Torpa – Homeworld of the enlightened.
Turinon – Capital city of Torpa.
U-73 ach’mal UM ra – Kanta Class planet.
Devices
Atmocon – Environmental control. Shell.
Componet – Lore brain.
Com-K – See Extracom.
Conjurel – Holographic unit, portable.
Eargen – Coms.
Extracom – Outside communications.
Fluidisk – For compo-bio interface.
Holoscreen – Flat map viewing device/only 3d space.
Holowindow – Window, hollow.
Jag rune dampener – Similar in function to a sentibitor, although removable.
Sencor – Sensor.
Sentibitor – Inhibits sentience. Ecentrist device.
Systems
Kanta Class – Planet, real.
Lanta system – Home to Nol Sar
Miaray – Shy class system – home to the Fretful Seas.
Rhuna (class) – Planet, psuedo. Created from old exodans unwilling to risk recolonisation of planets after the first Ecentrist/Origins war.
Suhrtraeti Galaxy – Home to Kyle’s homeworld.
Materials
Adrenocorticotrophic – Gland.
Ancapilar solution – Designed to hold all manner of biological materials in safety.
Archeobactirium – Redolent bacteria.
Bismuth telluride – Metal, fluid.
Holmium – Solid gas, high degree of refraction, reacts with light by becoming opaque.
Hydro-oxypilium – Teraphods anti-social home fluid.
Orathnion – Exceptionally strong and flexible compound metal.
Polyquatodopropyl benzoate – Stable solution.
Rigantium – Metal alloy, nanide based.
Silicarbide – Untame silicon/carboniferous solution.
Tathmium – Fluid. Early nascent rock, first stage (That’mar’mium to Cartathmion (Ct453)).
Terium – Metal – hardest metal in known plane.
Thurnon ipis – Dead stone.
Games
Scoop Kad – Board of life? Try scoop kad! For the elderly gentleman and his gentlelady. Catch the swinging ball, win the teeth!
Dear Reader,
Thank you for making it to the end. Please visit my Amazon page for more of my work, or consider leaving a review on this, hate it or love it or someplace in between.
Craig
About the Author:
Craig Saunders lives in Norfolk, England, with his wife and three children, who he pretends to listen to while making up stories in his head.
He has published more than two dozen short stories, and is the author of many novels including Rain (Twisted Library Press), Spiggot (Grand Mal Press), and forthcoming, The Love of the Dead (Evil Jester Press) and A Stranger's Grave (Grand Mal Press).
He blogs at www.petrifiedtank.blogspot.com.
Bonus Material 2!
Just when you thought it was safe to click 'delete'! The first chapter of my novel, Rain, available on Amazon and published by the Library of Horror Press, an Imprint of the Twisted Library Press.
Copyright © Craig Saunders
Rain excerpt reprinted with kind permission of Twisted Library Press
Chapter One
There was a brass bell above the door to John’s bookshop. It didn’t ring often.
Ting-ng.
Apart from Friday mornings. Then, it rang without fail.
“Morning, Mr. Hill,” said John March, without looking up.
“John.” Just that. No greeting. There never was.
John smiled to himself. He put the photograph he used as a bookmark between the pages of his book.
Mr. Hill walked up to the counter. He wouldn’t use a stick, but he could have done with one. His old back was so bent that he was near enough walking at right angles.
He dumped two heavy bags onto the glass counter and sighed, rubbing at the angry red lines across the fat of his fingers.
Beneath the counter was a collection of first editions that really weren’t worth much. John was more worried about the glass breaking than any damage to his books.
“Got a couple of bags … I don’t know as you’d want ‘em.”
“I’ll take a look. Let’s see what you’ve got here.”
John could have bought the lot of them in the charity shops for about a tenner. He knew full well that Mr. Hill had bought them for about the same.
It wasn’t the point, though.
John March wasn’t a local, but he wanted to make friends. It wasn’t easy for an outsider to make a living with a bookshop in small-town Norfolk. Any friends he could make were worth their weight in gold.
Mr. Hill had been a customer in his first week, six months back. He came in every week. The fact that John hadn’t made a single penny from their transactions wasn’t the point. He wasn’t even doing his civic duty, looking after the town’s pensioners. Friends were hard to come by.
“How’s Betsy?” asked John as he stacked the books on the counter. He put the two hardbacks to one side. He’d never sell them. There were seventeen paperbacks. Each book in mint condition.
Mr. Hill seemed to think the condition of the book was the sole criterion for saleability.
“Farts all the time. Don’t matter what I feed her. She just stinks.”
“Maybe it’s an allergy?”
“Nah.”
John nodded. That’s the way it goes, he thought. Sometimes you get a conversation. Sometimes you get one-liners, leaving you nowhere to go.
“Well,” said John, pursing his lips, readying for the haggle, “I can give you two pounds for these.” He laid a hand on the hardbacks. “Five pounds for the paperbacks.”
“I was thinking ten for the lot.”
“Ah, Mr. Hill. You know …”
“Don’t tell me you don’t sell the hardbacks. You’ve got plenty.”
That’s because nobody buys them, thought John, but he didn’t say that.
“How about eight pounds for the lot?”
“I reckon they’re worth at least a tenner.”
John kept his face completely clear of expression. He just looked at Mr. Hill.
Mr. Hill went right on staring back at him.
John opened the till. Took out a tenner. Handed it to Mr. Hill.
Mr. Hill nodded.
“Thanks, John. I’ll keep my eye out for some other good ‘uns.”
“I appreciate it.”
Mr. Hill looked like he was going to say more. John didn’t know if something was expected of him.
Mr. Hill didn’t leave.
“You want to come out back for a coffee?”
A nod of a droopy face, and a small smile. Not really a smile. Just a hint of a smile, drifting past his eyes like a cloud passing the sun.
“Don’t drink coffee. Plays me guts up. I left Betsy alone, though. She can’t do the walk to town no more.”
John nodded himself. He felt he’d done something right. He didn’t know what, but Mr. Hill seemed pleased.
“I’ll tell Mrs. Oldham about your shop. She likes a read.”
“Thanks. I could always use the customer.”
“She likes the old romances. Don’t do anything for me. I like a western. The old war stories, too. I weren’t old enough to fight in the war. My eldest brother did, though.”
“He must have some stories.”
“He’s dead now.”
Idiot. Mr. Hill didn’t seem to mind, though.
“I’ve got some westerns, if you’d like to take a look.”
“Maybe next time.”
Every week, it was like an interview, or a test, except John didn’t know the questions, or the answers, or the subject.
“Well, nice to see you.”
“You too, John. Thanks. It’s been a pleasure.” Mr. Hill smiled at John. It was a warm smile.
Ting-ng.
Puzzled, John watched Mr. Hill walking down the alley past th
e big glass front. It’s been a pleasure. He didn’t know why the phrase struck him as odd. Maybe it was just because it wasn’t the sort of thing Mr. Hill usually said. Normally he talked about his dog, Betsy, or his aching joints, or the weather.
Probably just freaked out because I got somewhere today, he thought. Trying to get the old man to buy a book was his current goal in life. He felt he’d come close today.
He put it from his mind, then sat down and picked up his book to pass the time.
Time was something he had plenty of.
*
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