Kurtherian Gambit Boxed Set Three: Books 15-21, Never Submit, Never Surrender, Forever Defend, Might Makes Right, Ahead Full, Capture Death, Life Goes On (Kurtherian Gambit Boxed Sets Book 3)

by Michael Anderle

  “Sucks to be you. See you on the ArchAngel.”

  “See you there,” Lance agreed, and the call disconnected.

  John looked at the other three. “Boys, we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

  Scott put up his hand. “Let me get this straight.” He put up his first finger, “We have to find Bethany Anne?”

  “Baba Yaga,” John replied. “I don’t think she’s acting as Bethany Anne right now.”

  “Oh, so this gets better,” Scott replied. “We have to find Baba Yaga.” Second finger went up. “In the most sophisticated ship anyone knows about.”

  The third finger went up. “Who could literally be anywhere, since she has jump capabilities.”

  The fourth finger went up. “With probably the smartest AI in existence in her brain.”

  The fifth finger went up. “As well as a Kurtherian.” He gave John the fish-eye. “In case anyone forgot.”

  Scott put up his second hand and the sixth finger. “On a personal quest to deliver justice—with her bare hands, most likely. She didn’t take us, so she probably doesn’t want us to find her.”

  He paused for a moment, so Darryl waved him to put up a finger and added, “She is rich as hell, so I bet we can’t track the money.”

  Eric waved to Scott, who put up another finger. “She knows about Tabitha’s toys, and even made some suggestions on what to create.”

  John made an ugly face and waved to Scott, who put up finger number nine. “She has all our loadouts on the Shinigami. She probably has enough suits of armor for a small army on that ship.”

  Scott looked at the three guys. “C’mon, I’ve got nine up. I just need one more to make it a standard ten factors why finding Bethany Anne is going to be a cold-hearted bitch.”

  They all just looked at Scott, who sighed and put up the tenth finger. “Those Kurtherians are fucked.”

  “Baba Yaga is a cold-hearted bitch.” Eric slapped Scott on the back. “But,” he looked at his friends, thinking back to Earth, “she is our cold-hearted bitch, and she has four Bitches who will rip apart the universe to find her and bring her back safely.”

  Eric put his hand out. Darryl put his on Eric’s, followed by Scott, and then John placed his on the top.

  Eric looked around. “Four Bitches for Bethany Anne.”

  John nodded. “Till we find her—or bury everyone who keeps us from getting her back.”

  “Ad Aeternitatem,” the four voices said in unison.

  The G’laxix Sphaea uncloaked as it settled on the landing pad at the bottom of the valley.

  Kael-ven’s voice came over their comm units. “Taxi sent by General Reynolds. Anyone here wanting to just disappear?”

  “Hell, yes,” John commed back. The four turned towards the ship, which was lowering the loading ramp. “We have a friend to catch.”

  “Count me in,” Kael-ven told them. “Even if I have to steal this ship to do it.”

  The chuckles of those who loved the Empress floated on the wind in that valley long after the ship had left.

  Finis…no, really ;-)

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  November 2, 2017

  Thank you for making your way through nineteen motherfucking books to read these notes. It means the world to me!

  In the last seven days I have written fifty thousand words to finish this book, that was written all over the world. I started and ended in the United States (Las Vegas, New York City, Charlotte, Miami, St. Petersburg), traveled to Germany (Frankfurt, Berlin), back through England (London), and swept through Brazil (Rio) and on planes traveling between.

  What do I have to say?

  A lot.

  I’m writing this as I am being driven between Las Vegas, Nevada and La Puente, California. I’m staring at the mirrored power generators near Primm Valley Golf Course off the right side of the car in the desert.

  Those are some BRIGHT SOBs, I gotta tell you.

  As I write this, it is just four days from the two-year anniversary of releasing that very first Bethany Anne book.

  Death Becomes Her.

  Wow, life has changed in just two short years.

  Last night in the Lounge Bar in the Aria Hotel I typed ‘Finis’ after Chapter Twenty-five. Then I went and played a few slot machines—which informed me I should write more books because I play slots like I play video games.

  Which is to say, they are a fun diversion, but I should never consider becoming a professional gambler because slot games make me their bitch.

  It was late enough that I had a real desire to eat, so I got a seat in Javier’s at the Aria and placed my butt down at one of the tables around the bar. Pulled the laptop out of my laptop bag, opened it after placing it on the table, and started typing again.

  Thus, we have the Epilogue.

  Tomorrow I will have dinner with Craig Martelle at Bootleggers down on Las Vegas Blvd South, and we will sit in the booth where Elvis Presley ate, right next to where the Rat Pack used to sit and eat.

  (After the fact note: it was Halloween and they were BOOKED… We got a booth—just not the Elvis booth—and holy crap we overloaded on carbs.)

  I didn’t know Craig two years ago. I didn’t know TS (Scott) Paul, Martha Carr, Justin Sloan, CM Raymond or LE Barbant, or a SLEW of other authors and fans and readers who have supported the growth of Kurtherian Gambit over the last two years.

  I’ll meet many of them this week as Craig’s first 20BooksTo50k conference at Sam’s Town happens, and we and over four hundred other authors join together to work on the business side of writing books.

  I’m going to be speaking each day at the conference. Speaking while being one of the most successful Indie Publishing authors this year, due to one woman.

  Bethany Anne.

  Bethany Anne and the power of the connected readers who pulled together and cheered that Anderle guy and the other authors who write with him. Some of my collaborators are seasoned writers who crafted stories before we ever worked together, and others trusted me to help them with getting their first story done and published.

  It has been a hell of a ride, and right now I can see on the horizon to when the final story in Bethany Anne’s third arc concludes.

  You see, I’ve always wanted Bethany Anne’s books to be about Bethany Anne, not her and someone else (in this case, Michael.)

  On February 14th, 2018 I will release the fourth and final book in The Second Dark Ages (Michael’s stories) and the last book in Bethany Anne’s arc. I will release them simultaneously on Valentine’s Day because they finish the tale of two lovers who would not be separated by death, time, responsibilities, or distance.

  It’s time we provide a conclusion for Bethany Anne and her responsibility to protect the Earth.

  It’s time to allow her a little peace to enjoy Michael.

  Then we’ll take Bethany Anne and some of her friends and release them upon the universe itself. I’ve started planning the next Bethany Anne (with Michael) series for later in 2018.

  I already know why they are moving out into the bigger Universe (well, several whys) and how they interact within the Age of Expansion inside the larger Kurtherian Gambit Universe. How Ranger Tabitha and Barnabas’ stories intertwine, and what the teams do next.

  Plus, I think it will be good for Bethany Anne to be allowed to be herself a little without the responsibility of an Empire around her neck.

  Capture Death (TKG20) is next, and in it I am going to cut loose on the aspect of Bethany Anne that I personally fell in love with during those first few scenes I wrote two years ago.

  Give a woman hell-bent on justice the power and ability to make change, then see what she does with it.

  Perhaps she will go a little dark. We shall find out when Capture Death comes out Christmas Day, 2017.

  I’ll set up a pre-order for the book $3.99. BUT… If you wait until Christmas Day to purchase the book, I’ll change the price to $0.99 once Amazon allows me to do that. Make it your own personal s
tocking stuffer.

  Click here to Pre-Order Capture Death Now.

  I smiled as I just typed that last sentence, because I thought about how last year, Christmas 2016, I released The Dark Messiah and this year it will be, Capture Death. Neither are exactly the most seasonally appropriate stories, but I would be willing to have a fun discussion that Christmas is about giving to others…

  And hope.

  Perhaps not the same hope as the Christ, but hope of a sort.

  Last year Michael the Archangel brought hope to Earth by delivering a hardnosed answer to those who would try to use strength to force others to do their will.

  This Christmas we have a story of a woman who feels to her core the need to protect. To be the mother to everyone whom these Phraim-‘Eh Kurtherians, the Seven, might harm, and to complete her promise to honor her own dead. To bring hope to those who do not know they need it.

  If Bethany Anne has her way, they will never wake up to the fact they were in danger.

  Because trouble will be taken care of while they sleep.

  I’d like to dedicate Capture Death to those who have been or are in any way, shape, or form part of a group that protects others: first responders, detectives, military, Coast Guard, medical…it doesn’t matter.

  Baba Yaga is for you.

  Ad Aeternitatem,

  Michael Anderle

  Capture Death

  The Kurtherian Gambit Book 20

  1

  QBS Shinigami, In Space, Location Unknown

  The darkness was enveloping. The woman was transfixed in her nightmare, and the raw emotions roared out of the darkness and pummeled her body. She was twitching, half-frozen, half-thrashing against unfathomable pain as her raw nerves reacted to the subconscious agony.

  WAKE UP, BETHANY ANNE! TOM yelled through their link.

  His friend continued to thrash, unable to hear his screams as he sought to locate the places he could try to take over her neuro-transmissions.

  She was beating the hell out of the bed.

  >>This mattress is going to be sub-optimal after this.<< ADAM commented.

  You mean it’s going to be fucked, TOM corrected.

  >>You seem to be using more of Bethany Anne’s colloquialisms lately.<<

  Yes, I’m cursing a lot more, TOM admitted. After this long as her closest organic friend, she has rubbed off on me. I like to think I’ve provided a modicum of restraint and mathematical understanding in exchange.

  Bethany Anne’s arm swung, slamming into the bulkhead behind her head and denting it.

  Well, shit. TOM mentally ground his teeth. I hate this.

  >>What?<< ADAM asked.

  BABA YAGA, WAKE YOUR ASS UP! TOM yelled through their connection.

  The thrashing slowed over the next minute.

  >>That is rather confusing and disconcerting.<< ADAM noted.

  No shit! TOM sighed. I’m concerned we are losing her, ADAM.

  >>She is still there, TOM, but based on my research into multiple personality disorders, she isn’t a classic case. She chose to switch to Baba Yaga, for better or worse.<<

  Yeah, you can do all of the research you want, but we need to catch these seven Kurtherians or I could lose my best friend.

  >>Her mental waves are coming out of REM, so she will be with us in just a moment.<<

  What the hell just happened? Baba Yaga’s red eyes slammed opened and she looked around, taking in her room before speaking aloud. “Shinigami, turn on lights twenty percent.” The cabin’s lights came on and she looked at the bulkhead before looking at her fist. “Ohhhh, that left a mark.”

  I’d say.

  “Still wondering what happened here.” Baba Yaga turned over and looked around the room for additional damage before she made an ugly face. “This mattress is trashed.”

  >>That is an understatement.<<

  I’d say you probably produced the equivalent of a nuclear explosion in the Etheric. If you had been on a planet it would have been a challenge to hide the effect. I’ve no idea what it did throughout the dimension itself.

  Baba Yaga reached down to the end of the mattress and started rolling up what was left. “Shame the mattress didn’t come with a warranty.”

  You aren’t listening to me.

  “I’m listening, TOM,” Baba Yaga admitted as she stripped the ripped sheets. “I’m just not responding to you. That’s different.” She padded out of her cabin carrying the remains of her mattress and linens. “Teach my ass to thrash around with claws on a cloth mattress.”

  “We aren’t on a planet, nor are there probably any Kurtherians within a hundred thousand miles at the moment.” She took a right, and five steps later there was a place in the wall to shove the ruined mess so the ship could consume the debris and recycle it. She walked back to her cabin. “So what’s the big deal?”

  TOM’s voice came over the speakers. “If you don’t handle the reasons behind these nightmares, you are going to scream loudly enough for something nasty to find us.”

  Baba Yaga chuckled as she stepped back into her suite. “Like what, some creature large enough to eat our ship?”

  “Yes, that’s a possibility.”

  Planet N’Var, Non-allied Space, Industrial Shipping City of Cleerk, Two Blocks from the Spaceport

  The alien had three legs, three eyes, three tentacles coming out of his head, and a nose about three feet long. The three eyes looked from Leath to Leath.

  And counted seven.

  “No way,” Jermom shook his head. One of his tentacles waved above his head, pointing at the Leath in front of him. “I cannot hide you, Levelot.”

  “Why not?” asked Levelot, the prime Leath of the Phraim-el Clan, as she looked down at the alien. “Our coin is good, even for someone like you.”

  The alien looked across his desk at the prime Leath in front of him, then one of his eyes slid quickly to the left when two hushed voices hissed at each other under the hood.

  From the same Leath.

  All three eyes focused back on Levelot. “I know who you are.” His other two tentacles lifted as they pointed to the seven aliens in front of him. “You were the gods of the Leath.”

  “Then you should know to fear us, you insufferable little slug,” The male Leath who had introduced himself as ‘Behome’t’ snarled.

  “I know why I fear the Witch of the Empire. She has killed many, including your people. Why should I fear you more when it is obvious you are running from her?”

  Behome’t ground out, “We run from no alien. We are—”

  Levelot cut him off. “Looking for a place to rest for a moment. Our people decided they would like to try another way, and after we allow them the chance to live with their decision for a year or two they will again be receptive to moving forward on the path which—”

  A tentacle went up in a “stop” motion. “Won’t happen. You will be dead, and so will I.” He looked at the aliens. “Do you have any idea what the Witch of the Empire did back on Alchemist 441?” There was no recognition in the Leaths’ eyes as Jermom turned his head and spit into a dish on the floor before turning back.

  “Tell us.” Levelot pulled her robes tighter. “Let me understand why you fear this one being so much.”

  “Me?” Jermom chuckled. “It isn’t just me, Levelot. If the Empress sends her Witch after you,” his tentacles pointed at them again, “and yes, she has sent her after every one of you, you either find a way to disappear forever or you die when she finds you.”

  His tentacle stabbed a couple controls on his desk and a video screen blinked into existence in an orange frame, displaying a newscast showing a bunker of some sort. Black smoke billowed into the green sky as blue flames licked the air. “This was a group of Skaine that got in the way of some of her Rangers. They called the Empress last year, and she sent the Witch.”

  A tentacle stabbed the hologram. “This was a very heavily defended base that most police would have negotiated with, or called in an air strike or kinetic round to d
eal with.”

  “Kinetic wouldn’t have worked,” Levelot murmured. “You can see the berms and support effort.”

  Jermom eyed the Leath; she wasn’t as clueless as he had thought. “You’re right, it wouldn’t have.”

  “So,” Levelot looked at him, “how did she rain fire on their base and destroy it?”

  Jermom shut down the newscast. “From the inside. It blew up from the inside and there was only one survivor, a child, and a recording of the radio chatter as they tried to find and kill the intruder.”

  “How many did she have with her?” Behome’t asked.

  Jermom looked at him. “Was I stuttering?” he asked. “There was one! The Witch herself.” He turned his head and spat once again before turning back. “That’s why you seven are wanted criminals that even we don’t want to touch. You are the walking dead, and you aren’t nearly scary enough to stop the Witch.” He cursed a moment. “It’s been what, somewhere around a hundred and fifty years since the Humans took over the Yollins? In that time, only the Leath have stood against them and that was for the greater portion of that time. But,” one of his tenticles stabbed down on his desk before he used it to point back at Levelot. “This is the important part. You are running from them!”

  Silence descended on the room as those in front of Jermom absorbed what he had said.

  “There is no information that cannot be helpful.” Levelot turned to her right. “Terellet, it is time to separate.”

  The Leath who had spoken to itself in two voices looked from Levelot to the alien and back. “Now?”

  “Yes.” Levelot turned back to the alien, whose eyes were growing larger. His tentacles had frozen in the air. She smiled, “You are trying to move and have now figured out you can’t.” The Leath female leaned over the desk and spoke softly. “Baba Yaga may frighten you, but she isn’t the scariest thing in the universe, Jermom. Unfortunately you will only be able to enjoy this knowledge for the next few moments while your body becomes the new home of our dear friend Gorllet.”