Nomad Mortis – Snippet 3
Nomad Mortis: Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 8
UNEDITED
Nomad Mortis – SNIPPET 03
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 8
by Craig Martelle and Michael Anderle
Cory jumped back in. “So it’s settled. Joseph and I will talk with the next Forsaken before you whip out your blade,” she said accusingly. Terry was instantly angry. Cory hadn’t seen what he’d gone through at Kirkus’s hands, what the Forsaken had done to the survivors of Cheyenne Mountain.
Terry’s daughter was a pure heart, a pure soul. He couldn’t stay angry with her for long.
Joseph played with the blade at his side. Akio had originally intended to give the Mameluke, a Marine officer’s sword to Terry Henry, but decided to give it to Joseph after the Forsaken’s actions within Mammoth Cave. Terry was okay with that as he preferred the shorter cavalry blade. It didn’t catch on as much of his other gear as a longer blade would, even though there was a certain attraction to carrying a Marine’s sword.
Joseph caught Terry looking at it. He slid the sword free of its stainless steel scabbard and handed it, pommel-first to the colonel.
Terry took it, turning it over in his hands. He looked down its edge, appreciating the coloring that only Damascus blades had. He checked the edge with a thumb. Joseph was keeping it well-honed. Terry smiled appreciatively. It was engraved. “United States Marine Corps” with filigree etched lightly in the surface.
“Take care of that. It’s one of the best that the world has to offer,” Terry stated.
“Trade you? I’m not a big sword guy,” Joseph offered.
“But mine fits better with my gear,” Terry replied.
“Wear it across your back and be done with it. You know you want it.” Joseph started undoing the scabbard. He replaced the sword and held it out to Terry while pointing at the cavalry sword.
“Are you ever going to fight someone using your sword?” Terry asked.
“You know me. What do you think?” Joseph quipped. No, Joseph was never going to start a sword fight.
“Since you’re not going to use it,” Terry replied, quickly undoing his belt and removing the shorter sword. He handed it over and took the Mameluke almost reverently.
Akio had been right when he thought that Terry would fall in love with the sword. Terry carried it in his left hand, grip forward for a quick and easy pull. He shook Joseph’s hand.
Cory put her fists on her hips and glared. When Terry finally noticed her, he knew he was in trouble.
“What?” It wasn’t really a question. Thirty years with Cory’s mother, and he knew the stance well. “I’m sorry, Cory. I didn’t mean it, and I won’t do it again. Honestly!”
“Didn’t mean what?” she asked through pursed lips. His preemptive generic apology had fallen flat. He shook his head and held up one hand in surrender.
“You hijacked my conversation with your drinking buddy!” She declared, stomping one foot and crossing her arms.
“I thought we were done. You and Joseph tell the Forsaken that they should trust me before I kill them.”
“Is that all you heard? You are impossible!” Cory stormed away.
“That’s what I heard,” Joseph whispered.
“I heard that!” Cory yelled over her shoulder.
To discover more about Craig Martelle and his life in the 49th state: http://www.craigmartelle.com
Storm Riders – New Cover and Snippet!
Storm Riders
It’s been a bit since the last snippet, but there’s a good reason for that. We have been working on a new and even more awesome cover. Check it out!
Storm Riders – Snippet 3
UNEDITED
Storms of Magic Book 1
PT Hylton and Michael Anderle
“This is a day you’ll long remember, boy.” The old man gripped the staff lodged into the notch in the fore section of the small boat.
Dustin muttered a semi-polite response that he hoped wouldn’t encourage any more conversation. In truth, looking at this man made him sad. Maybe the old guy had been a Master Storm Caller once, but those days were long past. Now, his eyes were dyed a permanent pale blue-green, and he barely seemed able to conjure enough wind to fill this pathetic craft’s tiny sail. Once, he’d conjured fog, and storms, and lightning to battle Barskall Warriors. Now, he was consigned to ferrying young apprentices out to Testing Rock.
Dustin looked away from the old man. He couldn’t afford to be distracted right now.
In a few short hours, he’d be a full-fledged Storm Caller. He’d trade in his skinny little apprentice’s staff for a thick, twisted staff carved from old wood. He’d earn his place on a stormship. If all went well, he’d soon be going into battle, defending the world from the Barskall. But first, he had to pass the test.
“Ah, there she is.” The old man pointed a crooked finger at a rock jutting from the sea a few hundred years ahead. “Many men have been made on that rock. Many have been broken, too.”
“It’ll take more than a rock and a few waves to break me.” Dustin figured if the old man wasn’t going to shut up, he might as well talk to him. Maybe it would help quell his unexpected nerves. “The rock’s what? Half a mile from shore? I’ve been swimming farther than that since before I was ten.”
The old man shot him a stern look over his shoulder. “Underestimate the sea at your peril. She’s a fickle mistress.”
Dustin stifled a laugh. Despite the nerves, he was confident in his chances. He’d stand on the Testing Rock while a Storm Caller brought on choppy waves. All he had to do was calm the sea and swim to shore. If he made it back alive, he’d pass the test.
He was twenty years old and had been training for this for the last twelve.
From his first day as a Storm Caller’s apprentice, he’d performed better than his peers. He had a natural connection with the sea. He always had ever since his father—a fisherman—had taken him on a two-day voyage when he was barely old enough to walk. His friends struggled for years to conjure even a bit of light fog; a task Dustin accomplished in his first three months. He didn’t understand why it was so difficult for them. He simply touched his staff to seawater, asked, and the sea answered.
Not that it had all been easy. He’d struggled mightily with dispersing weather after he’d conjured it, but he was getting better at that, too. Now, even before he was officially named a Storm Caller, his eyes were already taking on the vibrant blue-green hue of the sea.
Some of his fellow apprentices had already passed this test, and if they could make it, he was confident he would, too.
Dustin wasn’t one to downplay his natural abilities, but he wasn’t one to flaunt them, either. Most days, he enjoyed using his skills to help the other apprentices grow theirs. But today he had to flaunt his skills. That was the whole point of the Testing.
The old man glanced back at him again, as if reading his thoughts. “Would you like a bit of advice from one who’s passed the test?”
Dustin glared at the man, his patience finally at the breaking point. “I highly doubt there’s anything you could say that would help at this stage. I’ve been training for this for twelve years. I don’t want anything else in my head messing me up right now. I need to focus.”
The old man turned back to the sea ahead of them. “Fine. Suit yourself.”
“I meant no offense. But the tests were different in your day. Storm Callers weren’t as powerful.” His master, Harald, had told him all about the old days when Storm Callers were still learning how to commune with the sea effectively to call forth storms. Today’s Storm Caller was a different breed. The best of them were able to call down lightning that could hit a ship a quarter mile away.
The old man sighed. “It’s true. We had much to learn in my day. Perhaps that’s why I kept an open mind, unlike some in this boat. I always kept learning and never thought I was too good to listen to the advice of my betters.”
Dustin didn’t dignify that with a response. If this old man thought he was Dustin’s better just because he’d been a Storm Caller once, he was dumber than Dustin thought. Dustin would be Master Storm Caller of the fleet one day. The old man should have spent the trip befriending him instead of berating him. “Can we just go the rest of the way in silence? I need to concentrate.”
“Of course,” the old man said.
They reached the rock a few minutes later. It was smaller than Dustin had expected. Two full grown men couldn’t have stood side-by-side on it. Dustin was going to have trouble staying up there all by himself.
The skiff pulled alongside the rock, and Dustin hauled himself onto it. He stood up and held out his hand. The old man passed him the apprentice’s staff. Whatever the result of the Testing, this would be the last time Dustin would use it. He was to leave it on Testing Rock when he swam for shore. When high tide came in, it would be carried out to sea.
Dustin stared back at the shore. He knew it was only half a mile, but it looked much farther. “Do you know who my Storm Caller is?”
An apprentice wasn’t allowed to know what Storm Caller they’d be facing in their Testing. Dustin assumed the old man wouldn’t know, but it was worth a try.
The old man smiled up at him, revealing a large gap where his front teeth had once been. “I certainly do. It’s me.”
Dustin blinked hard, confused.
The old man appeared to be standing a bit straighter now. “You have until I return to shore to prepare yourself. I suggest you spend the time wisely.” He closed his eyes for just a moment, and a strong wind filled his sail, sending his skiff gliding back the way they’d come.
The old man turned back and yelled over his shoulder as he sped away. “If you’d been nice to me, I might have gone easy on you. Since you weren’t… Well, I hope you’re a good swimmer.”
Dustin swallowed hard as the skiff raced toward shore.
****
Dustin gripped his staff and jammed it down into the hole in the rock, so it touched seawater. Full Storm Caller staffs were longer, many nearly eight feet tall so they could be placed in the notch in the bow of stormships that exposed them to the exterior of the ship and the spray of seawater. His current apprentice staff was shorter—only about six feet, slightly shorter than he was. Sunk into the hole in Testing Rock, it only reached his waist.
He could see in the distance that the old man was almost back to shore now. It would begin soon.
He gripped his staff and moved into a wide stance that would allow him to keep his balance once the waves started crashing against him. He talked to himself quietly while he waited. “Come on; you can do this. You were made for this. He’s just an old man. You’re a Storm Caller of the future. Okay, so maybe he’s faced Barskall Warriors, and maybe he’s led troops into battle. Big deal. He’s old.”
The words seemed hollow even as he spoke them. The man was a Storm Caller, and Dustin had foolishly mouthed off to him. Now, he was going to pay the price.
There was nothing he could do about that now. The only thing he could do was prepare. He closed his eyes and centered himself.
“The sea is my ally.”
He reached out, not with his hands or even his mind, but with something deeper. With his spirit. He gently touched the sea and began the wordless conversation that was storm magic.
The old man was right about one thing: the sea was a fickle mistress. She couldn’t be forced to do anything. Even asking outright was often fruitless. She had to be coaxed. Dustin needed to take the energy flowing through the sea for its own purposes, ask to borrow just a little of it, and then gently reshape it. It was a bit like riding a wild horse—it took a combination of gentleness, firmness, and the wisdom to know when to use each of them.
He felt the power of the sea thrumming up through his staff and into his hands now. He was connected. He was ready.
On the shore, he saw the old man appear on the wall that overlooked the sea. The top of the wall had a trough filled with seawater, Dustin knew, so Storm Callers could touch their staff to the water, thus allowing them access to storm magic for defense of the city. The old man stood still for a long moment, both hands on his staff, and then the sky began to darken.
Waves started to crash against the rock as the previously gentle swells around Dustin grew into angry waves. He felt a momentary surge of panic but quickly pushed it away. What he needed was a calm mind and spirit.
The waves were crashing over the rock now, slamming into him with a cold, wet force. It was all he could do keep his grip on his staff. He risked a look up at the wall and saw the old man was walking away. Dustin breathed a sigh of relief. It was bad, but since the old man was leaving, it wouldn’t get any worse. He’d conjured the storm, and it was up to Dustin to dispel it so he could swim safely back to shore.
He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. It was so chaotic. The noise, the way his body shivered as the wind whistled past him, the slippery feel of his staff. He tried to get hold of the sea’s energy as he had so many times before, but that felt chaotic, too. He silently asked the sea—begged it, really—to give him control, but it seemed to be listening to a louder voice.
He worked for over an hour, struggling in vain to get the sea under control. Every time he thought he was starting to get it under control, it slipped away from him, and the waves seemed to slam against his rock with renewed fury.
His master, Harald, talked about how the great Storm Callers had a breakthrough during their Testing. How they left Testing Rock with a strengthened connection to the sea. Dustin kept waiting for the moment, but it wasn’t happening. Worse still, the tide was beginning to rise. If he didn’t figure out something soon, Testing Rock would be underwater.
He had to act now.
Taking a deep breath, he concentrated on emptying himself of ego and conscious thought. He put everything he had left into one more attempt. Reaching out with his spirit, pleading with the sea to let him shape it.
To his utter surprise, this time there was a response. The familiar power of the sea flowed through him, and he went to work. He shaped the energy in his mind, smoothing it, dispersing it to calm the waves.
A gust of wind hit him, and he momentarily lost his grip on his staff. It was only his left hand that slipped, but it was enough. His concentration was broken, and the power he’d felt a moment ago was gone.
“Damn it all to hell!” he yelled into the wind. But as he opened his eyes, he saw the sea was much calmer than it had been only a few minutes ago. He hadn’t calmed it completely, but he’d certainly improved his situation.
He watched the swelling waves as he considered what to do. It was beyond idiotic to attempt swimming a half mile in this choppy sea, but what choice did he have? If he waited much longer, the rock would be under water anyway.
He carefully removed his staff from the water hole and placed it on the rock. It had been with him for twelve years, but he couldn’t use it anymore. If he made it back to land alive, he’d be a Storm Caller. If he didn’t… Well, there probably wasn’t much use for a staff in the afterlife.
He took a deep breath and dove into the water to begin the swim to Holdgate.
To find out more about PT Hylton and his other books go to http://www.pthylton.com
Tales of the Republic by M. G. Herron!
Introducing M. G. Herron!
We’d like the Kurtherian Gambit Universe to meet M. G. Herron. Matt’s a friend and member of the 20booksto50k Facebook group, and the author of Tales of the Republic, a sci-fi action thriller releasing today.
If the blurb below interests you, click the link at the bottom to check out Tales of the Republic
TALES OF THE REPUBLIC
Kai Ming, a troubled politician, is entrusted with the country’s only hope of ending the famine that decimated the population. Po Li, a scrappy farm girl, battles to be reunited with her sister after rebel insurgents tear them apart. And Ari Klokov, a soldier, wakes in an underground prison with strange biotech in his head and no memory of the last twelve years.
Thrown together in the chaos and united by a fierce love for their country, Ming, Ari, and Po have to cross the mad riots, outsmart the hawkish Senator Khan, and overcome Felix Hull and his tenacious rebels who wage war in the streets of the blasted city.
Learning to trust each other is a start, but it won’t be enough. Their resistance pits them against ruthless leaders on both sides who harbor designs on the halls of power. Ming, Ari, and Po need to stop them to survive, but every opportunity has a cost–and this one must be paid for in bodies and blood.
***
Tales of the Republic is a sci-fi action thriller by bestselling author M.G. Herron. Originally written and serialized in 7 parts, this book collects all parts into a complete, standalone novel.
What readers are saying:
“Herron conjures a stark view of the future with unexpected twists.” – Amazon Reviewer
“There is hope, but the action is dark and brutal.” – Amazon Revieweron
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!”