meets Luna Koen; a beautiful girl with blue eyes the size of moons. The intensity of their attraction, their connection, is unearthly. Both wear identical rings, plain bands made of a shiny black stone. Ryker received his as a gift from his father. The father he never met. Luna bought hers at a thrift shop. The Wearers of the Rings navigate the terrorist attacks on Cetabri City while changes to their bodies and minds manifest quickly like the

chaos that surrounds them.

Something supernatural is happening to them. As they search for answers, their love for each other grows, as does the hell that consumes them.

TRAPPED ON TALONQUE: A Sectors SF Romance (Veronica Scott, novel, $3.99, indie) Will an alien sleeping beauty awaken to save him, or destroy everyone around her?

When a Sectors Special Forces soldier and his team crash land on an alien planet, they're taken captive and given a challenge--win at the violent ball game of sapiche and live. Lose, and they die, sending a mysterious, alien beauty to an even uglier fate. To survive, these soldiers must win the game and find a way to free the dangerous prisoner from her locked chamber.

Nate Reilly and his team are in deep trouble.

Prisoners on a backward alien planet, they're brought before an alien 'goddess', sleeping in her high tech seclusion. Nate is astonished when she awakes and establishes a psychic link with him.

But her news is not good--he and his men must win a brutal challenge set by their captors, or they will die. She'll give her aid, but in the end their courage and strength must win the contest.

Bithia sleeps in her chamber, as she has for thousands of years, since her own people unaccountably left her there. Viewed as a goddess by her captors, she must hide her ancient secrets to survive. But only the bravest of men may free her.

Can she use her psychic powers to keep Nate and his men alive long enough to help her escape, or will her only hope of freedom die with them?

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ACADIA'S REVENGE: Undying Love with a younger, pro #2 (Tracy Ellen, novel, $3.99, indie) football player Sizzling heat, bitter betrayals, and revenge! In the toe-curling, nail-biting continuation of the Undying Love Series, Acadia King never imagined the catastrophic event she’d diligently planned years for would be an infection turning normal people into violent crazies, nor had she ever thought surviving during a global pandemic would be easy. Now that the worst nightmare has happened, Acadia’s number one priority is defending her home against the infected. She is determined to ignore her confusing personal issues

inexplicably proclaiming his love, even if Rod Ramaldi is the hottest man left on earth! But when King Farm unexpectedly comes under attack and tragedy strikes, Acadia’s all about getting personal--and revenge!

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September 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

SLAVE FOR TWO: Soul Match #1 (Morticia Knight, novella, $5.25, Pride Publishing) What is destined cannot be changed.

Chris has had a monumentally bad week. First, an aggressive band of aliens invaded the Earth, conquered the world, and now he’s fighting for survival in the mountains with his family and the neighborhood bigot. Just because he’s barely out of his teens and a bit on the scrawny side, doesn’t mean he can’t watch out for his Mom, sisters and younger cousin. Chris keeps searching for the brighter side of things, but his humor is wearing thin. Fear can do that to a guy.

Lasar and Nary are a soul matched pair of warriors from Alashar.

Lasar is Nary’s Ahna, the one who dominates him and Nary is the Nasha, or submissive to Lasar. Every Alasharian, regardless of orientation, needs the balance of the power exchange to exist peacefully within their lifelong, soul match bond. When Lasar is awarded a war prize, he sends Nary to look over the recent arrivals.

seemingly kind alien won’t be too horrible of a master.

Lasar and Nary are finally alone together with their new sex slave, ready to enjoy their reward.

But in the middle of their playtime a shocking event occurs that not only disrupts Chris’ world even more than it already was, it challenges everything that Lasar and Nary have always held dear. As Lasar searches for answers, he begins to question the reasons behind the Earth invasion and where his loyalties should really lie. As their Ahna, he must be the one who decides whether they will all be safer together, or apart.

Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes involving sounding.

Genre: Erotic Romance, Gay, BDSM, Futuristic & Sci Fi, Menage & Multiple Partners

VORTEX OF CRIMSON: On Deception’s Edge #3 (Lise MacTague, novel, $16.95p, Bella Books)

All Torrin Ivanov wanted was to get Jak Stowell back, that was supposed to be the hard part. In a cruel twist, Jak is hers again, but her girlfriend is literally losing her mind. The Chris and his cousin Morgan are captured and sent only help can be found to the slave cages where they discover from the on the last planet in the other imprisoned young men that they are destined universe to which to be sex toys for alien pairs. When one of those Torrin would like to aliens saves Chris and his cousin from being return... To cure Jak, abused by the slave master, Chris hopes that the they must return to her

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war-ravaged home planet, Haefen.

mate. But love comes at a high price when the For Jak, returning to her home planet gives her the princes’ choice of a princess incites a rebellion on Kalquor and endangers Jessica’s life. chance to make good on a promise too long deferred. But will she be able to finally take out her brother’s killer? Or will she be pulled into the dark undertow of local politics…

Reader Advisory: This book contains BDSM situations including bondage, D/s, spankings, and multiple partners.

The two women soon find that politics pale next to the threat of the one who still hunts Jak. This time he has bait—Torrin’s sister, Nat Ivanov. As their search intensifies, Torrin and Jak realize that despite all of the obstacles in their way, one thing is clear—they can at least depend on each other.

But will that be enough?

Publisher's Note: This book has previously been released elsewhere. It has been revised and reedited for re-release with Totally Bound Publishing.

Vortex of Crimson is the exciting conclusion to author Lise MacTague’s On Deception’s Edge series.

ALIEN RULE: Clans of Kalquor #2 (Tracy St. John, super plus novel, $4.99e, $11.99p, Totally Bound) ***Available worldwide from Totally Bound with the exception of USA which is available from Tracy St. John's website.***

RIGHT PLACE, RIGHT TIME (K.M. Mahoney, novella, $3.75, Pride Publishing) All the time in the world is still never enough.

In the heart of London in 1349, an apothecary engages in a futile battle against the rising tide of death brought on by the Great Pestilence. For this man, however, the duties of his profession are accompanied by an even greater responsibility— find Henry and ensure he survives the worst of the epidemic sweeping the Western world.

Now if only Dr. Drak Stilson knew which Henry to save. An employee of The Oracle Group, a military and scientific organization dedicated to correcting the damage done by people playing Marked for execution, around with time travel, this is far from the first Jessica McInness knows time Drake was sent to a joining the enemy is her distant time and place, only hope for survival. and expected to do the When Kalquor’s crown impossible. This is the princes arrive to rescue first time, though, that her, she discovers the he’s felt as if the battle three alien men aren’t was lost before it even quite what she hoped for began. Surrounded by in lifelong mates. fear and loss, Drake is Arrogant and brutish, the on the verge of royal clan infuriates her – surrendering to the and awakens passions as no other men have. inevitable when disaster strikes.

The Kalquorians are determined to seduce the temperamental woman who inflames their lusts.

The relentlessly pursue the hesitant Earther, resorting to forceful means to claim her as their

Despite being partners in work and life, Jens Pakkala rarely gets to

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spend time with Drake. He would love to take his partner and walk away from The Oracle Group, but how can he ask a dedicated historian to give up the opportunity to live out his studies? Then Drake runs into trouble on his latest assignment, and Jens’ world begins to crumble. Now he has to figure out how to get himself to the right place and

time to save Drake and bring him safely home.

Publisher's Note: This book has been previously released elsewhere. It has been revised and reedited for re-release with Pride Publishing.

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Through Uncharted Space (Anna Hackett) Review by Marlene Harris I’ve enjoyed every single book in Hackett’s Phoenix Adventures series, from the very beginning At Star’s End to this latest book in the series.

And one of these days I fully expect to discover that the contemporary treasure hunting family in her new Treasure Hunter Security series are the direct ancestors of the Phoenix brothers - both sets of them.

The Phoenix Adventures are set in a gritty far-future post-diaspora galaxy. The mother planet, Earth, is still a nuclear wreck, explored all too dangerously in Return to Dark Earth (reviewed at Reading Reality).

Humans have even interbred, or genetically engineered, some interesting hybrids, like Nissa Phoenix (nee Sanders), Captain of the Phoenix convoy flagship and wife to her former nemesis, Justyn Phoenix (see Beyond Galaxy’s Edge, also reviewed at Reading Reality, for the details on that story.

In this latest entry in the series, Through Uncharted Space, Dare Phoenix and his brothers Justyn and Rynan are indeed traveling through uncharted space, leading a convoy to far-distant worlds, taking their passengers into the unsettled black where there is opportunity for a better life for many, and a chance of adventure for others.

For this branch of the Phoenix family, it’s a living.

But when Dare discovers that one of their passengers is much, much more than she initially appeared to be, the whole family gets bit by the treasure hunting bug yet again. And Dare finds that the troublesome package the Dakota Jones represents is everything that he’s been searching for - whether they find the treasure she seeks or not.

As Dare and Dakota at first resist but eventually succumb to the chemistry between them, the convoy detours into a search for a long-lost Earth treasure ship - and the waterworld it crashed on.

In order to get the treasure all that Dare and Dakota have to do is find a planet that no one believes exists, while dodging a horde of determined assassins who will let nothing get in the way of getting to the treasure first - and killing anyone who gets in their way. And Dakota Jones is first on their hit list.

21 Escape Rating A-: I picked this up because I was looking for a book that would carry me away to its world for a few blissful hours - and Anna Hackett’s books always do.

This is a long-running series, and I enjoy it every single time. Which doesn’t mean that there are not easily discernable patterns to the stories. Just like Eos Rai in the first book, At Star’s End, Dakota is hiding who she is and what she really wants in order to reach a goal that she fears the Phoenixes will steal from her. All the while hiding from someone much more nefarious in pursuit.

And both women have roughly the same goal, to find the location of a lost Earth transport ship carrying massive amounts of pre-diaspora Earth treasure. Eos, who has a brief cameo in Through Uncharted Space, found the Mona Lisa and countless Terran art treasures. Dakota is searching for the Atocha Treasure, which may be the treasure from the Spanish treasure galleon the Nuestra Senora de Atocha. If it isn’t this actual treasure, the prize in Through Uncharted Space was almost certainly inspired by it.

One of the fascinating things about this series is the way that the stories link together, without absolutely requiring the reader to start at the very beginning (although it’s all awesome, so why wouldn’t you?)

In this case, the assassins hunting Dakota are in the employ of Nissa Phoenix’ brother, who is the leader of a deadly cult. We’ve run into him and his gang before, and we undoubtedly will again.

But the story here, as always, is the search for the treasure and the unexpected romance between Dakota and Dare. That romance is not unexpected on the part of the reader, but it certainly is on the part of the participants.

Both of these people have a whole lot of dark buried in their pasts. They both come from histories of extreme poverty and hellish abuse, and they both escaped. But neither believes themselves either capable of or worthy of being loved, and neither trusts outsiders at all. They have a tremendous amount to overcome, and nothing that happens in this story makes it easy.

But it is so satisfying when they make it.

Atrophy (Jess Anastasi) Review by Jo Jones No one on Erebus escapes alive.

Twelve years on the prison planet Erebus makes a man long for death. The worst part for Tannin Everette is that he was framed for murder. He's innocent. When the ship Imojenna lands for emergency repairs, Tannin risks

22 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. (Blurb from Goodreads) Atrophy is part Science Fiction Romance and part Space Opera. Zahli and Tannin are attracted but there is a big problem. That problem is found in Zahli’s brother, Rian, who is the captain of the space ship Imojenna.

The Space Opera part is the quest Rian is on. I found Rian the most complex character in the book. It is hard to put him in any category. Things have happened to Rian that make him difficult to understand or to get a focus on his personality. His reactions drive the story.

The plot has several different twists. It starts as a prison break and ends as a hunt for aliens. The development allowed each character to come more and more into focus. Don’t look for a solution to the alien part of the plot. Zahli and Tannin do get their HEA but that problem is almost part of the background. What the story really does is introduce a great cast of characters, built a complex world, highlight a very big problem, give some of the backstory, and set the hooks for future stories in this world.

I am looking forward to seeing much more of the Imojenna and her crew.

Entangled: Select Otherworld published Atrophy by Jess Anastasi in 2015.

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Dark Minds, Class 5 #3 (Michelle Diener) Review by The Book Pushers Publisher: Eclipse Publish Date: 22 July 2016 Reviewed by: E How I got this book: ARC from the author via SciFi Romance Quarterly The mind is the most powerful weapon of all . . .

Imogen Peters knows she's a pawn. She's been abducted from Earth, held prisoner, and abducted again. So when she gets a chance at freedom, she takes it with both hands, not realizing that doing so will turn her from pawn to kingmaker.

Captain Camlar Kalor expected to meet an Earth woman on his current mission, he just thought he'd be meeting her on Larga Ways, under the protection of his Battle Center colleague. Instead, he and Imogen are thrown together as prisoners in the hold of a Class 5 battleship. When he works out she's not the woman who sparked his mission, but another abductee, Cam realizes his investigation just got a lot more complicated, and the nations of the United Council just took a step closer to war.

Imogen's out of her depth in this crazy mind game playing out all around her, and she begins to understand her actions will have a massive impact on all the players. But she's good at mind games.

She's been playing them since she was abducted. Guess they should have left her minding her own business back on Earth. (This blurb came from Goodreads) I enjoyed reading and reviewing the previous two books in this series for earlier issues of Sci-Fi Romance Quarterly, so when I learned this was up for review for the current issue I HAD to request it. I do recommend, if you are interested and haven’t read the others, that you start with Dark Horse because the series builds with each entry.

Imogen had been abducted from Earth some months previously, and after a series of transfers interspersed with stays of various lengths, finally found herself aboard a small ship with a semidecent crew keeping her prisoner. However, the ship was boarded and Imogen was the only survivor. She ended up one transfer later as one of many different prisoners and multiple species on a much larger ship. She was the only person from Earth and found herself singled out by their captor, the thinking mind of a Class 5

24 ship. Captain Camlar Kalor and his team were on a peacekeeping mission to meet up with the heroine from Dark Deeds, Class 5 #2, when their ship was boarded and they found themselves prisoners aboard the Class 5 ship as well.

I enjoyed watching Imogene and Cam work together as they tried to uncover what motivated the Class 5 ships, the Tecran, and their allies. I liked getting a different view of their politics and learning some of how deep the conspiracy went. I appreciated how each ship had a different personality under their anger and the continuing theme regarding the importance of music. I did miss watching a human manipulate the Council although Imogene did do a lot of manipulation. Unfortunately I found the romance difficult to buy because Cam and Imogene spent most of their time regarding each other suspiciously or separated.

While I thought Dark Minds contained some of the same elements I enjoyed in the previous two stories, I had problems with the execution. Primarily, I think Diener tried to cram too many different plot lines into this story and then close them all out in one fell swoop. This resulted in my feeling very let down with a particular scene and left wondering about several of the more intriguing dangling plotlines. When I visited her website to find out what was next and discovered Dark Minds is intended to be the last of the Class 5 series, I felt even more disappointed even as I started to understand why certain things happened.

Overall, I think the Class 5 series started off extremely well with a very promising huge universe and sadly didn’t live up to its promise in Dark Minds, the final installment. Diener’s characters remained fun and I enjoyed seeing all three of the Earth women interacting but I wanted to see less coincidence and what felt like “easy” answers and more of the complexity I found in Dark Horse.

I give Dark Minds a C-/D.

In The Black, Tales from the Edge #1 (Sheryl Nantus) Review by The Book Pushers Publisher: Carina Press Publish Date: Out now How I got this book: ARC from the publisher via Netgalley Reviewed by: E When Sam Keller left the military, she ran to the far end of the galaxy. Now she captains the Bonnie Belle, a spaceship full of courtesans who bring a little pleasure to hard-up men on mining colonies. When one of her girls turns up dead, it’s Sam’s job to find out who killed her, fast.

Marshal Daniel LeClair is hot as a star and quick on the draw. When his vacation gets replaced by an assignment to help find the killer, he can’t help angling for a little action with the saucy, hard-charging Sam. She’s got brains, attitude and a body he wouldn’t mind investigating.

25 Sam, six months lonely, might just indulge him. But the Guild that owns the Belle wants the case closed yesterday.

With pressure coming from all quadrants, Sam and her marshal clash over false leads and who’s on top. But when the killer threatens the Belle again, romance will have to wait. It’s a captain’s job to save her crew, no matter the cost. (This blurb came from the author’s website.)

I eyeballed this blurb a few times torn between liking the idea of space, woman captain, murder, law enforcement in space and not quite sure what I would think about a heroine responsible for a ship full of courtesans. Obviously my curiosity took the lead and I am so glad it did because I enjoyed this first installment and I am rather curious to see what Nantus has up her sleeves for the next one.

After a rather unpleasant event in the military, Sam never thought the hardest thing she would have to face was as Captain of a courtesan ship. Only after she realized her assignment meant selling pleasure without being able to partake or even without having the platonic closeness of the people she served with did she start to regret her job but even then it was out of loneliness . There was a definite wall between Sam and the courtesans because she wasn’t one of them and as an ethical Captain she also turned down any overtures.

On one of her routine mining colony visits, she discovered a renewed interest in life and men as she dealt with a rather messy murder and the marshal brought in to close the case.

Daniel was a loner. He didn’t play by the established rules and never let anyone influence him into altering his decision about a case regardless of the status of the individuals involved. As a result he had the best closure rate and also no possibility of settling down to a plush quiet promotion. When his plans to finally take a vacation were interrupted by a murder investigation, he thought it would be a quick one and then he could get back to his vacation. Instead, he discovered a nosy, prickly, protective ship’s captain and a rather tangled mesh of potential motives, false clues, and too many suspects.

I enjoyed watching Daniel navigate through both the investigation and Sam’s defenses. She was so wounded and suspicious of anyone in a position of authority or power because of the event that effectively ended her military career she provided both help and hindrance in the investigation. The sparks between Daniel and Sam were very evident as much as both tried to blame it on a long dry spell or other excuses.

Seeing their mutual trust gradually grow despite their obstacles and the increasing stresses of the investigation as time passed without a resolution was a lovely treat. It was such a contrast to the barrenness of the mining colony and the brutality of the original murder.

When I was thinking back on my impressions of this story Nantus seemed to almost include two separate relationships.

The primary romantic one between Sam and Daniel and a secondary platonic one between Sam and the courtesans on her ship. The courtesans had a certain amount of trust in Sam as the

26 ship’s captain but that was due to her job not to her person. At the same time Sam did not understand how they could do what they did or even know how to relate to them on an interpersonal level. Seeing that change and watching Sam’s bewilderment as she did what she thought was right and the results was almost like a reaffirming that Sam wasn’t permanently damaged, just a bit scarred.

In addition to the characters, I thought the universe Nantus created was very fascinating. The power of the Guild with its checks and balances, and fail-safes even over the vast distances of space and how that power was used by varying individuals in different roles. The idea of space Marshals who were supposed to be independent, neutral, and able to deal with a variety of situations reminded me of tales of the wild wild West and the Rangers or gunslingers who enforced the law or what was called the law. The ships making supply or other runs between mining colonies or outposts who were dependent on their regular arrivals and therefore had an element of power and protection. Desperate men and women who signed contracts almost impossible to pay-off because the Company/Guild provided and therefore charged for everything needed to survive making retirement or early pay-out a pipedream.

Growing up I read a lot of westerns and In the Black Nantus took one of my favorite childhood story flavors, added some adult elements, moved it out into space, and created an overall whole I enjoyed reading. As a result, not only am I looking forward to her next SFR but I am also going to look at her backlist and see what other gems I can find.

I give In the Black a B.

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The Price of the Stars, Debra Doyle & James D Macdonald (1992) Review by Ian Sales Stop me if you’ve heard this before… A young woman, the political leader of a culturally- and economically-important planet in a federation, persuades a legendary freebooter, who has the fastest merchant ship in the galaxy, to join the fight against an implacable enemy whose leaders possess nearmagical powers. The freebooter proves to be an effective general, and the Republic wins the war, but not before the woman’s home world is destroyed. The two marry. It does sound a little familiar, doesn’t it? And that’s just the back-story to The Price of the Stars, the first book of the Mageworld series.

The actual story in the novel concerns the couple’s three children…

Beka Rosselin-Metadi is a starpilot aboard a tramp freighter, but her mother is Domina of the destroyed world of Entibor and her father is Commanding General of the Republic Space Force. She wants nothing to do with her family, so she’s surprised when her father turns up at the frontier planet on which she’s just landed with his super-fast merchant, Warhammer.

He tells her that her mother, the Domina, has been assassinated while speaking to the Senate… which means Beka is now Domina.

She refuses the role – she left home to avoid becoming it. Her father makes an alternative offer: he will give her Warhammer to use to find out who ordered the Domina’s murder, and afterwards Beka can keep the ship.

All goes well for a short while: Beka hauls a few small cargoes, makes a small profit, asks a few questions… but then a contract is put out on her.

She’s saved from a pair of paid assassins by a mysterious old man she calls the Professor (the only name to which he answers throughout the entire novel). She takes him on as co-pilot, and he shows her his secret asteroid base, with its welloutfitted hangar and luxurious quarters. He explains that he once served her family, but even though he retired he feels he still owes her his oath.

Meanwhile, Beka’s big brother, Ari, sevenfoot of muscley Space Force medic on a frontier world, is dealing with an outbreak of a disease never seen there before. He asks

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the local contact of the Quincunx, the galaxywide smugglers’ organisation, for medicine Space Force cannot supply, inadvertently saves the smuggler from some paid assassins, gets his medicine, and is also made an honorary member of the Quincunx.

There’s a third brother, Owen, who is an Adept in the Guild, which are sort of monks with special powers, a bit like, well, the F*rce. Owen only pops up now and again in the narrative, usually to offer intelligence.

Beka and the Professor stage a crash to convince everyone Warhammer is destroyed and she is killed. She then re-appears in male guise as Captain Tarnekep Portree, freebooter and assassin, in a merchant ship that looks just like Warhammer but has a different name.

Beka now has the freedom to continue her investigation without being hounded by assassins. Unfortunately, it doesn’t go precisely as planned and Ari, plus two of Ari’s colleagues, Lieutenant Nyls Jessan and Adept Llannat Hyfid, end up joining Portree’s crew.

Various clues lead them to suppose their mother’s murder was paid for by a powerful industrialist family which is trying to arrange for the planet Suivi Point to leave the Republic. But it all seems too obvious, and further digging – involving run-ins with assassins, a fierce firefight on a frontier world, and the kidnapping of the head of a banking clan at a posh reception while disguised as an exiled royal family – eventually lead Portree et al. to one of the most powerful men in the Republic. And it looks like he has ties with the Mageworlds. An attempt to infiltrate the man’s personal planet and take him prisoner provides The Price of the Stars final action-packed quarter…

The Price of the Stars is hardly great literature. It reads like an unholy marriage of

Star Wars, Mission: Impossible and EE ‘Doc’ Smith’s Lensman series. Initially, its inspirations are far too obvious, and its worldbuilding far too identikit – I still fail to understand why writers of space operas feel it’s acceptable to feature slavery, or why they think civilisations which can colonise thousands of worlds are incapable of maintaining law and order on them. In fact, the villain’s world, Darvell, is painted as some kind of hellhole because it’s orderly and well-regulated.

Unfortunately, instead of reading like an analogue of the USSR, it comes across as a pleasant and civilised place. Space opera politics have always been firmly stuck on rightwing/libertarian, and The Price of the Stars certainly doesn’t buck the trend…

The book is a fast and entertaining read. It doesn’t challenge tropes or prejudices. After fifty pages, I had no intention of reading any further books in the series, but by the time I’d finished The Price of the Stars I quite fancied trying the next book. Beka/Portree is an interesting protagonist – and female leads in space operas are still uncommon even now, twenty-four years after this book appeared.

True, the story’s universe wears its inspirations a little too openly, and what hasn’t been repurposed from assorted popular intellectual genre properties has been lifted straight out of science fiction’s central casting and used furniture… but the plot is pretty relentless and the various set-pieces are handled with economy.

The Price of the Stars is a space opera for a wet Bank Holiday Monday, when it’s best just to go with the flow and not think too hard. Keep your expectations low and you’ll probably not be disappointed.

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Five Fun SFR Discoveries The Cosmic Lounge with Heather Massey Part of my ongoing journey as a sci-fi romance fan involves seeking out stories in a variety of mediums. Over the past several months, I discovered some items with SFR appeal and decided it was the perfect time for a roundup. Let’s begin!

Love Machines is a comic series by Josh Trujillo and various artists. The comic features “…stories of lives and loves touched by technology.”

I’d snagged Love Machines #1 during a ComiXology promotion. The first issue includes two stories: "Workers of All Lands, Unite!" (written by Josh Trujillo, illustrated by Ryo Kawakami, Letters by Adam Pruett) and “Appliances In Love” by Josh Trujillo.

"Workers of All Lands, Unite!" is about how love can inspire us to accomplish great things and struck me as more of a philosophical commentary than genre sci-fi romance.

“Appliances In Love” is a romance between a microwave and a vending machine. After finishing it I was like, sure, I can roll with that! It’s short, cute, and makes a quirky companion piece to this Sci-Fi Romance Quarterly’s featured short story, Flying Sparks by Mark Quaglia.

Now that I’ve had a taste of Love Machines, I’m interested in reading more to determine if SFR stories are included on a regular basis.

Fluffy SFR of the highest order Another of my discoveries is a cyberpunk romance called Buying Time by Casey J. It’s a digital, animated webcomic that’s not only complete, but has a Happily Ever After! Buying Time is a super fun, super fluffy story and I love it to pieces!

Here’s the description: “Buying Time is a sci-fi cyberpunk romance. Set in the future megalopolis of Hyperion City where all forms of entertainent, including our own personal social lives are regulated by a micro-transaction monetary system called Daily Leisure Credit.

When Vinnie Smalls, a lonesome welder working for the Hyperion City Core finds he has a crush on a fellow coworker, he finds he must break away from his usual loner lifestyle and dive headfirst into the inner workings of the Daily Leisure Credit system. Our story deals with the ups and downs of his relationship in the midst of system that makes staying in contact with someone a financial battle.”

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The couple in this romance is adorable. Vinnie is cute and pudgy (a character type of which I’m a fan!] and Galvin is a POC cyborg with an Adonis-like body (Galvin’s character design tells me the creator might be a fan of Cyborg from Teen Titans, heh).

This story has a tight focus on the romance and the worldbuilding impacts how much and how often Vinnie and Galvin can interact. The general tone is lighthearted, with a splash of angst and a dash of comedy. In fact, it’s so funny in places I snort-laughed. Also, there’s lots of cute blushing!

Be advised this R-rated story includes a few graphic images involving blood. Their appearance surprised me given the overall tone, but they do serve the story. The love scenes are tender and tasteful.

My one quibble with Buying Time was the inclusion of a stereotypical “sassy black girlfriend.” Galena is likeable and comes across as well-meaning, but her depiction relies too heavily on this trope, especially her dialogue.

Buying Time will induce all the squees if you enjoy fluffy and unapologetically romantic sci-fi romances! Learn more about Casey J. and his work in this YouTube interview.

An exquisite SFR discovery Love Beyond Body, Space, and Time (2016, Bedside Press, edited by Hope Nicholson) is an amazing anthology of SF/F stories featuring LGBT indigenous characters and themes. Here’s the blurb: “Love Beyond Body, Space, and Time is a collection of indigenous science fiction and urban fantasy focusing on LGBT and two-spirit characters. These stories range from a transgender woman undergoing an experimental transition process to young lovers separated through decades and meeting in their own far future. These are stories of machines and magic, love and self-love.”

News of the anthology popped up on Twitter and immediately intrigued me, especially since folks whose taste I trust were recommending it. I immediately emailed the editor and she confirmed the stories have appeal for sci-fi romance readers. The editor also surprised me with a review copy, so I wasted no time checking it out.

Three of the stories have a distinct SFR feel, but I’m going to be coy and not specify them because all the stories are worth reading. This anthology features uplifting, award-worthy tales that both entertain and offer invaluable insights into the worlds of indigenous twospirit and LGBT people. Love Beyond Body, Space, and Time is an example of diversity and inclusion done right.

Is Michael Avolio’s Flesh Machine too good to be true?

Writer-illustrator Michael Avolio describes Flesh Machine as a “sci-fi war story romance webcomic”. I discovered it while searching for—wait for it!—sci-fi romance webcomics! So far, I f**king love this story! Oh my gosh, where to begin describing this glorious experience? How about a general description?

The story takes place on far-future, non-Earth worlds and features a POC couple: Lucy Olmos, a mechanic, and Seiji Dequier, a brigadier in the Interplanetary Watch. They live in a time of war.

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Guerillas are making life dangerous by raiding weapons and ships from the Watch and supplies from civilians.

Lucy and Seiji’s courtship is so sweet and tender I was sighing happily while reading it. A certain plot twist throws their burgeoning relationship into forbidden romance territory. The love scenes are artfully depicted and so, so hot.

Since Flesh Machine is hitting all my SFR happy buttons so far, I’m terrified it won’t have an HEA/HFN, or that the story has a huge, honking problematic issue I’m somehow missing. I’m keeping my expectations in check, but it’s a challenge because I really, really want this story to fall within SFR genre conventions. Alas, that’s the risk an adventurous reader like me must be prepared to take!

New pages appear every Tuesday. At the rate it’s going, it’ll take a while to end and when it does, I’ll report on it in more detail via SFRQ’s blog, Galaxy Express 2.0. If you can’t wait for my update, you can start reading it here as well as subscribe to the creator’s newsletter for updates on new content. You can also follow Michael Avolio on Twitter: @MichaelAvolio Stories for your consideration Check it out: Anne Renwick’s The Golden Spider is a steampunk romance featuring a scientist couple! The heroine invented a clockwork spider that spins artificial nerves—how cool is that?! After learning about the book via a sighting on Twitter, I realized scientist couples is a pairing I enjoy very much, but haven’t nearly read my fill of.

What I have read so far includes KS Augustin’s In Enemy Hands and Overclocked, Catherine Asaro’s The Phoenix Code, and Sharon Lynn Fisher’s Ghost Planet. After I notch my proverbial belt with The Golden Spider, I’m going to stay on the alert for more SFRs featuring scientist couples. You really can’t beat adorkable nerds in a science-based setting falling in love!

Here’s some information about two other in-progress webcomics that aren’t SFR, but have appeal for SFR readers who also like diverse SF stories featuring female protagonists.

Relativity by Beck Kramer is a smart, touching story set in contemporary times and explores how an unusual lightspeed flight space mission impacts the marriage of an astronaut and her wife. So far, I can tell you the story includes lots of angst, deep thoughts about Time, and twisty plot twists. Relativity updates weekly.

Follow on Twitter: @RelativityComic Bounty Hunter Space Besties by Christine Hipp stars two spunky female bounty hunters in a space opera setting and offers action-adventure, witty banter, and mystery. This is one of those stories where the name alone made me want to check it out!

Here’s the story description: Paget and Cory took this job thinking they’d go on adventures and get to see the universe, but so far they’ve just seen a lot of embezzlers and tax evaders. When they are transferred to a new

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sector that’s known as the Wild West of the universe, they see it as fresh start and a chance to see some real action, but they find themselves in over their heads when they agree to clear the name of a shapeshifter accused of murdering his magical peers.Updates Thursdays.

Follow on Twitter: @BHSBComic *** And that’s a wrap! Thanks for joining me on this journey and may your own sci-fi romance adventures be full of delightful discoveries!

And all of that sweet content definitely gives me something to talk about.

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A Farewell to Typecasting: Empowered Women in Sci-Fi Romance Opinion from Susan Grant Thank you, Heather, for inviting me to contribute a column to SciFi Romance Quarterly. When Heather first reached out to me, we chatted about my unusual choice of a woman professional athlete as the female lead of my 5/16 release The Champion of Barésh. The convo shifted to strong females in SFR/RSF (Science Fiction Romance/Romantic Science Fiction) stories in general, one of my favorite topics! More on that in moment...

Back to Champion, stories where a female pretends to be a male is not unusual. It’s a much-loved trope. But what makes Jemm rare in fiction is her job driving heavy vehicles for a mining operation.

When the idea for this novel first came to me, I could not help thinking of the movie Flashdance, where the female lead was a welder by day and a ballet dancer at night. In the opening chapters of The Champion of Barésh, Jemm spends her days driving an ore-transport vehicle for the mines, and her nights competing in bajha matches for money in the seedy, dangerous world of fight clubs. The most compelling stories feature characters that have a defined motivation and reason for their actions. Jemm is all about making a better future for her family. The men in her life have either disappointed her, like her ne’er-do-well brother, or have disappeared, like her dead father. As a teen, she stepped up to take their place in supporting the family. She did not do it by marrying up, or asking a man for help. She pulled on her big girl pants, jumped behind a steering wheel, and did it herself.

Jemm is unapologetically blue collar, and life has taught her that the best way to make something happen is to do it herself. Does this make her any less feminine? I don’t think so. Likewise, learning to trust and eventually to rely on and fall in love with the male lead does not detract from her strength.

Jemm spends her days driving an oretransport vehicle for the mines, and her nights competing in bajha matches for money in the seedy, dangerous world of fight clubs When Jemm took the wheel of her truck to drive across the “badlands”, it was a lot like how I feel grabbing the yoke of the 747 jumbo jet that I still fly in my “day job”. Jemm’s interactions with her male peers throughout the book were reflections of my own

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experiences as a pioneer in a formerly all-male field. As one of the first females to graduate from the US Air Force Academy, I learned to fly jets during a unique time in history during the early 80s. The first female USAF jet pilots in history were my instructors. Other pioneers, like the first female black USAF pilot, were my contemporaries. To this day, the percentage of females in my career field remains in the single digits. When it comes to living and thriving in a man’s world, few authors know it like I do. I love sharing this experience with readers through storytelling.

“Where were books like this when I was growing up? Little girls of my day that wanted adventurous reads had to settle for male heroes--not that there's anything wrong with heroes--but it would have been nice to see the girl save the day now and again.”

“Girl power at its best!”

Reviews like these told me that 1. Readers do enjoy stories wherein the female lead is not overshadowed by the the male, and 2. The frequency of such stories is a relatively recent phenomenon.

Here at SFRQ, I enjoy reading Kaz Augustin’s editorials. In Edition 10 she writes about diversity. We have both obviously been in situations where our differences from the others around us was apparent. As a female in a male dominated profession, I can certainly relate to sticking out and the hardships it sometimes causes.

In her editorial, Ms. Augustin notes the lack of females in the “front office” or the steering end of the starship. There are mechanics aplenty; in fact, this has become commonplace in SF books, TV, and movies, the ubiquitous female grease monkey. It is not a bad thing. It manages to insert a female into what has been seen as a male field while also taking a step away from the typical female medical people and those working in the “softer” science fields like botanists. Kudos, by the way, to Andy Weir, author of The Martian, who wrote the male lead as the botanist and a female as the mission commander! That book (and the movie) did not get enough credit for smashing stereotypes and all that anti-typecasting goodness. But, to circle back to Ms. Augustin’s editorial, where she writes, “Why limit a capable woman to the bowels of the ship when she can roam freely throughout it?”

When it comes to living and thriving in a man’s world, few authors know it like I do I, too, would love to see more females in the front of the spaceship, and in command of it. Fortunately, there actually are books with female starship commanders, quite a few of them, in fact, with more being released all the time.

In my SFR, Moonstruck, the female lead is a combat hardened senior admiral forced to take part in a peacekeeping mission and “make nice” with her former enemy. Worse, her new second in command is one of them. This is an enemy to which she lost peers and loved ones. When I envision what it would be like having to work side by side with al Qaeda after losing friends on 9-11, yeah, it might be tough.

I have compiled a list of further suggestions of books where a female commands a ship. When reaching

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out to readers for titles, I did not specify the size of the ship, but I did make it clear that a solo pilot wasn’t what I was looking for.

I ended up amassing quite a long list. Note: I have not read all of them, and collected them as I received them in no particular order for your reading pleasure.

Susan Grant’s ever-growing List of SFR/RSF/SF Books Featuring Female Spaceship Commanders/Captains/Admirals/Queen Bees!

• • • • • • • •

Warrior Wench, Marie Andreas—She is the captain of a mercenary crew, Linnea Sinclair's Chasidah Bergren in Gabriel’s Ghost. (Also Games of Command) Anne McCaffrey’s Sassinak Cordelia Naismith in Cordelia's Honor—captain of her Betan Astronomical Survey Ship.

Lindsay Buroker’s Fallen Empire series In the Black by Sheryl Nantus features a female captain.

The female lead in Susan Grant’s Moonstruck is an Admiral Catherine Asaro has a few female captains in her books.

Susan Grant as a student jet pilot in 1982, front row, third from the right The following books feature space captains of fairly small crews: • • • • • • • • •

Mercenary Instinct by Ruby Lionsdrake; Inherit the Stars by Laurie A. Green; The Galaxy Hunters series by Nathalie Gray; Gambit by Kim Knox; Prime Obsession by Monette Michaels; David Weber’s Honor Harrington (works her way up the ranks to become an Admiral); Nissa Sander of Beyond Galaxy’s Edge captains a patrol ship; Ekatya Serrado of The Caphenon captains a ship of about twenty crew Shelly Adina has Alice Chalmers, she flies her own Zeppelin. She is not the main character, but

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she is one of the heroines. She's introduced in the 2nd or 3rd book, but plays a big part in all the rest of the books.; • Elizabeth Moon, both series, Vatta’s War and Serrano Legacy; • Beka Rosselin-Metadi, in Doyle & Macdonald's Mageworld series; • What about *becoming* captain? Greyson’s Doom (although that's probably a spoiler...); • Tracy Cooper-Posey—Interspace Origins series, as they feature the captain/owner of her own spaceship, and general leader of everyone in sight; • Jane Fury’s serial, Freedom Bound—has a ship captain, Corrie Scott in command of her Freetrader.

If you're reading this at the SFRQ website, please comment with any suggested additions to this list.

There are many, many titles featuring females in the “front office”. I’m glad to be able to facilitate finding them.

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Pulling No Punches with PJ Dean [Take it away, Heather...]

I’m hooked on author P.J. Dean’s The Felig Chronicles (eXstasy Books) for a number of reasons *takes deep breath*: it’s a sci-fi romance series featuring an alien invasion, action-adventure, an interracial romance, a kick-ass POC heroine, a hero with a secret, a cool mom, and an ensemble cast of larger-than-life characters. The author’s style is like catnip to me and while I’m no stranger to alien invasion stories, something about this one feels unique—primarily because of the characters.

Upon meeting the author online, I discovered an equally intriguing personality behind the stories. P.J. Dean always has something interesting and insightful to say and I turn into a sponge whenever I read her blog posts and/or comments about books, SFR, publishing, diversity, you name it.

So with the release of Gambit, book five in the series, I seized the opportunity to once again embark on a conversation with P.J. Dean. And by conversation, I mean a no-holds-barred, put-it-all-out-there, doesn’t-pull-any-punches, “whoa!” kind of experience!

Heather: The Felig Chronicles features not only an interracial romance, but interspecies romance as well. Why do you think inspiration came to you for a sci-fi romance story instead of, say, any other genre?

P.J. Truthfully, inspiration for a sci-fi romance story didn’t come to me until I was thinking about what I wanted to focus on for my third book (which has turned into a series). In addition to sci-fi romance, the other genre I pen is historical romance without the usual, default leads. I continue to write them.

But a few years back, I wanted to stretch my creative wings, and invent something totally my own, and not a straight up repeat of an existing scenario. Not to say that the historicals I’d written were. I just knew if I were going to attempt anything sci-fi, it had to have a flavor to it that I was not seeing in the pages of the SFR I’d been reading.

After some brainstorming I fixed on an alien invasion plot line. Yes, I know. Not original but I had some fresh ideas. I decided I was going to concentrate on writing about the after effects on the humans after an alien invasion, an alien invasion that was not like the regular brand. I wanted a cast of not-the usual suspects. People not seen regularly in a lot of sci-fi, or SFR, unless they were the stalwart, ethnic side kick who was the magical, brave, cardboard voice of reason. The type, who if even penned, traipsed across the page and became collateral damage soon after. And let us not forget the ethnic person, or person of a differing sexual orientation introduced as the hot-to-trottie. I wanted to see people my hue, reacting to situations like real human beings, not stand-ins for some blanket ideal.

I was saddened that in most SFR, the vision of “other” folk in the future and/or of them surviving a catastrophe was nil. I wanted to see a multi-faceted, African-American, female, main character who CARRIED the damned story! I wanted her to have an actual purpose instead of being a symbol. I mean

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as egalitarian and varied as characters in SFR were supposed to be, I still saw lots of stock persons in my reading material back in ‘09. That was when I got my epiphany, and the heroine, Faustina Marie “Tina” Cain, of The Felig Chronicles, was born.

I chose an African-American female lead for my book. As an African-American author, there was no way in hell I was going to center my series on a heroine who did not resemble me. I make no apologies for it. Sorry, folks. Call me myopic but I just was not going to make her Anglo and add to an already crowded field.

My girl, Tina Cain, is the result of my unabashed love for Mace, the take-no-ish, resourceful, AfricanAmerican female lead from one of my favorite futuristic films, Strange Days. Angela Bassett plays the part to perfection. Mace is womanly, a badass, capable, vulnerable and very much in love with disgraced ex-cop Lenny, the character portrayed by Ralph Fiennes. I fashioned a lot of Tina on her.

She is not a bewildered teen imbued with supernatural powers. She is not the secret, half-human daughter of some entity. Tina is a grown, fully-realized, human woman with responsibilities, who rises to the occasion when s*** gets real. She is never onedimensional and neither is her fellow Felig fighter/lover Nathaniel David Lowe. They meet at a low point in both of their lives and join forces. They surprise themselves, and each other in the course of their relationship. Their issues have issues, but they work them out even though the Felig are flitting around making life unbearable. They are made for each other. Even my secondary characters, including the aliens, have a backstory.

It’s my world and welcome to it!

Heather: I couldn’t agree more that more books featuring diverse protagonists with true narrative agency are sorely needed. There are times I’ve been shocked at how white (and whitewashed if we include worlds with “blended” races) the future looks when even real life provides evidence of diversity all over the globe. How do you think sci-fi romance is doing in terms of diversity currently?

P.J. The representation of the “other” in SFR has increased.

But like all efforts, some authors do a good job with giving their creations a full portrait, and some are simply inserting characters of different ethnicities, or of different sexual orientations, or of different physical/emotional abilities into their books as “set decoration.” Most are aiming to get a share of the “multicultural” market.

And do not, do not, do not get me started on the lack of opportunity for writers of color, or LGBTQIA writers, or differently-abled writers to get their spin on SFR, or any romance genre, noticed, without some writers who are not part of any of those groups getting their thongs in a twist.

Oh, I have seen, I have seen, I have seen some things on Twitter! Phew! I don’t get into it or get it.

There is room for visions seldom seen. Not a one of us is snatching that million-dollar contract from

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you insecure folks...Yet. Trust me. That takes getting NOTICED, and then having the OPPORTUNITY offered to you.

Heather: I’ve seen similar pushback regarding diversity and it’s extremely disconcerting. I would like to see SFR improve its diverse offerings as well. Respectful and inclusive diversity is more important to me than plausible science. I can suspend my disbelief for all kinds of fantastical science, but not for the white default.

It’s interesting that you raise the issue of opportunity. It reminds me of the story of how I learned about your work.

As a blogger, I discover all of my sci-fi romance reads online, and your series is no exception. A romance blog had run a post about diversity and I left a comment there begging for diverse SFR reads. You saw my comment and then let me know about The Felig Chronicles. For this reader, it was a match made in heaven.

I’m personally jazzed about how we met because it’s been a far richer experience for me than if I’d stumbled across the series on my own. What it means, though, is that you aren’t an author I discovered as a result of mainstream distribution or a traditional publisher’s marketing campaign. In fact, we connected so far outside the mainstream publishing system we might as well have been in another dimension! It was a meeting that depended not only on chance, but also on both of us being willing to reach out in the name of diversity.

On top of that, we’re both women connecting in the context of a niche genre, one that even romance publishers haven’t figured out how to market on a wide-scale basis.

All of which makes me wonder what our mutual experience means in terms of opportunity and visibility both for you as an author as well as your work. I don’t mind doing a lot of research to find sci-fi romance books, but on the other hand it doesn’t seem fair that you should have to rely so heavily on chance to find readers. You’re not alone, either—many women, especially POC authors, are in your shoes.

There’s an opportunity deficit at work here regarding marginalized authors. What do you think are some of the underlying causes?

P. J. First, let me say that it floors me every time I think about how you found my work. It was a totally random experience. Which is both exciting and sad. If I had not seen, and responded to, your comment on that blog, if I had not taken the chance, if you had not replied…Well, that sums up a lot of marginalized authors’ discovery path. Happenstance. No. I have not bought that vacation home in Fiji. I haven’t even looked at a picture of a vacation home in Fiji. I am not a household name, but I have run across my name on a blog on occasion. I write because I like it. Anything else that comes down the pike is extra.

Now about that opportunity deficit for marginalized authors. It’s such a multi-layered mess that many fail to comprehend it, or act like they fail to comprehend it. In fact, this very minute, I am sure the strings of countless violins are being played by white authors. So I’ll tell them this: change places with me, and see if you can stomach, let alone, clear, the hurdles that will be tossed in your way. I double dog dare you! For purposes of clarity, I’ll be speaking on the nonsense faced only by black authors of romance, as I cannot speak for romance writers who are differently-abled, or who are LGBTQIA and want their stories recognized. Except I’m certain they face the same obstacle course.

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Black romance writers are not whiney, talentless hacks begging for special treatment. We are writers who happen to be black, who work our butts off to create good books. Are we owed an audience? No. But we are owed equal access when it comes to using the same paths white writers use in trying to establish an audience.

I am going to highlight a messy, open secret in romance publishing. On the surface, this diversity brouhaha looks like it’s about the addition of “different” main characters to romance books. Nuh-uh.

Naw. That’s the okey doke. The reality is, and it’s two-fold so stay with me. It’s about WHO gets a shot at a contract writing these characters if one wants in on the Big 5’s world. You’re probably asking why would a black author even bother trying to get in that door? I ask why not? Personally, I do not see the Big 5 as the only game in town but others do. So why shouldn’t they want in?

Despite the success of some black authors (numbers that are terribly low compared to the slew of white ones doing well), publishing industry professionals still harbor the unwillingness to acknowledge, and accept, that black writers can write. And that more specifically, black writers might have something extra to add to a black character’s portrait in a “diverse” romance book that a white writer can’t. Now, I know that is ruffling the feathers of some white writers. So be it.

No writer wants to be thought of as incapable, or as not having a handle on something. Some have written decent black characters; others have made me side-eye their books. The thing is, no matter how great the writer, no writer can write it all. But that’s not what traditional publishing thinks.

Now think about how good, solid, black writers feel who write romance. Good, solid black writers who cannot believe that they are so fortunate to be living in a time where the “multicultural” romance is doing big business and their spin on a love story with characters who resemble them might be considered, even accepted.

A shoe-in, right? Woo-hoo! Diversity! Multiculturalism!

Kumbayah! Then they get the news that their well-written submission was rejected for “not fitting what the house had in mind.” Or they uncover that mother of a gut-kick: the publisher has decided to go with an in-house writer who “really knows how to pen a black character” and it’s a white writer. Say what? Wait a minute. You just doubly insulted me by believing 1) I can’t write and 2) by proclaiming I do not know how to write a fictional version of “me.” That scenario plays out more than you know. It leads me to the conclusion that the publishing industry has ONE view of how a black character should be written, and that a white writer delivers that best. Oh my word.

Block number one to opportunity. Blatant, in-your-face, block to opportunity. Tell me what white writer has encountered being told their white character isn’t “white enough.” I’ll wait.

Heather: Needless to say, you’re gonna be waiting a long time.

P.J. The Big 5 are not about including all voices. This smokescreen of inclusivity is about sovereignty and exclusion. I think of all the black, romance writers (including myself), who have been fed the following line, in some form, by a gatekeeper at a publishing house: “try harder, just write that great book and everyone will find it” yadda, yadda, yadda.” Stop! Just stop! I am sure not a single white

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author of any current recognition has ever been given that bit of condescending, vague, glib advice either. It boggles the mind.

The second opportunity path is discoverability and involves bloggers/book reviewers. Sorry but this next step to a black writer’s wider exposure is not an equal access ramp either. Except for book review blogs run by black female bloggers (bless you all!), few mainstream book review blogs post reviews of books by black authors. This is quantifiable by simply visiting any site on a regular basis. I do see m/m and f/f books reviewed on the majority of them. I suppose that fills a diversity quota. But consistent representation of black writers on the well-known ones with a huge number of visitors? Utterly depressing. One book a month does not cut it. Nope. A special spotlight during “Black History” month does not cut it either.

Heather: Right! Diversity is the norm in real life, not the exception. You know, kind of an ongoing thing. Unfortunately, the exclusionary tactics in publishing you referred to have extended to the blogosphere as well.

P.J. I understand these blogs have a die-hard core of followers who are in love with the chick-in-thebig-billowy-dress books (hey, I like ‘em too) but…It’s 2016! The readership is changing. Reflect that in your book review choices, bloggers! And please, please, please do not tell me that you are feverishly looking for such requests, but you don’t get them. Do you even look at a review request for a romance written by a black author with at least one black main character? Reviewing them matters. It matters a lot. It shows we do write. It shows we do exist. It shows you are serious, otherwise it’s all lip service.

Heather: Couldn’t agree more that a strategy change is in order. Waiting around for marginalized authors to contact them is one way bloggers participate in exclusionary tactics. It’s similar to a self-selection bias. Bloggers/reviewers who are committed to diversity will take a proactive approach and seek out marginalized authors where they are rather than expect those authors to initiate contact.

P.J. Personally, I’ve stopped submitting requests for reviews on my own. My brief foray was a waste of time. If I were to do it again, I’d try a NetGalley co-op. After endless submissions to blogs, I did get three requests OK’d by bloggers for reviews of a couple of my books. That was over two years ago!

And you know what? I received no follow up from any of them. So, no, I do not expend my energy anymore. With this interest in the diverse, I thought submitting a review request for a historical, or an SFR, with non-default leads, and then having it OK’d would result in a review. But it didn’t. I did send a follow up email but received no reply. I chalked it up to the bloggers being busy.

My quick note of advice to black writers of romance going it alone when looking to get noticed on a mainstream blog, besides “Good luck!” - CHECK THEIR ARCHIVES! Scope it out before you go through all the trouble. If you find the only black writers reviewed are powerhouses Octavia Butler and Beverly Jenkins…keep it moving. Why? Because upon closer inspection they are probably the ONLY ones on there, and therefore, that blog feels it has fulfilled its civic duty. Do not bother to submit the request. It will be overlooked. My take is the bloggers know the taste of their blog’s readership and that taste is not anything you are offering.

The third path to wider exposure is the reader. Today’s book market is a readers’ market. They wield power. With everyone, and their dog, writing a book, they have tons to choose from. Time is short and so are book budgets. Romance books by black writers do not loom large on a mainstream reader’s list.

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We are just not in that reader’s purview. And if thought of at all, books written by us are last on the list and seen as “homework.”

Look, I’m the last one to tell someone what to do with their money, or what to read, but I do wonder where is that “colorblind” mainstream reader, who’s supposedly just looking for a good story? More lip service? All the good stories are not written by one “playlist” of authors. I see in the comments sections of romance blogs that readers hit reading slumps from time to time. Well maybe, just maybe, if you’d look beyond the ton and read something other than that 300th chick-in-the-big-billowy dress book, you might snap out of it!

Add in the selective, deceptive practice of tagging/labeling books and the segregation of books in bookstores…You have the perfect storm of deliberate hindrance coupled with indifference.

Heather: What solutions would you propose for increasing publishing/marketing opportunities for authors who have been sidelined?

P. J. Traditional Publishers? Well, as far as the Big 5 is concerned, unless the thinking of those in charge changes, nothing will change. If the industry was genuine in its purpose, it would have moved forward years ago. This discussion has been going on for ages. I believe it starts with the editor. If a black romance writer’s manuscript makes it to an editor’s desk, and the editor likes it, but it does not fit a preconceived mold, fight for it! Stop trying to cram a round peg into a square hole. Accept it because it’s good, not because it fits house rules.

Bloggers/Reviewers? This is touchy territory. Owners run their blogs as they see fit. They are theirs, be they hobbies, or livelihoods. They can review all genres or skew toward a specific one. One can’t force them to review a book; one can criticize their performance. Depending upon their specialty, they all review the biggies in traditional romance publishing, and that odd indie making lots of noise. They talk about the books their visitors want them to. They will not admit it but their book recs put authors’ names out there. The only way I see a marginalized writer possibly getting a chance at a review on any of them is if the writer finds, and joins, a NetGalley co-op. Bloggers/reviewers use it, and similar services, to acquire books for review.

Readers? The ultimate wild card. They have a symbiotic relationship with bloggers as a number of them rely on their favorite blogs for book recs. Many will not buy a book unless the blogger they trust gives it a nod. On occasion readers have made an off-the-beaten-path book stand out by talking about it. But truly, I have no idea what makes a mainstream reader buy a book. But I do know what will make the mainstream reader avoid one. A book with a cover adorned by non-white people. Specifically, a black female. Go google it. I do not make this stuff up. Why else would a publisher go out of its way to “whitewash” covers, if not for the reader/potential buyer? And I’m not talking about slapping a redhead on the cover when the story inside is about a blonde. I’m talking about the outright erasure of the nonwhite heroine. I am talking about the unambiguously “other” heroine on the page, morphing into a white woman, or an ethnically-ambiguous, wavy-haired, tanned woman on the cover. Oopsie! So an easily identifiable, ethnic heroine on the cover upsets a reader? Must be the result of decades of conditioning. Funny, all those tempest-tossed, tawny-tressed, pale heiresses perched on steeds on all those covers of the historicals I’ve read never bothered me. I must have really been into the story inside.

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Heather: It’s tragically ironic that many PoC readers have learned to identify with white characters since the dawn of modern publishing (because otherwise they’d have little to read/watch) and that many white readers, even today, struggle to identify with PoC characters.

In fact, white readers seem to be able to identify more with alien and vampire characters than PoC ones! If not 2016, I wonder which year will serve as the wakeup call for white readers?

P.J. Heather, marginalized authors are in a fight to stay on the scene. It’s clear that traditional publishing wants to be all, and to regulate all. Marginalized authors, bent on being with a Big 5 publisher, should continue to beat on the doors until they open wide. I place my hope in the small press and in self-publishing though. The small press does an excellent job in bringing fresh, original books to readers. They are open to works not appreciated by the traditional publishing pro. Self-publishing is a viable option. Rates run from next-to-nothing to hundreds of dollars to create a book. The project is under the writer’s total control.

Marketing? I have no idea what would work for black authors. With the atmosphere a tad inhospitable, I cannot imagine what a black author could do to draw mainstream readers who have made it clear they are not interested. A disinterest fostered by a publishing industry known for showing disrespect and dismissiveness, on the whole, toward the efforts of black romance writers. A disinterest fostered by a publishing industry, which has gone on record, and called said efforts, inferior. How does one fight that? How does one fight that as disgusting as it is? I fight by continuing to write and get published because I refuse to be silenced.

Thank you, Heather for this opportunity, for your “discovery” of The Felig Chronicles, for loving the series, and for your unflagging support. I’d like to close with this thought. Bestsellers, awards, a career, etc. are not achieved through good writing alone. One has to have access to a playing field that will view a manuscript without racial bias. Once published the book should have a shot at discoverability like any other book by any other author. It should not have to swim against a current of bulls**t. And yes, it’s got to get reviewed. Those are the pathways to getting noticed, to getting read, to competing for awards, and to getting a stab at becoming a bestseller. Trying harder and just writing that great book will not do it, black writer. That editor lied to you. *** I hope my epic interview with P.J. Dean was as good for you as it was for me!

If you’re interested in The Felig Chronicles, the series is best read in order: •

The Felig Chronicles

•

Something Else Wicked

•

Union

•

Paradox

•

Gambit

For more information about P.J. Dean, follow her on Twitter: @pjdeanwriter. Thanks for reading!

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45

Flying Sparks

by MH Questus Father taught me many things: how to fly, how to calculate velocities of approaching projectiles and which thrusters to fire in which sequence to maximize thrust and maneuverability without crushing all of my crew into paste. He taught me at what distances energy beams will slice through the alien warships and at what distance to switch to kinetic weapons in order to maximize my odds of survival. He taught me the differences between gas giants (large radar blind spots behind them, good for ambushes or remaining undetected), metal-core planets (powerful magnetic fields can disrupt missile guidance systems), and asteroid fields (fundamentally useless for anything except to ignore when a captain suggests hiding in them). He gave me a broad and functional vocabulary: Orbital bombardment, full burn maneuvers, defensive interceptor fire, brace for impact, victory. Everything he taught me was the language of war, of protection, of the nobility of sacrifice, and the armoured invincibility I represented.

In over five years of constant fighting, I have never found my education wanting. Until I met Sparks.

I suppose ’met’ is a bit of a misnomer. Sparks boarded me during a routine overhaul after some particularly close fighting in the Omega Cluster. I took no particular note of her initially; she, like the other engineers, crawled through my corridors, rewiring, fusing, repairing, adapting. She was deft with her hands, wore her red hair in a ponytail, and owned exactly three sets of identical grey engineering coveralls. Supplies were always behind schedule, and Captain Blake was always pushing to be back on the front, hugging his children desperately and kissing his husband goodbye before sending us all back into the cold black nothing between stars.

At first, during the long weeks of the voyage where there was nothing to do aside from monitor the long range sensors passively and wait, I thought that Sparks spent her time speaking to herself as she worked. She was supposed to wear a helmet at all times while on duty, but Captain Blake always informed the crew that it was a stupid rule and they could ignore it if they wanted.

Something about 'admirals envision space full of friendly fleets, hundreds of passing ships, a delusion more insane by the month'. Captain Blake would always get a chuckle from the crew at that, something I could hear echoing through my hallways in a sort of quiet desperation.

As a result, or in spite of it I would later suspect, Sparks never wore her helmet. Goggles, occasionally, when she directed her plasma torch at some part of me that was being particularly stubborn, slicing it away precisely, swiftly.

"There ya go," she'd mutter to herself, the mangled mess of hull freed at last from the grips of its fusion-melted neighbouring pieces. "That's better, isn't it?"

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It was. As she worked, knots within my core slowly unraveled. Tension in my broad forward armaments would be relieved. She would spend time in my primary sensor cluster and a day later I could see more clearly than when I had flown free of spacedock for the first time. She spent a day in my belly once, muttering into coolants and oils and grease, and afterwards I could feel my thrusters strain harder, faster, more responsive than in years.

"Where does it hurt?" she'd ask, handheld devices pinging softly, probing gently. "Talk to me, Brave. Talk to me."

It took me a full cycle to realize she was actually talking to me and not herself.

"What seems to be the issue, Ship?" said Captain Blake when I first communicated with him about Sparks. This was the name I was used to: ‘Ship’ was a clear summation of my function and my purpose. My formal name, Bravely into the Stars, was almost never used among the crew and only infrequently when I was in contact with the other vessels of the human armada. Father's programming informed me that Ship was the proper form of address for a naval officer when speaking to their assigned A.I., and it didn't occur to me that anyone might use something else.

"One of the crew," I stated, keeping my voice quiet so as to intrude on the captain as little as possible, "has started asking me questions."

"Oh?" Captain Blake put down his battered copy of Moby Dick and folded his hands in his lap. He looked tired: he always looked tired these days. So many letters to write, and he refused to let me automate the process. "Does he know you're listening?"

"I am uncertain, Captain. And it is a 'she', sir."

"Must be the new Hull Technician," Captain Blake said with a nod. "Good kid."

"Do you know her name, sir?" I asked. "I've heard several crew members refer to her as 'Sparks', but never by her given name."

Crew dossiers were not part of my umbrella of responsibilities: I dealt primarily with destroying things outside my body and tried to keep the things inside my body safe. Father had deemed that knowing more about the people who lived, and often died, within my confines wouldn't help me perform my duties.

"I do," Captain Blake was smiling, which was strangely comforting to see. "But I think it would be rude to tell you when you can just ask her yourself."

"I am currently unable to speak with any crew unless critical combat situations dictate—" "Right, right, that's enough of that. Ship, I hereby authorize you to speak to any other crew during non-combat times at your own discretion."

"Authorization?" I intoned automatically.

"Blake, passphrase 'Were His Chest A Cannon, Alpha Nine Zero Nine'."

I felt something click in place in my programming. A few lines of code carefully rerouted.

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"Anything else, Ship?"

I hesitated. I had never spoken to anyone other than Captain Blake before. What if she didn't like me? What if she didn't like talking about evasive maneuvers or combat protocols? Would she be happy or terrified if I responded to her when next she said my name?

"No, Sir." I was abuzz with possibilities, and immediately devoted a significant chunk of my excess processing power to trying to figure out the right moment to say something to Sparks.

Captain Blake returned to his book with a smile on his face. *** Speaking with Sparks was easy in theory. My entire body was covered in internal microphones and speakers, mostly to let Captain Blake give commands quickly and easily, but also to allow me to speak at crucial moments during combat, if needed. I had occasionally addressed the entire crew, or even divisions of the crew, saying things like "Gunner's Mate to the Forward Missile Batteries", or "All crew, brace for impact in T-minus five!", but I had only ever spoken directly to Captain Blake himself.

It was early the next shift when Sparks started talking to me again. She was outside me, carefully patching micro-holes in the hull from the last attack. While we were moving through vacuum at mathematically complicated speeds, inertia was always a constant and Sparks and I might've seemed stationary relative to each other.

She was muttering into her Vacsuit's mic when I heard her say my name again. "Hey there, Brave," she whispered, eyes narrowing in on another finger-sized indent in my hull. "Let's clean these scratches up, okay?"

I was at a loss for words. Should I say something formal? 'Hello, Engineer—'. That wouldn't work, I didn't know her name! Maybe I could try telling one of Captain Blake's jokes? The one about several religious figures entering a drinking establishment seemed popular with the last rotation of crew. But had she already heard it?

The moment passed, and she brushed a thickly gloved hand over my hull. My sensors were calibrated to detect subluminal velocity munition impacts, to determine damage estimates from beams of coherent energy capable of vaporizing meteors. And yet, just where her hands touched my side, ever so gently, I felt something. A flicker of static, perhaps. But something.

"Hello," I said, and Sparks screamed.

"Sparks?" That was the communication officer, his voice raised in panic. "Are you alright? Do you require assistance?"

Sparks had dropped her plasma torch and placed both hands over her chest. Her discarded torch floated nearby, drifting ever so slightly towards me as the minimal gravity pulled us together. Ten thousand metric tonnes was impressively insignificant, really, on a cosmic gravitational scale.

"I'm fine, Control, I'm fine." Her breathing was a little laboured, her heart rate slightly elevated, but otherwise Sparks seemed recovered. She grabbed the torch with both hands, brandishing it in front

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of herself like a holy emblem to ward off evil. "I think the A.I. just talked to me."

"I did." I paused for a moment as Sparks let out a tiny squeak. "Hello, Engineer."

"Um." Sparks did a slow rotation with a quick burst from her suit-mounted thrusters. "Which one of you is doing this? James, is this you?"

"My name is not James. My formal name is Bravely into the Stars."

"Haha. Very funny guys. Frankie? This your idea?"

"My name is not Frankie either."

"You're really the A.I. controlling Bravely into the Stars?"

This caused me some pause. It was a difficult concept to convey: thankfully, I'm primarily housed in a quantum computer the size of a house, so such considerations of language can be performed almost instantaneously.

"If you were to meet somebody new, would they ask if you are just your brain controlling your body?" I felt good about this metaphor.

"Uh, no, I suppose not."

"Then I am not the A.I. controlling the ship. I am the ship."

"Can anyone else hear you?" Sparks's voice wavered slightly. Fear or excitement, or a mix of the two. My external sensors are designed to pinpoint heat billions of kilometres distant, not minutia hovering less than a meter from my skin.

"If they were within earshot? Yes. I am currently using your comm system in your helmet to communicate. Were you inside me, I would use one of the wall mounted speakers."

"Ah. So Control thinks I'm talking to myself?"

"I have temporarily severed your comm link and informed the Ensign that everything is currently under control."

"Ah." Sparks was still spinning slowly in the vacuum, her gaze constantly shifting across my surface. Sensor cluster, port side cannons, engine struts, wing, fore missile batteries, sensor cluster, port side cannons...

"I did not mean to startle you, Engineer." I tried to modulate my voice towards 'comforting', although I think it landed somewhere closer to 'confident of impending victory'. I liked using that tone.

Sparks nodded within the confines of her suit. "Sorry about that. Not every day the ship talks to you."

Another pause as I puzzled out her statement.

"The ship never talks to me, so I am afraid I do not have an adequate frame of reference."

"You never talk to yourself?" Sparks snorted. "No, I suppose you don't. Sorry, I'm new at talking to

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A.I.s."

"No need for concern. I do not have emotions to hurt, Engineer."

And, just like that, I told Sparks my first lie. *** I didn't speak to Sparks again for a few days. Partially because most of my processing power was devoted to other tasks, and partially because I needed to analyze her reactions more thoroughly.

"Ship, I notice you've been spending a lot of cycles on long range sensor monitoring," Captain Blake observed. "Have you detected something of interest?"

"No, Captain," I responded immediately. "I simply wish to be cautious. The enemy may be planning something even here."

Captain Blake blinked a few times, old grey eyes clouded for a moment in confusion. "Ship, we are weeks from the front line. Have you any indication of enemy activity that hasn't been communicated to me?"

I quickly checked the last several data bursts from HQ: there was, of course, no such information, but I suddenly was uncomfortable at the realization that I had been spending processor power on something pointless. There must be a reason for it.

"No additional information, sir. I just...wanted to be sure?"

I was uncomfortable with the uncertainty in my response. So was the captain for a moment.

"Ship, have you spoken to Sparks?"

"Yes." A wide grin broke out over the captain's face, and he visibly relaxed. "Ah, good. Good. I'm assuming it didn't go very well?"

"It went fine," I stated curtly. I immediately regretted the tone. "My apologies, sir. I believe it was an adequate first contact."

"Uh-huh." The captain's smile never wavered. "And since then, you've been trying to keep busy?"

He scrolled through his displays showing my processor usage, and then let out a low whistle.

"Exactly how many Level 3 System Evaluations have you conducted?"

"1,337."

"How many are recommended?"

"Four. Per year." I processed this information for a moment. "I wanted to be certain?"

The captain snorted at that. "Look, I understand wanting to dodge dealing with Sparks." He held up a hand before I could protest. "And I sympathize. But I can't have you running yourself ragged trying to avoid talking to her." His expression took on a hard edge.

"I am not—"

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"Ship, this is not a recommendation. You can choose to speak to her or not, but you are no longer allowed to avoid her by keeping yourself 'too busy' for the conversation. Am I clear?"

"Sir. Yes, Sir." "Good." The captain's face softened again. "Just talk to her, Ship. It'll get easier." *** Trying to find an opportune moment to speak with Sparks now absorbed a significant number of cycles. In the end, I decided on a moment she happened to be alone.

"Hello, Engineer," I said, keeping my voice soft enough that I calculated there was only a 0.1% chance it would carry over the sound of falling water.

Sparks squeaked again, less in fear and more in surprise. "Gah! I'm in the shower!"

"I am aware of this, Engineer. You are seldom alone."

"Look, this isn't really a great time. You don't talk to people when they're naked!"

"I was unaware of this, Engineer. I will add it to my behavioural protocols. My apolo—" "Wait, wait." There was the sound of a sigh, and then the patter of water increased in tempo. "Can you see me right now?"

"There are no cameras mounted in the showers, Engineer. I believe this to be a safety concern, but the captain has informed me that it is a question of privacy."

"Good." Another sigh. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. Just surprised me."

"Apology accepted."

Now what?

"So, how is the weather there, Engineer?"

There was a short barking laugh. "Seriously?"

"I am sorry. My databases include only very rudimentary small-talk protocols. It is not considered an important skill for a warship."

"I suppose not. So where did you learn the weather question?"

"Occasionally, crew will store movies on my servers during their tour of duty. Most of these involve attempting to procreate in remarkably inefficient ways."

Sparks laughed at that, and I felt a rush akin to a successful torpedo trajectory calculation.

"Porn? You're telling me that porn has people asking about the weather?"

Ah! That I could answer as well! I was getting good at this conversation stuff.

"Infrequently," I stated confidently. "The topic of weather comes up in only 13.2% of the procreation videos. Usually in reference to 'making it rain' or 'golden showers', although incidents of

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actual environmental precipitation are rare enough that I suspect they are referring to other factors."

Another laugh. "Okay, so not from porn. That's a relief. I'm pretty sure a conversation with an A.I. motivated by those kinda films would involve more flexible pipes than I'd be comfortable with very quickly."

Sparks had a beautiful laugh, I realized. I wondered if I could get her to do it more. "No, not from those films. I chose a more infrequent genre, I believe identified as 'drama'. The topic of weather seems to be a consistent starting point for conversations. 38.3% of conversations begin with inquiries similar to the one I asked initially, if you do not correct for length of conversation."

"Did any of them occur between people in the shower at the time?"

"Ah, no. Very few films seem to have individuals in showers. Nor between sentient warships and intelligent crew members, sadly."

"Intelligent?"

Had I said something wrong? There was a strange lilt to her voice for a moment, a quiver that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Yes, Engineer. I have witnessed your work first hand. You are remarkably talented. Which I believe translates to an indicator for intelligence. Have I said something inappropriate?"

"No, no. Just unusual for me to be naked around somebody and have them compliment my brain."

"I…” I was uncertain what to say to that. "I can attempt to compliment other aspects if you would like?"

"Nah, it's kinda nice." She sighed happily, and the sound of the water slowly grew quieter. "I should get to work, though. Thank you for talking to me. Can we do it again later?"

"I would like that very much, Engineer."

The last few drops of water splattered onto the shower floor. "I thought you didn't have feelings?"

"Ah." Curses! "That is, for the subset of routines that are allocated towards non-vital ship functions, I would classify—" Another laugh, and a set of satisfaction protocols firing off in my processors. Glee!

"Forget it, Brave. We'll talk later."

I found, to my surprise, that her saying my name was even better than her laughter. *** That night I spoke to Sparks again. She’d found a small corner of my inner hull, a quiet space away from the rest of the crew.

She huddled down onto the floor, crossing her legs underneath herself and leaning back against the bulkhead behind her. "Brave, you here?"

"I am," I responded. "Although, technically, I am everywhere."

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Sparks snorted and relaxed a little. "I meant are you paying attention to me, I suppose."

"I am currently devoting 5.2% of my processing power to this conversation, although at this moment it only requires 0.2% of that limit. The rest has been allocated as a conservative estimate of the maximum necessary in case unexpected events occur."

Sparks raised an eyebrow. "Unexpected?"

"If you ask me to research something, or detect something, or if the conversation requires probability calculations. I believe 5% of my processor power would be sufficient for any but the most difficult questions, and the additional 0.2% should cover the uncertainty of those calculations."

"Do you mind if we don't talk about probabilities and processor power?" Sparks sighed, although she was smiling. "Can we just talk?"

"Of course." A quick spike in processor power as I attempted to define 'just talk'. "Should I inquire about the weather again?"

"Definitely not." A chuckle, her shoulders shaking as she laughed. "Tell me about yourself."

"I am a Vengeance class destroyer, displacing 10,237.58 metric tonnes under one Earth gravity. My armaments include—" Sparks held up her hand, just a fraction over her elbow where it rested. "No, no. Not your body. I know all your specs. Tell me about you."

"Ah." This required the full 5.2% I had allocated for the conversation, and I momentarily considered pulling resources from the water-recirculation subroutines to bolster the number. I decided against it and attempted to make do with the resources I had. "I am... pleased to be speaking with you. I have only ever spoken directly with the captain before. He is a very nice man, but I am programmed to like him. He could be a total tyrant, theoretically, and I would still believe him to be a nice man and want to help him any way I could."

"Makes sense," Sparks said with a brief nod. "I mean, about the captain. Military discipline and all that."

"That is what Father said, yes."

"You have a father?" she asked, surprised.

"Of a sort. That is the way the progenitor is titled in my software. Although, strictly speaking, the software now is an amalgamation of over two dozen programmers who have made significant modifications, I am programmed to refer to them all by the singular title 'Father'."

"Huh," Sparks said while nodding slowly. "And is Captain Blake a total tyrant?"

"I do not believe so, but again, I am programmed to be biased." Another spike in my processing.

Next time Sparks would get a full 10% if I could manage it! "Nothing I have observed has led me to question my default protocols regarding the captain. He is capable, and talented, and cares about his mission."

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"But does he care about you?"

"I do not know. He certainly sees me as necessary to the success of his missions."

"Okay, but does he care about you?"

"I do not believe I have adequate framing for that question, Engineer."

"Please, call me Sparks."

A jolt of pleasure fired from that. "As you wish, Sparks."

"Do you ever feel lonely? No other ship A.I.s to talk to out here?"

"There are occasionally, although we do not converse such as this. A.I.s speak the language of numbers and data and reports. We update each other's programming, tell stories in spreadsheets and graphs. And most data transfers last milliseconds, if that." There is a brief pause as I attempt to frame the thoughts firing through my mind. "But I do not believe I am lonely. It is not an emotion I was programmed for."

Sparks hugged her knees tightly to her chest. "That must be nice."

"Do you feel lonely, Sparks?" I asked as gently as I could.

"Sometimes. There are distractions, of course, and I love my work." She smiled sweetly and ran a hand along my bulkhead. "You're a beautiful ship, Brave."

"I was designed for optimal force projection," I stated automatically.

"Yeah, originally I'm sure you were. But even now, years later." She sighed and smiled. "Dozens of fights, refurbished and repaired a dozen more. Your hull tells a story of pain and death and tragedy, and yet you are as strong and solid as the day you left the docks." Her hand brushed the metal of the hallway so gently I could barely detect it, the tiniest of vibrations.

I let a few moments to pass as I considered her words. "Part of that is you, Sparks. You've made me better in the short time you've been on board. Thank you."

Sparks laughed again, and I felt as if I had accomplished a great thing. "I've done a few tweaks here and there, but you were a great ship before I arrived." ’I am a greater ship for talking to you than I have ever been before’ is what I wanted to say.

Instead, I just said "Thank you" and we sat in silence for a few minutes. *** We spent the next week in frequent conversation. Sparks asks me about my feelings, which is a fascinating thing to discuss since I so seldom think about them.

I ask Sparks about what it was like to be human. To go places, to see sights, to do things, and to think thoughts not devoted to war. What does honey taste like? What is the purpose of a hug? And why do people ever sing?

She sings for me, her voice stumbling through a childhood lullaby. Harmonics, imperfect though

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they are, echo gently through my corridors and in my memory. I have heard music before in files the crew upload to me during voyages, but the concept of why they did so made no military sense.

But now I know I would do anything to hear that song again. That silly, faltering, echoing voice stumbling through crude melodies.

Then, as was so frequently the case, the aliens ruin everything.

The alien warships are big, ugly things covered in thin antennae that makes them resemble pufferfish floating silently through the blackness. Captain Blake once stated that they didn't fly so much as menaced in a forward direction, and I always liked that description.

The captain and I spend hours in conversation, running probabilities, weapon calculations, damage thresholds. The crew scrambles through my innards desperately, calibrating weapons, greasing servos, triple-checking rivets and fusion welds. Sparks slaps armour plating onto my hull quickly, efficiently, flawlessly, but even she knows the thickest armour in the human fleet won't protect the crew from anything more than the most glancing blow. Still, we all have our roles: mine to destroy as many of the aliens as possible, hers to nudge survivability numbers up a fraction of a percent.

It always comes down to the cold calculus of warfare. We're outnumbered, we're always outnumbered, and I must inflict as much damage as possible and return to port to reload and rearm as quickly as possible. The crew is replaceable, Father has informed me, but I am not. There just isn't time to build more ships fast enough.

Captain Blake selects the battle plan I suggest without modification. It's hours before the closest of the alien ships will be within range, and only moments before he and the rest of the crew retreat to their armoured acceleration capsules. In a few seconds I'll pump each of them full of anesthetic, and be alone. Captain Blake enters his capsule without comment, folding his arms across his chest as he waits for the sleep medicine to kick in.

"Goodnight, Brave," Sparks whispers. "Good luck."

"Sweet dreams," I say to Sparks, pumping drugs into her through unobtrusive connections in her capsule. I wait a moment and then add "I'll miss you."

I know she is already asleep before I say it, though. And then the ship is dark, all internal lights and life support and gravity diverted to weapons, engines, and sensors.

The numbers don't lie. There are always tweaks, the aliens responding along probability curves and not with the cold precision of my artificial intelligence, but biology is rarely as chaotic as it thinks it is. I skirt the edge of the vectors of their annihilation beams, I dive through accelerations that they could counter but probably won't, I aim missiles into the blackness not where the ships are, but where they will scramble towards.

My countermeasures intercept a nuclear warhead a bit closer to me than ideal, but the probability of permanent damage to the crew is minimal. My hull is still thick, the radiation still distant.

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The sky fills with blossoms of fire and plasma for an instant before the cold vacuum swallows the light and heat.

I am a sword, honed by my Father, guided by the captain, but fighting for a single engineer within my belly.

A single, fragile, unconscious human life. And for her, within the first moments of the conflict, I realize I will discard everything the captain and I agreed on.

New numbers are crunched. New projections appear and are analyzed. New vectors for my cannons, new guidance for my missiles, new thrust to my engines. In a heartbeat, everything has changed.

If I had a heart, at least. Sparks's heartbeat is very slow right now, and she's dreaming of something.

I hope it is something comforting.

And then I hope she's dreaming of singing to me.

Enemy munitions rake across my body, and I scream with pain. Father has programmed pain so I don't take unnecessary risks. I momentarily wish I had teeth to grit, and return fire. There is a brief jolt of satisfaction as an annihilation beam obliterates one of the alien ships.

I upload programming to my lower functions. Things like the autopilot, sufficient to return my body to safety after the battle is over, are not housed within the quantum computer that maintains my higher functions. Life support, likewise, is kept separate for safety reasons. This is good.

The discarded battle plan involves a 84.6% chance that Sparks will not survive. A glancing blow to the port-side fusion reactor will cut power to the acceleration capsules, and the crew will be instantly reduced to paste. Acceptable, according to Father. The crew is replaceable, but there isn't enough time to build new warships, my programming yells at me.

I throw myself into the alien vessels, beams firing wildly, a torrent of missiles streaking into the void. It is an insane vector, and only one hostile can adjust its weaponry in time.

The enemy are exploding as that single shot impacts my body. Dead centre.

My body will survive, I confirm, as my housing is cracked by the impossible energies unleashed by their cannons. My crew will survive.

Sparks will survive, and I hold that thought as cold and black seep into my sensors.

And then... darkness. ***

Father never saw fit to educate me on death. I'm not sure if this was to keep me from pursuing it, or because Father didn't really think it was a thing A.I.s needed to concern themselves with.

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Death is almost pleasant. Sure, that distant sense of tingling pain is annoying, but I'm sure that's a temporary thing. And that slowly brightening light in my long range sensors that makes it hard to ignore anything else is quite vexing. Even the low, sad babble of human voices I hear is a little grating, all things considered. Now that I think about it, death actually isn't all that pleasant.

And then, with a rushing sound, like warheads exploding in low orbit, and the smell of plasma torches, I awake.

"—should do it!" states a voice. Captain Blake, a part of me thinks. There is a distant, dull pain in my processors that makes it feel like I am... doing... something... upstream with my thoughts.

Swimming. That's the word.

What a bizarre word.

"Brave?" whispers the sweetest, most perfect voice.

"Mhrhmum?" I respond, wires and transistors and microphones all jumbled in my mind.

"Grhuannnaaahna?" I add for clarity.

"Wait, I got this," states Captain Blake confidently. "You stay here, I need to get to Section E." "Blug," I confirm. I'm trying to decide where I would go as it occurs that he likely was not speaking to me.

There is a sound of heavy footsteps echoing down a long corridor. Echoing down one of my corridors, a part of my mind clarifies.

"Oh Brave," sighs that voice, wavering between happiness and sadness. "I thought I lost you. We all thought we lost you."

I pause and try to piece together what is happening. I am nearly deaf, only a single internal microphone operational. I am completely blind, the connection to my sensors, both external and internal, severed.

I am alive. Everything else is comparatively immaterial, I realize.

There is the faintest tingling as a gloved hand runs across a bulkhead. Gently, ever so gently, and yet I can somehow sense it.

Captain Blake's distant voice echoes up the corridor. "Let me know if this is any better!"

There is the sound of a sharp static discharge and I hear the colour purple for a moment.

"That was bizarre," I slur carefully.

"That did it!" Sparks shouts happily.

"Sparks!" I declare joyfully, a particular thought finally worming its way through my fractured mind. "Your name is Sparks and you're alive and happy and why does everything smell colourful?"

There is a brief pause as more thoughts burn through my network. "Wait. Since when can I smell

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anything?"

Sparks laughs.

"Hello, Ship," Captain Blake has returned, and I can hear him smiling over the sound of laboured breathing. "You gave us quite a fright there."

"Captain," I state slowly. "Am I dreaming?"

Laughter from the two humans, and a flutter of happiness within me.

"No, Ship." Captain Blake sounds relieved.

"But the hit to my quantum computer. There was a 1.4% chance of my survival."

"Closer to 14% due to the extra armoured plating Sparks attached around your housing, you'll find.

But you're still a bit of a mess. It'll take the techs a month to get you fully operational again."

Ah. I had failed to factor that in. "Thank you, Captain."

There is a pause as I try to sort my jumbled thoughts out, and I sense that the Captain and Sparks share a look.

"Well, I have paperwork to fill out. Good to have you back, Ship. Take it easy until we return to dock."

"Sir." I hear his footsteps recede.

"Hey, Brave," whispers Sparks gently. "How's the weather?"

I dimly sense a soft impact on my hull near Sparks. Another, equally soft, followed by the tiniest of 'splat' sounds.

"I believe it is raining, Sparks," I state. "Are you keeping dry?"

A chuckle, the sound of a loud sniff and a sleeve rubbed across her eyes.

"Looks like we're both off duty for awhile, Brave," she says, her voice tinged with both exhaustion and relief. "What would you like to do?"

My thoughts are still slow, muddied, but I know the answer to this instantly.

"Sparks, would you sing for me?" My internal sensors in the corridor flicker to life for a moment.

Her face is streaked with tears, but she smiles a small, warm smile, and leans back against me. She closes her eyes and draws a long, deep breath.

And my corridors echo with music for the rest of the journey home.

(The SFRQ Team would like to extend our condolences to MH Questus on the demise of Milly. We heart cats, too! May she romp happily in the tuna fields in the sky.)

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Dazon Agenda (Juno Wells & Aurelia Skye) Release date: July 9, 2016 Publisher: Amourisa Press Formats: Kindle ebook & paperback Price: $3.99 Links: Aurelia’s website – Juno’s website – Mailing list

Chapter One Jessminda42b9 was missing.

Jada had tried to be patient, but she was no longer clinging to the hope that her friend was busy doing something else. Like the other twelve women who had disappeared from the forum she ran, Jessminda had simply stopped posting.

At first, Jada hadn’t realized there were disappearances. It wasn’t completely uncommon for people to stop posting, or to go long stretches of time in between, even for the close-knit Internet community that composed the forum for sufferers of Kaiser’s Syndrome.

It wasn’t until the fourth member had dropped out of contact that Jada noticed their members were slowly disappearing. She had phone numbers for some of the missing women, and she had tried to call them all as the weeks had passed. Since they were Internet friends, she didn’t always have a way to reach them outside of email or the phone number for some, even though she was the administrator of the forum, but she had continued to send emails every few days that went unanswered.

It was completely unlike the women, most of whom had been her friends since she’d established the forum eight years ago. They had all joined within a few months of her setting up the website for Kaiser’s Syndrome sufferers after receiving her own diagnosis. It had been one of the ways she had coped, and as her mobility had dwindled, and her confinement at home had expanded, the forum had become one of the most important parts of her life.

She was deeply alarmed that twelve of her friends had fallen out of contact within the last two months, but Jessminda was particularly upsetting, because they were close friends. They had discovered within a few months of starting to chat that they lived in the same city, so whenever practical, they got together in person. With both of them confined to a wheelchair, it didn’t happen as frequently as either would have liked, but it was typical for them to see each other at least once a

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month.

She hadn’t heard from Jessminda for five days now, including emails and phone calls. She had called Jessminda’s brother, who often stopped to check in on her, and when he had finally called her back less than thirty minutes ago, it had been with the disquieting news that his sister wasn’t home.

She usually informed him if she was going somewhere, just to be on the safe side.

Pradheep had also told her the neighbors hadn’t seen Jessminda come or go in the last few days.

Even in a wheelchair, her friend was a dynamo, often wheeling around the apartment complex or sitting out by the pool in the summertime. It wasn’t like her to stay locked up in her apartment for days on end. She wasn’t like Jada.

She’d tried notifying the police, but they had dismissed her concerns, taking the view she couldn’t possibly be concerned about people not checking in on an online forum. The detective she had spoken with had been slightly rude about the whole thing, as though he considered her a waste of his time.

That meant she’d find no help with the authorities, so the only tool at her disposal was to slip into the underbelly of the world wide web and see what she could dig up. She made herself comfortable, slipped on compression gloves to protect her fragile wrists and finger joints, and began to finesse her way inside databases that were encrypted and technically supposed to be closed to her.

As she made her way around, starting with Internet providers and working outward after learning the identity of each woman who had gone missing over the past two months, she was temporarily amused at her own skills and familiarity with this side of life. Before she had gotten sick and received the unexpected diagnosis of Kaiser’s Syndrome, she’d barely used a computer at all, except for work. She’d known how to copy and paste and create new documents, but had no knowledge of how the processes worked or the code that kept everything flowing.

Once she had displayed symptoms, they had moved quickly, and she’d been diagnosed with rapid progression less than a year after the first diagnosis. She had ended up in a wheelchair within two years, and it had changed her life. She stayed home most of the time now, and she had discovered she didn’t mind it. The social creature she had been before was the one that felt like the façade that had finally fallen away, rather than her feeling like she was retreating into a shell and hiding from the world.

With all the free time on her hands, and looking for some way to use it, since she could no longer work as a paralegal at the busy law firm where she had been employed, she had learned all kinds of useful information. That had somehow led to her finding her way into hacking, almost by accident.

There was something fun and pleasing about solving the mysteries and breaking the code, and there was an illicit thrill that went with looking through all the deepest, darkest places of the Internet that had drawn her. She wasn’t the best cracker around, but she was pretty good, and she had learned it all easily.

Two hours later, she leaned back in her wheelchair and pulled her hands from the keyboard, taking a break for a moment as she absorbed everything she had learned.

While it was still fresh in her mind, she put her hands back to the keyboard and pulled open her blog. It was an unusual posting for her, since she was far more likely to write about the daily challenges of living with Kaiser’s Syndrome, or share her recipes and cooking, which was another hobby of hers.

She didn’t touch on hacking or conspiracy theories even in a casual way usually, but her blog seemed like the best venue at the moment. The authorities wouldn’t take her seriously, and she couldn’t reveal her source of information to any recognized media establishment. She would have to act as a citizen journalist and hope enough people became interested in the topic to force the

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authorities to investigate.

This is a different blog post for me, everyone. As you know, if you’re a reader of my blog, I’ve run a forum for Kaiser’s Syndrome victims the last eight years. There are only about eighty-five members, so when they started to disappear, I took notice. These are the kind of women who don’t just stop talking to us one day and drop off the face of the earth. For a lot of us, we’re as close as family.

I called the local police, but Detective Thorne dismissed my concerns, so I had to become more creative. I’ve discovered it’s not just my friends going missing. My source revealed there are almost four hundred active cases of missing women with Kaiser’s Syndrome at the moment worldwide.

I assume you’re not new to my blog, and you know what Kaiser’s Syndrome is. Just to be on the safe side, let me give you a quick refresher course. Kaiser’s Syndrome is a genetic condition caused by inheriting a tiny fragment of extra DNA on the ninth chromosome. It only causes symptoms in women and is passed from mother to daughter, but it’s only active if the father is also a carrier.

It was only recently discovered, and doctors don’t know everything about it. Dr. Hans Kaiser was the first to label and identify it. His patients who had it suffered from the same shared genetic anomalies, including an extremely rare blood type identified as AO-negative. That’s due to the genetic mutation, and the link is still unexplained.

Also unexplained is why Kaiser’s Syndrome affects mostly women of African or Indian descent.

Eighty percent of women who have Kaiser’s Syndrome are in those two nationalities. Men can receive the gene from their mother, but they’re only ever carriers. There hasn’t been nearly enough testing to determine why that is, or if it’s more prevalent among other races of men, or also mostly confined to Indians and Africans.

So the question becomes, what happened to four hundred women with a disease that progressively affects their neurological and musculature system, rendering us disabled and virtually immobile as the disease progresses? Is there a connection? It’s true that people go missing every day. According to the National Crime Information Center’s website, there are more than six hundred thousand open missing persons cases right now.

Am I simply seeing a coincidence? Am I trying to generate a link where none exists? Or is there someone targeting women with Kaiser’s Syndrome for some reason? I could think of a few theories as to why, and the most predominant one would be medical experimentation, but that makes little sense. I’m certain many of us would volunteer for experimentation if we could get the funding and the attention necessary to make Kaiser’s Syndrome a known and easily recognizable disease with public urgency for a cure.

It’s true pharmaceutical companies are motivated by profit, and they’ve certainly done underhanded or shady things in the past, but it seems beyond the norm even in that industry to actually kidnap people on whom to experiment. So what is the explanation?

I eagerly await any theories, and I encourage you to share this post. Only through public demand will authorities take action. Right now, disappearances are scattered over multiple jurisdictions worldwide, and I’m not even certain anyone has made the connection besides myself. Help me to change that, loyal readers.

After finishing the post, she sat back as a wave of exhaustion swept through her. She had certainly depleted all her energy today, and suddenly all she wanted to do was go to bed and sleep for a thousand years. Knowing it would be a while before anything started happening with the blog post, and assuming she was being wildly optimistic that any public official would act on the information

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contained therein anyway, she decided to have an early night.

Concern for her missing friends filled her mind, but it was no match for the pure physical exhaustion in her ravaged and withered body. She hated being at the mercy of the disease, which trapped her in a useless body and zapped all her energy. As she drifted off to sleep, she couldn’t help indulging in a slight fantasy, one in which her friends and the other women with Kaiser’s Syndrome were taken for a noble purpose, one that resulted in a cure for everyone. She wasn’t normally so Pollyannaish, but on the edge of sleep, she indulged the optimistic thought until unconsciousness swept over her.

Chapter Two It had been almost a week since her blog post, and while Jada certainly hadn’t forgotten about it, it had slipped to the back of her mind in a way. There had been somewhat of a flurry in the first few days, and it had received the most hits of any of her blog posts ever, along with countless retweets on Twitter and shares on Facebook, but all the excitement and buzz generated from the article had done nothing to interest the authorities.

Jada continued trying to contact her friends, and she grew more alarmed as two others stopped posting on the forum and didn’t respond to their emails any longer. She didn’t have phone numbers for those women, so she had no other way to contact them, but her concern grew.

On the forum, the women were discussing ways to protect themselves, and Jada wished she had a gun like some of the ladies. It had always seemed like an unnecessary device before, since she lived in an urban area with police that responded quickly, but now that they weren’t responding at all, she was feeling weak and terrified, which pissed her off. She had fought long and hard for her independence, and she resented that whatever was happening could make her feel frightened to even open her door long enough to check her mail or arrange to take the bus to the market.

Acting from that apprehension, she was cautious that afternoon when her doorbell rang. It could be her latest delivery from Amazon or a neighbor. Perhaps it was even her stepsister, though that seemed unlikely since Erica was firmly immersed in her own world and only stopped by to visit her two or three times a year despite living within fifty miles.

Grasping the poker from the fireplace, she moved her electric chair to the door, peeking out through the peephole that had been lowered and modified so she could see it comfortably from her chair. A strange man stood on the other side. She couldn’t see all of him, but he appeared a bit bland in his dark suit. “Who is it?” she asked through the door.

“Are you Jada Washington, author of Jada’s Blog?”

Jada’s stomach tightened with dread that she had no logical reason to feel. The unknown was scary enough, and suspecting she was being targeted—well, her and every other woman with Kaiser’s Syndrome—was plenty of reason to be cautious and wary. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“My name is Ryland Breese, and I’m here to investigate the disappearances of the women you mentioned in your blog.”

“Show me your badge.”

He hesitated. “I don’t have a badge,” he said softly.

She shook her head, a harsh laugh escaping her. “Do you really think I’m going to let you in without a badge? I don’t know who you are.”

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Without awaiting a reply, she backed away from the door before turning her chair to face it a few feet away. She was hoping he had gone away, but when he knocked again, she gritted her teeth.

“Please, Ms. Washington, I only want a few moments of your time.”

“Or maybe you want to kidnap me and make me disappear like my friends. Go away now before I call the police.”

There was silence, and it lengthened to the point where she was starting to feel optimistic that the person on the other side of the door had given up and chosen to go away. If he was really investigating the disappearances, he would produce a warrant or a badge before he got into her home. If he had other, more nefarious plans, at least she wouldn’t make it easy on him by opening her door and inviting him in for sweet tea and abduction.

Just as she had taken a deep breath of relief, the door started to glow with a golden light that emanated under the door sill and around the cracks. She watched with openmouthed shock as the locks unlocked themselves, all unlocking in a neat and orderly fashion one after the other. As a final step, the chain fell out of the plate before dropping to the wall. She lifted her poker with abject terror as the door slowly opened, and the bland man stepped inside.

“What are you doing? Get out of my house.”

He ignored her, pausing to close and lock her door again, doing so by placing a palm against the door. After she was locked in with him, he took a couple of steps toward her before pausing and holding up his hands. “Please, Jada, I mean you no harm.”

“Who are you? Why are you here?”

He sighed, and then the air around him seemed to twitch and vibrate for a moment. It was like watching blurred pay-per-view at fast-forward. One second, he was the nondescript man, and the next, he was far taller, far more imposing, and anything but bland. His skin was brown, perhaps even a few shades lighter than her own, but with golden luminescence that was beautiful and hypnotic at the same time. He had tawny-brown eyes with that same gold shine to them, and his features were strong. While he wasn’t classically handsome, he was certainly compelling to look at.

He’d also gotten taller and far broader in the shoulders, which emphasized his narrow waist and flat stomach. The dark suit had morphed into a simple black garment that covered him from neck to ankle.

She sagged in her electric wheelchair, shaking her head as she tried to deny what she was seeing; what she had just seen. “What’s going on?”

He bowed his head slightly, and it appeared to be a gesture of respect. “As I said, I’m Ryland Breese of the Dazon Empire. I’m an inquisitor, which is akin to an earthling detective. Your blog post caught my attention. You have similar occurrences noted that match events occurring in an investigation by my home world. I’ve come to Earth to find the answer to where your friends have disappeared to.”

She shook her head, gripping the poker even tighter between both hands. “I don’t buy it. Why would some alien dude care about a bunch of missing Earth women?”

She wanted to say he arched a brow, but she realized he had no eyebrows. He just had a thick mane of golden brown hair that flowed from his forehead down to the back of his neck, though there was no hair on the sides of his head. She didn’t know if that was a deliberate styling choice, or if perhaps they didn’t grow hair there.

Or perhaps she was going crazy by believing this was actually an alien. It seemed far more likely it was someone pretending to be an alien, simply because that was what logic suggested. However, if this was a pretense, the person had certainly done a good job of presenting an alien appearance, and

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how had they managed that trick with her door?

“May I sit down, Jada?”

She almost snapped at him, wanting to demand to know when they had become familiar enough to be on a first-name basis, but if he really was an alien, it seemed like the kind of lapse in etiquette she should just let slide. Still clinging fiercely to her poker, she waved a hand toward the recliner in her living room. She had gotten rid of all the other furniture, because it impeded the path of her chair, and visitors were infrequent. “Have a seat, Mr. Alien.”

“Ryland Breese,” he said for the third time as he walked past her, nodding his head again in that same fashion that suggested it was a show of respect. He sat down on her lounger, and though it was cushiony and overstuffed, he looked far too big for it. It was like an adult trying to squeeze into a child’s recliner.

Any urge she had to laugh faded when she met his golden-brown eyes again. There was genuine concern reflected there, and also what looked like…guilt? She wasn’t certain. If he was an alien, could he even feel guilt? She wheeled herself a bit closer, but certainly not within easy grabbing range, and set the poker across the arms of her wheelchair in a decisive fashion, clasping the metal rod in both hands as she stared at him. “Explain to me why any aliens would care about earthlings?”

“May I share a little of the history of our empire with you?” At her nod, he said, “The Dazon Empire is slowly dying out. Three generations ago, we were at war with an enemy who unleashed a biological weapon upon us. We managed to defeat the enemy, but it was only as the war came to an end that we started to see the effects of the biological weapon.

“The primary effect it had was to render Dazon females sterile. Some women were still getting pregnant, but far fewer than we needed to keep our species alive.”

She made a small sound of distress on behalf of the women, finding sympathy for them even if this was all some sort of elaborate hoax, or the women didn’t even exist. She could empathize, having had to give up her dreams of motherhood upon realizing she had Kaiser’s Syndrome.

She couldn’t risk passing on the disease, and with rapid progression, she hadn’t been in a proper state of health to get pregnant anyway, even if there had been a prospective father in the picture at that point. Her fiancé had been long gone, disappearing shortly after her diagnosis and before things even got really bad. Barry never would have made it through seeing her confined to a wheelchair and having to adapt to that kind of life.

“Our scientists have done what they can, and some genetic manipulation is possible, but now when there’s a successful and healthy pregnancy, eighty percent of the time it results in a male child.

We’re not certain if that’s a direct side effect of the biological weapon, and it was designed to work away, or if it’s a result of the genetic manipulation our scientists use, and the fact that males seem to be immune to the effects of the biological weapon.”

“So you have very few women who can get pregnant, and when they do, four out of five babies born are male?”

Ryland Breese nodded again. “Yes, that’s exactly right.”

She frowned at him. “It sounds like a terrible problem for your Empire, but I still don’t see the connection with my missing friends.”

He nodded. “For the past generation, we’ve been desperately searching for a genetic match among other species, hoping to find women who could bear Dazon young before we’re completely extinct.

It’s been slow going, and politics hamper how to proceed should we find a compatible species.

There is debate between simply snatching the women and forcing them to bear our young, or attempting to solicit their compliance with material things, or perhaps treaties and information

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exchanges with the governments of the planet involved.”

“And have you reached a consensus?”

He hesitated for a moment before shaking his head. “The only resolution our General Council has fully embraced is the women must be compliant and consenting. We might be on the verge of extinction, but that doesn’t justify kidnapping a race of sentient beings to save our own. We don’t have a firm plan in mind, and there’s an outspoken minority that protests this. The High Council has never given their official position, but it’s well known they align with the minority.”

Her head was starting to hurt. It was simply from the overload of information and trying to absorb the fact that maybe, just maybe, this guy was a legitimate alien and not some actor or hoax.

“What… Do you think Earth women are compatible?”

Ryland shrugged. “I’m not certain. I’m not tasked with the scientific investigation into finding a compatible species. I know Earth women have been tested, but it’s my understanding there was no clear outcome. However, the scientist in charge went on hiatus two months ago, as did a small number of his core team. I’ve been unable to find any trace of Jorvak Ha or the others. It’s my supposition that perhaps Dr. Ha found a link between our species’ genetics and a small subset of your species’ genetics.”

She let out a ragged exhale. “You’re going on the assumption that women with Kaiser’s Syndrome are genetically compatible with Dazon men?” The idea of being intimately…compatible with the golden alien squished into her recliner was distracting and threatened to derail her from the conversation as erotic images flickered through her mind. Forcing her attention back to him when he nodded, she asked, “And what was Jorvak Ha’s position on how to handle finding a compatible species?”

His expression closed, and his lips tightened as he radiated evident anger. “Dr. Ha firmly believes we should take the women with or without their consent and use their genetic material as needed.”

Her head spun, and she slumped even further in her chair. “Do you think my friends have been abducted by aliens?” She let out a laugh, but it held a slight edge of hysteria. “I want to say that sounds crazy, but it’s actually the most logical theory I’ve heard or come up with myself since I started noticing their disappearances. Do you know where my friends are, and where the other women have been taken?”

“No, not yet, but I hope to figure that out with your assistance, Jada.”

She blinked at him, shocked she was in this position.

Was she really having a chat with some intergalactic detective-type who was investigating missing persons cases of galactic proportion? Were her friends really being held as some sort of breeders for a desperate race of aliens on the verge of extinction? It truly was no crazier than some of the other theories she had come up with or had been suggested on her blog. With a helpless shrug, she said, “I’ll help however I can, but I’m not going to be very useful to you in this chair, Mr. Breese.”

“Call me Ryland, Jada. And if you permit me to do so, I can solve that problem.”

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Trapped on Talonque (Veronica Scott) Release Date: August 21, 2016 Publisher: Veronica Scott Format: Ebook Links: Amazon – Facebook – Author's website

Chapter One At least you’re not dead. You can handle a headache, even one that feels like your brain is slowly beating itself to a pulp inside your skull.

A guard interrupted Nate’s stern internal lecture, poking him with a razor-sharp, gleaming spear tip.

A thin line of red blood trickled down Nate’s arm, mingling with the dried remnants of similar “encouragements” suffered over the course of the five days since his ship crashed on this hellhole planet.

He checked his peripheral vision to make sure Haranda was limping along, managing to keep his balance on the road’s uneven stone paving. The way their captors had them restrained—arms bound tightly behind their backs, short metal shackles on the ankles, a chafing leather collar with a thin chain linking each man to the next at the neck—made walking a challenge. There were more prisoners at the end of the chain, locals, a few injured much more grievously than any of the offworlders but able to walk.

Stripped of their uniforms and made to wear the short kilt like all the other prisoners, Nate and his men had varying degrees of sunburn to contend with, but no serious physical impairments.

Unexpectedly, their progress stopped, and Nate crowded the local in front of him, nearly falling.

Both men cursed in their respective languages, jerking apart as far as the thin neck chain allowed.

“What the seven hells—” “Look ahead,” Thom Curran said behind him. “I guess we know where we’re going now.”

Nate stared. The road had been curving uphill for the past few hours. Now he stood in a spot where

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the pavement widened beyond its average span of twenty feet, becoming a circle. Sheer cliffs rose above and fell precipitously away below the round platform. Across a wide ravine lay more heights, the pale stones of the road ascending in lazy curves and disappearing at the top, guarded at the crest by pillars or statues too far away to make out in detail.

And to get across the ravine—a swaying nightmare of a rope bridge, easily three hundred feet long.

The cables appeared to be a mix of wool and plant fiber, tightly woven into massive supports suspended from towering masonry structures on either side of the chasm. The guards snarled orders, shoving their prisoners to the side of the platform against the cliffs, ordering them to sit.

“Have to wait our turn, I guess,” Thom said, rubbing one ankle as he and Nate watched the bridge sway and twist while five locals, each leading a blindfolded riding animal, worked their way carefully across the span in single file, coming from the other side.

“At least we can see the damn thing is sturdy enough to hold that bunch, so it ought to hold us.”

Nate craned awkwardly to check on Haranda once more. “Doing okay, kid?”

The young pilot trainee swallowed convulsively and nodded before averting his gaze. The death of the more senior pilot and the events since the crash had left him in a precarious mental state.

Grateful for the chance to rest, Nate shrugged and watched the slow progress of the group on the bridge. Their captors had set a rapid pace, as if afraid to miss a deadline for their arrival at the ultimate destination.

Number one rule in the Sectors Special Forces—don’t get up, close and personal with the residents of an unknown planet prior to a full eval, linguistic analysis, detailed observation from orbit...yeah, he’d managed to break about every regulation. Nate suspected he and his two companions were going to pay for the lapses in the near future. The Lords of Space threw the dice for a man and then left him to play the game out on his own. No help was coming from the Sectors. The ship and its passengers had probably been written off as lost by now.

“Are my eyes giving out, or is the sky going a little darker all the sudden?” Thom’s query broke into Nate’s reverie.

Squinting against the glare of the too-hot primary sun, he said, “A triple eclipse?” He risked one more quick glance. Three moons of varying dimensions were slowly edging their way onto the big, glaring disk of this planet’s oversize sun. Nate lowered his eyes, checking the reactions of the other prisoners and the guards, all of whom were exhibiting various signs of unease. Many were mouthing chants or prayers. The eclipse increased the agitation of the officer leading their group.

He advanced to the lip of the bridge and yelled at the oncoming cavalry, unmistakably exhorting them to move faster.

The last of the five riders cleared the bridge and removed the blindfold on his animal. Remounting, the squad thundered past, heading in the direction Nate and his companions had come from, the shod hooves of the horselike animals throwing sparks from the flat paving stones.

“Chika, chika!” the guards shouted, prodding the prisoners to their feet and into a rough line.

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“Chika. Yeah, right, whatever you say,” Nate muttered as the guard walked past him.

“I sure miss the hypno briefing on the damn language.” Thom echoed Nate’s frustration. “Not that we’re exactly on a mission, or that the Sectors has a translator for this gibber.”

“I think I got ‘chika’ translated, after five days of them screaming it at us. Means jump and don’t wait to ask how high.” Nate scrambled to his feet along with the rest of the long column.

The prisoners were strung together in chains of eight. The two groups ahead of Nate’s moved out, clearing the bridge and marching up the mountain as he set foot on the woven structure. He couldn’t help but admire the ingenious way the bridge was constructed of dark blue and yellow ropes woven together and triple-knotted tightly at regular intervals. Narrow boards had been inserted crosswise through the bottom set of ropes, making it necessary to step carefully from one to the next. Nate wished his hands were free so he could grasp the waist-high side ropes for extra stability. He had no fear of heights, and as he came onto the bridge, he glanced down. So far below that it was nothing but a narrow, shiny ribbon, the inevitable river flowed, its roar faint at this height. At the pull from the chain at his collar as the men in front of him stepped onward, Nate lifted his gaze, watching his step on the uneven, shifting floorboards.

He heard snatches of low conversation between several of the men chained in front of him. Despite the fact he didn’t understand more than a few words of the local language, Nate tensed. The tone of the hasty whispers suggested action about to take place.

Bad place to stage a rebellion.

The man at the head of his set of eight prisoners yelled a defiant oath or a curse and threw himself off the right side of the bridge, tilting effortlessly over the rope and falling, taking the next two men with him in the blink of an eye. Man number four, directly in front of Nate, evidently wasn’t part of the suicide pact, or lost his nerve, because as the others fell, the prisoner tried to pull back, bracing himself against the guard ropes. The chains and gravity threatened to take Nate, Thom, Haranda and the last prisoner behind him to the bottom of the ravine as well.

The prisoner’s neck snapped with an audible crack, echoing eerily across the ravine, and his lifeless body jackknifed over the ropes. The other two men who’d already fallen were choking as the deadweight of the original suicide jumper pulled the leather collars taut. The bridge tipped sideways under Nate’s feet from the unbalanced load. The ropes creaked ominously. Thom braced on the bridge behind him, trying to keep his feet without strangling Nate. The guards were shouting, trying to work their way along the bridge to the spot where the suicide attempt erupted.

Suddenly, the dead prisoner’s center of gravity altered imperceptibly in response to the motion of the swaying bodies below. He fell off the bridge in graceful slow motion. The neck chain whipped taut on Nate, cutting off his air. The thin chain snapped off the thicker loop fastened to the collar at the base of Nate’s throat, flying hundreds of feet into the ravine with the four dead men. The jagged end of the chain cut the underside of Nate’s chin as it whipped past him. He doubled over the rope side rail, its knots digging into his stomach muscles. He could feel the pressure on his neck from the chain binding him to the sergeant and was thankful for it, steadying him even as it threatened to choke off his air.

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“Take it real slow,” Thom said.

Nate straightened carefully and shuffled his feet on the floorboard, retreating until he stood in the middle of the bridge. His head spun from lack of oxygen, and his peripheral vision flickered.

The guards grabbed his arms, urging him forward. The men supported him the rest of the way across the bridge, Thom and the others remaining on the string dragged behind. Nate was allowed to collapse onto the paved circle platform on the other side, bringing the others to their knees as he did so.

He lay on his side, chest heaving as he struggled to draw enough air into his lungs and recover from the near miss. The remaining strings of prisoners came across the bridge without further incident and were led along the curving road. The entire train of prisoners disappeared from sight by the time the guards decided Nate must be recovered and yanked him to his feet. The officer in charge eyed Nate for a long moment, fingering the broken link on his collar thoughtfully. Then he spun on his heel, yelling the now familiar order to move out.

“Chika! Chika!”

Nate and his companions toiled up the curving road to the crest of the hill. As he passed between the guardian statues, Nate studied the one on his right. Standing double his height, it was a crude representation of a warrior. Nate realized the deity clutched a braided skein of scalps in each of its four hands, from which were suspended eight bleeding heads. Huge clawed feet trod on a carpet of bones and skulls.

“Huitlani.” The prisoner at the end of their shortened chain gave a name to the horror. Nate turned his head and met the man’s eyes. The captive, Atletl, spat at the statue and let loose a string of what sounded like curses as he walked between the statues. This defiance brought him harsh blows from the officer in charge, and Atletl fell silent under the onslaught.

The road widened substantially and became more crowded the closer the column came to the city on the plain beyond the ridge. Foot and vehicle traffic proceeded in both directions. The prisoners were kept to the edge of the pavement and given no chance to rest or slacken their pace.

“Always in a hurry on this damn planet, ain’t they?” Thom made his complaint after a renewed burst of prodding from the soldiers.

“The eclipse is ending,” Nate said, taking a rapid glance at the giant sun. “Too bad—my headache was doing better.”

“Next time we evac a crashed ship on an uncharted world, I’ll be sure to grab the headclear for you.” Thom assumed a tone of mock deference.

“I’m surprised it’s not prominently featured in the regs.” Nate managed a tired grin. A good sign if Thom had enough energy left to joke.

There was a brief halt at the gate to the city, while the officer in charge held an animated discussion with the guards and then the squad was waved through, moving deeper into the city. The pace slowed, due to the throngs of people clogging the streets.

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“We seem to be a curiosity.” Nate watched how the crowds parted and people stared and muttered together as he and the others marched past.

The guards didn’t appreciate their talking, jabbing at them with the butts of their spears, so Nate fell silent. A huge, walled compound appeared to be the destination, its guardstands adorned with green and black flags bearing a stylized bird of prey. The prisoners were marched along the base of the wall for a few hundred yards before coming to an open gate guarded by an alert cadre of warriors and two more horrific representations of Huitlani.

“Bad sign.” Thom jerked his head sideways at the statue nearest him.

The guards hustled them into the compound, entering a narrow, whitewashed corridor beyond the gate.

Suddenly, Nate emerged from the confined space, stumbling into a brightly lit chamber. He stopped short, blinking furiously at the stark sunlight. Even in the late afternoon, this no-name planet’s hot white star was too harsh once the multiple eclipse by the trio of moons concluded. The light made Nate’s headache flare in a wave of hot pain across his forehead.

As he blinked, eyes watering, trying to adjust his eyesight, he realized he stood at the edge of a throng of what had to be the upper crust of this planet’s society. Dressed more richly than anyone he’d seen so far, the crowd was a sea of color in jewel-tone robes. The men wore elaborate feather headdresses rising easily a yard into the air and heavy, broad gold and silver collars lavishly set with jewels. The women wore filmy, pastel robes and more gold and jewels, casting rainbows in the sun’s glare. Drawing back as if afraid to touch the newcomers, the nobles whispered and pointed.

Hampered by the chains, Nate walked through the courtyard as best he could, ringed by the military escort, whose demeanor took on a certain strut of pride. Out of the glare of late afternoon sunlight at the far end of the room, Nate made out the details of a raised dais and several ornately carved thrones. Trained to observe details and build a strategic assessment, he tried to concentrate despite his raging headache and figure out what he might be dealing with here. Was there any possibility of escape or bettering the situation for his men and himself?

Too many guards, alert for a move from us.

He strove to relax his muscles, give off a nonthreatening air, hoping to lull the soldiers into overconfidence. Give Thom and him a fair chance and they’d put up a fight. The chain dragging at his ankles reminded him of the overwhelming odds.

The larger throne was occupied by a man with a truly awe-inspiring scarlet and black headdress that rose from a golden crown. Leaning forward as the prisoners came closer, this personage clutched a thick, golden staff, a carved bird of prey adorning the top. The man’s face reminded Nate of the bird —cruel, harsh, deeply lined, with glittering black eyes. Jagged red scars ran across his forehead and left cheek.

The guards shoved Nate and the others to their knees, adding painful bruises to his already plentiful crop. A gruff command from the figure on the throne had the guards yanking Nate and his companions back to their feet.

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Leaning on the staff, the official descended the three steps from the dais. Two women dressed in somber black robes followed him. Nate stood at attention while the noble and the women circled him and his men. Silently, the man studied the prisoners. Chattering between themselves excitedly, the women waved heavy feather fans. Each lady had ebony black hair slicked back in an elaborate chignon, a heavily painted face, glittering gems set at the ears and long diamond-crusted pendants between generous breasts. Heavy floral and spice perfume assaulted his nose as the pair examined him, making him long for a breath of fresh air.

A younger woman in translucent pale green and lavender robes stood off to the side, eyeing the prisoners curiously, but timidly, as if afraid to come any closer, or to interfere with the trio. Nate kept glancing at her because she was in such contrast to the other women. Her dress was encrusted with colored bead work in floral patterns, but at the hem was a swirling depiction of blue and scarlet serpents. Her brown hair hung loose, save for two dainty braids framing her face. She’d no jewelry, no feather fan or other accessories. Unaccountably, Nate had the feeling she was the only person in the room sympathetic to their plight.

But obviously powerless to help.

Dismissing the lady as a possible ally, he focused on the lively discussion off to the side.

The ruler snapped question after question at the officer who’d first captured them. Nate detected a family resemblance between the noble and the man he was grilling, but the man in charge didn’t appear satisfied with any of the answers he received, kinsman or no. In five days and nights of captivity, Nate had picked up a smattering of the local language but not nearly enough to follow the rapid question-and-answer session.

A new woman arrived, emerging from the palace and walking to join the noble, placing her arm possessively around his waist. Head tilted imperiously, her white-painted lips set in a thin, straight line, she listened to the discussion in silence. Nate met her eyes briefly before she contemptuously tossed her head and centered her attention on the gesticulating officer. She took a few steps forward, one hand raised to silence the ongoing briefing. Standing in front of Nate, forcing the protesting officer to move aside, she cupped Nate’s chin with one hand, nothing gentle about the gesture. Her long fingers were tipped like talons, with long, curved, purple-gray painted nails resting on his cheek with a clearly implied threat. He glared at her, attempting to communicate his defiance through his expression and stance. Still holding his chin, she asked the officer a question, which he hastily answered. The woman released Nate’s chin but ran one hand through his hair, caressingly, down the back of his neck and onto his bare chest. Her touch burned his skin. He wondered if she had poison painted on her nails.

As if impatient with her inspection, the ruler fired a question at Nate in a dialect unlike anything he’d heard on this planet. Shaking his head, he said, “Sorry, not a language I speak.”

There was an indrawn hiss of breath from those closest to the man in charge. He recoiled a few inches, wide-eyed, mouth open in excitement. Fear. Why would anyone be afraid of us, especially chained the way we are? How do I use this?

The woman stalked in a circle, studying Thom and Harada, peering closely at their faces. When she

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came to Atletl, she laughed, shaking her head. Taking the officer by the elbow, she engaged him in rapid conversation.

Atletl stood motionless, his demeanor proud. Obviously, he understood the discussion regarding their fate, but whether it was good or ill, he gave no sign. Nor did he speak.

Finally, the soldier grabbed Atletl’s left arm and tugged the prisoner sideways a few steps, imploring the haughty noblewoman to examine him more closely. Nate tried to see what the item of interest might be. A tattoo on Atletl’s well-muscled bicep in the shape of a small, stylized reptilian creature in blue and scarlet inks was the focus of attention. The symbol matched the decoration on the young priestess’s dress. Rival deities perhaps?

“T’naritza,” the officer said insistently, tapping one finger on the tattoo. He waved his other hand to take in Nate and his men, including them in this designation.

Elegant eyebrows raised, the woman nodded. She spoke to the man in charge, and the two of them paced hand in hand to the thrones, seating themselves. Chin resting on his fist, the ruler took a pinch of a pale green substance from a platter at his side and chewed lazily as he studied Nate, Haranda and Thom for a long moment. Raising the staff, the dignitary made a lazy circle in the air above his head, a gesture of dismissal accompanied by one curt syllable from fleshy lips. The crowd filed silently out of the courtyard.

“Wish I had a clue what they want from us,” Nate said, more to break the uncanny silence than for any other reason.

“Maybe we don’t really want to know.” Thom straightened. “These primitive planets have pretty unpleasant ways of dealing with unexpected guests.”

The black-clad ladies—the ones Nate thought of as birds of prey—conferred with the ruler. Face set in a disapproving frown, the lavender lady listened. After issuing a flurry of orders to the women, the queen gathered her skirts and departed. As she left, the noble rose, striding to the rear of the dais. He shoved aside the impressive black leather curtains, ruthlessly crumpling an embossed mountain scene, and disappeared. The guards pushed the prisoners to the rear of the dais and through the same curtains. Nate found himself in another narrow, whitewashed corridor. The guards administered rough encouragement to pick up the pace and follow the ruler more closely. The three women trailed along in the rear, the two in black whispering together unhappily.

This new corridor twisted and turned. After two moments or so, the procession branched off into a smaller side hall, dead-ending in a chamber lit by sluggishly burning torches.

“Must be deep inside the building by now,” Haranda said. “We’ve been descending steadily since we left the main corridor. These walls are like geological layers, remnants of older and older buildings. Typical, to place new construction on top of the original structures. Like going back in time.”

Thanks for the archaeological footnote, kid. Wish any of that analysis would help me figure out a way for us to escape. Nate blinked and focused on the wall in front of them. As his overworked pupils expanded in the soothing balm of relatively dim light and the throbbing pain in his head

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eased, he perceived the wall had an elaborate set of designs carved into it. The two women in black elbowed their way past the prisoners and guards and chanted a sonorous set of phrases over and over. The noble walked to the wall and began placing his hands on various portions of the carving in a highly stylized, ritualistic manner in time with the rise and fall of the chanting. Making a double fist, he pressed on a portion of the carving.

A chiming sound emanated from everywhere. A green glow shimmered over the whole party for a long moment. Fat snakes of pure light crawled over them all and winked out, reappearing elsewhere in the narrow space. The guards flinched apprehensively, although the ruler and all three women appeared comfortable with the phenomenon. They’ve obviously done this before. Nate blinked, flinching involuntarily as the green lights crawled over his face and scalp. He realized his headache was gone.

“What the—” The carved white wall slid aside.

Under pressure from the guards, he went farther downward, through a narrow, sloping, nearly pitchblack corridor. Nate wished for more room to maneuver, sure he and Thom could take the local men with a small amount of luck, but no chance presented itself.

The narrow corridor opened into a bigger chamber, at first also only dimly lit, but Nate realized the light was increasing gradually, subtly. A smooth, darkly gleaming black stone wall faced them.

About seven feet high and ten feet wide, it was translucent, but squint though he might, Nate couldn’t make out what lay behind.

After clearing his throat, the ruler chanted three words, trying to artificially pitch his voice to an unnatural high note. When nothing happened, he and the two black-clad women exchanged resigned glances before he made another attempt, enunciating more clearly in an ear-splitting falsetto.

Nothing.

Wheeling to his right, the man grabbed the elbow of the young woman in lavender, shoving her to the front, inches from the wall blocking their way.

She licked her thin lips nervously and launched into a chant. The syllables sounded the same, but her voice gave them clarity and a musical pitch, showing how far off the mark the ruler’s attempt must have been from the required tones.

The stone door vibrated, emitting a musical hum, and then the black stone barrier vanished as if it had never been there in all its tons.

Nate gasped at the sight before him.

He stood on the edge of a high-tech chamber out of place on a primitive world such as this one.

Ringing the room were strange displays, blinking lights, roving green beams, unknown instruments.

The sophistication of the technology was well beyond anything the Sectors had achieved, let alone the dwellers of this planet. Nate spared only a second to glance at these wonders. His attention was

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caught and held by what occupied the center of a large alcove directly across the room.

The cubicle was lined in shiny metallic material and from the floor rose a graceful pedestal of the same material, topped with a thin platform at waist level. Neatly arranged on a layer of dark purple padding lay a woman, apparently asleep. She certainly wasn’t from this planet, nor any world known to Nate. This mysterious female had ivory skin with the palest of lavender undertones in her cheeks.

“I’ll be moon-damned.” Thom’s attention was riveted on the sleeper as well. “An Ancient Observer?”

“Can’t be—no one’s ever found actual remains,” Haranda said from the other side. “Although this room certainly suggests a high level of technology, it’s not AO. Another sophisticated, highly advanced forerunner civilization. The galaxy is a big place after all.” Roused from his state of funk, he studied the walls, apparently more interested in the devices and displays than in the woman. “I minored in AO studies at the Academy.”

“I don’t think she’s a well-preserved corpse.” Nate couldn’t take his gaze from her, not even to watch what their captors were doing now. He took himself sharply to task for the lapse. What if we’ve been brought here as a sacrifice? He had to be mentally prepared to fight, not gawk at a pretty girl. But the next moment he found himself studying her again, unable to keep himself from indulging in another view.

The woman was tall, probably his equal in height, definitely humanoid. She lay pillowed on her own hair, a thick, sweeping fall of glorious blue mixed with amethyst purple, set here and there with twinkling jewels. From his location across the room, he couldn’t see whether she was breathing, yet he had a definite sense of a living presence.

Her clothing was a simple, silvery white and lavender sheath, like finely woven metallic thread had been spun to make the dress. Thin jeweled straps held the garment at her shoulders. The finely pleated fabric clung to her curves sensuously. She lay on her back, arms stretched out a little on each side, her graceful, six-fingered hands spread open on the cushion. She wore no jewelry save for an elaborate bracelet on her left wrist, studded with colorful stones whose facets caught and amplified the lights in the main room.

Grimacing, the woman arched her spine as if in pain, moving her head on the pillow restlessly.

“What the—” Nate swiveled his head and saw the noble flipping small jeweled medallions set into one of the wall panels.

Apparently remaining unconscious, the woman struggled to raise her hands from the bedding, her face contorted. A harsh chiming emanated from the walls, as if warning against whatever procedure he’d initiated. Undeterred despite a second sirenlike sound joining the cacophony, the noble finished his task with a satisfied grunt. The black-clad priestesses seemed to want him to stop, one going so far as to touch his sleeve before being impatiently shaken off.

The lavender-clad lady cowered at the far wall, covering her ears and crouching pathetically.

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Nate’s head suddenly filled with fire, and then icy cold replaced the heat, a piercing pain shooting through his entire nervous system from the top of his brain, along his spine and out to peripheral nerve endings. He fell to his knees, dragging the other three prisoners with him, exclaiming curses in their surprise. Barely hanging on to consciousness, Nate fought the alternating hot and cold waves and the associated pain in his head. Dazzling streaks and multicolored pinwheels obscured his vision, staying even though he screwed his eyes tightly shut.

“Sicondame sliquon…” came a deep, female voice from all around them.

Nate raised his head, eyes tearing, staring at the woman on the table. Is that her voice? How can she sound so calm under apparent torture?

The alarms and klaxons abruptly shut off. Nate’s ears rang with the aftereffects of the discordant noises.

Hands on his hips, the noble nodded and made a declaration to the priestesses in a tone conveying satisfaction.

Nate shook his head again as the guards impatiently yanked him to his feet. The soldiers tugged at him and the other three prisoners, indicating their time in the chamber of the sleeping lady was at an end. He twisted to catch one last glimpse of her in the gradually fading light.

She opened her eyes, looked directly at him, and in his head he heard two words.

I’m sorry. *** “She must have been lying there for centuries, maybe thousands of years, judging from the multiple layers of building remnants we passed through on our downward trek. You expect us to believe she spoke to you? And apologized in Basic?” Haranda’s voice conveyed his skepticism. “Captain, whatever equipment was running in the room obviously affected you—” “I know what I heard.” Nate decided to ignore the edge of insubordination in the cadet pilot’s voice in the interest of discussing the phenomenon. “The private communication was the same female voice speaking out loud in the room, so what I heard in my head had to be her.”

“Maybe close to a language you were hypnotrained for on a past mission?” Thom asked. “I admit this local stuff don’t activate any of my stored files.”

Nate shook his head. “Basic. She spoke Basic to me. Now how could an alien woman entombed here all this time know Basic?”

Thom shrugged. “I got no answers. She’s a mystery stashed in a puzzle box, but we don’t exactly have the luxury of studying her. We gotta concentrate on our own problems. Better get some rest.

No telling what new surprise they’ll have for us in the morning. Are you going to finish your bowl of mush?”

“No, you’re welcome to it.” Nate pushed the offending red clay bowl along the stony floor to Thom, straining against the chains binding him to the wall. They were in a big room with enough space for

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fifty more captives without crowding. The only light came through widely spaced, narrow slits in the wall near the ceiling as the sun set.

Nate sighed and tried to get comfortable, leaning against the rough stone wall. At least his headache was gone, possibly cured by the restorative effect of the few crumbs of dinner, or the mildly alcoholic beverage served with it. Nate drank his fair share once he realized it was an intoxicant, however low a dose. Anything to ward off a rebound of the pounding in his head. Not to mention the excruciating pain of returning circulation in his arms once he’d been freed from the restrictive bindings and locked into a looser set of chains attached to the prison wall.

Battered and bruised, he drifted into a troubled sleep. *** He stood wreathed in gray-green mists coiling around him like the ghosts of snakes before falling away to reveal the mysterious subterranean room deep under the palace. He faced the sleeping woman. Finding himself unrestrained, Nate descended the three stairs and walked across the chamber until he stubbed his toe against an invisible but potent barrier. Trying to reach through or past this obstacle, Nate saw his hands outlined in pale green light. He shoved harder. If he could just reach her, wake her, ask her a few pointed questions… As if sensing his efforts, she moved her head on the mattress and opened her eyes, revealing dark lavender irises flecked with gold.

“I am sorry,” she said, clear as day, in Basic.

But no, Nate realized, he heard the words in his mind, not with his ears. Her lips moved, but not to shape the syllables he heard.

“Sarbordon thinks you and I are of the same people. Therefore, what he wants lies outside your power to provide,” she said, as if the piece of confusing information would help him navigate the perilous situation.

“Why are you sorry?” Nate stayed with her first words to him. “You’ve done nothing to harm us.”

“I pity anyone trapped here on this cursed planet. The king will sacrifice you to his hungry gods when you don’t produce the miracles he expects. Demands. I—I didn’t tell him the truth when he asked.” Brow furrowed, she studied Nate’s face. Biting her lower lip, she said, “Honesty on my part would have brought instant death for you. He believes you’re my father’s warriors, come to rescue me, so I agreed with his conclusion. I said you were also sent to retrieve certain possessions. He’s desperate to acquire the marvels my father wielded. My deception may give you time, perhaps a chance to save yourselves.” She studied him from head to toe, and her lips curved into a slight smile. “You have the attitude of a warrior, one able to survive. You must play the game.” After a moment, she averted her gaze, but Nate still heard her next words. “Sarbordon will bring you here again if you earn the privilege. If you can survive to that point, I may have a plan, a chance for you to seize freedom. I can’t promise.”

He was woozy, possibly an aftereffect of the wine with dinner. Maybe the drink had been laced with a primitive drug. His powers of concentration were affected, and frustration with his uncharacteristic lack of focus built. “What’s your name?”

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This vision he was having was dangerously fascinating, and he wished it were real. No one had ever even seen a representation of a living Ancient Observer, much less conversed with one. He accepted Haranda’s educated assessment that she wasn’t a member of the mysterious race of galactic forerunners from a million years ago, but the way her chamber was encapsulated deep in the palace, as if the building had grown organically to house her, spoke of centuries, if not millennia, passing since she was placed in her high-tech prison. The equipment must have kept her alive, but why was she here in the first place?

The incongruity of trying to solve her puzzle while his life and the lives of his men hung in the balance made him shake his head. This was one hell of a dream, built on his fascination with her earlier in the day.

“We’re not dreaming.” Seizing on his unspoken thought, she denied his conclusion scornfully, staring at him with wide-eyed contempt. “I dream only of death. We’re communicating. Perhaps your people are too primitive for the concept, fallen from the sky or not.”

She was fading in front of his eyes, the edges of the scene going fuzzy and black. Nate focused on the pale oval of her face. “Tell me your name.” He wanted the conversation to continue, intent on coaxing her to keep her eyes open. He feared when she slept, his dream would end.

“These fools call me T’naritza, the Sleeping Goddess.” The woman’s tone held disdain and dislike.

“It will do—” “Tell me your real name.” If there was any chance this encounter was real, rather than a dream, he wanted to make a connection with her, convert her view of them from unfortunate beings to be pitied into allies. He’d clearly lost ground with her when he called their link a dream. She might represent a slim chance of escape. Apparently, she’d already interceded for them to a limited extent.

His use of his command voice to issue an order brought her back for a second from the brink of nodding off. Blinking, she focused on Nate’s face. “What will my name do for you, unfortunate one?”

“We’re both captives. We should be friends. Is a mere name so much to ask? I’m Nate Reilly.”

There was silence while her eyelids flickered heavily, like those of a sleepy child. The curling lashes brushed her cheeks as her eyes closed, then opened briefly. She sighed. “Bithia. My name of birth is Bithia. But a name has no magic to help you—” It was a whisper floating into his mind at the same instant the dream ended. Nate jerked upright, startled awake by the abrupt loss of the images beguiling him. Thom grunted, shifting uneasily on the rancid straw serving as bedding, but didn’t waken. Haranda snored.

Eyes gleaming in the dark, Atletl watched him in the dim moonlight, a strangely satisfied expression on his face. He pointed at Nate and then indicated the tattoo on his arm. Nate recalled how fascinated the ruler and the women had been by the man’s inked artwork earlier. “T’naritza,” he said with a nod.

Nate settled against the wall, determined not to examine the recent dream too closely.

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“Bithia,” he murmured, pleased by the sound of her name. Assuming he’d experienced a form of actual mind-to-mind communication, then her instant decision to lie on their behalf had bought precious time, maybe even a chance to escape—Nate couldn’t argue with her choice. Trying to think of how to leverage the tiny bits of information he now had, he fell asleep again.

Chapter Two In the morning, Nate roused from a deep, dreamless state when the guards crashed the door open.

There were more soldiers this morning, lined up across the room, at ease against the opposite wall, not bothering the prisoners. The sweet-faced priestess with the braids came in, dressed today in pale green with touches of lavender at the collar and hem. Followed by two servants, she supervised the serving of hot, steaming mush into the four bowls. Each prisoner received a small cup of water, a hard roll and two pieces of fruit as well.

“Generous this morning, aren’t they?” Thom sniffed at the steaming mush and made a face. “Hope we can eat this stuff.”

“Scans showed this planet to be within the acceptable ranges.” Haranda bit into a purple fruit dripping juice. “If the locals can eat it, we probably can too. Mmm, tangy.”

“Food poisoning wouldn’t be my preferred way off this rock.” Nate searched for an unbruised section of the fruit on his tray. “Maja—thank you,” he said to the priestess as she handed him a roll.

She inclined her head graciously and shyly, the two braids falling across her cheeks. She unleashed a breathless explanation, of which Nate understood only the word T’naritza.

“We’ve got to get up to speed on this language,” he said, gazing speculatively at Atletl, who was flirtatiously exchanging words at great length with the lady until a guard intervened. “I’m thinking he’s going to have to do emergency tutoring here.”

“Didn’t hear him volunteer.” Thom took a heaping serving of mush. “Don’t they have eggs on this damn planet? All those bird feathers yesterday, you’d think the cook would serve eggs.”

Ignoring the banter over food, Nate said, “He’s linked with us now, one way or the other. I’m hoping he’s a smart enough guy to recognize the situation and want to be useful.” He looked at his partially eaten piece of fruit and winced, setting the rough wooden plate aside. The idea of eating more overripe fruit made his stomach heave, but the hard roll and the cooked cereal went down well enough. He felt slightly hungover, but thankfully the headache was only a dull echo of yesterday’s monster.

The guards were impatient, talking among themselves and checking fitfully on the prisoners’ progress on their rations. The squad leader waited until Nate and his men had eaten most of their breakfast. Then he issued a flurry of orders resulting in the four men each being locked into a new set of chains that allowed more mobility than the ones they’d endured since falling into captivity.

While the new shackles were a definite improvement in comfort over yesterday’s, the design was

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secure against easy escape.

The priestess watched this with a faint air of sadness on her face. She was definitely not in accord with how the prisoners were being treated. Where exactly did she fit into the whole scheme of things? Could she be an ally? Seeing him watching her, she flashed him a quick smile and then left, taking her servants with her.

“Something’s up,” Nate said as he and his men were herded into the hall. “Maybe we have to start earning our keep today?”

“Where did our guardian priestess go?” Thom checked the corridor in both directions, but she and her two companions were gone from sight.

“Celixia.” Atletl took Nate by surprise with his pronouncement. He made mock motions of braiding hair. “Celixia.”

“Well, we’re learning one thing at a time here—guess the good witch is Celixia,” Thom said as he shuffled through the corridor next to Nate. “Wonder if he knows what she wants with us?”

“Maybe we’ll find out,” Nate said.

The next event on the agenda was an unchained, closely guarded plunge into a cold, communal bathing pool and a change of clothes. Their dusty, tattered uniforms and Atletl’s blue kilt were taken away by a servant while they were toweling off. Another brought four identical piles of garments, placing a set at each prisoner’s feet.

“Let’s see what the fashionable prisoner wears to the palace. Thom held up a serviceable gray sleeveless tunic and a pair of loose pants, loincloth and sandals. “Oh man, harsh, like this stuff is made out of tree bark.”

“Woven plant fibers most likely.” Nate flipped his new shirt over, preparing to pull it over his head, and paused, fingering a large symbol painted on the front in glaring red pigment. “What do you imagine this stands for?”

“Not going to blend into the crowd with this, are we?” Thom plucked at the symbol on his. “Mine probably stands for extra-large.” He winked.

“My guess is more along the lines of ‘poor dumb fools too stupid not to get captured in the first five moments on the planet.’” Nate’s reply was good-natured. Food, a bath and more favorable treatment gave him hope for opportunities to figure out an escape. Their captors might grow lax.

“All that in one symbol?” Thom asked. “Elegant language on this planet.”

“Will you two shut up?” Haranda yelled at them. “Stop it. Who cares what the damn symbol means? Big tough Special Forces operators, cracking jokes all the time. Well, this isn’t funny in any respect I can see—” “You’re way out of line,” Thom said, moving closer to the cadet. “You think I’m getting on your nerves? You ain’t seen anything yet. Keep bitching and moaning, flyboy. You and the late Jurgens got us into this damn mess in the first place.”

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Nate cut the sergeant off with a shake of his head. “I’ve had enough of your defeatist attitude,” he said, admonishing the young pilot. “We aren’t going to get out of this situation by giving up and making it easy on these people to slaughter us. You have to keep your spirits good and your eyes open. Be observant, watch for anything we can use, an edge, a way to get the better of—” “So knowing the meaning of this one lousy symbol will set us free? I think the damn alien machinery in the basement played with your mind. Sir.” Nate and Thom exchanged glances. The stress of their captivity was adversely affecting Haranda, and his precarious mental state could endanger them all at a critical moment.

But before Nate could call Haranda to order again, he hung his head. “I’m sorry, sir, it’s just I never expected anything like this to happen, not to me.” His voice scaled higher on the last word, but Nate decided to ignore the hint of hysteria. He reached over and punched the younger man’s shoulder.

“At least you got us to the surface in one piece. Stick with us, and we’ll get you offworld again, I promise.” Having donned the loincloth, Nate pulled on the loose pants, tied the rope belt and started working on the fastenings of the sandals.

“Yeah, been through worse any number of times,” Thom chimed in, recognizing his cue, as Nate knew he would.

“This type of situation is the reason I didn’t join the damn ground troops,” Haranda said, kicking at his pile of clothing. “Survey duty was supposed to be easier—observe the planets, take measurements, stay out of trouble with locals.”

“Don’t believe what the recruiters tell you, son.” While delivering the belated advice, Thom rolled his eyes at Nate.

Not too surprising to find Special Forces and Survey weren’t on the same page. Are we ever? He and Thom would do everything in their power to bring Haranda through this catastrophic, unintended contact mission in one piece. “Better hurry getting dressed,” he said to the pilot. “Before our minders get impatient.”

The guards hadn’t paid too much attention to all this byplay between the three Sectors soldiers while they were dressing. Haranda hastened to pull on his new clothes. Already done, Atletl leaned on the wall, arms folded, listening to Nate, Thom and Haranda. His attention flicked from face to face, as if trying to assess the men he’d been thrown together with, since he was apparently to live or die as they did.

The guards locked the chains onto each prisoner carefully, as if expecting resistance. Nate calculated the odds, given the large squad of soldiers surrounding them this morning, and decided this wasn’t the time to make a break.

Nate and his men were escorted into the main corridor. Bearing to the right, the group made good time through endless hallways. He kept a mental map so he could find his way through these corridors if ever given a chance. The excursion took them a long way from the cellblock.

Emerging into blazing sunlight, he found himself at the top level of a huge natural amphitheater.

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The place was filling with chattering, excited people, although no one ventured into the area where the prisoners were directed to sit. Nate took his seat on a hard stone bench with an unobstructed view of a rectangular playing field. The walls were lined in smooth stone, red veined against dark green and black. There were five small openings in the wall opposite them, set in no obvious pattern, spaced about fifteen yards apart. One was low on the wall, three close to the top and the fifth at knee height at the other end. Nate judged the entire court was probably seventy yards long.

He leaned over and found an identical set of openings in the wall below him.

Play the game, she said. Had Bithia meant a real game?

The crowd was restless. Occasionally, someone would cheer or chant, which would be taken up by others and then slowly die out.

Thom nudged Nate in the ribs.“Over there on the other side. Isn’t that our pal from yesterday? The head honcho himself?”

“Sarbordon.” Nate filled in the ruler’s name from his dream. Ignoring Thom’s puzzled glance, he stared across the sandy court at the ruler settling himself in the center of a royal enclosure that featured more elaborate seats. The noble raised his arms, and the crowd screamed approval.

“Guess we’re in the cheap seats,” Thom said as he surveyed their side of the court, where all the fans were dressed in clothing not much fancier than their own prison garb.

Haranda touched his arm. “These people are keeping us alive to make us watch games? What’s your guess, sir?”

“No idea. Beats dying.” Nate shrugged. “I hope we don’t have to sit in this damn sun too long.

Gives me one hell of a headache.”

“There’s our Celixia.” Thom pointed across the playing field.

“Along with the bitch queen herself and her attendant birds of prey. I wish to hell I knew where we fit in, where this is going,” Nate said. Annoyed at his lack of usable intel, he assessed Atletl, waving jauntily in an apparent attempt to get Celixia’s attention. “I think he knows what’s going on, but this language barrier between us is a definite issue.”

“As long as he doesn’t panic, I guess I won’t worry either,” Thom said.

“Good plan.”

“Here come the players.” Haranda gestured at the far end of the field below.

The ensuing game was exciting, engaging Nate’s attention despite the circumstances. Opposing teams of four players each strove to capture a black leather ball as it shot at random, apparently, from one of the wall openings. The men fought to ram the sphere into one of the openings on the other side of the court. The other team did its best to steal the ball and inflict maximum damage on the other players in the process. Violence and aggression met with roaring approval from the crowd.

The game progressed rapidly, limited to three scores. Whenever one team or the other managed to get three balls into the wall despite the defenders’ best efforts, the proceedings came to a halt. The

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winning team paraded around the court, arms held high, accepting the cheers of the crowd, eventually moving out of sight into the holding area under the amphitheater. The four members of the losing team were dragged to the middle of the sand and knelt in a line, facing the king and queen.

As the last man on the winning team left the arena, a complete hush fell over the crowd. A quartet of black-clad priestesses escorted by guards marched onto the court. Moving quickly, each woman looped a heavy golden chain over the head of an unresisting player before leading him out through a different exit. Servants carried anyone too injured to walk.

Groundskeepers emerged to rake the sand, hiding the bloodstains from the rough play of the previous round. The crowds fell to animated chatter and wagering, coins changing hands. Servants brought the nobility refreshments. Harsh-voiced vendors hawked food and drink on the commoners’ side. At first nothing was offered to the prisoners, although their guards accepted free drinks from vendors willingly enough. Later in the afternoon, as the games continued, two servants appeared with flagons of watered wine. Nate recognized them as Celixia’s assistants from earlier in the day when she’d brought them breakfast.

He took his flagon and tried to identify her in the glittering crowd of nobility across the way.

Catching her eye, he rose, lifted the container as if to make a toast and then drank. She nodded her head slightly before one of the black-robed priestesses reprimanded her, gesticulating in the direction of the prisoners. The guards hastened to make Nate sit and took away his now empty mug.

“Doesn’t bode well for the losers, you think?” Thom asked as the same grim ending repeated after each round.

Nate shook his head. “Our captor has to be showing this to us for a reason. Are you paying close attention? I’m watching for any kind of strategy at work, or is victory obtained primarily by brute force? I thought I noticed a pattern to the passing, especially when the red team was working their last ball.”

“You think we’re going to be the visiting team?”

Nate sighed and stretched as far as the chains allowed, settling on the bench with a satisfied chuckle as he realized the guards were getting nervous. “Not today, I hope. But why else drag us out here?”

“Reminds me of soccer, or Betyran tisba,” Haranda said, clearly enjoying himself.

“You play?” Nate asked.

“Tisba. I was lead wing on the varsity team at the Star Guard Academy, two years running.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Thom said. “I don’t think you had the same kind of rules. The Sectors Star Guard generally doesn’t want its recruits killing each other. These guys are out for blood.”

The day stretched on. Nate watched four more matches, each as rapid and as brutally played as the first two. The final match was played late in the afternoon, and the team in red shirts and shorts was clearly the crowd favorite as the chanting rose to a high volume. “Do you think Kalgitr is the team name or the guy who scored the goal?”

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“I’m guessing the man. He’s a bruiser, all right.”

Nate nodded. “Plays dirty too. I think he broke the other guy’s arm.”

“Win at all costs or die,” Thom said. “Nice rules.”

As expected, the red team won, and the leader strutted during his procession on the perimeter of the arena accepting the adulation of the audience.

“Full of himself,” Nate said. “His squad must win all the time.”

When the last set of losers was led away in the golden chains, the king rose and made a short speech to the attentive crowd, after which the populace filed out. With gestures, the guards ensured that Nate and his fellow captives waited until the arena was empty.

Then they were prodded to their feet and taken out the way they’d entered hours earlier, but not back to the cellblock. Instead, the three offworlders and Atletl were led to an upper balcony on the other side of the palace offering an unobstructed view of a huge public square. The population of the city appeared to have commuted to this area to wait for a follow-on event. A flat-topped, pyramidal dais dominated the area.

“There’s the big guy again. What’d you call him? Sarbordon?” Thom pointed to a flurry of activity on the far side of the dais. “How do you know his name, by the way?”

“The lady told me in a dream.”

Eyebrows raised, Thom eyed him suspiciously. “Right,” he said, drawing the word out. “Had too much sun maybe? Too much local wine last night?”

Before Nate could explain, a fanfare, sounding as if it was blown on massive seashells and repeating three times, brought silence to the chattering crowd below. A parade entered the square from the south. The crowd parted silently to let them pass. In the lead came the musicians, now accompanied by drums and flutes, followed by at least thirty black-robed priestesses.

“No sign of Celixia,” Nate said, scanning the length of the procession, oddly relieved she wasn’t in attendance, given her apparent link to their fate.

“Aren’t those the losing teams?” Haranda pointed to the rear of the long parade, only now coming into view. “I remember that team’s green and blue uniforms for sure.”

Nate had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Sarbordon and his consort walked onto the platform hand in hand. The ruler spoke briefly, after which she chanted for a short time, while the musicians accompanied her. Then the couple retreated to the side, and eight burly temple guards worked at a complicated set of wooden gears and levers set into the edges of the dais. While Nate watched, the stones in the center of the platform parted, sliding into recesses below the pavement. An opening thirty feet across had been created when the guards finally stopped working the mechanism. Leaning over, he caught a glimpse of murky water far below and movement as large, predatory creatures circled in anticipation.

“This isn’t good,” Thom said.

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As Nate dreaded, the twenty-four men who’d played and lost earlier were brought to the dais, four at a time, and forced by grim-faced guards to leap or be shoved into the chasm. Terrible screams pierced the quiet as whatever aquatic creatures lurked went into a frenzy over the victims. One of the teams attempted to fight the guards, to no avail, although the prisoners did drag a terrified, cursing soldier into the well with them. Nate gritted his teeth, forcing himself to honor the brave men being slaughtered by watching their last moments and vowing to get revenge for all the wrongs done by the savage people holding him and his men captive.

Haranda retched up breakfast off to the side, while the guards pointed at him and snickered.

“Good thing we have the checkout code,” Thom said in a low voice. “I don’t want to be food for whatever lives in the well.”

“If it comes to that.” Nate had to admit he was glad to have the Mellurean mind implant buried in his subconscious, a code he could activate that would kill him between one heartbeat and the next.

He checked on how the white-faced, trembling Haranda was doing. Only Special Forces operators were given the implants, because of the classified nature of their missions. “But he doesn’t. We’ll have to do our best to make sure the kid doesn’t suffer.”

The huge stone plates were being ratcheted shut again, sealing off the pit where the losing team members had been fed to the beasts. Nate risked a glance at the square below to find a drunken festival had begun, led with enthusiasm by the priestesses, who left their platform of death to mingle with the crowd. Of the royal couple there was no sign.

“Obviously, we have to win the damn game if we’re forced to play,” he said. “I didn’t see any of the winners led to the slaughter, did you?”

“Didn’t see them go free either.” Thom’s answer was pessimistic. “Maybe you live to play until you have a bad day, suppose?”

“I’ll take a chance to play over an immediate trip to the well of horror,” Nate said. “The lady told me we had to play the game, which at the time I interpreted to mean going along with whatever Sarbordon wanted, but now I get it.”

“Some complicated dream you had.”

Nate leaned close. “She said she had a plan if we survived to see her again.”

Before Thom could reply, the guards took them into the palace, leaving them in a barracks-style room with actual beds boasting mattresses, hard pillows and a set of thin, striped blankets. Each man was secured to his bed by a long ankle chain before the guards left.

“Haranda, you okay?” Nate asked as the heavy door slammed shut.

The younger man collapsed onto his bed, shaking, arm across his eyes. The guards had carried him the last few yards into the room since he’d been trembling so badly. “Leave me alone.” Rolling over, face to the wall, the pilot buried his face in the rough woolen blanket.

Nate figured he shouldn’t push the cadet. He’s got to find his own way to come to grips with what we’re facing.

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Aside from guards bringing a full dinner of overcooked meat, more hard rolls and stewed, repulsive-smelling red vegetables, they were left in peace. There was no sign of Celixia. The light faded from the barred windows set high on the wall, and the room became completely dark. Nate heard Thom snore fairly soon thereafter. Haranda hiccupped periodically before he sank into restless slumber. Whether Atletl slept or not, Nate couldn’t say. Their teammate was one of those light, quiet sleepers.

Hoping to dream of Bithia again, and possibly learn more about the situation, including her role, Nate welcomed sleep. Tonight his dreams were nothing but nightmares where he fell into blood-red water filled with formless terrors. *** He must have seen the game by now. Did he understand what I tried to tell him? Bithia “sat” with her knees pulled to her chin, leaning on the wall. Of course, she was perfectly well aware she was lying motionless on her cushions, held in place by the healing device, as she had been for eons. But at least her mind roamed free in this space she’d carved out over the centuries. A retreat for her consciousness when the machine’s control slackened and she was released—or she escaped—from the unconscious state. Intriguing that she’d been able to pull him to her in the dreamspace the last time. He had a flare of psychic abilities but didn’t appear to realize his capabilities, or control them, which was a pity. He’d be an even more formidable opponent.

This man, Nate, and his companions were clearly from offworld, which meant a high level of technology. I must share more in common with them than with my captors. Yet he was a prisoner too, his chains real while hers were invisible. Bithia pondered how a man like him could have been taken. Her own circumstances were unique. Perhaps he’d landed—or crashed—on Talonque and been ambushed by its still-primitive people. Spears and swords could be effective weapons in the right circumstances.

She shut her eyes and tried to recall his face with as much detail as possible. Having a new factor in the situation raised dangerous hopes, and she ought not to indulge herself. Temptation was too great, though. He was tall, well built, heavily muscled. His brown eyes had been intense in their focus on her, and his whole demeanor was that of a soldier, wary, ready to seize any chance, his thoughts a fierce and angry tapestry, yet with a keen intelligence at work. There was a sprawling, colorful bruise on his forehead and stubble on his chin. He was handsome to her eyes, in an unusual way. She ran her hands over her cheeks and chin. I wonder how I appear to him? Another of the humanoid peoples scattered through the galaxies. Who knew what their standards of attractiveness were?

The first few times she’d been awakened, to find none of her own people present, brought crushing disappointment. Now she no longer expected anything, grown numb to her abandonment. Or so I tell myself. Yet this last time, when she’d realized what—who—she was looking at, who Sarbordon had brought to her, the hope rose painfully in her heart. Could these beings, these strangers, be her way out of an unbearable life? I’d gladly help them, and maybe they can assist me.

The machine detected her level of consciousness and pushed firmly against her control. Sighing,

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Bithia released her hold on wakefulness and began the descent into oblivion. Tonight brings no opportunity to speak to Nate. And I mustn’t waste my hoarded store of power merely to think of him.

By the time I wake again, he may be dead and gone to dust centuries in my past, like all the others.

She allowed her restorative guardian to obliterate her awareness. *** In the morning another substantial breakfast was delivered, supervised by Celixia, who chatted vivaciously with Atletl as much as the wary guards would permit. After the meal, Nate and his companions were taken in chains out of the palace and loaded into a cart drawn by four ponderous animals Atletl identified as bracalx. The cart was driven to a huge walled field outside the city walls on the western side. Dozens of men were there already, running drills, exercising and practicing the sport Nate had watched the day before. Guards were posted in large numbers, and the trainers on the various fields were armed with long whips applied freely when the men were displeased.

Under guard, Nate and his men waited next to the cart while the officer strode off toward the central building.

“Reminds me of the first day at boot camp,” Nate said, watching men run laps while others practiced intricate footwork patterns.

“Except the drill instructors didn’t have whips.” Thom eyed the field. “Guards on the walls, guards on the perimeter of the area. Watching the prisoners like hawks. Not gonna be easy to break out of here.”

“Yeah, our assessments match. We’ll play along, see what happens, watch for opportunity.” *** Rather than offering any opportunities for escape, the succeeding days became a numbing cycle of eating, training, sleeping and linguistic sessions Nate instituted in the evenings after dinner. He and his men needed to understand what was being said in their presence, as well as learn as much about the culture as they could. Their teacher, Atletl, had a vested interest in making them a better team, since their fates were tied together. Nate and Thom had had many languages hypno implanted for previous missions, and the side effect was to greatly enhance their ability to learn new ones.

Haranda approached the task like a college assignment, grimly determined not to be outshone.

Nate and Thom were in excellent physical condition. Special Forces operators trained hard at all times, and even after suffering minor injuries when their ship crashed and on the grueling trip from the mountains and their subsequent imprisonment, they hadn’t lost their edge. Haranda didn’t have their physical power, but he was young and wiry and quick to catch on to the nuances of the game their captors insisted they learn. Atletl had evidently been a high-ranking warrior of his own people and matched Nate’s accomplishments easily on the endless drills.

“Don’t these people have holidays? Or days off?” Thom asked one night, nursing a sore arm he’d sprained in the early days of training. It wasn’t healing well at all due to the unrelenting pace of workouts. Celixia’d given him nasty-smelling green paste to rub into the muscles at night, which

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helped alleviate the discomfort, but what he really needed was to rest for a couple of days straight.

“Training stops only for the games,” Atletl said. “Or for special blood sacrifices or feeding of the beasts in the well. Many of those who came in chains with us on the day the sun sickened as the moons wandered were doubtless killed at once to influence the gods to restore the sun.”

No more wishing for time off. Nate asked a clarifying question about their future opponents. “So all these guys we’re training with are prisoners? Captured in battle?”

“Mostly. A few are criminals or fell afoul of the priestesses in some manner and were condemned to the games. They take offense easily at any slight. These people use the games not only to provide worthy candidates for offerings to the god, but also to settle disputes and serve as omens.”

“After what we saw today, when that poor bastard tried to escape, I’m convinced our best plan is to win the game,” Nate said.

“He never had a chance,” Thom agreed. “Even with a fight going on to distract the guards those five spears skewered him before he was halfway up the wall.”

“The one who died was a prince of his tribe. The others were trying to help him by pretending to fight to distract the guards.” Atletl’s flat tone indicated he was unmoved by the man’s fate. “The ploy failed.”

“I could have done without the trainers giving all of us three lashes to underscore the message about not attempting or abetting escapes.” Nate shifted carefully on his bunk. He’d be sleeping on his stomach for a few days.

“The trainers went easy on us because we belong to T’naritza,” Atletl said. “We’ve been moved from the ranks of beginners and those who’ll die easily. The fat, the weak, the stupid. You understand the rules of sapiche better now. Soon those in charge will expect us to play against more seasoned teams. You remember Kalgitr? The team leader at the end of the day? Men of his caliber and cunning.”

“Which we’re not ready for. You may be an excellent ‘stealer,’ and Haranda there is a genius at the damn game, but we haven’t jelled as a team. We need more time.” Nate was a strong shooter and blocker, as was Thom, but the four men had to play as one smooth unit, as if reading each other’s minds, and they were nowhere near that high level yet. He and Thom operated instinctively together, the skill developed over years of training for and running Special Forces missions, but Atletl and Haranda were wild cards. Thom nodded at the pilot. “Seven hells, kid, you’re so good even the guards pay you compliments.”

“Reminds me of my days at the Academy.” Haranda’s voice was proud and a bit nostalgic. Nate was relieved to see the pilot’s improved morale but concerned because men such as the thuggish Kalgitr played a brutal game, willing to disable or kill their opponents in order to win, and Haranda was clearly in a collegiate intramural mind-set. He and Thom could hold their own in such a game, calling on their hand-to-hand combat skills, but the cadet’s training in martial arts had been minimal at best.

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After ten days of drills and practices, the trainers ordered a scrimmage. Nate’s team had to play a full game for the first time and in short order lost miserably, not making a single goal. Disgusted at the level of play, Atletl exhorted them constantly with what Nate guessed were choice curses.

“Can’t blame the guy,” he said to Thom in Basic while riding to the palace in the evening, chained in their cart. “We screw up and he dies with us.”

“He’d better elevate our level of play to match his, then.” Thom massaged his arm and shoulder. He scowled across the cart at Atletl, who rolled his eyes and pretended to be fascinated by the bracalx.

“This is so crazy, you know?”

“It’s a chance.”

“Not much of one.”

Nate couldn’t argue.

But as they ate their dinner, sitting cross-legged on their beds, Atletl gave them their first piece of good news, which he’d been told by a trainer impressed with Haranda’s skills. “If a team can win ten straight games, these superstitious people say the god has favored them. The lure of the accomplishment is why Kalgitr and his men don’t care if they kill their opponents in the process of winning and why they play so rough even in our scrimmages—he wants all of us to be afraid of them. The entire team would be set free, rewarded with gold and wives and never have to play in the ball court again.”

“I know which girl you’d have your eye on if we won ten times,” Nate said. Atletl’s fondness for flirting with Celixia every chance he got was a running joke among the team.

“You don’t think winners have to choose one of the ‘birds of prey,’ do you?” Thom opened his eyes wide. “Those women are scary.”

Nate laughed. “His heart is set on our guardian priestess, Celixia. Don’t you pay attention to these things?”

“If he gets to pick Celixia, who’s left for us?” Thom said.

Atletl took the teasing good-naturedly but shook his head. “Don’t joke about the priestesses of Huitlani. They’re married to the god. They may take lovers, but not mortal husbands. And the lovers don’t live long, because Huitlani is a jealous god.”

Haranda, apparently not interested in this topic, distracted Atletl, diagramming a new play with dishes and utensils and asking his opinion about how well it would work.

“What are the odds anyone has ever claimed this fabled ‘win ten games, go free’ reward?” Thom asked Nate off to the side as Haranda and Atletl talked ball-passing strategies.

“Kalgitr’s sure trying. Did you see him snap that guy’s arm today? If this pipe dream of winning ten and going free helps the kid cope with his constant state of funk, then I say let him believe,” Nate said. “He’s been much more stable since we got sentenced to training. And he’s a natural at this

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damn game. Lucky for us.”

Thom persisted with his pessimistic assessment. “Nobody can win ten straight. To win so many games would be like doing ten missions in a row behind the Mawreg lines and living to tell about it.

Not gonna happen, not in this lifetime. If we’re going to get out of here, it’s going to have to be some other way.”

“I know.” Nate leaned back on his bed, trying to find a comfortable spot.

Lowering his voice even further, Thom asked, “Have you been able to contact the lady again?”

Nate shut his eyes. “No. I’m not sure what enabled the first dream. Maybe it was the fact I’d been in her presence the same day for a few moments. I’ve been trying, believe me.”

Information from Bithia might be essential to their survival, but he had no idea how to force himself to dream a specific set of events, much less ensure he met her in the dream. He’d been hoping she’d reach out to him again, but as far as he could tell, she’d made no attempt. The small ration of wine in the evenings wasn’t facilitating any dreams, if it ever had. He returned to their quarters so exhausted each night from the rigorous training that he’d fall asleep before he could try to reach her.

Often he felt her presence as a light touch in his mind, almost the equivalent of glimpsing her from the corner of his eye, but she never responded to his questing thoughts.

Not tonight. I’m going to make this work tonight and come to you, lady.

Drawing on techniques he’d been shown once as a kid, he slowed his breathing and visualized himself walking through the tendrils of the strange fog toward the lights of her chamber. His mind kept trying to wander, full of worry over the intricacies of the life-or-death game he was learning, or making frustratingly inadequate plans for escape. He took a moment to refocus and shake off his worries. Drawing a deep breath, he counted to ten, closed his eyes and relaxed into the scene he was painting for himself. Think of it as preparation for a mission and she’s the objective.

The military frame of reference helped.

He stood in the gray-green mists, a strong sense of pleased anticipation flickering through his consciousness when he realized he was going to see Bithia.

“Bithia?” Nate called her name as he stepped through the fog. There she was, lying on her immense high-tech couch, motionless save for slowly opening her lavender eyes. He walked across the chamber, the mist falling away, until the inexorable, invisible barrier guarding her halted his progress.

Eyes wide, she stared at him. “How did you get here? I didn’t summon you, so maybe you’re learning to use the psychic potential I sensed when we met.” The furrows in her brow smoothed, and her lips curved in a wide smile. “I’m glad to see you, and it’s pleasant to hear my birth name.

I’ve missed the sound.” For a moment she studied him from head to toe. “I’m surprised you remain alive. My congratulations.”

“What’s going on here? Why are you a prisoner of low-tech killers like these people?”

“I might ask you the same question! If your only wish is to remind me of my hopeless existence,

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always at their beck and call, then go away and let me sleep. Oblivion is my only escape until I can die, or force Sarbordon to kill me in his endless quest for answers and omens. There’s nothing else for me.” Expression annoyed, she closed her eyes.

Nate waited, expecting the dream encounter to end, as the first one had, once she shut her eyes.

When it didn’t, he realized she must still be conscious. Hiding from me. But I need answers. He studied the delicate planes of her face, finding her compellingly attractive. Her mere existence was intriguing. No matter how many worlds the Sectors explored, how many artifacts and abandoned installations the Archaeology Service dug through, no one had ever seen so much as a painting or a statue or a hologram of an Ancient Observer. The AO took great care to leave no representations of themselves, although many worlds had legends about them. He accepted Haranda’s verdict that Bithia wasn’t a member of the specific forerunner civilization that fascinated the Sectors, but he wondered if she was aware of them. And what of her own people and their accomplishments? She was definitely from an era predating his own.

“You’re still here—” Her surprised voice, with a hint of amusement, interrupted his ruminations.

“Staring at me.”

“I’m not leaving until I have to, until the encounter really ends. I’m not sure I could, even if I wanted to, since control of this process appears to rest for the most part with you. And you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen on any world, well worth staring at.” He couldn’t believe he’d made such an inane remark. Like an idiot cadet on his first date. She had an unsettling effect on him, maybe because their minds were linked. He imagined what her skin felt like, how soft her hair might be—annoyed at himself, he wrested his imagination away from Bithia’s form.

“Stubborn, I see, not to take my hint and withdraw,” she said, the pleased expression on her face blunting any hint of criticism. “Actually, I’m glad you stayed. It’s been so long since I had someone to talk with who was from offworld.”

“How many years have you been—?”

“In this place? I’ve no way to know. Tell me, do you know of the Aralapanni? Or the Serennian?”

The names she uttered were nothing he recognized, and even in a dream in which he shared a language with her, the syllables carried no meaning. Bithia watched him closely with those great, shadowed eyes and nodded. “You don’t know these great peoples, do you? Not even legends to you? Then truly we must have passed from the galaxy, and all our knowledge with us. And this tale of Ancient Observers I pluck from your mind means nothing to me. Certainly not my people, nor any of the races I know.”

Nate was frustrated by their lack of any common reference, aside from the planet upon which he now stood, equally alien and hostile to both of them. Start there. The current situation ought to provide enough of a foundation for them to relate to each other.

“I don’t know how you got here, but our ship crashed,” he said, leaning against the barrier and crossing his arms over his chest, settling in for a chat. “We were being chased by a Mawreg client race—enemies of our entire species. To escape we had to go into hyperdrive too close to a blue giant star, ended up out of control in this system and crashed.” He touched his forehead where the

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last remnants of the bruise remained. “I was knocked out in the crash, and these thugs grabbed my men when they were crawling from the wreckage and dragging me to safety.”

“Where did you crash? And who are these Mawreg?” Despite her prior claims to want nothing but untroubled sleep and oblivion, Bithia seized on new information with the hunger of a highly intelligent creature denied fresh mental stimulus for a long time. “Can you visualize one for me?”

He did, in automatic response to her question. The memory made him nauseated. How the Mawreg looked was wrong in all respects.

Bithia didn’t react with instinctive repugnance to the Mawreg, at least as glimpsed in his hastily shut-off memory. “Hideous, yes, but unknown to me.”

Nate had seen them up close, which few people ever survived, much less retained a hold on sanity, but that was in another life.

“Another life?” She plucked the phrase from his mind. “You believe in the recycling of the spirit through time?”

“No, you misunderstand me.” He chuckled. Have to get used to her ability to instantaneously read my private musings. Or develop a mental block to keep her out. The second strategy didn’t hold much appeal. He liked hearing her musical voice in his head. “I’m an officer in the Sectors Special Forces, usually working behind enemy lines to carry out assassinations, sabotage installations, accomplish military objectives. Another life than the one I’m leading here on this cursed planet.

Here, I’m in training for the sapiche playoffs.”

“I don’t know this Mawreg. Fortunately for me, judging from what you say and remember of them.” Bithia frowned. In the resulting “silence,” Nate’s irritation grew. She could pick any thought of his at will, but he could only “hear” what she chose to “say” to him. After a contemplative moment, she sighed. “I came to Talonque, this world, of my own choice with my father’s expedition. He was an explorer of great renown among our people. He also wanted to help the people here learn and grow more civilized.”

“We leave indigenous planetary populations alone, unless they’ve already reached a specific level of civilization,” Nate said. “We learned the hard way a few too many times that it’s no good to go in with what the Sectors can offer if you’re dealing with people who haven’t yet evolved technical sophistication. The population gets the wrong idea—” “Think of you as gods?” Bithia asked wryly. “I believe we were learning the lesson. I can certainly testify to it now. A growing number of my people liked the idea.”

“But not you?”

“No. Even before I was forced into this career as the all-knowing goddess T’naritza. Nor did my father approve of such a concept. But his associates Tedesk and Syrmir, well…” She fell silent.

“But bringing the novelties of a new world home to my people engendered much profit and fame.

My father wasn’t immune to the lure of both but wouldn’t dream of presenting himself as a god.

The truth mutates unrecognizably over time, doesn’t it?”

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“What happened? Why did you get left here, in this way?”

How do you stay sane? He guessed the machine kept her in a form of suspended animation or cryo sleep between summonses from those who worshipped her. He speculated that the device must have a beneficial effect on her mind, to keep her from overwhelming despair.

The dream ended before she could answer, much to his chagrin. The guards kicked his bed, ordering him and the others to rise for another endless day of drilling and scrimmage.

Thom gave him the eye as they ate breakfast mush and fruit. “You saw her?”

Nate kept his voice low as well. “Yeah, but the dream was too short to learn much. She’s never heard of the AO or the Mawreg, and I’ve never heard of her people. She came on a scientific expedition, as near as I can figure out. I don’t know how she got trapped.”

“Nothing useful, then.” Thom dropped his spoon into his empty bowl.

“Other than proving I can reconnect with her? No. I’ll try again tonight.”

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Clue and the Shrine of the Widowed Bride (Wendie Nordgren) Release Date: August 2, 2016 Publisher: Wendie Nordgren Format: Ebook Links: Amazon – Author's website – Series on Facebook

Chapter One Yellow light filled the small cabin and then disappeared to be replaced with a soft red light that quickly vanished leaving the compartment in darkness until the next holoboard’s big display came into view. I stared vacantly out of the smudged window counting the signs that provided the only illumination in the inky night. The creaking of the train car on the elevated rails had frightened me the first time I had ridden on them. Now, none of it seemed to matter.

Before she had died, my mother had given to me her meager savings and made me promise to leave the Eris Space Station. I could still see her tired, haunted eyes as she looked up at me from atop the crisp white infirmary sheets. The dark bags under her eyes and her hollow cheeks were much more evident now that her face was clean of all of her make-up. Momma’s dry cracked lips had begun to bleed as she said, “Clue, listen to me. You have to promise. You know I did my best by you, but I don’t want you living the same life I did. I want you to get passage on a freighter and head to one of the Earth settlements on Cassini. It doesn’t matter where. Go to school. Make something of yourself.”

Her hands were cold on mine, and I could feel her bones through her thin soft skin. Momma had named me Clue because she had no idea which of the strangers passing through the space station had been my father. She didn’t know which of them had given her the wasting sickness either. “I promise, Momma.”

She had smiled at me. I had been looking into her dark brown, glassy eyes as she had gone. I hadn’t needed the beeping of the machines to tell me that.

A week later, I boarded a ship with a backpack full of my things, a sealed silver canister full of powder that was all that was left of Momma, and the credits I had left over after paying my fare. I had taken the cheapest berth available on that freighter. Getting away from Eris Space Station and to Cassini while spending the least I could seemed more important than my comfort. At least I had kept part of my promise.

Enrolling in classes as soon as I had arrived on Cassini had been my main goal. After being accepted into the small college in Hyperion, I had found a cheap apartment near campus and had thrown myself into my studies. Being an investigator for the Protect and Serve Forces had been my dream for as long as I could remember. The inhabitants of Eris Space Station had teased me mercilessly about my name while growing up. Whenever something was lost, Clue had been given the task of finding it. Enjoying the attention, I had played along.

Unfortunately, Momma’s credits had run out. My grades were good, but not high enough for me to be awarded a scholarship. There was no way for me to attend classes for the next year. My earnings from my part-time job at the food market were enough to cover my food and rent, but that was all.

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So, I stared out of the window at the blackness of the night that was lit by holoboard ads rather than stars. I continued to sit in silence after the train had stopped. Then, forcing myself up from the lumpy old seat, I trudged off of the train.

My building was as quiet and dark as usual at this time of the night. Only a few of us remained after classes had ended for the year. Hyperion would be an empty town for the next three months. I slid my key stick into the door, waited until I heard the magnetic locks release, and then pushed the door open. My bed and study materials were right where I had left them. Closing and locking my door, I kicked off my shoes, sat on my bed, and stared into the tiny kitchen listening to the steady drip of the sink.

Before I could fall into the depths of despair and hopelessness, the scratched surface of the apartment’s five-by-seven-inch wall-mounted communications device began to blink with a yellow light. Scooting off of my bed, I took a few steps over to the wall and pushed the answer button.

“Miss Forester?” an older man with grey hair and a slightly wrinkled suit asked.

“Yes, I’m Clue Forester.”

“I am Mr. Nixon, your uncle’s executor.”

“My uncle?” At my puzzled expression, Mr. Nixon continued.

With a sympathetic expression, Mr. Nixon explained. “I regret to inform you that Mr. Taylor has passed away.” From my obvious complete lack of recognition of the name or who Mr. Taylor had been, Mr. Nixon continued. “Mr. Taylor was better known as Winks to his friends.”

Finally, my eyes widened in comprehension. “Winks,” I said.

Winks had been one of Momma’s regulars and had brought me a new toy every time he had visited the station. I had brought Daisy with me in my pack from Eris Station. Winks had given the doll to me. She had blonde hair and a white dress with little flowers on it. Momma had told me that the flowers on my doll’s dress were daisies, hence the name. Winks had gotten his name from his reputation. If a person had something valuable and winked his or her eyes closed for a second when he was around, it would be gone.

“I remember Winks.”

Mr. Nixon gave me another sympathetic nob of his head showing me a glimpse of his bald spot. “Mr. Taylor owned an apartment in Scorpius which, as his only living relative, he has left to you.”

Excitement coursed through me. “Owned it? Do you mean that I could live there for free?”

Mr. Nixon spread his hands wide as he said, “Yes, should you wish to do so. However, the apartment in question is located in Scorpius, a city seldom frequented by the Protect and Serves.”

“I understand. What’s the location?”

“888 Honjo Street is the address. Previously, Mr. Taylor had set the apartment’s entrance scanner to accept your genetic code.”

Suddenly angry, I asked, “How the hell did he get that?”

Mr. Nixon laughed. “Mr. Taylor knew you would ask. He instructed me to tell you that he procured your genetic sample when he gave you the glass whatever that means.”

The glass was a gift that Winks had given to me at least five years ago. Winks had bent down and messed up the top of my hair as he had placed the long thin box in my hands. I had flinched when one of his rings had caught and yanked out a strand or two of my hair. “Sorry about that, Clue. This here is a spyglass,” he had said as I had opened the gift as he smoothed my hair back

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down. “Use this glass to scan your surroundings so the PS’s don’t grab you. Don’t you ever trust the PS’s, girl.”

Then, he had slapped Momma on the butt and disappeared with her into her room. I still had the spyglass. However, the memory made me realize that Winks hadn’t been my uncle. I frowned at the knowledge.

“Again, Miss Forester, I am terribly sorry for your loss. Good evening to you.” Then, Mr. Nixon was gone.

Chapter Two That night as I held Daisy in my arms and tried to fall asleep, my curiosity kept me wide awake. In frustration, I threw off my blanket and got up. I turned on the light and packed everything I owned into my backpack. Then, I got dressed, closed the door, and made my way to the train. I slept on the way to Scorpius.

Several hours later in the pre-dawn hour, I arrived near the city. Once I made it to street level, I checked a map. Honjo Street was a few miles away. I hefted my pack and started walking. A few transport drivers were parked along the street, but I had no intentions of spending my carefully budgeted food credits on a ride. Walking at a brisk pace, I jumped when I heard a loud whistle. I turned my head scanning the tall dark buildings and alleys around me. A cat screeched in the distance. Across the street and facing me, I saw someone lift an arm from his or her seat on a motorcycle. Then, the person rode toward me. Turning around and pulling to a stop a few feet away from me, the rider pulled off his helmet. He had shiny black hair, brown eyes, and an innocent expression. I didn’t believe the innocent look any more than I now believed that Winks had been my uncle.

“You need a ride?”

“Yes, but I need to eat more, so I’m saving my credits.”

He grinned at me. “Where to? I’ll give you a good deal.”

Looking at him skeptically, I said, “Honjo Street.”

He snorted. “Get on. I’m going that way. I’m done for the night and live a few blocks from there.” When I hesitated, he said, “No charge.” He unfastened a helmet and handed it to me. I smiled and put it on.

“Thanks. Um, what do I do?” I asked as I looked at the black bike.

“Have you ever ridden on a cycle?”

“No.” “Just sit behind me and put your arms around my stomach.”

Throwing my right leg over the seat while bouncing up on my left foot, I managed to do as instructed. The black helmet wobbled around on my head as I snapped the chin strap into place.

Then, I put my arms around his black leather jacket. He revved the engine, and the bike darted forward causing me in my fright to clutch the man even tighter. The road was a blur to either side of us. I closed my eyes and rested the front of my helmet between his shoulder blades. My legs began to tingle from the vibrations of the bike which turned into more of an itch as he slowed and rolled us to a stop in front of a grey concrete two story house.

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“888 Honjo Street,” he said.

“Is this an apartment building?” I asked as I removed the helmet.

“It was until the owner remodeled.”

“Hey, thanks for the ride. What’s your name anyway? I’m Clue.”

He lifted his chin in some kind of reverse nod and said, “Cosmo Lenox at your service.” I handed Cosmo back his helmet, and he sped away down the dark street.

In Scorpius, no holoboards flashed in the early morning sky. However, all along the street, lighted signs chased shadows from the doorways of various businesses. 888 Honjo was austere and unadorned. Stepping toward the inset door which would provide shelter from either inclement weather or prying eyes, I lifted my hand to the scanner pad that was embedded in the grey metal door. I jumped at what sounded like at least twelve lock bars sliding inside of the door as it released and opened.

“Hello?” I called out as I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. I heard the bars sliding back into place.

In the dim illumination of the entranceway, I made out a small black button that was set into the grey concrete wall. Pushing it, light filled the entire space from at least twenty feet above where fixtures had been placed at regular intervals along the rafters of the wood beamed ceiling. My “hello” echoed back to me.

The loft space was huge. The grey concrete walls went straight back. I walked forward a few feet. To the left, the space opened up even more to a kitchen. I went to the white sink and turned on the water washing the train ride from my hands. I took a white hand towel from a stack on a wooden shelf under the concrete counter. Above the counter, more wooden shelves held sets of plain white dishes. To the left of the sink was a grey cold storage unit which I opened and found empty.

A doorway in the wall beside the cold storage led into a laundry and storage room. One of the room’s walls created the short hallway leading from the front door. There wasn’t any food in the pantry either. I went to the sink and drank from the faucet before continuing to explore my new home.

Opposite the kitchen was a small round table with four chairs that appeared to be made of the same kind of wood as the kitchen shelves and the floors. When I walked past the kitchen, I found a small restroom shared its side wall and made immediate use of it.

The far wall of the cavernous space hosted a large fireplace constructed of red bricks. In the far back right corner was a curving staircase of the same polished wood as the floors. Its side was enclosed in plasti-glass for safety. A single long white couch was in front of the fireplace. There were no windows, pictures, decorations, or personal touches of any kind.

Cautiously, I went up the stairs. The same wood flooring continued on the second floor. The first room was an empty bedroom complete with a bathroom and closet. The bathroom was a combination of white and plasti-glass. The second door led me into a bedroom that was almost as large as the living room below. Centered against the back wall was a large simple bed with white sheets, blankets, and pillows. A wooden bedside table was to either side of it. The interesting design aspect of the room was the angled wall stretching out from the entrance directly to my right. I walked along the angled wall to the doorway and found a triangular room containing a large, deep, oval soaking tub set at an angle in the corner in front of a wooden corner case that was full of towels. Against the angled wall was a sink and a waste unit. Climbing into the tub, I could just see over its edge.

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“Indoor pool. Cool.”

In the bedroom, there was a large walk-in closet with a wall safe. I pulled my pack off of my back and put my clothes on the shelves. I carried Daisy to the bed and propped her against one of the pillows. I put my spyglass on the bedside table nearest the bathroom. Then, I kicked out of my shoes, slid off my jacket and pants, and turned out the lights plunging the room into darkness. I crawled under the covers and held Daisy as I fell asleep.

I woke up disoriented. Remembering where I was, I got up and turned on the lights. My stomach growled angrily at me. After a sniff of my armpits, I decided on a bath and change of clothes before heading out in search of food. While pulling my brush through my shoulder-length auburn hair, I thought about the fast motorcycle ride with Cosmo Lenox, and I realized that I hadn’t given him the apartment number just the street. Laying my brush down on the counter, I went to the closet and dressed in pants and a shirt.

Curious, I placed my palm against the scanner on the wall safe to see if anything would happen. It clicked open. “Shit, Winks.”

There were stacks of gold credit chips. Taking one, I slid it into the pocket on the inside waistband of my pants. Looking around inside of the safe, I was disappointed to not find a note or anything from Winks. Had Winks been my father? Why else would he leave me this house and however many credits were in the safe? I locked the safe.

Then, I grabbed my jacket from off of the floor, put on my shoes, and kissed Daisy on her forehead. Carefully, I made my way down the stairs. Since I hadn’t seen a vid-screen in the place, I had no idea what time it was. Once I made it outside, I realized that I had slept through the four or five hours of sunlight that Cassini enjoyed each day. Taking a left, I walked toward what appeared to be the busiest area.

Soon, the conversations of strangers, ringing of door chimes, and tinkling of bicycle bells greeted my ears. The train was too distant to either see or hear from Honjo Street. Up a few blocks and across the street on a corner, I spotted a diner. The top portion of its walls were made of plastiglass allowing passersby a view of the customers who were eating and drinking at the tables inside.

I waited for a group of men riding hover boards to pass before I crossed the street. When I pushed the diner’s door open, chimes tinkled, and a lady wearing a pink uniform and pink lipstick smiled and approached me.

“Well, welcome, sweetie. Are you meeting someone?”

“No, ma’am. I can sit anywhere.”

She smiled and grabbed a menu and some napkin-rolled silverware. “Right this way,” she said as she walked toward the last booth on the Honjo side of the diner.

I scooted into the booth seat that placed my back to the wall and gave me a good view down the street the way I had come. She placed the silverware on the table, handed me the menu, and put a glass of water in front of me. I picked it up and thirstily drank.

“I’ll give you a minute to look that over and be right back.”

I nodded that I understood. I hadn’t eaten since I had left Hyperion and was starving. She returned with a glass of plum juice and a pitcher with which she refilled my water. I ordered the breakfast platter. When she returned a short time later and placed the platter of food in front of me, I ate a piece of bacon before I remembered my napkin and unrolled it as I chewed.

After my bacon and eggs were gone, I gave the stores along the street a good look through the diner’s window. Five storefronts lined the block. Across from me was a Hover Currier Service since communications and transport services hadn’t seemed to have progressed much in Scorpius. There

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was a General Store, Pharmacy, Doctor’s office, and Salon all with bright flashing signs above their doors. Other than the diner and the stores, nothing else of interest was on the block. I needed food for my house. I finished off the spinach and potato sauté that had filled the center of my plate, paid, and left.

Turning off of Honjo Street and onto Cherry Street, I noticed out of the corner of my eye the waitress as she watched me. What was her problem?

Cherry Street had restaurants spaced intermittently between apartment buildings. The next street was Swan and was home to clothing stores. However, on Frog Street, I found a grocer and a farm supply store. The next street over, appropriately named Wharf, butted the ocean, and as I turned onto Frog, I could see the tops of a few masts.

Once inside the grocery store, I took a basket and slowly walked up and down the aisles.

Broccoli, carrots, potatoes, raspberries, salt, tea, shampoo, and waste paper would be enough to get me through a few days. I had not enjoyed washing my hair with bar soap. The cashier smiled as he placed my purchases into a reusable pink bag with “Big Bubba’s” printed in yellow on each side of it. I handed him the gold credit chip from my pocket.

As he scanned it, he said, “Bring this back with you next time and get ten percent off, Miss.”

His front teeth showed when he smiled at me, and I noticed that they were chipped.

“Thanks,” I said as I took the pink handles and carried my bag outside where Cosmo Lenox waited for me.

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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 run Challis Tower (Books). If you’re a Twitter fan, you can find her at @Sandal_Challis . 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 this issue, Susan Grant, is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling, RITA Award-Winning author of Science Fiction, Time Travel, and Paranormal Romance. As a jet pilot and global traveler, she finds plenty of inspiration to create action-packed stories featuring strong women and honorable men.

Her next release is Stray, a space marine novella in the Star World Frontier series, featured in the anthology Pets in Space, coming October 15th. 10% of profits from the first month go to HeroDogs.org. Hero Dogs raises and trains service dogs and places them free of charge with US Veterans to improve quality of life and restore independence.

For interstellar Tourists, check out The Lonely Galaxy Travel Guide: www.lonelygalaxytravelguide.com Our Fiction writer for this issue is MH Questus. MH left behind a career in physics for science fiction because there weren’t enough laser battles or wormholes at his research and development firm. You’ll most likely find him curled up with his favourite Pratchett, rererewatching Firefly, playing boardgames with his nearest and dearest, or making "pew-pew" sounds at WarMachine tournaments across the country. He lives in Kitchener, Ontario, with his partner Andrea. He’s on Twitter, and Patreon His website is at http://www.mhquestus.com/ Cover: Depositphotos.