Nomad Mortis – Snippet 2
Nomad Mortis: Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 8
Nomad Mortis – Snippet 2
UNEDITED
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 8
By Craig Martelle and Michael Anderle
“Uncle Joe!” Cory yelled. Terry didn’t know why, but it still got under his skin. Not because Cory was called the Forsaken “Uncle Joe,” but because he had told Joseph that he would never allow it.
That had been a long time ago. Twenty-five years. He wondered if Joseph even remembered his dictates.
His daughter surely did not. Still, he could ask for no better. She was enhanced, but not enhanced. She effortlessly crossed easily from the Unknown World to the world of humans, despite her wolf ears and glowing blue eyes.
She watched her father to make sure he rolled his eyes, and she was not disappointed.
Joseph appeared under the overhang of the new FDG barracks. The warriors hadn’t moved in yet, but a few of the regulars hung out there. Joseph found he liked the new digs. There was a basement without windows that he’d made into a home away from home.
Joseph was a daywalker, but preferred to be inside when the sun was out. He was prone to sunburns, even though he wasn’t a ginger. He smiled at his own joke, before stepping into the daylight, grimacing from the effect.
Cory impatiently waved at him.
When he reached them, he dipped his head slightly in greeting. “How may I be of assistance?”
“Uncle Joe. I was thinking that we need a two-pronged assault on the Forsaken. One is the hammer. The other needs to be the carrot. What would a propaganda campaign look like to get them to come out into the world, find peace with the FDG?” she asked pointedly.
Terry had already asked that question, and they hadn’t been able to find an acceptable answer. In all cases, the Forsaken would want to feed on humans. Once they’d gotten a taste for it, very few would be able to step away from the addiction that was human blood. Joseph had been able to, but he was the exception to the rule and they accommodated him with cattle when the normal way of eating wasn’t doing it.
“I really don’t know. I’ve tried to woo them with my winning personality, but they don’t seem to be buying it. ‘Repent and live,’ I tell them, but they think they are invincible. It’s an impossible mountain to climb,” Joseph replied.
“What won you over?” she pressed.
“I wanted to live more than I wanted human blood,” he replied simply.
“And they don’t? That doesn’t make sense to me.” Cordelia shook her head, throwing her black hair away from one ear. The fur caught a few strands, keeping them from joining their fellows lying flat behind her ear. Joseph’s eyes darted to it and back, but she caught him.
“Will you people ever stop looking at my ears?” Terry and Joseph both froze in place, wondering if the wrath of the T-Rex had been unleashed.
“Overwhelming force?” she continued. Terry and Joseph both started breathing again and tried to look casual.
“We tried that in LA, but they wanted to play fart games,” Terry answered.
“The snipers shot them with silver bullets first,” Cory pointed out.
“It changes the dynamic. At that point, I suspect my brethren were convinced that they were going to die anyway.” Joseph tipped his hat to Cordelia.
“Thanks, Uncle Joe,” she said, looking at her father.
He rolled his eyes yet again and shook his head.
Find out more about Craig Martell’s books and his life in Alaska: http://www.craigmartelle.com
Nomad Mortis – Snippet 1!
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 8
Nomad Mortis – SNIPPET 01
UNEDITED
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 8
By Craig Martelle and Michael Anderle
Terry stood on the shore, looking at Lake Michigan. It was going to be yet another beautiful day. Char and Cory strolled toward the docks. There was a small sailboat that they had access to. Although it was a community asset, very few people were comfortable sailing on the open lake. Terry liked to go out to clear his head, plan his next adventure.
Of course, he did that best with Char. Char’s and Terry’s views were mostly aligned to begin with, and he needed the viewpoints of someone who looked at the world differently, like their kids.
Cordelia was a natural. Kimber and Kaeden could also strategize at the highest levels, looking at the issues as unenhanced children of the new world. They knew what there was to know about the Unknown World, but they were still outsiders. Cory was born with the nanocytes. Her enhancements were natural, as well as different than those of Terry or Char.
She was a little stronger and faster than an average human which could have been due to being raised by two workout fanatics. She healed more quickly, and that was her real gift. Helping Akio with his horrific injuries sustained in Mammoth Cave, her eyes now glowed blue.
At all times, no matter what.
Terry’s and Char’s eyes only glowed when they were extremely agitated. Spitting mad they called it.
Behind them, Aaron and Yanmei were walking, hand in hand. Fu was nowhere to be seen as she was spending less time as Yanmei’s servant and more time as Gene’s girlfriend. Terry had expected that, but he knew about free will. Yanmei had not understood it.
Given a taste, Fu had fully embraced it.
“Gene?” Terry wondered aloud. He was a massive brute and Fu was five foot nothing and a hundred pounds. He shuddered to think about it.
Char and Cory both heard him. They had turned and were watching.
“I swear, you two could be twins,” Terry said softly, but he had to get his dig in. “But someone has you by about a hundred and twenty-five years.”
Char squinted at him, pursing her lips as she contemplated her next move. Cory watched her mother. With a barely imperceptible nod, they bolted straight for Terry. He almost fell over backward as he tried to turn. They caught his arms and dragged him backward.
They wouldn’t let him get his feet underneath himself as they ran for the water. With a final hop and choreographed toss, they hiked Terry past the rough shoreline and into the clear water. He missed as he tried to grab them and bring them with him.
He took it like a champ, backstroking into the lake, before turning and kicking back toward shore. The water was cool but comfortable. Terry didn’t see his dunking as a loss in the never-ending contest of his life, but an arrow in his quiver of paybacks. He’d wait, and when the time was right, he’d deliver a well-targeted practical joke that would demonstrate his overall superiority.
Most likely, he’d be found out, confirming his position as second best. He preferred it that way. Making Char or Cory look or feel bad wasn’t in his nature.
He strolled casually from the water approaching the two women who both stood with their arms crossed, watching him warily.
As he got close, they dropped into fighter’s crouches. Terry held his hands up in surrender. He removed his shirt and shook his head, tossing his wet hair, sending a stream of water in an arc around him. He started to unfasten his pants.
Cory turned and bolted. Char stood up straight, crossed her arms, and gave him her best disapproving look while keeping her eyes on her husband and his magnificent body.
“Well, if you aren’t going to fight fair…” He let the thought trail off.
“Ahem,” Aaron grunted from nearby.
Terry started refastening his pants, while trying to give his wife the “we’ll pick this up later” look. She wasn’t watching; his efforts were wasted.
“Have you noticed the hem lines are getting shorter?” Aaron asked.
“What the hell are you talking about? Who has hem lines?” Terry was confused. Char chuckled and shook her head, finally returning her gaze to TH.
“Just making conversation,” Aaron said. Terry had known the Weretiger a long time, but he’d never seen this side. Aaron was a funny guy.
All he needed was someone to bring that out.
To find out more about Craig Martelle and his exciting life in Alaska: http://www.craigmartelle.com/apps/blog/show/44582077-nomad-mortis-snippet-01
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Short Stories
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Short Story Wednesday!
It’s Wednesday – you know what that means… only six more work days until next Wednesday. But first, a Terry Henry Walton Chronicles SHORT STORY for FREE!
Installment 3: Timmons & Sue in Toronto
http://www.craigmartelle.com/apps/blog/show/44579066-timmons-sue-in-toronto
CALLED – The Ascension Myth Book 03 – Snippet 03 of 03
Gaitune-67, Secret Basement Base, Weapons Warehouse
Brock led Paige and Pieter through the rather intimidating operations suite to take a peek at the weapons room beyond.
Stepping through the door at the far end, they entered the huge warehouse. Brock led them around the edge of the room past aisle upon aisle of advanced killing technology.
Crash ambled a few paces behind, calmly taking it all in. When he saw the missiles aisle, though, he whistled through his teeth, belying to his cool exterior. “That is a shit-ton of carnage waiting to be wreaked on something motherfucking deserving.”
Brock looked past Paige and Pieter to eye Crash in mock judgment. “Ignore the war-hungry crazy man behind you,” he said. “But he’s right. “He turned and gestured at the warehouse behind him. “There is enough ammo here to do all kinds of damage. And I have no idea how to use it yet just from looking at it. The tech is waaay advanced.”
Paige shook her head in disbelief. “I just… I can’t believe all this has been right next door to your workshop all this time!”
Pieter nodded in agreement, and glanced over at Paige. “Yeah, like, what the hell?” He paused a moment. “I wonder what programming language they used if this isn’t Sarkian?”
Paige and Brock ignored the overly geeky question.
Paige’s eyes lit up suddenly, remembering. “So where’s this ship with the vampire on it?” she asked.
Brock nodded back the way they had come. “Yeah, you’ll see that when we go to the conference room.” He checked his holo. “We should make our way down there now, actually.”
He led them back through the ops room into the main corridor. Turning deeper into the base, he walked through the double doors to the hangar where he had stood in awe just twenty minutes before.
They marched through as a group and Brock paused, letting them take in the largest ship and the whole arrangement of flying machines.
He turned and looked at their faces, grinning. “Yup,” he said, satisfied. “That was pretty much my reaction.” He beamed at them, opening his holo and snapping a picture of them.
Paige noticed, laughed, and slapped his arm. “So this is, what? A space base?” she asked, still consumed by awe at the huge hangar and its contents.
Brock nodded. “Seems like. We’ll find out more at this meeting. Come along,” he told them. “Briefing room is this way.”
He headed down the metal steps to deck level, then walked around the perimeter past one set of steel double doors, keeping to an outlined walk way painted onto the floor. About a third of the way around the semicircular deck they came to another set of double doors. Brock pushed them open and held one door for the others to enter.
Crash strode through first. He’d hardly said a word, but Brock could tell from the flavor of his blank expression he was processing what was going on.
Pieter followed Paige through. “How big is this place?” he asked.
Brock shrugged, releasing the door, and continuing down the corridor. “No idea yet,” he admitted casually. Something caught his attention, and he glanced back as they walked.
The door he had just released was self-closing, and as it swung shut, the air pressure seemed to change minutely. Brock made a mental note to investigate it later. It felt like maybe the doors automatically sealed, which would be useful on many levels.
The group continued down the dimly lit corridor. The floor was a little rubbery, like it was electrically insulated. The walls, which seemed to glow, were made of some highly evolved nano-carbonate as far as Brock could tell; a lightweight building material that was also capable of transferring current. And therefore information, he mused. Inset into the walls were holo panels and then little shiny discs now and again, plus laser lights.
He was going to have fun figuring out all the stuff on this base. He suspected it was less of a building and more of a cyber entity, living, breathing and thinking at the highest level. Even as a genius, he felt that comprehending even a fraction of how this complex base worked was going to be amazingly tough.
They passed a bunch of other doors to rooms or labs or ancestors-knew-not-what, and then Brock entered the meeting room where the other members of the team had already assembled.
“So…what? This guy is going to show up in person then?” Joel was asking Molly.
Molly shrugged. “Perhaps. Or maybe he’s just going to keep talking through the audio feeds.”
Joel checked the time on his holo.
Paige, Pieter, Crash, and Brock filed into the room and took seats around the conference room. The room was comfortable, soundproof and probably a lot of other things. It was Brock who noticed that the chairs they were sitting on didn’t touch the ground.
“Booja!” he whooped jovially when he realized. “Antigrav chairs!”
Everyone’s heads disappeared below the table as they looked under the chairs to check out the discovery. All except Molly, who bounced up and down, wondering how they were calibrated for the weight on them.
Paige sat up and managed to catch Molly’s attention. She was about to launch into a bunch of questions when the audio system clicked on.
“Greetings of the day be upon you, as you say in your system.” It was the voice.
Molly tapped her ear to signal that they needed to focus, looking at Paige. She needn’t have bothered. Paige was already peering around for the voice. Or speakers.
In fact, Crash, Paige and Pieter all looked stunned as they heard the man for the first time.
“First, may I introduce myself?” The sound came from everywhere at once.
Paige’s eyes continued to flicker around the room, and she looked a little disoriented.
A hologram materialized in the center of the table, then moved to the wall and spread itself out to create a three-dimensional screen. The high-tech holo screen flickered and then enlarged again before displaying an eerily real hologram of a young-looking general.
My name is General Lance Reynolds. Previously of the Etheric Empire, presently I hold a high position in the Etheric Federation.”
Paige, mesmerized by what she was seeing and still in a state of awe, raised her hand and waved at him.
Lance chuckled. “Hello there, young Paige Montgomery.”
Molly looked shocked. “You know her name?” she asked, suddenly wondering what else he knew.
Lance was still smiling. “Of course. I know all your names.” He looked in the direction first of Crash. “This is Chris Ashworth. Call sign Crash. Pilot and accomplished collector of Spaceport fines.”
Molly shot Crash a look, suddenly realizing that all the bitching he’d been doing over the Spaceport fine when they first had to skip the planet in a hurry wasn’t actually his first incursion.
Lance continued. “Then we have Joel Dunham. Former Space Marine for the Central Sark System’s military. Now your Second-in-Command.”
Joel nodded, as if he were being introduced on a game show.
Lance moved on to Pieter. “And then we have your newest recruit, Pieter Alexander, a computer genius with a misspent youth, but a boat load of spunk when it comes to code writing…, and commenting on rewrites.” Pieter blushed. Molly watched him carefully. There was clearly something Lance knew that she didn’t. She filed that one away for later too.
“And then we have Paige Montgomery, former kidnap survivor, former cheerleader, and former personal assistant to the former Senator. Now she keeps this place running, but she’s secretly biding her time before she can build her own empire and change the face of fashion in the Central Systems.”
Molly’s eyes suddenly locked on Paige, surprised by the General’s last comment. Paige’s chest went a deep red, and her eyes focused hard on the table. She looked like Lance had just shared her deepest secret with the class.
The General wasn’t done. “And then we have Molly Bates, ejected from the Space Corp for a 4077.” The entire team stared at her, their eyes wide. Molly kept her eyes fixed on the holo of Lance, but she could feel the weight. Her breath became short, and embarrassment swelled in her upper chest. She couldn’t see him, but she could swear Joel was smiling a little.
“So what’s your point, General? You know everything about us. You’ve probably been reading our diaries. So what?” Molly found her courage as she spoke, even though emotion denied her enough air for her vocal chords. “Why are we here? What is this place? And why did you suddenly give us access to this little set up of yours?”
She paused for a moment, catching her breath.
Lance opened his mouth to answer, but Molly didn’t stop there.
“And is this shit all Bethany Anne’s? Does that mean she’s coming back? Or did you steal it from her?”
From Ellie >>> Yoda ism. Yeah, he actually said this
Simulation Theory Part 2
10 PM CT, deep into the arguments around why it’s likely we’re living in a simulation, MA kinda lost the plot.
I didn’t “kinda” lose the plot. I kinda went off on a tangent related to why it would be impossible for computers (At this stage) to provide the verisimilitude necessary for even a small amount of humanity to be in a simulation. Anyway, the below was when I finished up my second version (explanation) on Resolution…
MA: So that was a clarified answer that was simplified.
Pause.
MA: Hell, that was redundant.
Ellie: ok.
CALLED – The Ascension Myth Book 03 Snippet 02 of …
Unknown Apartment, Downtown Spire
A lone blogger worked late into the night from the little desk in her studio apartment. She finished typing, then scrolled through the holo screen, checking for sense and making sure she hadn’t left any distinguishing features like vocabulary or sentence structure that might give her away.
Finally satisfied that it was going to appear completely anonymous, she hit Submit. The article went into publish status almost immediately, appearing on the planet’s largest independent alternate news site, Whistleblown.
The view counter started going up immediately. She’d chosen a catchy title, and since the toxin saga was still a hot topic, she knew that an alternate view to what the mainstream media outlets were publishing would be well received.
Besides, people needed to know the truth.
Not the whole truth. After all, there was a reason why Molly Bates and her team felt they needed to operate from off-world. But they needed to know enough of the truth to understand that Molly Bates was not the big bad here.
They needed to know who the real enemy was, and who had really set up the threat to the population of Spire.
They also needed to understand that those people, with their underhanded agendas and fervent desire to accumulate wealth and power, were dangerous. They had already murdered dozens of people in their toxin experiments, they were most likely responsible for Senator Dewitt’s demise, and they had certainly killed one scientist and kidnapped the other.
They were not good people.
And they had power.
A deadly combination. And the only way to break their grip was to expose them completely.
The truth—as her grandma always told her—would indeed set people free.
The Toroid Desert Club, Outskirts of Spire
The following afternoon, in a secluded country club on the edge of the Narvanah desert, a group assembled behind closed doors. Getting to the secure location had been a challenge. It was imperative that no one track them, which was especially difficult given their high-powered positions, entourages and security details.
Nevertheless, within minutes of the calls they each received at four o’clock in the morning, they had started making arrangements to be in attendance. Skipping this meeting was not an option.
“The article has had over twenty million views.” The man who spoke showed a hint of admiration in his voice. Twenty million views in half a day was impressive by any standard, and Mac Kerr was always impressed by people who could get results. After all, it was filtering for that quality which had allowed him to survive.
“And do we know who posted it yet?” The second voice was Mr. Andus. He walked around the wood-paneled board room, then sat down in the big leather chair at the head of the table. The attendees all turned to look at him.
It was Mac who answered. “No,” he told his leader. “The site is deliberately designed to keep its contributors anonymous. Makes it hard to fact-check, but these people aren’t interested in that. Their goal is to get it out there and raise enough red flags to prompt authorities and other people with access into investigating further.”
He leaned toward Mr. Andus, his forearms resting on the table.
Andus tapped the arms of his chair with the forefingers of each hand. “But this site is fairly reputable?” he asked, assessing just how much of a problem they were up against.
Mac nodded, glancing briefly at Jessica for support. “Yes, it has been in the past,” he confessed, looking back at Andus.
Andus pursed his lips. His eyes were steely, in the way they became when he was not pleased. Only people who had worked closely with him would know that, though. “So it’s going to be hard to debunk the article. Or undermine it,” he clarified.
Mac nodded reluctantly. “Potentially,” he admitted, now wishing he hadn’t been the messenger on this little tidbit.
Jessica cut into the conversation, her whole demeanor that of someone who had all the answers. “Clearly we just need to go to back to the source to clear all this up.” She flicked her dark hair over one shoulder with her right hand and kept her chin high, feeling that it made her look more assertive.
Mac watched her perform for Andus. Mac thought it just made her appear arrogant, but then he never had liked assertive women. He glanced over at the new guy, who was sitting on Andus’ other side diagonally opposite from him. The new guy didn’t visibly react. He just sat there quietly taking it all in. Mac tried to catch his eye to get some support, but couldn’t. He looked straight-laced, but to be in this room, that couldn’t be the whole truth.
Andus’ attention had shifted to Jessica. “What did you have in mind?” he asked, his eyes a fraction less cold.
Jessica paused, enjoying her moment. “I think we need to discredit the Bates girl,” she said simply.
Mac tried really hard not to roll his eyes. He was a seasoned criminal in the Outer System and he was sitting here listening to this? He struggled to control the contempt in his voice when he spoke. “So how, precisely, Ms. Newld,” he said slowly, “do you suggest we achieve that?”
Jessica glared at him and blinked. She held the glare, as if mentally boring a hole in his skull with her eyes. “We need to send her on rigged cases, and set her up to fall hard in front of the media.” Only then did she relinquish her glare to look at Andus. He was the decisionmaker here, she reminded herself. “Then no one is going to believe she was innocent in the toxin scare,” she told him.
Mac couldn’t resist. “But Jessica,” his tone was patronizing now, “wasn’t it one of your convoluted plans to set her up in the toxin scare that in the first place?”
Jessica’s eyes darted back to him, and then her head followed slowly, like an animal toying with its prey.
“Yes, it was,” she told him. “And it worked very well.” Her tone was furious, but she’d dialed back to remain somewhat civil.
Mac wasn’t buying it. He leaned back as if he’d already won. “Not according to this article it didn’t. She wasn’t even taken in for questioning, so our media contacts had no leverage.” He held her gaze, dying to look at Andus’ reaction but resisting to avoid revealing that he was actually jockeying for influence with Andus.
Jessica’s face turned to stone.
Andus cut in, mildly amused by the backbiting. “Now, now, children. Jessica’s plan might have legs,” he said slowly. “We just need to be careful about the execution of it. Molly Bates needs to fail.” He paused, turning his ornate tea glass around as he mulled the decision.
“And fail publicly,” he concluded.
He took a sip of mint tea before looking into the glass and placing it back into the saucer on the exquisite dark wood table. He looked up at the group. “Do you think you can all work together this time to make it happen?”
Mac was the first to respond. “Yes, sir.”
Jessica sighed, then relented. “Yes sir.”
The remaining gentleman in the meeting spoke for the first time. “Yes, sir,” replied Garet.
FROM ELLIE >>> (This is Mike…) We are about 24 hours from release (or less, depending on Amazon… Hopefully not more!) and for your fun… (and my shame.)
Now, from Ellie.
Polygons vs Resolution: Simulation Theory Part 1
In amongst our discussion about how we might be living in a simulated reality, MA made the point that to render the kind of polygon ratio would take way more processing power than we could possibly imagine. (I disagree, but that isn’t the point here).
Me: What do you mean by polygon ratio?
MA: (big long exposition about what he’s doing with LMBPN and pulling from video games etc. etc. Da la la la la…) And so each character is made up of polygons and the more polygons-
Me: Ah. You mean resolution.
MA: Yes.
Me: (quiet eyeroll). That’s ten minutes of my life I’ll never get back.
Redemption: The Boris Chronicles #4 – Snippet 1
Redemption: The Boris Chronicles
Redemption is the new book from Paul C. Middleton and Michael Anderle, and we have the first snippet to share with you today!
Snippet 1
Unedited
Chapter 1
Danislav was angry with his boss. Boris shouldn’t have decided that now was the time to start pushing the borders of his domain out further. He sure as hell didn’t need to send an old hand like Danislav on one of the first clearance patrols.
There were gasps from the patrol as suddenly a pillar of smoke appeared on the horizon. There must be a homestead or village in that direction.
He could smell the fear coming off his own patrol. Most people were sensible enough to leave Boris’s domain and its borderlands alone, and they were barely 10 clicks from the previously established border. That people were attacking each other this close to the homeland was concerning, but hardly something to be afraid of for an old hand like him. He barked out several orders and he shifted with three of the others in the platoon. The rest were to follow as quickly as possible behind, after distributing the gear those four could no longer carry.
His anger increased at the wanton damage he found in the village that had been set alight. The only undamaged buildings in the village where the inn and the town hall, which were next to each other and made of stone with slate roofs. It would be nearly impossible to burn them quickly, unlike the other, thatch-roofed, buildings. What concerned him most was the scorch marks from a weapon that he didn’t recognized, combined with the smell of vampire in the air. He hadn’t smelt vampire since the first years after the world’s worst day ever.
As he moved closer to the town hall there were bodies scattered everywhere. Many were burnt to a crisp, and only one or two had the telltale bite marks of the vampire, despite the stench of them being everywhere. He couldn’t smell the more rotten over the odor of Nosferatu, but that was more of a relief than a concern to him. It was unlikely that any vampires older than fifth generation were around on Boris’s border. Not after the statement, it made by killing a pair of third gens who thought they could move in on his territory. He’d sent messengers from their forces with eight body parts to travel from village to village in the surrounding territories.
‘Really, Boris should be sending his eldest on these patrols,’ Danislav thought. Olaf was spoiled rotten, unlike his siblings. His sister, Fiona, was Boris’s ambassador to the Mongolians, for example. ‘Besides, Olaf is better suited to leading patrols against possible vampires than I am. I’m just not a Bear, and he is. Sure I can probably take one in a pinch with backup, but it wouldn’t be a fun tangle.’ his thoughts continued.
“Search the town,” He ordered. “Look for survivors, look for any information to be had. Regroup at the town hall. Town Hall is Operations Central.”
To find out more about Paul C. Middleton and to check out his other books – http://www.paulcmiddleton.com/
CALLED – The Ascension Myth Book 03 Snippet 01 of …
Gaitune-67, The Other Side of the Demon Door
Molly, Joel and Brock stood on the balcony overlooking the most enormous hangar deck they had ever seen. Advanced starships cluttered the deck, positioned as if prepared to scramble at a moment’s notice.
Awestruck, they remained motionless for several minutes, emotionally swinging between disbelief and excitement.
Joel was the first to try to speak. “Isn’t that…?” His voice trailed off.
Molly nodded, her mouth hanging open, still taking in the scene.
She could hear Brock breathing behind her. “Holy mother of fuckery!” he whispered under his breath.
Molly finished Joel’s sentence. “The Queen Bitch’s insignia,” she mouthed, breathlessly.
She’d spent so many hours searching as a child, fantasizing about the Etheric Empress, wishing she could be one of her guards and fight the good fight for the Empire.
For years she had worked in secret, hijacking her parents’ EI in order raid the dark web for intel of sightings or references in history, near and far. Anything that would give her a clue or direction.
The pull the legend had on her was deep. And profound. And inspired.
When the team had shown her the painted-over insignia in one of the corridors just after they had moved into the safe house, she hadn’t dare imagine that it might have been the insignia. The female skull with fangs. The slight ridges and the odd English letter they could make out… Rationally, it had been inconclusive.
But now, standing on the platform overlooking the immense hangar with ships of all different sizes—with that insignia on every single one of them!—was like a lucid dream materializing in front of her eyes.
And then she saw it. The image that would confirm everything she had ever wondered.
Her heart missed a beat.
Painted on the side of the cockpit of the largest ship in the center of the hangar was a photorealistic painting of the Empress herself. Molly had never seen a picture of her before. She had read accounts of her being stunningly beautiful, and the usual about her being formidable and deadly. But she’d never been able to find an image.
But the painting of the fanged human female, the Queen Bitch herself, was enchanting. It seemed to have a mystical quality that invoked a sense of power and pride in those who looked upon it. Molly could tell from the reactions of Joel and Brock that it wasn’t just her.
“We should get the others in here,” she said, finally becoming aware of what was happening. “We’re going to need to look into what all of this,” she waved around the hangar, “is, and why it’s here.”
Joel cut in, almost absently, “—and if we can play with it.”
He was still transfixed by the enormous ship in the middle of the hangar. Or rather, by the image of the dynamically beautiful Bethany Anne painted on the side of the ship.
“Who is she, though?” he asked, not really understanding Molly’s reference to the Queen Bitch.
Molly was beaming, and still enthralled. “That is Bethany Anne. Human turned vampire, Savior of the human race, Yollin Empire, and Etheric Queen of Everything.”
She took a breath, and seemed to ground herself a little.
Brock finally found his voice. “But wasn’t she a bad guy? Like a villain? My grandparents used her as a warning when we were being bad.” His look of awe was slowly morphing to mild concern.
He continued, his speech accelerating a little as his fear kicked in. “And if this is her stuff, and we’re here, living on top of one of her disused bases, then might she be coming back for it some time?”
There was a loud crackling, then an audio feed similar to the one which had initially granted them access started up again.
“She’s not coming back any time soon,” announced the human-sounding voice. “But there are things we need to discuss before you can play with these…toys.”
Molly and Joel looked at each other in shock. Molly twigged first. “He can hear us?” She immediately looked around for cameras and microphones.
Joel scanned the other direction behind her. “Seems like,” he agreed softly.
The voice chuckled a little. “Yes, yes. I can hear you. And see you. But enough of that for now. Assemble your team and then we can talk. Join me in the conference room through the second corridor when you hit the hangar deck. Thirty minutes. I’ll explain everything.”
The voice clicked off.
Brock’s eyes went wide. “This is some scary-ass juju. If this is the Queen Bitch’s stuff then this is bad. If someone has stolen her shit and put it here, then this is double-bad.”
Molly pursed her lips. “Brock. Chillax. It’s fine. This is going to be fine. If the voice on the comm wanted to harm us, he probably would have done it already. If this is Bethany Anne’s stuff, then we’ll just give it back to her. And if someone stole it from her, then we’ll hunt them down, kick their fokking asses, and then give it back to her. It’s not a big deal.”
Her eyes danced with glee as she spoke. “But I for one am excited to find out what the hell is going on and why we ended up here.” She turned to face her comrades.
You’re thinking about how this safe house ended up on our list again, aren’t you?
Yes, I am. I’m also thinking this voice might be able to give us some answers.
When Molly spoke again, her shoulders were back and her voice had a kind of resonance neither Brock nor Joel had ever seen in her before. “OK, let’s gather the troops, let them know what’s going on, and then find that conference room and get some answers.”
Joel and Brock shifted, their awareness still fixed on Bethany Anne’s image behind her. They nodded and started to shuffle back out of the door, their gaze being the last thing to leave the hangar.
Molly grinned. “This is going to be fucking epic.”
>>> From Ell Leigh Clarke
I Don’t Call You Mike
As you may have gathered MA and I have discussions.
One might call them convoluted.
Another might say they become heated.
Anyway, this one instance he’s referred back to a bazillion times by now, saying we must share this in our author notes.
I can’t even remember what we were arguing about discussing, but he has a way of trying to make a point politely, by being self-effacing. (Oh yeah Michael, I’m totally onto you on that….)
So, during one of these ‘discussions’ he reflected back to me:
Mike: “So what I hear you saying is Mike, you’re just being stupid.”
Ellie: “Nooooooooo….”
Pause
Ellie: “I don’t call you Mike…”
Mike: Blink…Blink blink… <pause again> “That was…Ouch…Just ouch!”
Snippet 2 – Revolution!
Revolution
The Rise of Magic, Book Four, Snippet 2
Hey, everyone,
Chris here, and I’m sitting in an AirBnB in Calgary, Alberta. Mrs. Raymond and I have been up here speaking at a conference related to our day jobs, and with three lectures and a shit-ton of conversations behind us, we’re ready for a little R&R.
We’ve never been to Calgary before, and it is a cool city.
I used to walk around cities just taking it all in. Since I’ve been writing fiction for a few years, I see new places differently. I wonder how a character might see it, how they might move in the street, what kind of trouble they could get in down that dark alley!
It’s been a fun trip, but I’m also REALLY looking forward to book 4 landing. I’d say this is like nothing we’ve done before. It has a different design and rhythm… what’s the same though? Revolution is a hell of a lot of fun!
So, here’s another snippet to hold you over until the release, which is coming REALLY soon.
Cheers,
CM
Revolution: Snippet 2
[Unedited]
Chapter 1
Heavy rain fell across the old glass windows, waking Hannah from her already restless slumber. Shooting up in her bed, her mind swam with images from her dream—or rather her nightmare. It had been the same every night for a week. The airship hovered over the Boulevard, bringing down hellfire on the place she had once called home. Standing helplessly on a hill overlooking the city, she watched her people die.
Body covered in cold sweat, she had to remind herself, like each day before, that the dream had really happened—although most of her people escaped. But that didn’t stop her from reliving it each night—a bitter memory that haunted her.
Throwing her legs over the side of her bed, she looked down at Sal still happily snoring on the floor beside her. The dragon was nearly as long as the bed and weighed twice as much. Despite his size, he had more room here in the tower—although he spent a good deal of time stretching his wings outside. There was no longer any reason for him to hide who he was.
She got up and paced across the room. It was the same that she had occupied when she and Ezekiel had lived there before not even a year ago. Those months felt like a different lifetime. Unlike before, the room was no longer her own. Two other beds lined the walls, but they were empty and made up with blankets pulled tight. Julianne and Amelia were already gone—as they were every morning. Their diligence in leading the tower filled with Arcadian rebels was inspiring, but Hannah needed her rest. Parts of her body still ached from her fight against Alexandra in the factory.
Pulling on her white, mended shirt and leather corset, she was pleased to feel a little bit more like the girl from the Boulevard. Too many days were spent masquerading as Deborah, the proper noblewoman, and she was glad to be Hannah once again. Of all the things that died that night, Hannah was glad that Deborah was one of them.
“Come on, you lug. Get up,” she called to Sal.
The dragon lay motionless, save his steady breathing. He opened one eye, saw Hannah standing over him, and then closed it quickly.
She couldn’t help but laugh and give him a little kick to the ribs. “I know you’re awake. Now, get your lazy ass up. Let’s go find some food.”
At the mention of breakfast, the dragon hopped up onto all fours and beat Hannah to the door. He sat, his enormous tail swiping back and forth while his eyes stayed on his master.
“You need to get control of that thing,” she said, pointing at his long meaty tail with its barbed end. “Gonna freaking kill someone with it if you’re not careful.”
Sal rubbed his head against her leg. Reaching down, Hannah gave him a scratch under the chin. “Good things today, Sal. It’s time to start planning the revolution.”
****
Hannah and Sal walked the long corridor toward the Great Hall, which had been arranged as an enormous gathering place. The tower was already buzzing with life, and people tripped over themselves to get out of the way of the girl and her dragon.
In all, nearly two hundred Arcadians had fled the city the night the Boulevard burned. Parker and Julianne lead them to their new home in the woods. While the majority of the community were people from the Boulevard, there were certainly middle-class folks—largely business owners from the market—and a few dozen nobles mixed in as well.
Over that first week, the new community spent their hours getting acquainted with each other, and healing from the shock of Adrien’s violence. Many had taken part in the melee on the streets of Queen’s Boulevard, and more than a few came to the tower with a significant injury. The refugees now filled the once abandoned tower almost to the breaking point.
Ezekiel had told her the building was once called a skyscraper, and though there were only eight floors remaining, she could imagine it reaching up into the heavens in the days before the Age of Madness—before the old world came to an end. Some of the rooms were being used for planning and training, but most—including the ones that Ezekiel had trained Hannah in—had been converted into bunkhouses. A small group of carpenters was working around the clock, hammering together makeshift beds, and working to accommodate the people.
Everyone had a gift, and all would be used before too long.
Sal curled up under a table that had become their normal spot during meal times as Hannah got in line to get food. She glanced back at the dragon and smiled. If Sal kept growing, he’d have to become a better hunter. The rations that Eleanor, Maddie, and the others had saved from the city were quickly dwindling, and soon, eyes would turn to the gentle dragon for meat. Hannah would die before Sal became steaks.
A gruff voice ahead in the line interrupted her meanderings about Sal’s culinary use. “Dammit, you can’t just cut into line like that. Get to the end like everybody else.”
The man raising his voice had a harsh face to match his tone. The object of his ire was a nobleman, a few inches shorter and half as wide.
Face turning red, the nobleman raised his hands in defense. “No, no. I was here. Just had to see to my wife for a second, she’s not well.”
“Here? You were here? I sure as shit didn’t see you here. How about you—” the man nodded to another new resident of the tower “—you see this tight ass nobleman in line right there?”
The third party turned away from the disagreement, trying his best to stay out of trouble.
“Shit,” the gruff man said. “Just get to the end of the line.”
“How dare you speak to me like that? I’m sure you’re used to barking like a dog in the streets, but I deserve some bloody respect, you bastard.”
Hannah scanned the room, looking for her friends. None of them were there. She left the line and approached the men. “Cool it.” Turning from the nobleman to the man from the Boulevard, she said, “Who cares who was here first? There’s enough food for us all.”
The gruff man spun to face Hannah. “The hell there is. Can’t be much of anything left, but I’ll be damned if I let some prick from the Quarter eat while I starve. And who the hell are you, thinking you can tell me anything about anything?”
A tiny smile spread across Hannah’s face. Naturally, she thought everyone in the tower knew exactly who she was: Hannah from the Boulevard—the Witch Bitch that saved them all from their misery under the thumb of Adrien the Dickweed. But it seemed like this man needed a lesson.
The man looked at Hannah and then back at the noble. “She belong to you?”
In silence, the noble looked at his feet.
“Scheisse, I’ll tell you who she is,” a deep, gravelly voice said. “That’s Hannah, the one that saved your pathetic, ungrateful ass from being fried like a pork chop. So, ye better start respectin’ her.”
Hannah and the man both spun to see Karl, the rearick, standing with his war hammer resting on his shoulder.
“But if ya have a problem with that, ya little twat, we could step outside and straighten it out, if ya like,” Karl snorted, looking up at the man.
The man’s eyes cut back to Hannah. “You’re… her?” he stammered.
“In the flesh and blood,” Hannah said with a grin.
His lip trembled, and he looked back at the rearick’s hammer. “Shit… I’m so…”
Hannah held up a hand. “Listen. The tower’s getting tight these days. Go get your food and cool off.”
The man nodded.
“But give any more shit to anyone, and I’ll introduce you to my dragon.” She nodded over to Sal and watched the man’s face freeze. “Understand?”
He nodded, but his eyes were cast downward.
“Good,” she smiled. “We’re all in this together. Things are getting tough; they’ll only get tougher. If we start tearing each other to shreds, that bastard back in our home has already won.”
The man turned back in the line and tried to pretend nothing had happened.
“Thanks,” Hannah whispered to Karl.
“Just another boar I saved ya from, lass. Now, let’s get our grub and have a seat!”
With their plates half as full as they should have been, Hannah and Karl made their way to a table in the corner of the great room where Sal had already taken up residence under the table. Hannah kicked her feet up on her beast and took in the room. The first few days after the victory, people were alive with the rush of winning the day, but that energy had faded. They had begun to fear their decision to follow the magician and her crew out to the tower.
Even some of the folk from the Boulevard grumbled, “Why have you led us out of Arcadia? Life was better there.”
She knew that was a lie. She knew that they had already forgotten the taste of Adrien’s oppression. And she knew that they would need to eat and train if they were going to take back the city.
Eleanor sat across from them, with her own sparse bit of food. She stared at it for a moment in a prayer of gratitude to the Matriarch and the Patriarch. She finally looked up at Karl and Hannah, smiled, and stabbed one of her few cubes of potatoes with her fork. As the one assigned to rations, Eleanor had taken it upon herself to eat less than anyone else. It was a job Hannah did not envy, but she knew Eleanor was up to the task.
“People are getting restless,” the rearick said as if he had been reading Hannah’s mind. “I’ve seen it before. If we don’t get them moving, and soon, they’ll start turning on each other. Hell, they’ll turn on us.”
Hannah nodded. “You’re right about that. Saw a little glimpse of the future with those jagoffs in line. What do you have in mind?”
Karl snorted. “Simple. They’re supposed to be a damned army, right? Time we start treating ‘em like one. Set ‘em to training. Set their eyes on kicking ass and getting home, and they’ll forget their empty bellies. Make discipline their food, and victory their only hope.”
Eleanor looked up from her plate, which was nearly empty. “I didn’t know you were a poet, Karl, and a bad one at that. You can’t build an army without food. Our people from the Boulevard know hunger, but it can only go so far. With winter still upon us, there’s precious little to forage in the woods. These people had little to begin with, and what they managed to carry with them has already been burned through. If everyone keeps eating like you,” she said, eyeing Hannah’s almost empty plate, “we won’t last the week.”
A loud thump grabbed their attention. Hannah turned to find Parker with a slanted grin on his face, standing over an enormous boar with its throat sliced open. “Ask, and you shall receive, Mother.”
Hannah’s eyes smiled at her best friend. “Not bad for a petty thief from the Boulevard. How’d you manage that?”
Grabbing a mysterious piece of meat from Hannah’s plate, Parker popped it in his mouth. “You see, Hannah, when a man has his back against the wall, and the people he loves are in need, the primitive hunter in him emerges, and he does whatever he has to do for the sake of those he loves. We need food; I brought back food.”
Hannah looked from the boar to Parker and back. She rolled her eyes. “So, in other words, you took some experienced hunters into the woods?”
Parker flushed. “If you want to put it that way… Yeah.”
Hannah and her friends laughed. “Well, you just do whatever you have to do to keep food on the table. And we will call you man all you like.”
Eleanor gave her son a kiss, then looked disgustingly at the boar. “I don’t care what you call yourself, sweetie, just get this filthy thing off the table. Maybe you could find some experienced butchers to help you clean your kill.”
Parker picked the boar back up and followed his mom out of the dining room. Hannah shook her head, then glanced over the room. Eleanor was right; this lot was no army. But they were the only army Hannah had.
“I think you’re right, Karl. I’ll try and figure out our food situation, but do you think you could teach this group to fight?”
Karl nodded grimly. “Aye, I’m done underestimating you Arcadians. You’re all thieves and drunks and gluttons, but I’ll turn your people into killers quick enough.”
Hannah smiled. Ready or not, she knew they’d all be doing a fair amount of killing before long. Either that or they’d be dying.
To follow CM Raymond and Lee Barbant and to find out about their other books: http://www.smokeandsteel.com
Sevanouir – Rebirth. Announcing a New Indie Author…
From the Author Notes of Nomad Avenged…
When I wrote Death Becomes Her which is the book that started the whole Kurtherian Gambit Universe that we all write in now, it was in part because it was a bucket list item.
You know, “Write a Book!” kind of bucket list item?
The slightly bigger part of the kick in my pants to make it happen, however, was a little more primitive. It was a father’s need to help one of his children. Parenting, if you are a parent, but no kids are out of the house yet, doesn’t stop at eighteen.
Dammit.
I have to admit that wasn’t what I believed as the first of three sons were growing up. I thought “Eighteen and they go off into the world” which (if my memory serves me mostly intact) was what I thought I had accomplished as a kid.
I believe my father might, just might, have a slightly different tale.
So, the second part of my starting to write was ‘I need to do this to be able to explain, with confidence, to my oldest son’ sort of thing (D’artagnan Anderle – Pen’ish name). His personality is a bit different than mine, and he is a whole lot younger than I am (25 years or so younger). I figured that I could write a few books, work out the kinks, and then let him know the parts he was missing and off he would go.
That really didn’t work. I was (perhaps) wanting his success for different reasons than he might want the success.
In fact, being brutally honest now, I know it.
When I first encouraged him to write a book, it was a no go.
It was “not something he wanted to do.”
That was a let down for me. I’ve shared this part of the story in previous author notes. I had to come to terms with the full circle of life not happening and that he just didn’t want to write, whether he had the talent or not.
Then, we spoke again a couple of months later on the subject.
During this conversation, we discussed it wasn’t that he didn’t want to write, but rather he didn’t know what to write about. A definitive story that was him. (For those who don’t know, neither D’artagnan nor Joey write like I write. Their personal voice isn’t the same and often my suggestions get either one of them to look at me like sons and daughters have looked at parents for millenia… “are you kidding me, Dad?”)
So, D’artagnan gave me two different story beginnings and I provided feedback. Fast forward four months as he worked, deleted, wrote, erased all to figure himself out as much as any early author has to in life. Meaning, who am I as a creator? What makes me tick, something I’m interested in writing about?
A couple of months ago, the Author’s Wife (AKA Mom) and I went down to see him in the Houston area. He and I hung out for an afternoon and discussed the story ideas which he had been working on.
We discussed how he had started down the path of writing those other stories, how he had crashed and burned, and what it took for him to really bring out of himself the plot, the characters and the malefics that kept his imagination working in overdrive. Further, we discussed the specifics of how writing a book works, what it takes to get it edited, covers, and a whole lot more.
By then, I had learned that I couldn’t push authors. If he was going to do this, it had to be on his own.
This knowledge had not come from working with D’artagnan, but from the many other authors I had counseled over the last year which I put into practice mentoring my oldest son.
As a father, I wanted so desperately to see him succeed. As a publisher, I needed him to understand how it all works. The good, and the bad.
The “stuff that is fun, and the stuff that is dressed in coveralls and looks a lot like work.”
He got off to an amazing start. Knocked out 15,000 words pretty quickly.
Then stalled.
I had to gently ask what is going on, not ping him (easy to do in Slack, where all of my work gets done with other authors, editors and artists.) Then, we might not chat for a few days as he did stuff. What stuff? I’ve no clue – I didn’t ask.
I had to be patient. Let him get through the hard stuff, work it all out in his own internal way.
Basically, it kinda sucked to be honest. As a parent, I just wanted the amazing to happen and off to the next awesome milestone in his life he would go.
However, I grew as well. I grew a little as I allowed him to work it out. I grew to know that each time he would come back, that he hadn’t dropped the project (probably one of my biggest fears, honestly) and that what he came back with… was stronger.
D’artagnan worked with Jen McDonnell and then Lynne Stiegler on the editing side. He worked with Jeff Brown on the covers.
He, like Joey before him, has his own damned opinions and apparently, they aren’t so afraid of best selling author Michael Anderle to tell him ‘No, they didn’t like what he was suggesting!’
In fact, you could say they didn’t really CARE about whatever accolades and accomplishments their dad had built up, I was still just dad. Oh, they respected my accomplishments, but they aren’t overwhelmed by what I’ve accomplished to do what I say without questioning it. They, annoyingly enough…
Have their own opinion on their work.
Whether it is with Joey and “killing off some characters” or D’artagnan and his “the covers look better this way” they both will take stands on their work, and it doesn’t matter what my accomplishements and opinions are, this is how their art is going to be.
And I’m DAMNED proud of them standing on their own two feet as they build their own career.
Each one is different, each one is uniquely themselves.
Each one, I believe, has something to offer readers. Some of my readers will like their stuff, others won’t and that’s ok.
With D’artagnan, he enjoys a story where everything isn’t so black and white. Where, as the intro blurb to his book talks about, the Chosen might not want to save the world because it is the right thing to do.
He might want to do it because he wants revenge.
Not everything in life is black and white and the path to getting to the end might be a challenge.
That is D’Artagnan’s voice more than mine. The ability to weave a story where you might get to the same ending, but the path is …
Frankly, not the way I would write it.
So, if you would like to read a brand new author, an author that needed to know more about the Indie Publishing area before he was willing to stick his own toes into the water, I’d like to be the first to introduce you to…
Author D’artagnan Anderle and his first book:
Sevanouir: Rebirth
(The Strange Tales of the Malefic – Book 01)
(Link to Amazon)
What if the chosen want revenge over destiny?
Sylas Chevalier is the latest son of a lineage of Maleficus, users of powerful and mystical items known as Malefics, to inherit his family’s blade, Sevanouir.
However, it came at a terrible cost.
Now a part of a reality that he once thought was a joke, Sylas gets a crash course in the world of his forebearers and must learn what it means to be the wielder of this blade, as mysterious forces approach with their own desires and intent, and they need Sylas and his blade for themselves.
Willingly or not.
Check out more on Amazon using the amazing ‘go to the right country’ link:
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Short Stories
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Short Story Wednesday!
Did you know that Craig Martelle is now posting a Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Short Story every Wednesday? Check out his blog for the first and second installation.
Installation 1: The Rise and Fall of General Tsao
http://www.craigmartelle.com/apps/blog/show/44552563-the-rise-fall-of-general-tsao
Installation 2: The Battle of Paris
http://www.craigmartelle.com/apps/blog/show/44565130-the-battle-of-paris