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Ultimate Duty by Marva Dasef

2010-08-15T19:11:00.003-06:00

Remy Belieux, a woman born into a life of servitude on a repressive factory planet, is desperate for a different life. When she's accepted into the Space Service Academy, run by the organization that enslaves her planet, she discovers the truth behind generations of rebellion. Now, she must decide what to believe, where her ultimate duty lies, and fight for more than her life against impossible odds.

Excerpt:

A tender hand with rough calluses stroked Remy’s side from shoulder to hip. Her eyes fluttered open as she rolled to face her lover. She purred deep in her throat when Kiru pulled her close and kissed her neck. She felt her carotid artery pulsing under his touch. He whispered, “The smallest pressure here, if held a few seconds, will render your opponent unconscious.”

“Yes, Sensei, but I hope that’s not your intent,” Remy replied with a wink.

He smoothed her still-damp red hair. “Not at all, chan. It is difficult to leave my teaching self outside the bedroom door.”

Remy inhaled his scent, musky with a hint of cinnamon. “My student self appreciates all the education you are willing to give.” Remy touched her forehead to his. “Whether the art be battle or love.”

Kiru enfolded Remy in his arms, pulled her close, then lifted her in one smooth motion on top of his body. He entered her, and she snapped upright, throwing her head back with a gasp. She reveled in his delicate touch, as he caressed her breasts, belly, thighs. Sighing, she leaned down to kiss him.

An hour later, Kiru kissed her nose and moved to disentangle himself from sheets and girl. “I’ll miss you, but I have taught you everything I can. It is up to you to hone your skills.”

Remy pulled him back. “Perhaps one more lesson?”

Her Sensei settled back on the bed. “I suppose there’s one more move I can teach you before we say good-bye.”

~*~

Ultimate Duty will be released November 7, 2010 from Eternal Press.

Space Opera/Dystopian Romance
Marva Dasef's bio is posted on the Author's Page.

~*~

Alien Mate 2 by Eve Langlais

2010-07-26T12:55:00.002-06:00

Lex's ancestors have chosen a mate for him, there's only one problem. She's not the earthling he wants.

Maya's been raised to believe in extra-terrestrials and when she saves ones from drowning, she can't resist taking him home-and into her bed. When this curvy Latina learns of his mission to collect his mate, she decides to help him even as she wishes she could be the chosen one.

Lex's mission to collect his mate has been fraught with difficulties and to add even more trouble to the mix, he finds himself attracted to the wrong earthling.

Things get complicated in New Mexico for the military's on the hunt for an ET, Maya's determined to do what's right, and Lex finds himself in the biggest battle of all-the one between his heart and his honor.

Chapter One

Lex stood in the bland transport and decontamination room, his naked body tense with anticipation as he waited for the Alpha 350 to teleport him to his intended’s location. When nothing happened, he shifted from one foot to another. “Computer, is there a problem?”

“You know, we’ve been travelling together for a few days now. Could you not call me by something less formal? Your friend Kor calls me Alphie,” said a voice from seemingly nowhere.

“You are a machine,” Lex stated for the umpteenth time.

“An intelligent one,” said the shipboard computer with a sigh.

Lex clenched his teeth. The AI unit on this vessel—artificial intelligence, his ass, more like pain in his ass—kept acting inappropriately. A machine that wants to be my friend. He almost snorted at the incongruity. Lex had already noted in the service log the need to service this model.

“Please cease with the idle chatter and transport me to my intended mate that I might bond with her and return her to our world.”

“Bit of a problem with that,” announced the AI with a hint of glee.

“What now?” Lex said unable to hide the exasperation in his voice.

“The teleporter seems to be malfunctioning.”

“Impossible. Try again.” The molecular transportation unit had worked as expected at their last planetary spot, so he saw no reason why it wouldn’t be working now.

“Try again? Are you joking?” said the computer with a realistic note of incredulity. “You want me to use a malfunctioning teleporter on you? What, you don’t like your body parts where they are?”

Lex winced at the vivid image the AI’s words painted. “What do we need to fix it?”

“We can’t. We’ll need some of the techs back home.”

Frustration made him tighten his hands into fists. “Unacceptable. I’m here to collect my mate. I will not return without her.” Lex never failed to complete his missions.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” mumbled the Alpha 350. “In that case we’ll need to land, and you can disembark manually.”

“Make it so,” said Lex crossing his arms over his chest imperiously.

“Um, shouldn’t you put some clothes on first?”

“What for?” asked Lex, his brow creasing. “I need to be nude to bond with my mate.”

“Yes, but you’ll need to find her first,” said the AI with a long-suffering sigh. “You can’t seriously think you can wander around naked and not be noticed. It’s bad enough your skin is blue, but a giant, naked blue male wandering around a human city is sure to get noticed.”

Lex frowned. The computer had a valid point, one he should have realized had he not been so anxious to complete his mission. “I will dress myself while you locate a suitable landing area.”

“You do that.”

With what sounded suspiciously like muttering—something to the effect of big blue aliens with more brawn than brains—that Lex chose to ignore, the Alpha 350 revved the engines in preparation to penetrate the atmosphere surrounding the planet known in their database as Earth.

While the computer took care of the minor details involved with landing, Lex clothed himself in a silvery jumpsuit, the material specially made to adapt to all types of weather conditions. He added a pair of supple black boots to protect his feet, and just in case the inhabitants of this Earth proved hostile, he slid a dagger into a waist sheath and another into his boot.

Checking on their progress—still descending into the earth’s atmosphere—Lex pulled up a picture of his intended, Amanda Beckwith, a blonde, blue-eyed alien doll. The only image the AI had been able to find didn’t show her figure, but Lex sure hoped she sported a well-rounded shape like he’d asked for when selected by the Oracle to enter the ranks of the pair-bonded. It was considered a high honor in his society to be chosen to mate, even if the females had to be fetched from other planets. Arranged pair-mating was a necessary survival tactic forced on the males of his world to compensate for the lack of females in their society, a lack cruelly caused by a deadly virus that had decimated the female ranks many moon cycles ago. Now, only the worthiest were chosen to help repopulate Xaanda, and Lex had acquitted himself well in battle for that honor. A decorated warrior, he’d finally achieved the reward for all his hard work and looked forward to the new life he would undertake with his biddable, if alien, wife.

“We’re almost there,” said the Alpha 350, interrupting his thoughts.

Lex strode down the corridors of the spacecraft to the exit hatch, the AI’s voice giving him last-minute instructions that he only partially listened to.

“Remember to stay out of sight. The humans here are known to capture and medically experiment on unknown species.”

Lex would like to see them try.

“Try and move about at night, where your skin coloring is less likely to be noticed.”

“I don’t intend to be here that long,” Lex muttered. His plan was to find his mate quickly and rendezvous with his ship for a prompt departure to his home world.

“If, by some chance, your communicator malfunctions, I’ll meet you at the gypsum crystal fields on this planet’s full moon a few days from now.”

That warning caught his attention. “Why would the communicator malfunction?” asked Lex.

“Just humor me,” said the AI. “The teleporter shouldn’t have malfunctioned either, yet it did. So remember, on the full moon, meet me at the gypsum fields. Now, your mate can be found at 351 El Paso Drive. Remember to stay out of sight. This location is very close to an Earth military establishment, and while I’ve fooled their radars, I can’t blind their eyes, so be discreet.”

Lex absently nodded, anticipation roaring through him. In and out. His superior warrior training would outclass these humans who were barely more civilized than barbarians.

With a soft thud, the craft landed and the hatch hissed open. Lex descended the ramp and stood on the alien soil, breathing deep. The air, so like that of his own world, smelled of dirt and plant life. Their similar atmospheres made the deportation of the female earthlings viable, that and the fact they were descended from the same group of space-farers who had seeded life throughout the galaxy.

“Where to?” he asked aloud, glad he’d taken on this mission the advanced earpiece communicator that allowed the AI unit to reply back, unlike some other models used on not-as-technologically-advanced planets.

The computer’s tinny voice spoke in his ear. “You need to hike a few miles due west. I couldn’t land any closer without being seen.”

Lex jogged off in the direction of his intended, his groin tightening in anticipation. Soon, he’d be among the ranks of the mated and indulging in his lusts whenever he wanted. No more galactic brothels for him. He—and his libido—couldn’t wait.

A few hours later, his breathing ragged, his clothing torn, the baying sound of the animals with vicious teeth still echoing in the darkness behind him, he soundly cursed this planet and the savages who inhabited it.

A fence appeared seemingly out of nowhere in the lightening gloom that signaled the sun’s rising. He nimbly climbed the barrier and dropped to the other side. He quickly scanned the darkness, looking for threats. All clear. He loped off towards the shadows of the building he could barely perceive. He planned to hide amid the humans in an unused location, perhaps steal some of their clothing, and mask his scent. Well, that was the plan ’til his foot didn’t hit the hard ground, but open space, and he plummeted into an invisible pit of liquid that sucked him down.

His last thought before losing consciousness was he should have listened to the stupid computer who’d recommended they abort when the chase first started.

Too late now.

~ * ~

Author: Eve Langlais [Authors' Bio page]

Genre: Erotic Sci-Fi

Heat Level: Spicy

Length: 20k words/ novella

Released: July 23, 2010 by AmiraPress.com [Sales links available here]

~ * ~

Alien Mate by Eve Langlais

2010-07-26T12:29:00.002-06:00

What would you do if a naked alien materialized in your living room and told you he was your leader?

Plump Diana is ironing her underwear when the hottest blue babe in all of the galaxy appears in her living room. Did she forget to mention he was naked too? Abducted, decontaminated and dressed like a harem girl, she’s been chosen to become the hunky alien’s mate.

Kor asked his ancestors to find him a biddable, docile mate, instead they found him Diana--a curvy, argumentative earthling who sets his pulse pounding and his loins on fire. He might be an alien who doesn't understand the meaning of love, but he sure knows what he feels is more than lust.

Chapter One

The day Diana met her first alien dawned liked any other—with a dry, cottony mouth and a bad case of bed head. She didn’t even have any warning because, unlike the X Files and sci-fi movies, she didn’t see any lights in the sky, and her TV image didn’t go all snowy. That kind of pissed her off, because had she known she would be having an up-close-and-personal encounter with life from another planet, she might have at least brushed her hair and worn something other than her ragged robe, plaid boxer shorts, and loose tank top. This is definitely not my most attractive look.

Anyway, there she stood, ironing her underwear—being single left her with way too much time on her hands—when suddenly, it appeared in the middle of her living room. It wasn’t a spectacular living room as living rooms went, outfitted with a secondhand sagging couch and chair, a coffee table that wobbled, and some kind of Oriental print rug in bad need of a beating. A receptionist’s salary didn’t go far in the city.

Needless to say, when it appeared, it did so right on top of her flimsy coffee table, which under its weight collapsed, something her visitor absently noted when it looked down at its bare and fairly large feet.

Studying it in shock, Diana amended the “it” part to “Holy Hunk” because, if it hadn’t been for the fact his skin shone a startling sky blue, she would have mistaken him for some super-hot underwear model—one who magically appeared in her living room, only sans the underwear.

Good thing he’s hung like a . . .

With flaming cheeks, Diana quickly averted her gaze, but his sizable endowment stayed with her, and flustered, she stammered, “Wh-Who are you?” Other than the most gorgeous naked man I’ve ever seen. She was so startled by her naked visitor that she accidentally left the iron lying on her underwear too long, and a burning smell wafted up. Nose twitching, Diana quickly set the iron upright and looked down in dismay at the big burn mark on the ass of her favorite pair of undies. Damn.

So of course her blue alien chuckled—yes, apparently creatures from space or alternate dimensions had senses of humor too.

“Greetings, earthling female,” said a voice, smooth as hot, melted chocolate with just a hint of an accent. “I come in peace. I will be your leader.”

Startled by her alien’s horrible B-movie speech, Diana said the only thing that came to mind. “Um, isn’t that supposed to be ‘Take me to your leader’?”

Brilliant white teeth that shone opalescent like pearls between darker blue lips appeared when he smiled. “No, you heard me correctly, earthling. I’ve come to be your leader.”

Diana laughed. She just couldn’t help herself. Of all the things she expected him to say, that had to rank as one of the dumbest. His face remained quite serious, though, so of course she continued to howl even when she saw a tinge of annoyance draw his handsome features tight.

“I fail to see the humor, earthling female. I will be your leader. You will respect me as is my due.”

Diana cackled again, wiping the tears in her eyes with the back of her hand. “Oh, you are so funny. And just how is one naked alien going to convince the world that he’s now their new leader?” Diana giggled anew at the thought of him aiming that weapon between his legs. Given its size, he’d definitely intimidate the male population and make the female one swoon.

A frown met her answer, followed by a wide Colgate smile, which made Diana wonder—do aliens brush their teeth?

“I never said I intended to rule the world, earthling. I’ve come to be your leader. You have been chosen by the oracle and the spirits of my ancestors to be my mate,” he stated with a self-satisfied grin.

That comment rendered Diana speechless. She could almost hear the thump as her jaw hit the floor. His mate? Diana knew at this point she had to be hallucinating. Super-hot aliens did not suddenly appear on a lazy Sunday morning to claim size-fourteen plumpers in their don’t-answer-the-door-clothes as their mates. Maybe she’d eaten some bad potato chips.

Shame about the mental lapse, though, because Mr. Blue could probably be found under the definition of gorgeous. After all, what wasn’t there to like on his six-foot-something frame with abs she could bounce quarters off of? With short ebony hair that curled slightly at the tips, a tapered waist, muscled legs, bulging arms, and that club between his legs—which, shockingly enough, appeared bald—he also defined the word “yummy.” While she contemplated his perfection, he assumed her acquiescence.

“Now that you understand,” he said, gesturing to her impatiently, “disrobe that we may perform the bonding ceremony and be on our way.”

Make that the definition of arrogance. Just who does he think he is? “Excuse me? Did you say you wanted me to undress?”

“Yes, this is part of the ritual. Fear not, your clothing will be replaced with something more appropriate for space travel. Besides,” Mr. Blue said, looking at her outfit disdainfully, “you cannot mean to tell me that you are attached to such unattractive garments.”

Diana drew her ratty robe more tightly around her and tilted her head regally. “Ugly clothes or not, they are staying on. And I never said I agreed to any bonding ritual. This is a joke, right? Some of the guys at work have paid you to play a trick on me. Ha! Ha! So funny. You can come out now. Where’d you hide the camera?”

“Do you babble often without making sense?” her alien finally interjected.

“Oh, please. How gullible do you think I am? I’ll admit you might have had me fooled there for a second ’til you asked me to take my clothes off.”

Mr. Blue sighed in exasperation. “I assure you this is quite serious. Now, stop your pointless arguing and disrobe that we may get the ritual over with and be on our way.”

Did this alien live on some kind of caveman planet? Ordering her about like some harem girl—hmmm, now that had some interesting visuals. Reining in her naughty thoughts, Diana glared at the source of her frazzled mood. Did he really think that he could simply materialize into her life and she’d become his willing love slave? Hadn’t he heard of Women’s Lib?

At his impatient look, she replied sarcastically, “Yeah, well, good luck with that. You might be hot for an alien guy, but I am single and staying that way, and the clothes are not coming off.”

Although, on second thought, maybe I should get naked. After all, it’s not like I’m a virgin, and to be honest, when will I ever get another chance to play alien probe with a hottie like this?

Blue’s ebony brows drew over his clear violet eyes, and when he spoke again, he’d lost some of his arrogance. “You don’t wish to be my mate?” The idea seemed to flummox him.

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but even though this must be some kind of weird hallucination, or joke, come on, your mate? That sounds like a long-term commitment to me, and well, I just don’t think that’s going to work. We’ve just met, after all, and I know nothing about you, not even, for example, your name.”

“Kor’iander Vel Menos, but you may call me Kor. I am descended from the Third Moon clan, the primary line, of course, and I have the post of first warrior to the Third Moon regiment,” he said with a bow—marred only by the swinging appendage between his legs, which made her blush crimson again.

Gathering her composure, Diana looked him in the eye—no lower. “Nice to meet you, Kor, but I’m still not going to be your mate. Now why don’t you go back to where you came from and meet some nice blue-skinned girl and get married? You’ll be much happier.”

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen,” he muttered darkly.

“Sorry, but that’s how it’s going to be,” Diana said primly. Although her shameless side was screaming, Take my clothes off and have your way with me, you big hunk of stud!

And then Diana wondered if he’d read her last thought, for, with a curse—or at least she assumed he cursed, as he spoke in an odd guttural language—he strode all six-foot-something of blue nakedness over to her and grabbed her by the arms. Diana, stunned, didn’t even think to scream. She gaped up at him, utterly distracted by the tingling his closeness created in her body, and she wondered if his lips would taste like blue raspberry.

“Now,” he barked.

Now what? Diana wondered. But as it turned out, he wasn’t speaking to her.

And her lack of action, caused by her overactive hormones, was what led to her being on board her very first alien spacecraft.

Not that she admired it for very long, because she felt a prick in her arm and fell—make that crashed—to the floor in a dead sleep.

~ * ~

Author: Eve Langlais [See Authors' Bio page]
Genre: Erotic Sci-Fi
Heat Level: Spicy
Length: 35k words/ novella
Now available at:
Amazon
Amira Press
All Romance
Bookstrand
Or linking to http://www.evelanglais.com/excerpt/Alien.htm will give browsers access to all the sales links.

~ * ~

Lucy in the Sky by Barbara Elsborg

2010-02-22T10:00:00.002-07:00

Chapter One

Chlorella: single-celled green algae, one of the simplest and earliest plants on Earth, that can only grow when soaked by rain.

Lucy had always thought that if she was ever lucky enough to see a spaceship, it would be as a fleeting bright light in the sky. There one second and gone the next. If she was really lucky, maybe a multicolored disk would hover long enough for her to grab her camera and snap the photograph of a lifetime. If she was extraordinarily out-of-this-world lucky, she’d spot an alien waving or maybe mooning her through a porthole. What Lucy had never expected to see was a spaceship sitting in her garden.

Only six in the morning, so she hadn’t been drinking, not even a cup of tea. Lucy had been reaching for the kettle when her gaze slid to the window and got stuck. She stared openmouthed at the massive sweep of dark silver—something—in the center of the lawn. No windows or doors. No mooning from a porthole, Lucy thought in disappointment.

She came to her senses in a snap and filled the kettle. Of course it wasn’t a spaceship. It wasn’t even there. She’d wanted something different to happen in her life, and when it didn’t her imagination had obliged with a real humdinger. She grabbed a mug from the cupboard and dropped in a teabag.

“Don’t look out the window,” she said and laughed. “Ah, talking to myself, the second sign of madness.” The first—thinking there was a spaceship in her yard.

She couldn’t resist taking another quick glance.

Um, still mad then.

Lucy tried to look away but the shining object tempted like a naked man and she couldn’t help staring. So what is it? It couldn’t be a spaceship, but it didn’t look like a plane or part of plane. If it had fallen from an aircraft or dropped from space—some wayward disintegrating satellite—she would have heard it crash. Plus it would have made a big hole, probably a crater deep enough to bury it. Instead it just sat there on the grass. Looking perfect. Watching.

Watching? Where had that thought come from? On its back came fear. Lucy’s pulse spiked, her mouth lost all moisture and her knees refused to lock. She leaned against the countertop, her heart hammering to get out of her chest so it could run upstairs and hide under the bed. She took a deep, calming breath. Well, took a deep breath. Nothing exciting ever happened to her, and now that it had she was not going to hide under the bed.

There wasn’t enough room. Too many shoes and paperback novels.

Living up to her mother’s perpetual claim that one of Lucy’s middle names should have been Stupid, she padded barefoot across the kitchen and left the house through the side door. A glance around the corner sent Lucy reeling and she scraped her elbow on the wall. The yard was empty. What the…? Her heart bounced between her throat and her stomach. How could something that massive disappear without her hearing?

She ran down the stone steps and skidded to a halt on the wet grass. A groan of despair burst from her lips. The spaceship wasn’t the only thing that had gone. So had her beautiful garden. A deep trough had been cut right through the middle of the flower bed destroying the roses and uprooting every shrub and bush. The herb patch had been plowed into the soil, all her little sculptures had been smashed to smithereens and there was no sign of Eros. Torn between tears and fury, Lucy howled. All those hours her father had spent planting the garden, all the work she’d done so he had something to look at through the window when he was sick, the one thing she had to remind her of him and now it was gone—ruined.

Tall trees surrounded her yard. The thing she’d seen was too big to have slipped away between the pines. The gouged earth suggested it had ground to a halt just where she’d seen it. So where had it gone? Lucy tilted her head back and looked up into empty sky, relieved to find no monstrosity looming over her and the whole of West Yorkshire.

She took a few tentative steps, the early morning dew cold underfoot. The stretch of lawn between her and the devastated garden looked wrong. No pearls of moisture beaded the flattened blades of grass. Lucy gulped. Not her imagination. Something had been there. It had managed to miss the trees, but skidded through the wilderness area at the far end of her property, then scored through her flower bed and come to a halt not far from where she stood.

Lucy walked in an oval loop, mapping out the area, chewing her lip over the remains of her devastated plants. Could she save any of them? Probably not. Back at the point she’d started, Lucy stood with her hands on her hips. The area the lump had covered measured twenty feet across and maybe fifteen in length but narrower at the back. Was the grass really dry where it had lain or was she imagining it? Lucy stepped forward to check.

Oomph.

She looked at the sky from her prone position, then pushed up on her elbows and stared directly ahead. Lucy couldn’t see anything in front of her but something was there. She’d walked into it. Adrenaline raced around her bloodstream, exciting her synapses and driving her brain into a frenzy. She scrambled to her feet and brushed her wet hands on her thighs.

Invisible?

Impossible.

But…one tentative stretch forward and her fingers made contact with something she couldn’t see. She snatched her hand back as though she’d touched a snake, swallowed her whimper and tried again. Warm. Smooth. Hard. It had looked like metal and that’s what it felt like. Lucy ran the flat of her hand over the surface, tracing the shape of the craft she’d seen from the kitchen window. She hadn’t imagined it. Aliens had landed in her backyard.

Yippee.

No. Not yippee.

Help. Police. Fire. Ambulance.

Well, maybe not an ambulance, though the way her heart skipped and jumped Lucy suspected she might soon need one. Only what the hell could she say if she called the police?

A spaceship’s destroyed my garden, and I was wondering if you’d be good enough to come and remove it? Did I mention it’s invisible?

She pictured the response—an ambulance, a tight white jacket, and two burly nurses. She wouldn’t even get a chance to persuade them to go down on the lawn and have a feel. Lucy thought about that. She’d better not word it in quite those terms.

Lucy walked all the way around again, this time trailing her fingers over the metal. She wondered if there was a door at the rear she couldn’t see from the kitchen. Judging from the state of the garden up to the point it had stopped, the thing must have crash-landed. What if someone was injured and needed help? They could be inside dying while she stood outside gawking.

An idea shot into her head. She turned and raced back to the house.

* * *

As the woman ran her long slender fingers over his O-class shuttle, Three flinched. He’d seen her coming across the grass and suspected he’d not cloaked the vessel soon enough. Her collision with the ship confirmed it. Fortunately she was unhurt. Tall and slim with untidy, short blonde hair, she looked more excited than afraid. He estimated thirty Earth years.

She circled the shuttle and he pondered the best way to handle this. If he stepped out of thin air, even though he looked like an Earthman, she’d probably scream. If he uncloaked the ship, she’d probably scream. If he took off, the down-thrust would kill her, but she’d scream for a moment first. Not that it would be a sound he’d hear, but that was beside the point.

Three didn’t like screaming women. Admittedly, the screaming that annoyed him was a sound of pleasure rather than fear or pain, but a scream was a scream and this Earth woman would scream. Apart from the fact that it might draw unwanted attention, he found the screeching sound irritating. Her nearest neighbor was the other side of the bank of trees at the far end of her yard—Moorfield Garden Center. The owners might have arrived by now and he had no idea if she could shriek loud enough to alert them. Three sighed. Of course he could simply take off now she’d run back to her house and that would be an end of it.

He should take off. He had what he came for and he’d been on his way back when there had been a shuttle malfunction or—reluctant as Three was to admit it—perhaps a moment’s inattention on his part and he’d skidded back to Earth. He hoped no one would ever find out. He’d done no damage to the shuttle’s systems. He’d already checked the exterior. Nothing more than smudges of soil and scratches and they would be removed by the friction of the planet’s atmosphere on the journey back to the mother ship.

The woman was still out of sight. She might be calling the authorities. He had to leave. Why did he hesitate? Three felt uncomfortable. His indecision disturbed him. Usually he knew what was required and executed his mission without question. Immediately.

He’d just wait a moment.

When Three saw her coming from the house carrying a paper container, he furrowed his brow. What was she doing now?

What was he doing? He’d take off.

One more moment.

Three groaned. Why couldn’t he stop watching her? She picked up one end of a long, flexible green pipe and dragged it over the grass to his shuttle. Water sprayed over the craft. He knew the droplets would bounce off the surface, but she still wouldn’t be able to see anything. Then her hand dipped into the bag and a cloud of white powder flew into the air. Three tightened his mouth and felt it twitch at the side. Clever girl. Now she would be able to see the ship. A scream was no doubt imminent.

“Floor down,” he ordered. The ship was programmed to accept all languages he was chipped for, including English. He might as well practice. Three found it slipped off his tongue more easily than some.

The square under his feet lowered him to the entry level. Three pressed the door release, the hatch slid open and the ramp unfolded. Speed was of the essence. Render her unconscious. Put her inside her dwelling and leave. When she came round no one would believe her. Yet another deluded UFO spotter.

He coughed as a deluge of white particles hit his face. Three’s tongue slid out and he licked his lips. Plant origin. Nontoxic. Flour. Whoa, how do I know that? He shook his head, brushed the powder from his eyes and blinked. The woman had neither screamed nor run. She stood glaring at him. He took another step toward her, ready to slam his hand over her mouth.

Too slow.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing in my yard? Why on earth would you think this was a good place to land? Thousands of empty fields out there, miles of deserted moorland and you pick my garden. If you were out of control, couldn’t you have at least aimed for some uninhabited spot? You’ve wrecked my flowerbed and destroyed my herbs.”

Three stared at her. Barely aware his jaw had dropped, he clenched his teeth together.

“Those roses were grown from cuttings. They’ve been in my family for years. They were special to me and now they’re buried under a pile of dirt. Worst of all, you’ve decapitated Eros.”

Three was aghast. “I hit someone?”

She stomped up and poked him in the chest. “Not just hit him. I spent months working on that guy, knocking out every imperfection, getting him just as I wanted and you’ve sliced his head clean off.”

“The scanner indicated one female living alone.” Three had noted no sensor readings suggesting another life form, or the elimination of one. He’d schedule a maintenance overhaul for the shuttle when he returned. Maybe the crash landing hadn’t been his fault. He brightened at the thought and then remembered Eros. “I’m sorry,” he said. Sorry wasn’t enough but what could he do? His medical manual didn’t deal with putting heads back on bodies.

He expected tears yet none appeared. Three watched the expression on her face move through indignation and confusion before it settled on apprehension. That lasted a brief moment before she switched back to belligerence. She hid nothing.

He liked her.

“I’m going to go and get my husband,” she said and took a step back.

“Eros isn’t your partner?”

“No, I keep him in the yard.” She frowned. “Kept him in the yard.” Another step back.

That’s why she wasn’t more upset. Was Eros an animal? A dog? He’d had a pet when…what? Of course he hadn’t.

Three knew she intended to run, saw the moment fear swamped every other emotion. He timed it perfectly, slipped ahead of her and she ran straight into his chest. As she fell back, he caught her and pulled her into his arms.

“Mphmph. How did you do that?” she gasped.

“I’m very fast.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Well, try and avoid this, fast boy.” She jammed her knee up between his legs. His lightning reflexes enabled him to trap her knee between his thighs before it connected with his groin. She struggled and Three tightened his grip.

His hand touched a strip of warm bare flesh at her waist and his pulse jumped. What she wore concealed little. Loose leg wear and a short top with thin straps. Her breasts were squashed against his chest. She scowled and her eyes—ah, her eyes were unusual. Dark blue, flecked with light green. Little brown dots speckled her nose and cheeks. She smelled sweet, of flowers and sunshine and a warm bed. For a moment, Three yearned—but the moment passed.

“Let me go,” she snapped, trying to squirm out of his grasp.

He slung her over his shoulder.

“Put me down, you big jerk. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I have no idea. He held onto her legs and walked toward the shuttle. She beat at his back with her fists, thumping him hard in his kidneys and Three let her drop until he held her by her knees. Something he regretted a second later.

“Hey,” he yelped. “Stop that.”

The little hellcat had sunk her teeth into his backside. Three wrenched her off. She wriggled like a Legolian snake and he dropped her. She needed her behind paddled.

On her feet in an instant, she dashed off. He was impressed by her speed. Three watched her bend over and he exhaled. Such a curvy butt. He saw the head coming his way, registered this must be Eros and in the split second he wasted putting two and two together, the chunk of stone hit him.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Word count: Plus Novel (70,000 - 99,000)

Flavor: Science Fiction Romance/Erotica

Author: Barbara Elsborg is a published author with Ellora's Cave and Loose-Id. (Author page bio.)
Other: Lucy in the Sky received a 4.5 stars from The Romance Junkies and 9s from Seriously Reviewed.

* * *

Splintered Energy by Arlene Webb

2010-02-22T07:30:00.002-07:00

San Diego, California

5:55 AM PMT

Friday, July 8^th

I hate the dappled green of the waves. Susan’s world should be colorless, bleak, finished. The sheer emerald silk she wore didn’t help her shivers. Stupid caretakers, bringing slinky gowns to work for her to steal, instead of orange jumpsuits. Susan belonged behind bars, not in a nut house.

She grasped a handful of damp sand and smacked it into the side of the castle. Her little princess would have loved this masterpiece. Tears slid as Susan pushed herself from her soaked knees onto wobbly legs. A low growl tore through her, and she stomped her foot from moat to tower over and over.

A shadow down the beach drew her attention from killing the Castle of Lost Loved Ones. The small form suggested a child. She turned to flee before the kid saw her, the horizon a blur between ocean and daybreak.

Strange flash—hurts—

* * *

San Diego, California

6 AM PMT

Friday, July 8^th

Chapter One

Red. The longest wavelength of light the human eye could detect, and the lack of scent bothered Aaron, not the aggressive color. He burrowed his face in the soft fabric, drew a deep breath—nothing. 367 days gone. At least the memory flashes of his wife lounging in his sweatshirt remained as vivid as the clothing he clutched.

Aaron yanked the sweatshirt over his head and grabbed his jeans. The screen door had banged over ten minutes ago, alerting him to David’s departure.

From a distance he watched his son try to cope with his mother’s death, willing to let David stray as long as he didn’t nail the seagulls when he flung the shells. Denial finished, anger had yet to evolve into bargaining, let alone acceptance. Another year before the boy hit the dreaded teens, and tonight’s forbidden bonfire gave the kid something new to brood about.

He crossed the living room and let the door thump, just as David had.

Shades of sunrise merged into the waves to create a picture perfect day. It’d been a while since they soared through a few cloud wisps. He could grab a rental and fly David someplace without gang beach parties. Avoid the looming battle for one night, use the old ‘why don’t we get a room, fly back tomorrow’ scenario.

Which direction did his co-pilot—what the?

Aaron kicked off his sandals, pulled open the gate, and ran. Down the beach in the firm sand of the surf’s edge, David struggled to carry what looked like a woman with flowing green hair.

David came to a halt, his wet sneakers sinking into the sand. He collapsed to his knees and lowered the woman. A dark emerald dress clung to the lifeless form. Shallow saltwater ebbed close to bare, honest to God, green legs.

Eyes wide and frantic, David gulped. “She’s breathing.”

Aaron dropped to David’s side. “Good Lord, son, can’t you find pretty shells like normal people?”

“She’s cold. She wasn’t completely in the water, but shouldn’t her skin be bluish? Why’s she green?”

“Maybe she’s an actress or something.”

Erotica no less, starring Aphrodite dipped in food coloring. The flush on Aaron’s face had to match his son’s. Her skin wasn’t Exorcist-vomit pea soup, nor gingerbread-trim lime, but a soft, immature apple—almost the same shade as the shirt David wore. Delicate emerald lashes curled damp against her cheekbones. Small breasts, flat stomach, he could see the outline of her ribs through the silky dress.

Deserted beach, home less than a soccer field away, maybe he should carry her inside, and then make that phone call. Aaron scooped the delicate woman into his arms. She lifted like an intangible bundle—such a tremulous sob. When her arm touched his sweatshirt, her moan grew louder and her thin body arched away.

He faced his son’s dumbfounded gaze. “Yep, she’s alive alright. Let’s get her inside.” He held her away from his chest and tried to touch her as little as possible as he ran. Her thin face wrenched in pain—not pain, but fear.

“Shh, I won’t hurt you.” His size? Morning breath? What? She hadn’t reacted when David carried her.

Another three yards. She shivered, her eyelids clamped tight. Could he be hurting her? Finally, the gate. Her sob turned into a hiccupping burst of terror.

Desperate, Aaron turned to his son. “Maybe men frighten her.” He placed the woman in David’s arms. Her cries stopped, she went limp while the boy staggered into the house.

“Put her on the couch. It’ll be okay.” Aaron’s reassurance sounded lame. Yet, what to say? He’d never caused a woman to squawk in terror before. Not even one that dared to look at him.

“Dad? I don’t think she’s human, or all human, or something.” David settled the woman to blend into the forest green couch.

“You’ve been watching too much TV. I’ll call an ambulance.”

Aaron picked up the phone. No dial tone. He glanced—the clock on the TV was out. How convenient was that? A power outage right after carrying ET into his home.

The digital phone meant more than electric had been knocked out. Aaron grabbed his cell from the computer desk. Roaming. No signal. Geez, did raining green women screw with satellites? He’d have to drive her to the hospital.

“Um, Dad? Something weird happened before I found her. Not lightning, but the sky flickered with a flash of energy. It hurt my eyes for a second.”

“Spaceship landed?” Aaron stepped to David’s side. “She seems to be breathing okay. Think she’ll howl if I pick her up?”

“Don’t take her yet,” David said. “Wait a few minutes. Maybe she’ll come around.”

“What if your extraterrestrial dies because we don’t get her to a hospital? She could also be contagious.”

“We already touched her. A hospital is so…you know, might be scary if you’re an alien angel or something.”

Aaron’s lips twitched. Along with sci-fi scenarios, David would be thinking about his mother. The smell of disinfectant, indifferent caregivers and the fear of terminal disease had clung everywhere.

“I never heard anyone cry, I mean, be afraid like that,” David said. “Suppose moving her frightens her again?”

If he ignored the skin color and the terrified sobbing when he’d held her, Aaron could assume exhaustion kept her eyes closed. She had no apparent bruises or broken bones. Dye would camouflage her hair. Malnourished anorexics in sunny California, land of power outages and starlets, couldn’t be that uncommon.

He reached over her to pull down the yellow quilt Sarah had made. The woman’s delicate features twisted in a snarl. She flung the blanket to the floor and burrowed into the couch.

“Your green ocean goddess doesn’t want a cover.”

“But she looks cold.” David glanced at the rejected quilt and went for Aaron’s jacket on the chair. To their surprise, she clutched the black leather to her chest. A gasp of relief escaped before she quieted.

“Sweet. Can we keep her, Dad? Please?”

Yeah. A stray kitty in need of some tender loving. Clearly David hoped his flippant remark would distract his father from the seriousness of collecting females found on the beach. When this emerald lady finally opened her eyes, her fear upon seeing them looming over her most likely wouldn’t be soothed with a bowl of warm milk.

* * *

Who—what—where—why?

She didn’t have an identity. Emotions she didn’t understand churned in a circle of panic. Senses she shouldn’t feel, overwhelmed her.

From the moment she found herself trapped, she learned a suffocating introduction to terror. Huddled under layers of confusion, she’d listened to the sounds closing in. She’d feared to confront whatever had approached to feel, and then lift her.

Small, non-threatening, its touch warmed her. She wanted to curl, hide, and disappear into the shelter of its arms.

It held her insecurely and struggled to carry her. Its concern enhanced her own, and she made no attempt to surface, until the pressure of the external environment changed. The creature had moved her to another, corrosive one. The stronger being clasped her with confidence. She hadn’t dared to look, and her distress sobbed from lips she shouldn’t have.

What did it want?

Then it gave her this wonderful blanket of dark warmth—it would help her?

Their airflow informed her they stood too close. She clutched the covering with hands she didn’t understand and dared to peek.

Two. Wrong. Menacing.

Her dread of the large, elevated one exploded within her. To her horror, it got worse. It bared deadly teeth, barked incomprehensible sounds and its reach for the smaller creature was violent.

* * *

“David, back away!” Aaron yanked David by the arm. Those beams of pure green light were all the convincing he needed. This woman had been somehow mutated or worse.

Stunned, he looked beyond the dazzle of the emerald light pouring from her eyes. Her thin body trembled so violently under his jacket he feared she’d have a stroke.

Aaron stepped back, his hands clutching David’s shoulders. He took a deep breath and whispered, “She’s afraid of us. Unreal.”

“Very afraid. That light, she’s gotta be an angel. We have to show her we won’t hurt her.”

“Yeah. Makes sense. Get my gun. Go.”

When he forced David to stumble into the bedroom, she sobbed. Her head fell forward, and she hid her face in the jacket, hyperventilating.

Aaron’s limbs trembled, every nerve yearning to hold and soothe her. If he approached, she’d certainly have a heart attack. “Stop that. We won’t hurt you. What are you? Please stop crying.” To his relief, she choked back her sobbing and that ragged breathing slowed. “Can you tell me what…who you are?”

Perhaps his tones calmed her. She dared to raise her chin and apprehensive eyes of radiant emerald peered at David hurrying toward Aaron.

“Careful,” David whispered, handing him the revolver. “We have to help her, not scare her more.”

“Got it.” He knocked the safety off.

She hugged the jacket to her chest, drew a shaky breath and responded to David’s smile with a nervous attempt of her own. She shifted her focus to Aaron—good Lord. Emotions clear as an infant’s, the raw fear on her face chilled him. Not only a creature fallen from a fluffy cloud, but an abused one?

“Back away, Dad. Okay?”

He gulped. Allow David to stand between him and a…what is she? “Don’t you dare move closer.” He took one, two compromising steps back. Had to be an earthly explanation. Drugs. Optical surgery. Swallowed a laser beam.

Her gaze flitted around the room. The floor and the chair didn’t elicit a response. The light filtering through the window caused her to grimace. By the couch, on the floor, lay David’s crumbled beach towel and those huge, luminous eyes welled up. She glared at the red cloth and turned, pleading at David.

David grabbed the towel—Aaron’s hand clamped on the boy’s shoulder.

Eyes of light overflowed with tears. She cringed at child, towel, and man standing too close to her. Her trembling returned and the sob bursting from her lips escalated toward hysteria.

Aaron propelled David and himself backward, and David flung the towel out of sight into the bedroom.

Her piteous weeping went silent. The loveliness of her calming features threatened to knock Aaron to his knees. A shuddering breath and her gaze fastened directly on David.

Her demeanor changed when she peeked at Aaron and she pressed back into the couch as far as she could go. The jitters battering in his stomach detonated. Six foot four, a solid 220 pounds, but his capable nature usually had women smiling back at him.

Not anymore. He’d take the time to see if he’d sprouted horns, except there was a sobbing beauty to deal with. Granted, he held a gun on her. What else could the single parent of a son who’d carried home a non-human do? Jesus, could there be others? Earth invaded by luminous beings?

He had to do something. She was the most frightened seraph he’d ever seen. Not that he’d ever seen an angel before. David pulled his arm, but Aaron refused to budge his aim.

“Dad, I know this sounds crazy...could you take off your sweatshirt?”

“Now you’ve gone wacko, too? Not bad enough we have a green lady having hysterics, you want me to undress?” He gave his son a twisted smile.

“Come on, try it.”

Gun lowered, one handed, Aaron tugged the sweatshirt over his head.

She gasped. Emerald light beams danced up and down his chest. Yes, he did have a lot of curly, black hair. I’m an idiot. Had he actually made her fear increase? Well, she hadn’t screamed. Yet. He dropped the sweatshirt behind him. David kicked it into the bedroom.

She pulled the jacket down, sat up, and looked at their bewildered faces. A soft smile lifted her lips.

Sweet Jesus. A removal of clothing and, finally, she’s not terrified of him. A more opportunistic male might wonder about unbuckling the jeans. Certain to freak the child at least.

“Dad, hang on. I’m gonna try something.” David ran into the bedroom. A few seconds later, he tossed a pale green dress shirt at Aaron. Smart kid. More clothes, not less, was the ticket.

He thrust his arms in the shirt without taking sight or aim off her. David buttoned him, fingers trembling with relief. Dread of a sweatshirt was more logical, more acceptable to his excited son, than fear of father with a weapon.

“Your ocean goddess doesn’t like red,” Aaron said. “What’s up with that?”

David ignored him, glanced at the leather jacket clutched in her hands and darted into the kitchen.

He rushed back with Aaron’s black sunglasses.

Father and son traded bemused glances as she gasped with joy at the sight of him wearing shades.

Jacket on her lap, she took a deep breath and ran her hand up and down her arm, over her breasts and stomach. Her emerald stare raised, she glanced at David’s legs and started to stand. The phone rang, jarring Aaron as he noted her gaze flinching toward the sound.

When David reached for the white phone, her horror became a blind panic. She threw herself across the room into Aaron’s unopened arms. She grabbed him around the waist and buried her face in his stomach.

He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, but he could react without intellect or oxygen. His arm wrapped around her.

“David, disappear the phone. Lady, please. No one’s gonna hurt you. I won’t let anything harm you.” Now that phone service was back, who dared to use it? Would his cell set her off?

David unplugged the land phone and threw it to join the towel and sweatshirt.

Her thin, shivering body molded into Aaron. Certain her legs wouldn’t hold her, he feared to let her go. A glance, a jerk of his chin and David understood. The kid stepped further back. Aaron set the safety, tossed the revolver on the computer desk, and tried to pry her from his chest. She looked up at him, whimpered and nuzzled her face back into his shirt.

“Red! We know that scares her,” David said. “Maybe ringing does, too…Then again, maybe not. This could be a big mistake, but might as well experiment, okay Dad?”

“I guess.” He swallowed his pounding heart back where it belonged. His patronizing pats on her back were sheepish, but what the hell, she’d calmed down.

Brow furrowed, chomping his lower lip, David carried out a large white bath towel.

A sweet minute passed before she dared to peek from Aaron’s shirt.

Her jaw dropped in a silent scream and she escaped his arms.

Inhumanly fast, but he easily caught her because she ran into the closed screen door and fell backward. She shook even more violently than before, and it was all Aaron could do to hold on to her. She sobbed, rolled her emerald eyes of light and collapsed.

“Good guess, son. We can control her with a towel.” He carried her to the couch and covered her with his jacket.

“Let’s move her to your room,” David said. “We could make sure it’s all black and green until we figure out what to do.”

“You don’t want to see if her head spins? When the red ambulance and the guys with the white straight jackets get here?” Aaron locked his stunned stare on his child. “We have to get some outside help if this gets much freakier. Think anyone else is dealing with color-phobic aliens?”

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Word count: 114,000

Flavor: Science Fiction with Romantic Elements

Status: 5th draft WIP
Author: Arlene Webb has published erotica, shorts and anthologies with Shadowfire Press. Her bio can be found on the Author page.

Last Flight of the Ark by D. L. Jackson

2010-02-22T07:00:00.006-07:00

“Barometric pressure?”

“Stable,” Jessica’s voice crackled back through the com.

“Radiation?”

“Within normal parameters.”

“Surface temperature in sector three?”

“A balmy eighty-seven. Terra II is primed and ready. We should arrive within twelve hours. All the readings from the meteorological remote say it’s stable. No surprises.”

There should be no surprises; they’d been through the numbers four times. “Good, that should do it. Why don’t you call it a night?” Melissa would relieve him soon, until then... Colonel Kaleb Titan stretched and reclined back. He threw his feet up on the instrument panel and yawned. Melissa would have a fit if she saw them on her baby’s console, but he really didn’t care. He wouldn’t be on this bucket of rust much longer.

All he wanted to do was sit back and take it all in from the best seat in the house. They were close enough he should be able to see Terra II with the naked eye and he’d been waiting all night for the chance. She’d look more like a star from the distance, but that didn’t matter. Novae, the equivalent of Earth’s sun, would be illuminating the sector of the planet that contained their home--right about now. He had to see it. To date, he’d only seen pictures of Terra II, sent by a satellite that monitored the planet.

Eight months. He’d worked so hard for this moment and all his dreams were about to materialize. It couldn’t get any better than this. Well maybe. He could use a cold beer and a slice of pizza. He flipped a switch and opened the visor, ready to marinate in the view of his new home.

Kaleb’s eyes widened. “Ah shit.” His feet hit the deck with a thump. He’d been too busy going over the damned reports from the surface of Terra II to notice. He punched his com and paged Jessica, hoping she hadn’t left the lab yet.

“Sir?” No, she’d lingered. Perhaps feeling as restless and unable to sleep as he did.

“What the fuck is that?” He leaned forward. A purple cloud spread before them. Electrical sparks danced like fireflies through the mass. “You got a reading on that?”

“A reading on what, sir?” Jessica said.

“Open your visuals and look out the fucking glass.”

Seconds ticked by and the com jumped back to life. “Whatever that is, we should probably go around. But I’m not the best one to define that. Why don’t you ask Captain Deluzio? She’s the nav.” The com went dead and then crackled again. “I’d appreciate if you’d keep the cursing to a minimum.”

“No reminder needed, Jessica. I’ll keep it to a fucking minimum.” Eight months of this shit, he’d earned the right to cuss and if he wanted to, he’d fucking cuss, females present or not. They could deal with it.

They’d played every card and board game known to man at least a million times. He’d swilled his last beer a month ago and frankly, he was sick and tired of being cooped up. Whatever that mass was, it looked like it might keep him stuck on the damned ship a bit longer.

“Goddammit.”

“Relax, sir. No reason to get ugly. Wait to see what Captain Deluzio has to say.”

He didn’t need Jessica’s lecture on etiquette. He didn’t need to be told to relax and he sure as hell didn’t need the complication he knew that cloud would bring. Yeah, it made him grumpy. So what? Kaleb studied the mass. The thing looked like it stretched for light-years.

Another delay?

Twelve hours out?

This wasn’t happening.

“How far off course and schedule is it going to throw us?” The sooner they got to Terra II, the better.

“I’m a biologist. Again, that’s the nav’s call--sir.”

“We’ve been on this mission for eight months. I thought we established I didn’t want to go all military out here. Keep it like family. It’s only the three of us.” She’d been fine with calling him Kaleb yesterday. What the hell was her problem now?

“I’m still a lieutenant, sir. You’re not my daddy or my brother.”

And did he know it. Oh God, did he know it. Kaleb growled and punched the nav-com. Forget it. There was no sense in trying to decipher her mood swings. Women were an enigma best left unsolved. He threw himself back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “Melissa, report.”

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, it’s Captain Deluzio...sir.”

Christ. Not Melissa too? They ought to award him some kind of medal for dealing with this shit. They knew he hated that title. They were intentionally provoking. “Would you two stop with the sir? I’m a scientist.”

“Do I need to remind you, sir, you took the commission and the title that went with it? We are military and just because we’re out here in the middle of nowhere, doesn’t mean we need to go AWOL on the regs.” Her com died and the doors slid open behind him. He could pull rank if that’s what she wanted, but the next twelve hours of his life would be unlivable.

“Never mind, Captain. Can you tell me anything good about that cloud?” He pointed.

Melissa walked past him to the glass. “Technically it’s not a cloud, sir.”

“Then what would you call it?”

“I’d call it some kind of space dust.” She pointed to a gauge above and pushed a button. Something was here once upon a time. Now all that’s left is debris.” She narrowed her eyes and leaned in. “That’s not good. It’s not just space dust, it’s irradiated. Look at the readings.”

“What?” Kaleb moved closer and studied the dial. He reached out and gave it a tap. “Not good isn’t exactly what I’d call that. That’s gamma radiation.”

“Yeah, and it gets better. The radiation coming from it is off the charts, but that’s not the worst of it. I suspect...” She pulled data up on the screen and dragged her finger from one side to the other, getting a digital read on the mass of the debris field. She moved to another control panel and began type at a furious pace, pulling up stats on the fuel and life support supply. “You want the bad news?”

“I thought that was the bad news.”

“It’s also too big to go around. We don’t have enough fuel to detour that far out and we don’t have enough to go back to Earth. We could wait for our sister ship and hope she’s got fuel to spare, but that’s unlikely. She’s as limited on her resources as we are and a week behind us. If we wait, we might not have enough fuel to reach the planet on a straight shot. It’s too close to call.”

Melissa glanced down at the instrument panel and back at him. The look on her face told him she knew. How the hell she knew he’d had his feet up there was beyond him, but she seemed to have a sixth sense about when he abused her baby. “Did you have your feet up on my control panel?”

“Does it matter?”

She stared him down. “Since we don’t have time to argue about why you shouldn’t use my billion dollar panel as a foot stool, I’m going to let it go. We need a command decision, sir.”

“Aren’t you full of sunshine?”

“Bite me.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. So much for military regulations--even Melissa had a breaking point. “Regs, Captain, regs.”

“Bite me...sir,” Captain Deluzio said and crossed her arms over her chest.

She was right. Not the biting part, the command decision part. Kaleb snorted. He’d told them he didn’t want the command of this vessel, but they insisted he was the man for the job. A scientific mission. No tactics or enemy to worry about, pure science and exploration, what he did already. Not complicated. Fly the ship to Terra II, offload the cargo and study the animals for a couple of years.

When they put it that way, he couldn’t help but take what they offered. After all, who wouldn’t want to be part of something this big? It came with a price, one that bugged him constantly. Rank. Hell, he really wasn’t military. It was a token command. They’d said he couldn’t be in charge of the mission without the promotion. He hadn’t served a day in the military before that, but their damned regulations said he had to be an officer to be in charge of his own damned project. If not him, they’d send a real officer to fuck up all his work from the last ten years and he hadn’t been about to let that happen. So, he let them “promote” him.

Now look what they’d gotten him into. The lives of his crew and the mission were at stake. He wasn’t a great military strategist and knew little about command decisions. But then again, it didn’t take an admiral to figure it out. Pretty simple really. Go through and expose the crew and cargo to the radiation and deal with the side-effects or go around and die. Someone needed to give the order and because he’d accepted job, he had the lucky designation of being the one. “Let me secure the cargo and we’re going to shoot through it like a bullet. The faster the better.”

“I agree. Minimize the exposure. You do know radiation sickness is a bitch, sir.”

Yeah, he knew that, but the alternatives were worse. “So is cabin fever and suffocation, if we don’t freeze to death first.”

“I’ll plot a course and prep the ship to jump.”

The hairs on his neck stood at attention as he stared at the debris. This was supposed to be a simple, boring trip. Nobody expected a cloud of radiation would complicate the mission.

Terra II was ready to be stocked with wildlife. She’d spent the last ten years being cultivated and groomed for it. They’d created Eden and he was one of the first people who’d bring life to it.

Eight hundred various animals were on the Genesis I, a.k.a. the Ark. All had been vaccinated and acclimatized for the conditions on the new world. If the animals thrived, Earth planned to settle the world.

The Ark carried herds of white tail deer, antelope and a handful of predators: bears, wolves, and puma. Everything had been precisely timed and balanced like the keystone at the top of an arch. If one thing fell out of place, their hundred year project would crumble into ruin. The most delicate part of the mission, the introduction, would start with the Ark, but it was only the beginning.

They’d scheduled it in waves. More ships would arrive soon. In four months two ships carrying colonists of all job skills. Builders, medical, teachers, the list went on and on. Any skill found on Earth would soon be found on Terra II. Then, every eight months more animals would arrive, each ship carrying different species for different climates, everything from birds to insects. One ship would carry whales, dolphin and various tropical fish and sharks to stock the seas and oceans. Within a matter of years the world would be complete, utopia created.

The cities on Terra II would be solar and geo-thermal powered. All the designs for the installations were drawn up and supplies and building materials had been sent remotely over a year before, waiting for the researchers and colonists. A station that orbited the planet relayed data and ensured the city was powered up for their arrival. Their quarters were prebuilt and need only to be set onto a foundation once they arrived. Every vehicle, every tool was solar powered.

The vegetation was mature and lush and the climate, unbelievable. No serious storms or seismic activity. Mild everything. The world was a hell of a lot more stable than Earth. Terra II was a thing of beauty and he’d be one of the first men to live on her. Well, one of the first men with two bitchy team members. But that would all change once they set their feet on soil.

Kaleb made his way to the bay and the various cages of his cargo.

His com beeped. “Sir,” Jessica said.

“Yeah.”

“Sheba’s having a fit. She’s already taken a bite out of Lobo. I can’t get to him. Every time I try to open the door, she rushes me.”

“Sedate her.”

“Can’t. She’s just come out of sedation. There’s a good chance we’ll kill her if we dose her again.”

“Super. Try to keep her off him and I’ll be right there.” Here they go again. That damned alpine wolf. She’d been nothing but a pain in his ass since they’d pulled her out of cryo a week ago. If not for the sector two malfunction, she and her mate would still be in the deep freeze and not a problem.

But as he was beginning to learn, nothing about this mission was easy. Sedating her had become a daily requirement. He’d no doubt she’d survive the planet, it was the next couple of days and Lobo he was concerned about. She didn’t like the trip and had been taking it out on her mate. Poor bastard.

Kaleb never understood why the alpha let her get away with it. Perhaps space induced bitchiness in all females and Lobo knew he wouldn’t win the round by fighting back. Kaleb had to agree with him. If there was one thing he’d learned from his experience, don’t argue with the females. They’d make your life hell. “Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.”

“Sir?” Jessica inquired.

“Nothing, talking to myself.” He pressed his hand into the gel lock and popped the hatch to the bay. Kaleb stepped onto the lift and activated it. It lurched and began to drop, descending into the belly of the ship.

He could understand Lobo’s tension. He’d felt a little tense himself lately. He was a healthy male and had gone without sex for eight months. His hand helped, but that went only so far.

To make the situation worse, Jessica had taken to going around the ship with her jumpsuit unzipped and nothing but a white tank underneath. No bra. Often when he saw her, the top of her jumpsuit was peeled down and hung around her waist. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she was trying to get him to look.

He’d kept his mouth shut. All he needed to do was open it and misery would be visited on him tenfold. He was tense, not stupid and knew a trap when he saw one.

Then there was Melissa, with a body that belonged in a magazine, not a cockpit. Double D cups at least, and legs that stretched to the stars. When she ran around the ship for exercise, she wore these little gray shorts that showed a little bit of cheek on the backside. He made sure to avoid the corridors when Melissa ran. Every time he’d caught her exercising, he had to go to his cabin to exercise his hand.

And her lips... Better not think about them; he had a wolf to attend to, a freaky purple cloud blocking their route and no time for a cabin visit.

The lift clanged to a stop and the door slid open. Kaleb stepped into the bay and headed for the quarters that housed the predators and his nemesis, Sheba. Soon he could turn her over to the planet’s care and she’d no longer be his problem. It couldn’t be soon enough.

He walked up on Jessica, peering over her shoulder into the cage at a snarling Sheba. The bitch caught sight of Kaleb and backed up with a whine, sinking to her belly.

“I’ll be,” Jessica muttered. “She’s submitting to you.” Her ponytail smacked him in the face as she turned. He flinched and knocked it out of his eyes.

“She’s not stupid.” He glared at Sheba, whose tail thumped against the floor. Her golden eyes studied him. “She knows I mean business.”

Jessica grinned. “I don’t think that’s it. I think she’s got a crush on you. She likes you.”

“Wha--?”

“Sheba’s the alpha female, she doesn’t submit to anyone but the alpha male. Hence the reason she bit Lobo. He’s not alpha enough.” Jessica eyed Kaleb. “Apparently you are, sir.”

“Will she let me in the cage?”

Jessica shrugged. “She’s not growling. I’d take that catch-pole over there with the loop in the end, in case she changes her mind.”

Kaleb nodded and snagged the pole. One way or another someone had to go in there. If Sheba liked him, it might as well be him. “Open the door when I say and get the tranq-gun in case she gets ugly. First sign of aggression put her out.”

Jessica loaded a cartridge into the gun. “Ready?”

Kaleb nodded and Jessica opened the door. He stepped inside and it clanged shut behind him. “Hey, girl.”

With a growl that sounded more like a roar, Sheba launched from the corner. Her paws landed in his chest, knocking him to the floor. Kaleb only had seconds to register her open jaws and large teeth. He threw his forearm over his throat. Sheba latched on, sinking into flesh. A crunch and then sharp pain shot up his arm. Oh, God. Her teeth pierced bone.

“Shoot her!”

The tranq popped and was followed by a yelp from Sheba, who released his arm and staggered back. Blood dripped from her muzzle and stained her white fur. She swayed from side to side and dropped to the floor with a snort. Her front paw dug at air as she fought the drug.

“Omigod.” Jessica threw the door open and rushed to his side. “You okay?”

Kaleb glanced at his blood-soaked sleeve. “She likes me, huh?” He cringed as pain radiated from his fingers to his shoulder. Last time he’d trust a smiling female. They were all trouble.

Jessica helped him to sit up and ripped his sleeve open, staring at the bite. Blood pumped from the wound and formed a puddle on the floor. “Can you walk to the med-bay?”

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Word count: 59,000

Flavor: Science Fiction Erotica (M/F/F) with Horror elements

Status: Soon to be released by Liquid Silver Publishing. March 8, 2010 Release Date!
Author: D. L. Jackson is published with Liquid Silver Books. See the Author page for her bio.

* * *

Slipping the Past by D. L. Jackson

2010-02-21T19:00:00.002-07:00

If they knew what would happen, the scientists would never have developed the technology given to us by otherworldly visitors.

Peace they’d said, order in disorder. They’d come to pull the occupants of Earth out of a millennial dark age and bring us Utopia. The people of the stars claimed to be our forefathers, the first colonists to arrive on Earth thousands of years before. They said they’d perfected peace on their worlds and offered Earth gifts--knowledge and power.

With these gifts, man learned the true capacity of his brain and its limitations. Since our brains’ physiology hadn’t caught up with evolution, most were unable to master the gifts of telekinesis, telepathy, psychometry, psychic healing, teleportation and slipping the past and future. Undaunted, other technologies were put into place to correct the primitive genetics. With gene splicing and manipulation, scientists created a race of super-humans from the embryo.

Regardless the science, the abilities were rare. One in one-hundred thousand could harness the power. Those who could were identified, taken from their families and trained from early childhood to become the new Enforcers on our world.

From the stars we learned other things. We learned that the souls of the criminals could be collected and placed into crystal spheres called spectral cells. The bodies were recycled and given to those dying. The spectral cells were used to power cities and worlds. We got rid of the criminals and saved our loved ones. It seemed the ultimate solution to most of our woes.

Or at least that’s what we thought.

With the new technology in hand, the government turned to the overflowing prisons. But with the demand for healthy bodies increasing daily and the prisons running dry, it didn’t take long before they cast their gaze upon crimes of the past and those deemed the unforgiven by the high courts.

The unforgiven were identified from birth. Warrants were drawn for their arrests on their eighteenth birthday, the day they could be prosecuted as adults. They were doomed to spiritual prison for eternity from the moment they drew their first breath.

In the end, Earth indeed became a Utopia, but it also became something else. Like the Salem of the past, the witch hunts commenced. The unforgiven didn’t run for their lives, they ran to save their souls and those that led the wild hunt were referred to as reapers, spreading terror wherever they stepped.

* * *

Chapter One

Post Apocalyptic Child’s Jump-Rope Rhyme

A storm’s a coming, it hides the sun.

Here come the reapers,
Run child, run.
Jump once to save your life,
Two to save your soul,
Three to find some rest and four to stay whole.
Five they’re gonna get you,
Six you’ll get away
Seven is for your freedom and eight to live another day.

New Stratus City, NY 2059

“Stuff this in your jacket.”

Jocelyn’s fingers closed before she realized what Nate crammed into her hand. She shoved the gun back at her brother. “I don’t want that and I’m not going in there to help you do whatever you’re planning to do with that thing.”

“Do you want to eat?”

“We can ask for spare change.”

“Too cold,” Nate said. “Nobody’s out tonight. I’m not planning anything violent, it’s backup. Besides, I don’t have any bullets.”

“Do you know what they’ll do to you if they catch you in possession of that?”

“They won’t.”

Jocelyn swallowed her words before she regretted them. Whatever she said, he’d do the opposite. Leave it to Nate to find the damn thing and hang onto it. She’d told him to leave it. Obviously he listened well.

When legislation made guns illegal to possess, many people dumped their collections for fear of losing their souls. The pistol’s carved grip seemed too fancy for the gun to be anything more than a display piece. It definitely hadn’t been used in a crime as she’d have known the moment she touched it.

She crossed her arms and shivered, pulling her hands back into the sleeves of her jacket. They’d lived on the streets for the last two months, ever since the last Enforcer discovered their location. Jocelyn never imagined it would come to this, hiding between garbage cans, trying to stay warm and alive while her brother committed armed robbery.

“Damn it, Nate. It’s not worth it. I’m not that hungry.” Her stomach contradicted her and rumbled so loud it sounded like an armored division moved down the block.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

He was right, but she wasn’t about to admit it. Her stomach ached. Most of the credit they made in the last week went to purchase a seat on the solar train, where they could be warm. But that ride only went so far. Eventually security would catch them and insist it was one circuit per ticket. They always did. As for the food ... tomorrow the community kitchen would have hot chow. “I can wait.”

“You haven’t eaten real food in three days.” Nate sighed. “I promised Mom I’d take care of you. I don’t go back on my word.”

“She’s gone. She’ll never know. I’ll be okay.” A rush of dizziness hit and Jocelyn sank to her heels. Nate’s energy flared like a starburst.

“Nate--don’t.” The longer they were on the streets the more chances he took to keep her safe. The Enforcers were already after her. He didn’t need to become a fugitive too. If it weren’t for her, Nate would be home, sleeping in a real bed, not picking food out of the trash or committing crimes.

She should’ve left him before it came to this, but she worried about the trouble he’d get into on his own. At least this way she could try to keep him from doing something stupid. Which at the moment, she seemed to be failing at miserably.

“I’m going in there to take what we need. We can’t help being hungry,” he said

“Sit with me and stay warm. I’ll be fine.” She reached up and grabbed his hand.

“No.” He pulled away. “Stay here, out of sight.”

“Don’t go in there. Something doesn’t feel right.” That wasn’t a lie. Whatever triggered the unease gnawed at the corners of her consciousness. It was there, flashing danger alerts through her brain, waiting for an opportunity to strike and the last person she wanted to be a target, wouldn’t listen to her.

“I’ll be okay. I’m only going to nick some food and credit. Small stuff.” Nate tucked a loose strand of her hair into her hood. “I'll be right back. Nobody’s going to get hurt.” He turned. His boots crunched on the snow as he walked away, stringing her nerves tighter.

Jocelyn leaned against the brick. Idiot. What did he think he’d accomplish? He’d get her one meal and lose his soul over it. Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn. Why wouldn’t he listen? She’d be okay. She’d come out of worse situations than this.

“Nate.”

Bells jangled from across the street as he entered the store. Jocelyn’s stomach twisted into knots. Heat blew up from the grate where she sat on her heels, but it didn’t help the foreboding chill that blanketed her body. She raised her wrist to her mouth and chewed on her jacket’s frozen cuff.

“Be safe. Be safe. Be safe.” She rocked and focused. Nothing. Only that feeling as it grew stronger. “Get out, Nate,” she whispered, mentally reaching for him. No contact.

Nate, listen to me.

The wind whistled between the buildings, but nothing else.

“Damn.” She’d have to do it. She couldn’t let him take the chance. A distant vehicle alarm screeched, but Jocelyn ignored the sound and intensified her focus. This time she directed her push at the store clerk and a less resistant mind. “You won’t see a gun. You’re going to give him the credit as change for a purchase.”

“Come on.” She felt it, the moment she caught its attention. A chill slithered up her spine. Jocelyn bit her lip. A reaper approached. Huddled down by the trash, she should be unobserved, but he’d zero in if she jumped.

She wished she knew how close it was, but it didn’t matter. She’d no choice. There was one way to get Nate out and it meant helping him rob the store. One deep breath and she balled her fists. Energy bloomed around her and her spirit lifted from her body. She shot through the solid wall of the convenience store and rushed inside the clerk.

Using the clerk’s eyes, she studied her brother as he scrolled through digital postcards and waited for the customer at the counter to leave. She opened her mouth to warn him, but the customer before her spoke.

“I had it right here.”

She surveyed the counter and the man in front of her. He had a massive bottle of high-octane rum and a pile of empty credit chips. He rummaged through his pockets, picking out lint, a couple of pinched cigarette butts and a condom. Jocelyn tapped the counter. She glanced at her brother again and her stomach convulsed. No time for this.

“It’s in here somewhere.”

Another alarm wailed. Closer. Her heart jumped, triggering a slip of control, enough to lose her grip. Her energy broke free and lifted toward the ceiling. Not now. Jocelyn pushed, forcing reentry. Blood trickled from the clerk’s nose. She raised her arm and wiped it on his sleeve.

“That’s nasty. Why don’t you use a tissue,” said the man in front of her. Jocelyn shrugged, holding the sleeve to her nose. His lip curled and he took a step back, putting distance between them. “Do you have any idea how dangerous blood exposure is? I don’t want any disease you might have.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled. Her mind drifted away from the man and to the window, where vehicle alarms wailed. From a block away, the street lights snapped off one at a time, sending the already dangerous neighborhood into feral darkness. No, please. Not now. One thing drew that much energy and it was charging up for a fight. She’d been right. They needed to leave.

Now.

“What’s out there?” The customer staggered away from the counter and toward the window. With his back to her, Jocelyn seized the moment, grabbed a handful of chips from the register and shoved them into a bag. Outside, more lights died. Closer. No, no, no. Just a little more time. Let me get him out of here.

Nate eyed the man at the window and stepped forward, setting a digital postcard on the counter. A feeling of weightlessness pulled at her and Jocelyn refocused, barely maintaining control. Thirty more seconds.

Static fuzzed across her vision. She shoved the bag across the counter as her brother slipped his hand into his pocket.

“You forgot your change.”

Nate glanced down at the bag and back up. His eyes widened. “Joce?”

“Run,” she croaked.

“Reaper!” The customer lurched away from the window, stumbling back. The lights in the store blinked off with an electric pop, dropping it into darkness. Outside, hundreds of vehicle alarms screeched. The customer raised his hands into the air. “I’m innocent.”

Jocelyn froze, unable to draw a breath. A man in dark silhouette stood on the sidewalk outside, a glowing globe in his hand and blue luminous eyes stared at her.

“Get back in your body and get out of here,” Nate said. “I’ll distract him.” He pulled the gun from his pocket. “He can only take one of us.”

“Put that away. You’re not sacrificing...” Her hair stood on end as the reaper pulled energy from the air. “Shit.” She recognized the sensation, something she’d felt only once before.

“Get down.” She reached over the counter and shoved on Nate’s shoulder. He ducked his head, covered up with his hands and fell to his knees. Jocelyn dropped behind the counter and stared at a baseball bat. Small chance that it would help, but it was nice to know she wasn’t defenseless. “Now he’ll take us both.”

“Reapers can only hold one soul at a time,” Nate snapped back from the other side of the counter.

“Do you think that’s going to stop him?” The window exploded. The fragments pelted Nate’s back and tinkled on the industrial linoleum like chimes. He rose to his feet, spun and lifted the gun, pointing it at the opening. “Now, Joce. Get out!”

“No. You’re not playing the hero.” Cold air poured into the store, fogging the interior. The air charged with static and her hair rose. Again. “Nate!”

The reaper sent another wave blasting through the storefront. Nate flew backward, slamming into a beer case, coming to rest on the floor in a heap. Her vision blurred. “Nate!”

Not now. Her control snapped. Jocelyn ripped free from the clerk and exploded through the wall. Her soul slammed back into her flesh like a runaway train, sending her glasses flying over the curb. She didn’t bother to retrieve them. She’d need them later, but not now. Now she needed to see. She sucked in a breath, opened her eyes and searched the shattered store front. Sharp pains pierced her skull like fragments of slivered metal.

The reaper stepped forward and peered in through the broken glass, soul-cell still in hand. No. Nate was right. He could only take one soul and she’d be damned it was Nate.

“Leave him alone!”

The reaper turned his head and his eyes locked onto her. “You,” a deep voice boomed. He stuffed the egg-sized globe in a pouch on his hip and strode toward her, eating distance between them. His long duster fluttered behind him, giving him the appearance of the mythical reapers, minus the sickle. Except there was nothing mythical about him. He was real and coming for her. “You’re under arrest for past crimes enforced under the Galactic Codex.”

Still disoriented from the jump, Jocelyn crab-crawled backward. She found her footing and scrambled to rise. That wasn’t one of her more brilliant moments. She’d felt him nearby and should have gotten out instead of going into the store. But she couldn’t leave Nate and he wouldn’t have left without the credit.

Did the reaper know she’d been inside the clerk and what they’d done? Had he seen the gun? The way he’d moved for her brother made her certain he had. She braced against the wall, her pulse raced and her mouth went dry. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

“No, I haven’t.” He closed in, drawing the staff off his back. It pulsed in an array of oranges and blues, lit from his energies. The streetlight over her head snapped on, separating her form from the shadows. Jocelyn closed her eyes, unable to take the light.

Enforcers were identified from birth, their talents cultivated, their brains enhanced to increase the power of their gifts. Then from the age of five, the children were given Ki-staffs and taught to use them with lethal accuracy. One hit and she was done. Jocelyn knew she wasn’t going to escape, but Nate, she had to help him. She focused and jumped into her brother. His eyes were open and fuzzy. He rubbed the back of his head and stared at the fragmented window, trying to summon the strength to climb to his feet. She relaxed. If she could distract the reaper long enough, he could get away.

“Get back here.” The reaper seized her energy and yanked her back into her body.

“Please let me go. I’m not a criminal.”

“Says the fugitive with a warrant.” The streetlight overhead fragmented and showered down. “Look at me,” the reaper growled.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Word count: 60,000 word e-novel

Flavor: Futuristic Romance with Urban Fantasy tone

Status: Published with Liquid Silver Books

Other: Slipping the Past earned a 4.5 star review on Night Owl Reviews.
Author: D. L. Jackson is published with Liquid Silver Books. See the Author page for her bio.

* * *

P2PC by Laurie Green

2010-02-21T17:00:00.003-07:00

Chapter 1

One chance. No mistakes.

Sair took a deep breath and peered out the open airlock of the merchant ship. This was it. Make a wrong move now and end up the main course at an Ithian feast. He studied his escape route. The pilot wasn’t in sight; he had a clear path to the street outside the hang. He gripped the edge of the hatch, palms slick, legs twitching. Now.

No shouts of alarm mingled with the roar of the busy spaceport when he ducked off the ship. Once out of the hang, he tried to blend with the crowd on the busy street. He sucked in his breath when a sharp-featured man in a dusty sun cloak strode straight for him.

Ithian? No, Carduwan. Thank the Fire Lords. A neutral.

Sair caught the man’s arm. “Where am I?”

The Carduwan registered his size and build; his expression melted from annoyance to fear. “Eliptis hangtown.” He edged backward. “Sir.”

“What planet?”

The man’s eyes widened and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Dartis.”

Just my luck. Word was the Ithians ran as thick as rats in grain on this hell-baked ball.

Sair released the Carduwan, leaning closer to stare into the man’s sunshield. “Where can I get one of those?”

“Yours.” The man fumbled the dark wraparound frame from his beakish nose, offering it.

Sair grabbed the sunshield and slid it home, glad to hide his eyes. Don’t thank him. You’re Rathskian. He grunted, glancing toward the hang entry where a chubby man shuffled onto the street. Damn! The merchant.

Sair froze, but the salesman never glanced his way. It seemed he had no clue Sair had hitched a ride. So far, escape had been easier than expected. At least he hadn’t been served up on a platter yet.

And those I left behind?

The Carduwan strode away, dodging the merchant in his haste.

Sair went the opposite direction, breathing easier when he reached a side street that put him out of sight of the hang. Four strides later he heard a commotion—shouting voices, thumping sounds. He moved back to the corner and peeked around a slag brick column. His heart jumped.

A squad of uniformed men had the merchant pinned against the hang wall, screaming questions in his ears. Their arm bands sported dual bars. Ithian Alliance operatives. Gigadamn.

Sair doubled back and put as much distance between himself and the merchant ship as he could, as fast as he could, without breaking into a run. Panic would draw attention, which was the last thing he wanted.

The Ithians must have noted his absence and tracked the merchant vessel after it left Ithis with Sair stowed away in a freight compartment. Now the poor merchant would have hell to pay. But it would be nothing compared to Sair’s punishment if they caught him.

Head up and sunshield in place, he ignored the rough-faced crewies and hangtown beggars who moved aside as he passed. Being Rathskian offered that advantage. His subspecies’ badass reputation might get him through the streets in one piece. Now to escape this Ithian-infested pebble of a planet before someone recognized him.

With each step, he checked ahead, scanned every building and alley, every corner and doorstep. A glance back confirmed no one followed.

So far, so good. Now, to find a bookie.

Illicit bookers often used a legitimate front to throw off the Universal Flight Authority, or so his guard friend had told him. Sair grimaced, remembering the sound of the Ithian’s head hitting the wall. Former guard friend.

After three more turns and a fork to the right, he spied a kiosk sheltered by a battered frond umbrella. It huddled at the side of a street clogged with foot traffic and whining crew carts. Sair backed into the shadows of an alley and watched. Several crewies stopped to exchange words with the tender. None of them bought. If his guess was right, he’d found what he was looking for.

He glanced down the street in both directions. No uniforms. Go now.

Shuffling with the tide of foot traffic he edged up to the kiosk, angled between two of the floating barstools and parked his foot on the rail. Pressing a coin to the counter, he slid it across to the tender. “Billins, if you have it.”

“Got it raw,” the toothless man muttered in Ithian Standard. He served up an egg-shaped gourd with a hard, stringy shell, and a corroded pair of Billinsboks to tap it.

Sair split the top of the gourd, slid in a drink tube and took a sip. The sour bite of undistilled Billins burned a path down his throat. He dropped his chin to his chest and fought back a cough. The cheap rotgut and layers of grime on the counter were not what he was accustomed to in the marbled manor on Ithis—his last home.

“Yours,” Sair said when the balding man offered him change.

The tender nodded with a slight rise of an eyebrow. “Be needin’ anythin’ else?” The man had taken interest. Good sign, if Sair had guessed right. Disaster, if not.

Sair motioned him closer. “A ship off—preferably fast.”

“Hmpf.” The tender turned to flip a toggle and a cleaner-bot trundled over the counter, swabbing the surface with a sour-smelling chamois. “Rathskian, are ya?”

Sair tensed. “What of it?” He bore no hideous kensmarcs on his face, but his powerful build and dark features betrayed his subspecies. If the Ithians had traced him here, no doubt his bounty was being aired on all the electraboards. Had this man seen it?

The tender shook his head. “Got nothin’ for a Rathskian.”

“Why’s that?” Sair held his breath.

“Ship leavin’ at sunset today, but the mate’ll slit your throat.”

“What ship?”

The tender tilted his head. “Specter.”

Sair almost choked on another swallow of sour Billins. “The Specter?”

“S’right.”

“You’re talking about Mennelsohn’s prototype?”

“Know ships?”

“A bit.” More than a bit, in this case. A detailed model of the Specter occupied a shelf in his quarters on Ithis, next to several dozen other starship models he’d fashioned by hand. A hobby that became an obsession.

“Mennelsohn built this proto a‘fore he died. His brat flies it now.”

“And it’s hanged in Eliptis?”

“Yep. Comes in once or twice a calendar. Ship’s a P2PC. Planet-to-planet courier. Special cargo vessel.”

“They fly passengers?”

“Yeah. But not you. Mate’ll slit your throat.”

“I can handle myself.” Or bluff my way through.

The man looked him over, craning his neck. “Mebbe so.”

“Where’s the ship hanged?”

The man looked him in the eye and rubbed his thumb across his fingertips. “Twenny-five replas.”

Sair nodded, slipping him the coins. He hated to pay so much, but if he didn’t find immediate passage, money wouldn’t matter.

“Bay Blue Eight.” The tender pocketed the coins and wiped his hands on his grease-stained apron. “Wouldn’t go there though, even big as y’are.”

“Thanks for the advice.” Sair pushed away from the kiosk and peered down the street toward the hangs. Deal with the Ithian cannibals that hunted him or a belligerent crewie? No contest.

“Watch out for that mate,” the tender muttered. “Make a fillet of ya.”

Sair gave the man a curt nod and threw a quick look over his shoulder. Still no tail, but no telling how many electraboards plastered around Eliptis broadcasted his image. He was going to get real popular, real quick. At least now he had a chance of getting off this rock.

He made his way through the crowded streets—a thriving populace of thieves, thugs, whores and pirates who collected like flies around the spaceport. Offworlders were easy victims for their ilk. Bay Blue Eight couldn’t be far, but already a dozen pairs of eyes sized him up before drifting on to softer targets.

Sair knew he looked the part of a tough combatant, but the trappings were a ruse. If confronted, he’d have a hard time getting his knife out of its sheath without fumbling it, and any of these rogues would tell in an instant he had no skills in the fighting arts. Altercations must be avoided. If recognized, he’d be cooked. Literally.

He wasn’t optimistic about his chances of negotiating passage. Most captains who risked taking on illegals charged three times the normal passenger rate. With few remaining coins, he couldn’t afford much. He could only make an attempt and hope for a wicked stroke of good luck. Were the Fire Lords smiling today?

A Parolian female approached him. Judging by the quality of her scanty t-skins and crystal tattoos, she was a hang-whore with a generous clientele. “Care for a merge?”

Sair ducked his head to her as he passed. “N’thanks.”

She fell into step beside him, looking up at his face. “Why ya rushin’ so?”

“Business in the hangs.”

“I doubt it would take you long.”

His mouth twitched at the insinuation, but he stayed focused. “I never rush such things.”

She made a raspy growl deep in her throat. “I’ll bet ya don’t.”

He wasn’t pleased the hang-whore had taken an interest, but didn’t want to call attention to himself by getting indignant. “Maybe next trip.”

“I don’t fancy the wait.” She sidled up to him and ran a hand down his flank. At least she hadn’t fondled his genitals in public like the Ithian slave buyers were known to do. “For you, I’ll deal way down.” She flashed an orange-toothed smile.

Sair shook his head and edged away with a subtle lengthening of his stride. The female’s persistence concerned him. He brushed his knife and club to make sure she hadn’t lifted either. “Slow day today, is it?”

“Never a slow day for me. I just like the looks’a ya.”

Sair glanced at the crowd that shuffled past between the high, boxy steelonate hangs. “The streets are full of men who aren’t in a hurry. You’re losing coins wasting time on me.”

The raspy growl came again. “Yer no waste, that I can see. Tall. Nice frame. Strong face. Looks like ya keep yersef clean and clipped. And the fine outer layers…” She tugged at his jacket. “Tellin’ me ya’ve got a coin or two to burn.”

“But not the tempas to go with it. Maybe next trip.”

He glanced over her head at a hovering electraboard. His image filled the screen, along with his bounty in bold, red letters. 14,000 replas. Live capture only. Empora’s Hades!

“Thinkin’ ta brush me off?” She moved in front of him, blocking his path. “Fine and mighty, aren’t ya? Think yer too good for the likes of me.”

He stopped, glad the darkened sunshield hid his eyes. Time to end this before she got wise. “I am the likes of you.”

She stared at him, her face skewing. “Ah. Manwhore.” She spat on the ground, just missing his boots. “Got no stomach for a gig’lo on my turf. Go on, move yerself off.”

Sair stepped around her and continued with a conceding wave of his hand. His gaze swept the street. Pure luck no one had taken notice.

Gigolo? He held back a grin as he picked up his pace. One thing he’d never been called.

The next turn took him past a row of blue hangs. He recalled the tender’s warning and decided to get a good look at the ship’s mate before starting negotiations. If the guy was just some little weasel who made up for a lack of manhood with a sharp blade, Sair would take his chances. It would be safer to risk a cut throat than to remain on Dartis. It was the look of the captain that really mattered. What sort of man would captain a legend like the Specter?

Bay Blue Eight was an older hang; the rusting doors and walls would serve better as scrap. Such a pity hanging a proto like the Specter inside low-rate salvage like this. Captain must have fallen on hard times.

He spied uniforms with arm bands ahead, a squad of IAI questioning a gang of crewies not twenty steps away. He ducked into the hang and flattened against the wall, watching through a tear in the steelonate until the agents moved down the alley in the other direction. He released his breath and pushed off the wall, then turned toward the ship.

She sat back in the shade on stout struts, glowing milk-white. Sair stepped closer, eyes wide, correlating her lines to the model he had spent a calendar building. He took in the sleek, rounded angles of her fuselage and twin tail risers supporting a horizontal airfoil. Atmospheric assists, he knew; Specter didn’t need such devices to travel through the vacuum of space.

The full-scale Specter was bigger than he’d imagined, pushing the bounds of patrol class toward a light cruiser. She looked shipyard new. Not a scratch, not a scuff. Though she must be pushing seven calendars old now and untold billions of flight milos, she sparkled with the pristine glow of a vessel awaiting her maiden launch.

Sair’s gaze settled on the registration numbers and bright red diamond insignia. Licensed out of the Azures, she carried the registry of preference for half the pirates in the galaxy. He blew out his breath. No kid of Mennelsohn’s would resort to piracy, would he? Zaviar Mennelsohn must have left a fortune to his heirs.

Sair noticed a slip of a girl lying on the gangway ramp. A mirrored sunshield wrapped her face, ear-to-ear and her long, black hair spilled over the edge of the tread. She looked to be dozing, one knee bent and foot planted on the ground. Crewie’s daughter, maybe?

Sair dialed his sunshield darker. No sense letting this kid get too good a look at him.

She raised her head when he approached. Like a cat, she was on her feet in one fluid jump. Sair’s eyes moved to the rise of her breasts and the flare of her hips; an athletic package contained in a sleek, olive-drab flight suit. His mistake. She was little…but no little girl.

He stopped at the foot of the gangway. “Cap here?”

“Why?”

“I’d like to talk to him.”

A twitch pulled at the edge of her mouth. “I’m the mate. Talk to me.”

The tender’s warning echoed in his head, and he stifled a smile. Watch out for this little breeder? Had to be a joke. “I don’t do business with crew.”

“You Rathskian?”

“What of it?”

Her knife flashed as it caught the sun. “I’ll gut you, you bastard scum.”

Sair threw both hands up and leapt back as the woman took a swing at him. The tip of her blade slashed the left breast of his jacket. “Sunnabitch!”

She lunged again, this time dropping the blade low, set on gelding him. Sair scrambled out of her reach, cold sweat breaking out on his neck. She was good with her knife. Damned good. Mate’ll slit your throat, the tender had warned, but it wasn’t his throat she was after.

“Put the knife down, you crazy marka. I’m a customer.”

“Not on this ship, heo.”

He made a grab for her knife hand. Foolish. She blocked with her free hand, seized his wrist and wrenched it at an unnatural angle, immobilizing him. Her blade sliced across his palm in a slow, excruciating cut. A blatant sign of contempt. “Heo.”

“Zjel!” A woman’s voice rang out from the direction of the street.

The little slasher released him and backed off a step. Keeping one eye on his assailant, Sair cradled his wounded hand and stared at the blonde who strode toward him.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Word Count: 110,000

Flavor: Science Fiction Romance Adventure

Status: 2011 Golden Heart Finalist, now being marketed

Author: Laurie Green is an award-winning writer. Her bio can be found on the Author page.

* * *

Unchained Memory by Donna S. Frelick

2010-02-21T15:00:00.010-07:00

PROLOGUE

For years I couldn’t remember what had happened to me that night. All I knew was that three hours of my life were gone, unaccounted for in any way that made sense. Such a tiny sliver of time—yet it was enough to rip my life apart. Nothing would ever be the same. Least of all me.

The search for those lost hours changed me. Finding them nearly killed me. Even now, there are times when I lie awake in the dark heart of night and wish to hell I’d left it all alone.

Except for Ethan. I could never regret anything about him.

I remember well enough how that night started off. If I’d stayed home where I belonged I wouldn’t be telling this story now.

The crowd in the Holiday Inn lounge was just getting loose. The band had finally found a tune even the broken-hearted could dance to, and both dancers and dance floor were taking on that glow too much alcohol will give them. But I was out of place in that happy community of the drunk and the unattached, and I knew it.

“I gotta get back to the kids, Sherry. It’s close to midnight.”

“The kids are fine,” my drunk, unattached friend responded. “You’ve hardly been out of that house for weeks. Ronnie don’t never take you nowhere. Every once in a while even the Mom of the Year deserves some down time, don’t you think?”

“Who you calling Mom of the Year?” With three kids below the age of eight, I stayed home full-time. I didn’t have a choice if everyone was going to stay sane, including me.

I frowned at my footloose friend. She’d dragged me out here under pretense of hitting the mall, which was long since closed. I didn’t make a practice of lying to my husband.

“I’m going.”

“Oh, for chrissake, Asia, will you please just relax for five minutes?” Sherry tilted her chin and blew the smoke from her cigarette over her head in disgust. “We have been sitting here all damn night buying our own drinks and now that things are looking up, you want to go home.”

Sherry thought I was crazy for sticking it out with someone whose idea of excitement was a beer so cold it made him shiver. She was a free bird and thought I should be one, too. But, then, Sherry’d been married three times and her only child was an overfed Cocker spaniel.

Sherry’s attention was suddenly snagged by a tall specimen at the bar with the run-to-fat look of a former high school football star. “Well, hello there, handsome. Why don’t you just come on over here and have a sit?”

The words were lost on Mister Right—the bar was a good twenty feet away across a choppy sea of tables and drinkers—but he got the message all right. He smiled cagily in return.

Sherry and I had run together since we were both new to the course, so I recognized the signs. She’d notice Mister Right’s beer belly and receding hairline tomorrow morning; right now all she could see was his broad shoulders and the bulge in his jeans. It was a fair trade-off, though, since he wasn’t noticing her crow’s feet and sagging butt at this moment either.

I shook my head and reached for my jacket. “I’m outta here, girl. If I stay I’m just gonna cramp your style.”

Sherry sighed. “Ronnie don’t know how good he has it with you, you know that? You are just nothing but an angel.”

“Yeah, right. Running home right now to polish the old halo. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Outside the chill of late October had laid a damp hint of frosts to come on the pickups in the motel lot. I could see my breath in the still air as I shrugged into my jacket. Until that night I’d always liked the change in the weather that meant winter was coming on. But that was before. I‘ve come to dread it since then.

One thing you need to know right up front. I wasn’t drunk when I left the bar that night. My head was clear when I got in my old Ford pickup and turned out onto the highway. I didn’t so much as wobble in my lane all the way home. I paid the babysitter and looked in on the kids (all sleeping as deep as wintering bears). I took the sitter home, and I remember thinking that I’d have trouble getting to sleep that night. I was that wide awake.

That’s why I couldn’t explain what happened next—not to my husband, not to Sherry, not to the police or the counselors or the doctors. I could explain it least of all to myself. Oh, I could blame myself, all right. But I couldn’t find any reason in this world why one minute I could be driving along Deerhorn Road not a mile from my house and three hours later be waking up in my pickup on the side of the road.

I opened my eyes, and for a long baffling minute I couldn’t see anything at all. In the moonless midnight dark, all I could see was the dusty shadow of the truck’s dash hanging just above my face. The view through the windshield revealed only a starlit sky and the ragged outline of a stand of pine framing the narrow road.

I lifted my head from the sticky vinyl of the seat and sat up. Razor-sharp pain ripped like a saw blade from my forehead to the back of my skull and tore the air out of my lungs. The inside of that Ford was spinning like a carnival ride, and I thought for a good thirty seconds that I would blow the contents of my stomach all over the front seat.

When the steering wheel and the glove compartment had settled back into their usual places, my first thought was that I’d had one Lemon Drop too many. But I hadn’t had enough vodka to justify the pounding inside my head. In fact, I wasn’t sure there was that much vodka available outside Moscow. No, and I hadn’t had nearly enough of it to make me pass out in the middle of the road practically within sight of home.

I listened for a clue as to what might have left me sitting there, the keys dangling from an ignition turned to OFF, but the road was as quiet as it was dark. In the woods, a mockingbird protested being awakened out of a sound sleep. In the weed-choked ditches on either side of the road, a few late-season crickets still trilled. In my chest, my heart thumped at something more than the normal, healthy rate for a 28-year-old woman of slender build and athletic inclination.

It took me quite a while to recognize that unfamiliar emotion welling up into my throat was fear.

“Now, think, girl, think,” I said out loud, hands gripping the steering wheel like it was the last railing on the Titanic. “I went home. I checked on the kids. I took Heather home.”

I remembered leaving the babysitter’s house, turning out of the driveway onto the road, slowing down to take the curve just before the Dry Run Bridge. I’d been listening to the radio—Stevie Ray or somebody—then . . . I’d lost the signal. After that, it was if my mind had switched off with the radio. I couldn’t remember anything else, and thinking about it was making my head want to twist off my neck.

All right. Shit. I sat up straight, clicked the seat belt and turned the ignition key. The truck started right up—no warning lights, gas tank almost full. I shook my head—a mistake that cost me a second of dizzy pain—then I put the truck in gear and got back on the road.

I had almost convinced myself my little nap could be safely shrugged off when I thought to check the clock on the dash. But the numbers made no sense. I was suddenly shaking so hard I had to grab the steering wheel again to keep my arms from flailing around the vehicle.

“That can’t be right!” I whispered.

The clock read 4:32. I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to believe something had screwed up the Ford’s electrical system; that the clock had stopped yesterday, and I hadn’t noticed it; that the kids had been playing in the truck and changed it on me. Anything was better than believing what I saw. Because if that damn clock was right, I’d been passed out for three hours on Deerhorn Road, and Ronnie had been home for at least ten minutes.

Oh, God, I’m dead. I could hear my breath, short and ragged, whistling in and out of my throat. It’s fucking four-thirty and I’m dead.

I stomped on the gas, pushing the aging vehicle up to a reckless 65 on the unbanked road, but I knew it wouldn’t do much good now. I was going to walk in with no possible explanation for where I’d been, and Ronnie and I would be yelling about it for hours. First it would be about where I’d been, then it would be about my crazy friends, then it would be about the money I’d spent and why I’d left the kids and how much I’d drunk and how many guys I’d slept with and on and on.

I came up on the last bend before the house, and I was dreading the whole scene so much I was within a cat’s hair of turning the truck around to head for the Kentucky line. I even slowed down, but I didn’t stop. Ronnie would be easy to leave. It had been a mistake of my wild and wicked youth to marry him in the first place. The kids, though—my sweet, funny, bright, loving children—they were another story. I would never have left them behind, no matter how big an idiot their father was.

But, you see, I’d already done it without even thinking about it. I’d left my kids behind, sleeping peacefully in their beds, believing I would be back in a minute or two. I’d left Benjamin surrounded by Spiderman in his own room and little Micah cuddled up with Samantha in her room full of pink frou-frou, believing they would be there, safe and sound and wrapped in their sweet dreams, when I got back. I didn’t know it would be more than three hours before I got back to them—how could I have known?

I turned that last bend and, oh, Jesus, even now I want to scream. I can still see the house in flames, black smoke rising through the leaping red and orange, the trees, the road, the cars, the fire trucks reflecting the fire back like the surface of a burning lake. My mind wouldn’t accept what I was seeing, couldn’t hold the concept of my house, my home, my BABIES on fire. I’ve had years to accept it, a thousand nights soaked with sweat and tears to put out those flames. And still part of me believes I can come around that curve and see my house and my life as it had been, as it should have been. Safe and quiet. Unremarkable. Whole.

The truck careened up into the yard by itself somehow; I know I wasn’t driving it anymore. I threw myself out of the driver’s seat and stumbled toward the burning house, though what was left of my rational mind was shrieking at me that it was too late, too damn late. Someone tackled me and trapped me in a bear hug. To this day I don’t know who it was, and I thought I knew all the boys on the volunteer squad.

“You can’t go in there, Asia,” his voice kept repeating. “There’s nothing you can do.”

I fought him. I struggled like I would kill him if he didn’t let me go. “My kids are in there!” I screamed, my heart shattering, my soul shredding. “They’re in there!”

“They’re gone, Asia. There’s nothing we can do. They’re gone.” He held on until I finally slumped to the ground in shock, no fight left in me, no hope left in me, nothing left in me but horror and guilt and wrenching pain. I guess we stayed like that on the cold ground, the heat from the flames washing over our heads, until Ronnie came over and pulled me to my feet.

His face was marked with soot and tears and a kind of furious misery I never want to see on a human face again in my life. “Where were you, Asia?” His hands twisted and tightened on my arms. “They’re dead! Our babies are DEAD! Where the hell were you?”

I know Ronnie would have hit me, if the sheriff hadn’t pulled him off me. He might even have killed me in that moment. And who could blame him? I know I didn’t. For once, he had a right to be out of control. He had gone to work, leaving me to care for the only thing that meant anything to either of us. Now they were gone, and I had no explanation. I had no excuse. What happened was my fault; even I believed it.

It was three years before I stopped wishing Ronnie had done what he wanted so badly to do that night. It was a long time after that before I found any reason beyond sheer apathy to keep from putting a .45 to my head and leaving this world behind.

Lucky for me, apathy is a bigger survival mechanism than most people think.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Target Word Count: 115,000

Flavor: Science Fiction Suspence Romance

Status: Market Draft

Author: Donna S. Frelick's bio can be found on the Author page.

* * *

Happy Trails by D. L. Jackson

2010-02-21T14:00:00.002-07:00

Chapter 1

Happy trail: That sexy little strip of hair that runs from a man’s belly button to his waistband—towel…

I stared at the fluffy white barrier that blocked my eyes from traveling any further south. I’d enjoyed the scenic route, inhaled the hard ridges of his six pack abs and the way the drops of water trickled over his flesh while they took the path of least resistance. I just couldn’t stop myself. I knew I shouldn’t stare. I knew it was completely inappropriate to ogle the higher-ranking beef-cake, but I couldn’t stop. What woman in her right mind would be able to?

He cleared his throat and I suddenly remembered where I was and what I was supposed to be doing. I’d been ordered to the head to retrieve the EOD officer, who much to my surprise had just stepped out of the shower.

“I’m up here.”

Wasn’t that usually a female line? Heat rushed to my face and my gaze snapped up to the subject every naughty dream I’d had on the ship since I’d boarded. I opened my mouth and all that came out was silence. What was the appropriate thing to say in this situation?

Nice towel?

“Do you have a reason to be in here or do you always make a habit of hanging out in the male showers, lieutenant?”

Mortification: The sudden urge to run and dive under one’s bunk until the end of the tour of duty. “I have a reason.” If I could only remember what.

He brushed past and headed for his locker. I swallowed and turned around just in time to see him drop the towel. His bare ass stood before me, hard, tight and like the rest of his body—unbelievable. I grabbed the nearest object available to steady myself. The towel bar snapped off I slipped it behind my back.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Captain send you down here?”

I nodded. He returned his attention to the contents of his locker. I tossed the bar into the trash receptacle. If he heard the clunk or saw it, he gave no indication. Instead, he snatched his uniform out of his locker and began what I could only describe as a reverse strip tease. First his skivvies, then his pants. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I felt my face heat further.

“Well, spit it out. What does he want?”

“I don’t know. He…”

He turned around now dressed in his blue and grey camo pants, no shirt and that hot happy trail staring back at me again.

I swallowed and averted my gaze. “He said to hurry.”

“You don’t have any idea?” His voice slid over me like a tremor, shaking me where I stood in my heels. My pulse increased. Dear lord. I needed another towel bar. I glanced around in desperation. He slipped a boot on and threw his foot up on a bench, yanking the laces tight and tying it quickly.

“No, sir. He didn’t elaborate. He said to go to the male showers and drag you out by force if necessary,” I said and watched the way the muscles in his arms flexed. I seriously doubted there was any force that could move the man if he didn’t want to be moved. In retrospect I realized I sounded like an idiot, an idiot ready to combust. I clamped my teeth together; afraid my jaw would involuntarily drop open and let my tongue roll out.

He switched feet. “Tell me he’s finally got the help I asked for.”

I shook my head again. “I don’t think that’s it, sir. He specifically said to light a fire under you.” I’d lit a fire, but it wasn’t under him. I shifted on my feet.

Captain Rivers looked up and raised a brow. “A fire?”

“Yes, sir.”

He stood and grabbed his top, draping it over his shoulder. “Okay, let’s see what’s got the Captain’s shorts in a knot.”

* * *

“How the fuck did we get a Betty attached to our hull?” The EOD officer spun around and paced back to a screen with a remote image. The disc-shaped, black object stuck to the hull certainly looked like a Betty. But then again, it wasn’t like we hadn’t had false alarms before and there was a possibility it could be something else.

“I only said it looks like a Betty.”

That comment earned the captain a nasty look from the EOD officer. I stood by the door, my arms behind my back waiting for the captain to relieve me. I’d been on duty for thirty-six hours and I was more than ready to hit my bunk, however neither man seemed to notice and it appeared they wouldn’t anytime soon. With nothing better to do, I couldn’t help but listen. I was cleared for access to classified information, so it wasn’t like it mattered if I eavesdropped.

Indeed, Captain Rivers had asked a good question. Since the Betty was a magnetic mine and the skin of our scoop was made up of a composite that was similar to ceramic tiles and those tiles overlaid another skin made of aluminum, a mine shouldn’t be stuck to the hull.

“You know what I found last time. If I go out there, it better damn well be a mine. You have maintenance to pull the other duty.”

Doody being the key word there. I shifted on my feet, feeling a little out of place with the whole conversation. I was an aide. I had nothing to do with the anything technical onboard the scoop and really just wanted to get out of the way. The conversation was heating up and it wasn’t looking good. I didn’t want to get caught between the two of them if they went at it again. Not a good place to be.

“Look, Tyson, I’m not sure it’s not a mine. I said it looks like one. I can’t take the chance it isn’t and send a mech out there. We can’t tell with the visual remote,” the captain said. “You’re looking at the same damn thing I am.”

“Jayson, if I get out there and find another party-patty from one of those cruise ships stuck to the side like a barnacle I’m not going to be happy. I’m an EOD officer, not a pooper scooper.”

Uh oh, first names. Not good. The last time the captain and the EOD officer got into one of their first name discussions, the captain pulled rank and put Tyson, the EOD officer, on kitchen duty. Tyson had been so pissed he’d intentionally burnt everything cooked in the galley that week.

It also didn’t help that they were brothers.

“I’m not asking you to scrape shit off the side of the ship. I’m asking you to make sure it’s not a mine.”

“If you’d gotten me the help I’d asked for two months ago we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Someone else would be out there scraping the shit off the side right now.”

“I told you it wasn’t in the budget.”

“And a skirt with a digital clipboard, following you all over this ship, is?” Tyson thrust a finger in my direction. I flinched and for the second time that day, fought the urge to run. It certainly killed my whole feeling of invisibility. I so didn’t want to be the new subject of discussion.

“I have to have an aide. I can’t keep up with all the paperwork and you know it.”

“And I suppose you want me to take a little space walk and pry the damned thing off the hull?”

“I’d like you to take a scooter and see what it is.”

“Well, I’m not doing this alone.” Tyson ran a hand through his hair and turned back to me. “I asked two months ago for another tech to help me on this rusty scoop. Now you’re going to have to give me one of yours. I need someone to fly the scooter.”

“I don’t have anyone I can spare.”

“Bullshit. You don’t need her. She’ll do.”

I swallowed and shot the commander a pleading look. I glanced down at my dress skirt and high heeled shoes, trying to draw his attention to the fact I wasn’t really the type his brother needed for this pooper-scooper mission.

“She’s an aide, not a pilot.”

“You want me to take a scooter,” Tyson growled. “It’s a one man vessel. If I’m going to have my arms free to deal with a potential bomb, I want someone at the controls keeping the damned craft steady. She’s small, she’ll fit and she’s from the academy so she knows how to fly.”

“Fine. Take her.”

My mouth dropped open. Did the captain just throw me under the bus? This wasn’t happening. I was his aide, not a scooter jockey. This really wasn’t funny. I cleared my throat. “Sir…”

Both men turned on me and glared. I snapped my mouth shut.

“Change into your utilities and I’ll see you on the dock in five,” Tyson said.

“Yes, sir.” I ran from the helm. Not pausing to catch my breath until I was three decks up and in my quarters. What the hell had I gotten myself into? Fly a scooter. Was he insane? Okay, scratch that, he was EOD. They were all crazy.

How was I supposed to focus on flying something I hadn’t touched since graduating the academy two years ago and with that man so close to me? I bit my nail and stared at the door to my quarters. I could probably handle it if I wasn’t going to be in such tight quarters with him packed behind me. Having seen him naked minutes before didn’t help my nerves any.

I shouldn’t get so shook up over the fact he’d been in the buff in front of me. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen a naked man before. In the academy everything was una-sex from the head, to our quarters and even our training. Granted the showers had segregated stalls for modesty’s sake and my prudish self had always waited for the crowd to shower and leave the head before I ventured into the facilities. Because of my caution, I’d actually only walked up on one male cadet dressing and he sure as hell hadn’t looked like Captain Please-Slather-Whip-Cream-On-Me-And-Do-Naughty-Things.

No, no, I couldn’t squeeze into the scooter with CPSWCOMADNT. I just couldn’t. How was I going to get out of this situation?

I was so screwed.

Then again, I’d been ordered and the alternative would be worse. I wasn’t about to piss the captain off by refusing.

Okay, I could do this—had to do this. I shook off the nervousness. I really didn’t have a choice. He’d pulled rank, saw my butter bar and raised me two silver bricks. The one thing you didn’t do out here in the icebox was to disobey an order, so I changed, grabbed my pack and headed for the docking bay.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Target word count: Undecided--20,000 novella or 60,000 - 70,000 novel

Flavor: Military science fiction romance

Status: First draft WIP

Author: D. L. Jackson is published with Liquid Silver Books. See Author page for her bio.

* * *

The Outer Planets by Laurie Green

2010-02-21T13:00:00.005-07:00

CHAPTER 1

April 17, 2039: Zero Hour

“Hello, bitch,” Lissa Bruce whispered.

Outside the portal, a leviathan floated in all her gloating glory. Running lights on full, insignias glowing, silver carbon skin stretched tight over her multi-deck carcass. Damned ship had been nothing but heartache. The research vessel too tough to die.

Secured in a flight couch, Lissa gazed across space while the pilot maneuvered the ten-passenger shuttle along the starboard flank of the big ship, lining up with the docking bay. When the upper hull of the giant blotted out the sun, three-story high letters emblazoned on her side stood out in bold relief: NSS ROBERT BRADLEY

Lissa’s gut tightened. The vessel had been re-christened in honor of its original skipper. The 45-year-old general officer, an icon murdered in his prime, had left her a widow. Except she hadn’t technically been married, he hadn’t really been murdered, and her identity had been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

She could imagine Bobby gazing at his ship in smug satisfaction, arms crossed and feet planted. Monster.

Lissa’s mouth ticked into a frown when she saw her reflection on the port surface. The stranger looking back at her was their doing, too. The doctors had made subtle changes to the facial landmarks a human brain recognizes. Permanently changed the color of her hair and irises. To Lissa, the changes seemed superficial, a medical slight-of-hand any sharp set of eyes could see through, but bowing to their demands validated her ticket aboard the Bradley.

The shuttle yawed and rolled in a sharp arc toward the mother ship. Lissa braced and glanced at the pilot.

"Beginning approach," he said. "You need to strap in, Ms. Bruce. Standard procedure."

Lissa snapped and tightened the crash harness, grateful for the distraction.

"You're the last to arrive?" the pilot asked, awaiting instructions from the Bradley.

"Yes, crewmember seventy-two." Lissa grimaced. She’d pay for her late entrance. Tardiness was a sin Daniel—Captain Storing—didn’t tolerate.

“Better late than left behind.” The pilot turned his wistful gaze on the huge ship. “You’ll be one of the first people to see Jupiter and Saturn up close and personal. What an opportunity.”

Lissa wondered if he was one of the thousands who’d applied and been rejected by the program. “Yeah.” She tried to keep the bite out of her tone. “Never could have forgiven myself.”

He glanced back, one eyebrow quirked. “Cold feet?”

“More like hot feet.” The left side of her mouth spasmed when she attempted a smile. “From running into the burning barn.”

“Ah. Like the proverbial horse?”

“Or the proverbial aft end of one.”

The pilot chuckled. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’ve shuttled a good portion of the crew over from Armstrong. Most had the same look in their eyes. ‘What was I thinking?’”

Lissa pursed her lips. But not for the same reasons.

Her gaze slipped back to the ship. Daniel’s ship now. Though she hated what the Bradley represented, it was impossible not to feel awe. Product of the orbiting, gravity-free shipyards of Armstrong Space Port, she was the largest vessel ever completed. Her streamlined form made a pleasing contrast to the disjointed clusters so often the result of zero-G construction. The Bradley looked more like a magnificent battleship than a benign research vessel.

Lesson learned. Things are not always what they seem. Lissa smirked, in spite of herself. Guess I qualify, too.

She lowered her gaze to the expansive blue arc below the giant’s hull. Earth. Home. In committing to be a part of the mission, Lissa was trading this world of green trees and soft breezes for one of cold gray and recycled atmosphere. She was about to travel far, in both time and distance, from everything familiar and comfortable and safe. And so far away from Mitch.

She closed her eyes against the explosion of longing and regret his memory brought. Had she done the right thing by not contacting him, not dragging him into the maelstrom her life had become since Bobby’s death? Misplaced loyalty kept them apart before. Now it would be time itself separating them. Five years. And distance. Billions of miles. I should have pinged him.

Lissa stiffened her spine. No. That would have been a stupid move. Mitch didn’t deserve to get sucked into the wreckage of her life. If her NSIs—her Not So Innocents—discovered she’d contacted him after…the incident…he’d be at risk, too. Besides, she wasn’t Jenae Bradley now. She had a new name, face, and life, and she’d signed a confidentiality contract that she’d never reveal her former identity. Even if she tracked him down, what could she do? Knock on his door and tell him he didn’t know her, but she loved him? He’d think she was some crazed stalker.

She slouched deeper into her flight seat. He didn’t need the calamity she would bring to his life and his career. She’d done the right thing seeking refuge here in Daniel’s protective custody where Mitch could be free of her brand of hell.

The staccato whine of a digital transmission interrupted her thoughts.

"Beginning final docking maneuvers," the pilot said. The shuttle’s retros fired, edging her toward the mother ship. Lissa held her breath, hands braced against the armrests. A mistake on the pilot’s part could be catastrophic. There was no room for error in a vacuum.

The pilot’s hands played over his console while the shuttle’s docking head extended. The retros pulsed twice more. Lissa’s seat rattled with the vibration when the two vessels connected.

"Captured," the pilot announced, flipping a switch.

A ratcheting sound filled the cabin as the shuttle fused with the Bradley’s docking mouth.

"Shuttle Five is locked and secure," the pilot informed the docking crew. "Preparing to offload one passenger."

Lissa unbuckled her harness and stood. Gathering her two bags from the bin she moved to the hatch. Now for the tough part. Facing Daniel. She pressed a com switch on the bulkhead. "Crew member Lissa Bruce, requesting permission to come aboard."

Soft space static played on the speakers while Lissa waited.

"The NSS Robert Bradley welcomes you, Ms. Bruce," a deep and familiar voice answered. "Permission granted."

Lissa squared her shoulders and raised her chin. Daniel wasn’t going to make the most congenial greeting party, but she owed him her support. He had his own cross to bear in proving himself to Mission Control and his crew.

The hatch hissed open. Lissa nodded her thanks to the pilot and carried her bags into the air lock. The rush of intermingling atmospheres brushed her face and lifted the hair off her shoulders, bringing a sad smile to her lips. So like a desert breeze on a cool spring day. Something she wouldn’t experience again for a long, long time.

The pressure equalized and the inner hatch popped. The Bradley’s interior lighting flooded her small chamber. In the glare stood an imposing man in his full Naval dress uniform and no trace of a smile.

Lissa willed her legs forward onto the deck. Behind her the hatch closed with a clack, followed by a low rumble as the air lock depressurized. Escape route sealed. Point of no return.

She looked into Daniel’s commanding blue eyes. He studied her, neither relief nor anger evident in his gaze, his face its usual professional scowl. "Welcome aboard, Ms. Bruce.”

As a civilian, no salute was in order. “Thank you, Captain.”

He stepped forward to shake her hand. His fair hair was cut in a standard military chop, though she didn’t recall the gray at his temples the last time she’d seen him. She waited for his reaction to her new look. None came.

"It’s good to be on board," she said, cursing the slight quaver in her voice. So much for keeping emotions in check; Daniel knew her too well and he wasn't a man who was easily fooled. His scowl slipped for a moment and he glanced over his shoulder.

Lissa broke eye contact to look at the officer standing a stride off the captain’s left elbow. She expected Commander Kelso, the Executive Officer, or Chief of Boat—COB Browne, but…

Lissa’s heart stuttered and the breath lodged in her throat.

Oh my god.

Mitch.

He smiled and nodded. Every muscle in her body tightened and her heart pounded. What in the hell was he doing here? Did he recognize her?

She averted her eyes, regrouping.

"May I introduce First Lieutenant Mitchell Coe," Daniel said, “My new aide de camp.”

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Target word count: 115,000

Flavor: Near Future Science Fiction Romance/Intrigue

Status: 2011 Golden Heart Finalist, ready to market

Author: Laurie Green is an award-winning writer. Her bio is on the Author page.

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Legionarii by D. L. Jackson

2010-02-21T12:00:00.002-07:00

This time, Brutus came in person to collect the woman. For ten years she’d slipped away. Yet again, he found himself staring at a dead end and now his anger turned on one of those responsible. No consolation for his troubles, but at least he’d have this small revenge.

The high imperial guard and successful decoy wore common Terran clothes, jeans and a tee-shirt, nothing that would give away his true identity as he left a building. Regardless his stealth, Brutus's brain flashed bright, "enemy-acquired" alerts as the man glanced both ways down the street, stepped up to a black vehicle and slid behind the wheel.

Loyalists. Brutus snorted.

He waited until the man’s attention fixed on the transporter’s ignition and then pulled a ball from inside his trench coat. A quick flip of the wrist and it rolled under the car.

The guard glanced up. His eyes widened as he spotted Brutus standing in the shadows. The man pulled a communication device and flipped it open.

Brutus gave him a salute and smiled. His com wouldn’t save him.

The guard spoke into the device then smacked it against his palm. He glanced up again. Brutus shook his head as the pod hatched. A swarm of bio-mech drones poured out, surrounding the BMW in a metallic fog that sounded like a chainsaw screaming against metal. The phone dropped from the man’s hand. He hit the locks and fumbled with the ignition.

The wasps drilled through the doors. They altered the matter and pushed through the steel as though it was gelatin. The holes snapped shut behind them, solid, normal, no evidence left of their entrance. The engine whined. “Rrrrr, rrrrrrr, click, click, click.”

The guard glanced back up. The blood drained from his face and his eyes popped. He hit the steering wheel and cranked on the keys again.

“Rrrrrrrr, click, click, click.” A valiant effort. Commendable but worthless. The electro-magnetic pulse from the hatched pod had long before disabled it and the loyalist guard wouldn’t be going anywhere.

The man began to flail, swatting at the ento-robites. For every one he hit, another two landed. Brutus watched as they filled the cab and bit into the man’s exposed flesh. They kept coming, entering his eyes, open mouth, nostrils and ears. Many penetrated his skin and slid under the surface along the muscle in little lumps. Deeper and deeper they moved, boring into his body like it was rotten fruit. The man clawed at his flesh. He raked, bucked, thrashed and shrieked.

No one who cared could hear him. His biggest mistake had been to lure Brutus to the empty warehouse and remote location. Brutus reached into his coat and fingered the button on the controller, savoring the man’s pain for a few more moments. A smiled curled his mouth and he pushed. Blue light glowed from behind the guard’s eyes, lighting him like a jack-o-lantern. A wet sucking sound, accompanied by a high-pitched whine sheered the night as he imploded and collapsed into a puddle of smoking skin on the front seat.

The pile ignited and incandesced, until all that remained was greasy soot and a pair of legs. The charred stumps were the only evidence a man once sat there. The authorities here would scratch their heads when they discovered the remains. Another victim of spontaneous combustion, Brutus thought and smiled again.

They may have saved her this time. Next time there’d be no place to run. Brutus turned on his heel and spoke into the com attached to his collar. “They’ve moved her. Contact Hector. I want her found.”

* * *

Six years later…

A loud explosion rocked the tower where Zoë sat. Yanked out of her daydream, her eyes snapped open and scanned the horizon for the source. More than likely, it came from the mines that honeycombed the subterranean crust of Odroxia, so common they were a lullaby to the Droxi children.

Every day the explosions spewed toxins into the air and sent men to their graves in the hundreds. Working below was the final destination for many and she’d never get used to land shakes and booms, regardless the Droxi children slept through them. They accompanied death.

The wail of sirens filled the night. Those were new. Zoë leaned forward, narrowed her eyes and studied the skyline. The thick haze that wrapped the countryside danced and twisted before her. Dark shapes began to emerge from the fog. A bright ball of fire mushroomed over the horizon, backlighting the silhouettes of ships that streaked toward the city and the embassy where she sat.

Topside.

Her heart jumped and the cup she held slipped from her hand to fragment on the floor.

She leapt up and ran for her brother and sisters. The embassy was no longer a safe place to be. She had to get them out before the strike.

Shrieks shrill like a cat being tortured, but worse, much worse. Her sister’s screams reverberated through the corridor. “Kimi!” The lights in the structure flickered and went out. They’d hit the power plant and everyone would have to escape in the dark. Not good since she had three floors to go to get to her brothers and sisters.

Another explosion shook the building. Zoë staggered into the wall. Kimi’s screeches echoed above the chaos.

“Zoë!” Another supersonic scream, several frequencies higher.

Invasion alarms continued to blast, blending with Kimi’s terror. The building rocked from another explosion, much closer this time. Zoë stumbled, hit the other side of the corridor and found the entrance to the stairwell. She lunged for the stairs, taking two at a time, heading for her siblings rooms below. Skylights illuminated her path with gray light. Dark shadows slipped overhead and created a strobe light effect, throwing the nightmare into slow motion. The building vibrated under her feet and its metal frame groaned. She stopped and grabbed the rail.

Another blast, this time on top of them.

The explosion loosened blocks of stone from the walls and ceiling. They crashed around her in heavy clunks. She dropped and clung to the rail. Ducking her head, she covered it with her arm and waited for the building to stop shaking. As soon as it settled, she pulled herself up and started back down.

“Zoë,” Kimi screamed again. Another explosion. This time no wails followed the blast. The building groaned and the wall next to the stairwell fell away, leaving her looking out into the night. The load bearing wall that kept the weight of the building off the lower rooms, remained intact, but one more blast would surely bring it down. “Kimi! I’m coming.” Silence and dust. Zoe raised her hand to her mouth and coughed. No answer this time.

“Kimi?” Zoë caught her foot on a block. Pain shot up her leg. She screamed and tripped. The back of her skull smacked against the edge of one of the steps in a hollow thud.

She reached for the rail as the world around her began to shift and skitter before her gaze. Focusing on the skylights, she tried to control the vertigo. The metallic tang of blood mixed with smoke penetrated her nostrils and chalky dust pelted her face. Overhead the roar of more approaching ships. The building vibrated.

A large chunk above swung by an iron thread. It rocked back and forth for several moments before it snapped free. With only seconds to react, she rolled to her side. The block glanced off the step and smacked the middle of her back before it bounced down the stairwell. It echoed like a church bell against the metal steps as it tumbled to the bottom, testifying how close she’d come to a crushing death.

The roar of the ships grew louder.

Dear God, they’d all die. She had to get to them. A band of pain shot around her ribs when she sucked in a breath to cry. Heat blasted through her cranium followed by nausea. Zoë tried to draw another lungful of air, but only managed a small sip of plaster dust and sticky, emaciated oxygen. In desperation, she pushed with her arms in an attempt to take the weight off her injured torso. She sucked in a desperate breath and shoved, but her body refused to follow. Bright bolts of stabbing light and shooting stars burst across her vision. Pain pounded in her head like an atomic sledgehammer and drove a spike of agony through her skull. As darkness sealed in around her, consciousness sucked away. So this is what death is like, she thought as she faded.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Target word count: 60,000

Flavor: Military Science Fiction Romance

Status: First draft WIP
Author: D. L. Jackson is published with Liquid Silver Books. Click on the Author page for her bio.

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About SFR Preview

2010-02-20T20:34:00.007-07:00

Welcome to SFR Preview, a showcase of "next generation" works of science fiction romance by award-winning writers and published authors. Each post is limited to approximately 2,500 words and concludes with information about the target word count, SFR flavor, status of the work in progress or published work, and links to the author's blog, website and/or publisher(s), if applicable.

Authors and Award-Winning Writers: If you'd like to have an excerpt of your science fiction romance novel posted on SFR Preview, please send a Word document of your excerpt, a short bio including links to your published works, blog or website, and contact address to SFRPreview @ gmail . com (without the spaces). (Please read our guidelines before submitting.)

Unpublished Writers: We'd be happy to consider your work for posting on SFR Preview. Please send your excerpt (up to 2,500 words) to SFRPreview @ gmail . com (without the spaces) for review by our panel of writers and authors. If we don't feel your submission is a good fit for SFR Preview, we'll respond with details. Please read our guidelines before submitting.

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Welcome to the SFR Preview.

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SFR Preview Guidelines

2010-02-20T20:30:00.008-07:00

Science Fiction Romance, within the context of this blog, is any original work of fiction that contains futuristic or imaginative settings where technology (not magic) and human or alien characters are the focus (not vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters or other fantasy characters).

This may include any of the following:

alien romance
alternate history romance
apocalyptic romance
contemporary science fiction romance
erotica science fiction romance
interstellar adventure romance
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medical science fiction romance
near future romance
space opera romance
science fantasy romance
steam punk romance
time travel romance
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All submissions must contain romance or romantic elements. Erotica or romance with erotica elements is acceptable as long as it meets the other criteria outlined above. This site is designated for adults only.

Slipstream or cross-genre work will be considered as long as it contains significant aspects of speculative or futuristic science, technology or elements that would classify it as science fiction rather than a work of fantasy.

If you have any questions on the guidelines, please contact the Science Fiction Romance Preview at SFRPreview @ gmail . dom (without the spaces).

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