by Mark Wandrey
“Elizabeth Cartwright-Kennedy, Jimmy’s mother.”
“I know who you are,” Adayn said.
“And who are you exactly?”
“She’s my girlfriend,” Jim said levelly.
“Girlfriend?” his mother said, somewhat incredulously. “What is she, twenty-five? After his money, are you?” Jim felt his anger growing quickly. Adayn moved out from his side a bit so Jim’s mother could see her uniform, identical to his except sergeant’s chevrons on her shoulder with a “T” under them for technical. His mother had been about to say something harsh when she finally saw the uniform and came up short.
“Oh,” she squeaked. “Can we just...”
“What do you want, Mother?”
“I just wanted to catch up,” she said in a small voice. Jim cocked his head. “Maybe see if you could loan me a few credits?”
Adayn sensed his resolve and half-turned, pushing the elevator call button for him, and Jim turned with her to wait for it.
“Jimmy Cartwright,” his mother said in her best mom voice, “you can’t just walk away from me!” The elevator arrived and opened. He walked in with his lady and turned around. His mother was standing there, easily summoning crocodile tears to her cheeks. He smiled to her.
“I don’t have to,” he said, “you walked away from me, years ago.” The doors closed on the stunned look she gave him.
In his room Jim dropped into a chair and sighed. Adayn came up behind him and massaged his neck and patted his back. Jim wasn’t feeling emotional, and that surprised him. He just felt drained.
“You handled that well,” she said.
“Thanks,” he said. “Tomorrow I need to go to the courthouse here in Houston and file a restraining order.”
“You think that’s necessary?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “Anyway, don’t worry about it. I’m actually surprised she isn’t wanted by the law.” Adayn leaned over his shoulder, her arms encircling his neck. He turned his head and nibbled her neck playfully. “We have some time before dinner...” he said, letting the suggestion trail off.
“Oooh,” she said and kissed him.
Later as they were heading down to the lobby to go to dinner, Jim’s thoughts turned to Splunk. The little Fae had taken off on one of her explorations just when they were ready to leave Karma.
“I hope Splunk is okay.”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Adayn said and straightened the tie on his formal uniform. “You remember how she’d take off for days at a time on that station.” Jim shrugged. “She’s probably taking apart everything in the place and seeing how it works.” She was probably right. Besides, Earth customs likely wouldn’t allow her on the planet anyway.
Light years away on Karma station, the administrator was dealing with a flurry of complaints. A crime wave was underway, and he had no clue who was responsible. Parts stores of a dozen merc units had been raided. Nothing big, just a part here, a part there. Everything imaginable from carbon fiber reinforced beams to optical data cable. Law enforcement was watching the docks day and night, waiting for the thieves to try and unload the goods. Yet, nothing had shown up. Yesterday, two obsolete fusion cores were discovered missing. The administrator shuffled that report to the side. They were obsolete cores used on an ancient design of gunboat. Who would steal something like that?
The station was vast and ancient, with miles of corridors. It had first opened thousands of years ago and been rebuilt and expanded several times. There were even several bays, on the inner ring where gravity was low, that had been lost during those expansions. New walls were added, tunnels closed off for structural improvements, and the existence of the bays forgotten. Unable to be used in any practical manner, they had supports or power conduits running through the center. They were not on most maps anymore.
The Fae slipped from the ventilation shaft into one of those huge, abandoned bays. Taking a second to orient in the near zero-gravity while controlling her prize, she leaped across the open space and expertly landed. In one corner of the bay, constructed from scrap lightweight wall panels, was a small living area.
Complete with its own heating and an autochef which was on the station administrator’s theft report log, the quarters would barely have been sufficient for a single small adult human. The Fae pulled open the door and looked inside. Nine sets of large, light reflecting eyes gazed back at her.
“You, find…
“I, found…
“Where, find…
“Besquith, ship…
“We, ready…
“
Splunk turned her head and looked far, far away. She could feel him through their connection. Distance would make no difference. He was working toward their mutual goal, though he had no idea that they shared it in common. The other Fae went about their various tasks, and Splunk went to help. She trilled happily as they worked.
# # # # #
About the Author
Located in rural Tennessee, Mark Wandrey has been creating new worlds since he was old enough to write. After penning countless short stories, he realized novels were his real calling and hasn’t looked back since. A lifetime of diverse jobs, extensive travels, and living in most areas of the country have uniquely equipped him with experiences to color his stories in ways many find engaging and thought provoking.
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Caution – Worlds Under Construction
Titles by Mark Wandrey
A Time to Die
Earth Song: Twilight Serenade
Earth Song: Etude to War
Earth Song: The Lost Aria
Earth Song: Sonata in Orionis
Earth Song: Overture
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The following is an
Excerpt from Book 2 of the Revelations Cycle:
Asbaran Solutions
___________________
Chris Kennedy
Available from Seventh Seal Press
January 13, 2017
eBook, Paperback and Audio
Excerpt from “Asbaran Solutions:”
Planet Moorhouse, Kepler 62 System
“This is bullshit,” Sergeant James Wilson said. The tall, dark-haired trooper spat, the betel nut chew making his spittle a bright crimson on the sun-bleached sand.
“What’s bullshit?” Private Dave Daniels asked, his pale brows knitting. “This is only my second contract, but it seems like pretty good duty to me. Walk some fence line, guard a mine, and get paid a ton of credits? Seems pretty soft. No one’s trying to kill me, and I can go down to the bar after my shift. Sure, the locals look like anteaters, but they pay well enough so I can afford some of the overpriced beer they’ve imported.”
“Naw, that ain’t what I’m talking about, at all,” the sergeant replied. He spat again. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy not getting shot at as much as anyone. Having actually been hit a couple of times, I may even enjoy it more. What I’m saying is that this whole contract’s fucked up.”
“Why’s that?”
“Do you see the bird on our crest?” Sergeant Wilson asked, pointing to
where the Asbaran Solutions company flag hung limply from the staff in the humid, breezeless air.
Private Daniels nodded his head, then wiped the sweat from his eyes the motion caused. “Yeah. There’s a bird with the company’s motto, ‘Kill Aliens. Get Paid.’”
“Do you know what kind of bird that is?”
“Nope; it looks like some sort of griffin.”
The sergeant stopped and glared at the junior enlisted. “Do they not teach unit history at basic any more, or are you just too fucking stupid to remember? It ain’t no damn griffin, boy; it’s a huma bird.”
“A huma bird?”
“Yeah. It’s a type of bird that never lands; it lives its entire life flying above the clouds where you can never see it.”
“Wow, that’s pretty cool. I’ve never heard of a bird like that.”
“That’s because it doesn’t exist, you dumbass,” the sergeant said, cuffing the private in the back of the head. “It’s myth-o-logical. The point I’m trying to get through your stupid fucking head is that us Asbaran ain’t for sitting around guarding shit. We’re mobile; we strike from above and crush our enemies. We don’t hang around waiting for them to hit us while we’re sitting on the damned toilet in a guardhouse on some godforsaken planet at the ass-end of the galaxy.” He spat; another red stain marked his passage. “If the Founder could see us now…”
“What? What would he do?”
“If the Founder could see us now, he’d probably come back and kill every single mother fucker in management. This ain’t how we’re supposed to be used. It don’t play to our strengths…and it just ain’t right!” He sighed. “It ain’t what I signed up for anyway.” He spat again, hitting his first mark dead center. “I signed up to be up there,” he continued, pointing up to the sky.
Daniels looked up to where the sergeant pointed and squinted. “Hey, what’s that?” he asked. “There’s something up there.”
Sergeant Wilson looked up. A miniature boomerang shape could just be seen, silhouetted against the clear green sky. “Fuck!” he grunted as he broke into a run back toward the shelter. “Incoming! Get under cover now!”
He had only covered half the distance to the bunker when he heard the tell-tale shriek of the banshee bombs, and he knew they weren’t going to make it.
* * * * *
Find out more about Chris Kennedy and get the free prequel to Asbaran Solutions,
“Shattered Crucible” at: http://chriskennedypublishing.com/
The following is an
Excerpt from Book One of the Kin Wars Saga:
Wraithkin
___________________
Jason Cordova
Now Available from Theogony Books
eBook, Paperback and (soon) Audio
Excerpt from “Wraithkin:”
Prologue
The lifeless body of his fellow agent on the bed confirmed the undercover operation was thoroughly busted.
“Crap,” Agent Andrew Espinoza, Dominion Intelligence Bureau, said as he stepped fully into the dimly lit room and carefully made his way to the filthy bed in which his fellow agent lay. He turned away from the ruined body of his friend and scanned the room for any sign of danger. Seeing none, he quickly walked back out of the room to where the slaves he had rescued earlier were waiting.
“Okay, let’s keep quiet now,” he reminded them. “I’ll go first, and you follow me. I don’t think there are any more slavers in the warehouse. Understand?”
They all nodded. He offered them a smile of confidence, though he had lied. He knew there was one more slaver in the warehouse, hiding near the side exit they were about to use. He had a plan to deal with that person, however. First he had to get the slaves to safety.
He led the way, his pistol up and ready as he guided the women through the dank and musty halls of the old, rundown building. It had been abandoned years before, and the slaver ring had managed to get it for a song. In fact, they had even qualified for a tax-exempt purchase due to the condition of the neighborhood around it. The local constable had wanted the property sold, and the slaver ring had stepped in and offered him a cut if he gave it to them. The constable had readily agreed, and the slavers had turned the warehouse into the processing plant for the sex slaves they sold throughout the Dominion. Andrew knew all this because he had been the one to help set up the purchase in the first place.
Now, though, he wished he had chosen another locale.
He stopped the following slaves as he came to the opening which led into one of the warehouse’s spacious storage areas. Beyond that lay their final destination, and he was dreading the confrontation with the last slaver. He checked his gun and grunted in surprise as he saw he had two fewer rounds left than he had thought. He shook his head and charged the pistol.
“Stay here and wait for my signal,” he told the rescued slaves. They nodded in unison.
He took a deep, calming breath. No matter what happened, he had to get the slaves to safety. He owed them that much. His sworn duty was to protect the Dominion from people like the slavers, and someone along the way had failed these poor women. He exhaled slowly, crossed himself and prayed to God, the Emperor and any other person who might have been paying attention.
He charged into the room, his footsteps loud on the concrete flooring. He had his gun up as he ducked behind a small, empty crate. He peeked over the top and snarled; he had been hoping against hope the slaver was facing the other direction.
Apparently Murphy is still a stronger presence in my life than God, he thought as he locked eyes with the last slaver. The woman’s eyes widened in recognition and shock, and he knew he would only have one chance before she killed them all.
He dove to the right of the crate and rolled, letting his momentum drag him out of the slaver’s immediate line of fire. He struggled to his feet as her gun swung up and began to track him, but he was already moving, sprinting back to the left while closing in on her. She fired twice, both shots ricocheting off the floor and embedding themselves in the wall behind him.
Andrew skid to a stop and took careful aim. It was a race, the slaver bringing her gun around as his own came to bear upon her. The muzzles of both guns flashed simultaneously, and Andrew grunted as pain flared in his shoulder.
A second shot punched him in the gut and he fell, shocked the woman had managed to get him. He lifted his head and saw that while he had hit her, her wound wasn’t nearly as bad as his. He had merely clipped her collarbone and, while it would smart, it was in no way fatal. She took aim on him and smiled coldly.
Andrew swiftly brought his gun up with his working arm and fired one final time. The round struck true, burrowing itself right between the slaver’s eyes. She fell backwards and lay still, dead. He groaned and dropped the gun, pain blossoming in his stomach. He rolled onto his back and stared at the old warehouse’s ceiling.
That sucked, he groused. He closed his eyes and let out a long, painful breath.
* * * * *
Find out more about Jason Cordova and “Wraithkin” at: http://chriskennedypublishing.com/imprints-authors/jason-cordova/
