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Alien Alphas – Book Blitz

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Alien Alphas: Twenty-Three Naughty Sci-Fi Romance Novellas

Featured authors: Cari Silverwood, Cynthia Sax, Renee Rose, Lee Savino, Addison Cain, Kallista Dane, Maren Smith, Ava Sinclair, Sue Lyndon, Emily Tilton, Ashe Barker, Korey Mae Johnson, Grace Goodwin, Ivy Barrett, Jane Henry, Jaye Peaches, Katie Douglas, Lili Zander, Loki Renard, Maria Monroe, Megan Michaels, Myra Danvers, Sara Fields, and Sophie Kisker
Publication Date: January 16, 2018
Genres: Adult, Sci-Fi, Romance, Novella

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Fierce warriors. Savage barbarians. Powerful warlords.
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Alien Alphas is a collection of panty-melting sci-fi romances featuring dominant alien heroes, penned by New York Times, USA Today, and international bestselling authors. This decadently naughty box set includes twenty-three ALL-NEW, stand-alone novellas full of hot alien alpha males, breathless passion, and reluctant surrender. Take an exhilarating trip beyond the stars with this limited time only bundle that’s sure to leave you turning the pages late into the night.

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American Revolution – Cover Reveal

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Dystopian, Sci-Fi, Futuristic
Date Published: January 2018
When Kelvin Hanson is dishonorably discharged from his naval captaincy he doesn’t connect the events to the accession of new President Diego Silva. But as he researches further he finds that Silva isn’t as he appears. Determined to rid the nation of a corrupt president, Hanson plots to assassinate him, but someone else gets there first.
Ashlee Townsend, head of the non-profit Freedom Group is equally determined to get to Silva, and is as surprised as Hanson when someone pips her to the post. Still reeling from the President’s assassination, Hanson and Townsend join forces as a military dictatorship takes over the country.
As rumors of terrorist plots and Mexican invasions fly, Hanson’s journalist wife sets the story straight, finding that it was the military themselves that assassinated Silva. As the truth comes out, California secedes from the Union, and Hanson and Townsend find themselves fleeing to Sacramento to head up a rebellion force.
Reuniting the states under a democratically elected President means war. And while Hanson heads up the rebel forces, his wife Kishanna deals with propaganda and information, and Ashlee becomes the center of yet another assassination plot.
This time, however, things go differently. And with a dead dictator, the threat of civil war crumbles. The governor of California becomes the interim President, and Hanson decides to throw his hat into the ring for the coming election. Democracy triumphs, and the United States is united once more.
Excerpt

 

Prologue

The absurdly large clock above the television clicked as its minute hand pushed past six. A little after half past midnight. The room was smaller than he’d imagined. Not his choice, but that of his ultra-efficient campaign manager. Not that there were that many places in Wyoming large enough to hold the small crowd that currently surrounded him. The air smelled of sweat and fear and elation, a bitter, sour smell that reminded him of the taste left in his mouth after eating only candy for hours. He was half listening to the chatter around him, the other half of his attention on the television screen.
It was odd, he thought, to be sitting down, to be inactive. For the last few months he felt that he hadn’t slept, had barely eaten, had done nothing but smile until his face ached and shake hands and speak and then smile again. And now nothing. The speech was written. The campaigning was done. There was just a vast empty swath of nothingness, and all he could do was sit and wait. This wasn’t quite as odd, however, as seeing his name flash up constantly on the TV screen.
Diego Silva. Billionaire, businessman, father, candidate. But still, always, the big-eared, buck-toothed kid of a single mom who’d raised him on rice and beans and not much else. Maria Silva was gone now. Pancreatic cancer a decade ago. It was a shame, really—she’d have been good for a slew of photo shoots, and probably a daytime TV interview or two. Silva grunted as he shifted position on the couch, his full belly pressing against the Armani belt on his slate-gray pants.
“It’ll be in soon.”
Mike Callahan perched on the edge of the sofa. His wiry body was like a coiled spring, ready to jump up at a moment’s notice. But Silva knew Callahan well enough to see the man was exhausted, close to the edge. Not that it mattered now. After the next few hours, Callahan could snap like a twig if he wanted to. His job would be done by then. One way or the other.
“What will?” Silva asked, not turning his eyes away from the television.
“Vigo County.”
Silva eyed the clock thoughtfully as the minute hand clicked again, then nodded. Vigo County, Indiana, had voted for every US presidential election winner since Eisenhower. The seemingly prescient county was his good luck charm. Silva had been quite clear on his orders. He wanted no disturbance from interns running in every few minutes, trickling down results that hadn’t been fully counted. Not until after Vigo County had announced. Once he knew that, he’d know. Everything else would just be noise, would be air inflating the balloon until it exploded. One way or the other.
“Coffee?”
Silva shook his head. His stomach was already sour from too many cups. And God forbid he’d be taking a piss when the result did come in. Thinking of hearing the news as he stood up against a bleach-smelling urinal, dick in hand, made him grin.
“It’s not a guarantee; you can’t afford to make Vigo the be-all and end-all,” Callahan said, turning bright blue eyes to him. “I’ve said it before, Silva, and I’ll say it again: there has never, ever been a candidate with your ratings. Ever. You’ve broken the damn polls. You’ve had the counters checking and double checking their math, convinced they’d fucked up. Whether you get Vigo or not . . .”
He trailed off. Silva grunted again. Callahan was confident, but not quite confident enough that he was willing to jinx the whole thing by saying it out loud. A good old Boston boy, Callahan’s accent had grated on Silva’s ears when they first met. Then he’d ceased to notice it. Only now did those flat vowels again bother him. But he didn’t respond. Had no time to respond.
“Mr. Candidate, sir.”
She was tall and blonde and big breasted, just as he’d liked them when he was a kid. That flawless white all-American girl with enough fat on her bones to have curves. The ideal. Almost as hot as his first wife. Almost, he thought, studying the snub nose sprinkled with light freckles. A slim strip of white paper was trembling in her hand, and Silva nodded at Callahan to take it.
The campaign manager looked at the black print, dismissed the girl, turned to Silva.
“Vigo,” was all he said.
And Silva knew, knew as he’d always known he’d know. His heart hammered in his chest but he didn’t let it show. In a corner of the room on blue plastic chairs, his two sons were playing poker, oblivious and uncaring as to what was happening around them. His two daughters were nowhere to be seen, but they were around somewhere. Sitting alone, her eyes downturned, demure and silent, Min-Seo, his wife, could have been asleep. He had a flash of gratitude that he’d made such a good choice. Neither of his previous wives would have been silent. Both would have been screeching, complaining, thrusting themselves into the midst of things, eager to be the center of attention.
Callahan was talking; the noise level was growing. The television screen blinked as an infographic appeared. Kentucky had declared. Indiana too. The US map filled the screen, the two states bright, bold blue.
Silva felt Callahan clap him on the shoulder, felt, rather than heard, the cheers around him. He looked again at petite, quiet Min-Seo, her eyes now turned to him. She gave a small smile, unsure, and he gave a short, sharp nod in response. And he saw the weight settle on her shoulders. He hated that she was smarter than he, but knew it to be true, though he’d never even hinted that he knew. But now he was glad. Glad because she’d be a far finer First Lady than either of his ex-wives.
President. He allowed himself a smile and stood, turning to face the others in the room, lifting his hands in a sign of victory.
“The numbers aren’t all in yet, Silva,” Callahan warned him in his ear.
But Silva didn’t care. He knew now that he’d won the lot, and he accepted the cheers and congratulations, allowing them to wash over him. He’d done the impossible. The first non-politician, the first non-military man to hold the presidency of the United States. And the first Hispanic leader.
“All right, all right, calm it down.”
Callahan’s voice was a hell of a lot louder than his small frame indicated.
“We’re not out of the woods yet, people.”
There was grumbling, but the motley assortment of interns, advisers, family members, and hangers on quieted. Callahan turned and began giving orders.
“I want the unofficial numbers from West Virginia, and why the hell hasn’t Vermont reported in yet?” he barked at the same blonde girl who’d brought the news of Vigo County. “Hey,” he said, noticing Silva walking away. “Where are you going?”
His tone irked Silva. Like Callahan had any control over what he was going to do now. The man knew every detail about his life, every minute indiscretion. Hell, he knew every place his hands had been, every dime he’d stolen, every lie he’d told. Part and parcel, Callahan had told him when they had first met.
“I can’t cover up something I don’t know about,” he’d said. “And that means I need to know you better than you know yourself. I don’t give a fuck how small, how irrelevant, how minor something is—I need to know.”
Silva had looked him in the eye, debating whether or not to bluff, determined that this man wouldn’t know half the things little Diego had done to get to the top.
“Don’t bother,” Callahan had said in a bored voice. “I’ll find out anyway. And don’t kid yourself. No one’s clean. No one. I could dig up dirt on the pope himself if I had to. And if I can do it, so can anyone else. You get a choice. Trust me to hide your failings, or trust the press not to find them. Up to you.”
And if Silva had had any doubt, if there had been a moment of indecision, Callahan had sealed both their fates with his next words.
“They call me the kingmaker,” he said quietly. “The kingmaker.”
Silva had almost laughed, but then he hadn’t because Callahan had been serious. And because the tiny Irishman had never worked on a losing campaign. In thirty-five years of politics he had never backed a losing horse. Not once. And Silva knew that. Hell, it was the reason he’d chosen the man. If he was having anyone, it would be the best. And Michael Callahan was the best.
Now Silva surveyed his campaign manager for a moment. His time was almost here. But not quite. As much as the guy pissed him off, now wasn’t the time to do anything about it. So he shrugged.
“Just hitting the can,” he said.
But Callahan wasn’t listening anymore. He was back to giving orders, and Silva walked away from him, ignoring those who called out to him, leaving the room.
The bathroom was cool and quiet after the waiting room, and Silva took his time washing his hands. Despite all the coffee, he didn’t have to piss. When his hands were thoroughly clean, he looked up, examining himself. All he’d wanted to do was look at himself in the mirror. He wanted to know if he looked like a president yet. If he had that aura of greatness and power. But all he saw was little Diego, Maria Silva’s son with his teeth fixed up and his ears pinned back and his expensive suit and blue tie.
Fuck it. He smoothed back his black hair. The jet would be on standby. It was time to go. He’d been firm on the fact that he would break with tradition. Wyoming might be his home state as far as politics was concerned, but Washington was where he belonged. And Washington was where he would accept the presidency. Little Diego looked back at him from the mirror. No. President-Elect of the United States Diego Silva looked back at him from the mirror. It was time to get out of Wyoming for good.
***
Callahan insisted they hold off on the flight until the Texas results were in. And Silva eventually conceded to his demands, though he thought them ridiculous.
“It’s the one state that’s vacillated,” Callahan reasoned. “You get Texas, we can take the jet.”
Silva clenched his teeth but sat again on his couch. Callahan was wrong on this, he knew. True, the Lone Star State was traditionally Republican. But Silva was Hispanic, and with the huge Mexican immigrant population of Texas, he knew he was going to take it. And yes, Callahan was right about the polls. But the problem with polls was that the men in suits asked other men in suits how they were going to vote. No one bothered to ask Juan the gardener where his vote was going. But still, Silva waited patiently as the results from Texas came in, county by county.
By two o’clock they had the result. The infographic of the United States appeared again on the screen. And for the first time anyone could remember, Texas was colored in blue. Better still, all signs from Florida indicated that they too would be blue. Silva had spent long nights making speeches in Spanish, long afternoons doing meet-and-greets in bodegas and churches. He’d expected nothing less.
He stood as the cheers from his supporters at the Texas result still rang through the room.
“Let’s go.”
Callahan nodded, and Silva turned to his sons.
“On the plane, boys.”
They shuffled up their cards and grabbed their jackets from the backs of their chairs. His daughters, seeing their brothers move, gravitated toward them. Safety in numbers. Or safety in familiarity, perhaps; none of the four was much used to being surrounded by politicos. Looking at them, Silva wondered again at the miracle of genetics. While the two girls had the angular, blonde good looks of their mother, his second wife, the two boys were mirror images of himself. Dark haired, dark skinned, they were the product of his first marriage. The only right thing his first wife had done was to give him the heirs he wanted. Other than that, all she’d done was cost him money. A lot of it.
Callahan was already collecting together tablets and papers and issuing instructions, and Silva was turning to discuss orders with him before he remembered his wife. Min-Seo remained seated in her chair, still silent. It wasn’t until he gave her the nod that she stood, prepared to follow him. When she came to his side, he smelled the flowery scent of her bespoke perfume, saw the flawless glow of her skin. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. She had been a good choice. A wise choice. But he didn’t take her hand. And when they left the building, Min-Seo walked a comfortable two steps behind him.
***
“They’re calling it the biggest landslide since Reagan,” Callahan said, unbuckling his seatbelt and stretching out his legs.
“Screw that,” Silva said, not turning from his tablet. “It’ll be the biggest since FDR.”
“Perhaps,” said Min-Seo. “Even the biggest since Harding.”
She did not often speak out of turn. Maybe it was the late hour, or the thin air in the plane cabin.
“FDR,” Silva said, the warning tone already in his voice.
“No, she’s right,” said Callahan, popping open a can of Red Bull. “Harding versus Cox, 1920, the biggest-contested election result in US history. A 26.17% margin. Now that was a landslide. Get California and you’ll beat it.”
This pleased Silva, though no one would have known by looking at him.
“Dad, I’ve got Agri-Com on the line. They’re willing to come down to fifty; what do you think?”
Jake, his older son, leaned over, across the aisle, mobile dangling from one hand. Silva frowned at him.
“No, no, Jakey,” Callahan said immediately. “No dice. He gets no input, no say. You know the rules.”
The younger man scowled at the campaign manager but settled back into his own seat. As the rules dictated, Silva had divested himself of all business interests in the run up to the election. Silva Eco-Energy Solutions, the green energy company that had made his fortune, had been handed over in full to his older son. Silva waited until Callahan’s attention was diverted back to his tablet before catching Jake’s eye and briefly shaking his head.
“Nah, I’m afraid that’s not going to fly,” he heard Jake say into his phone before he turned his head away.
Jake—a nice, wholesome American name. Jake, followed by Andrew, followed by the two girls, Madison and Nicole. He hadn’t lumbered any of them with loaded names like Diego. Silva was enough of a blight for them to carry. And those good, solid American names now graced the boardrooms of some of the largest and most successful corporations in the country. A job well done. Silva beckoned over a staff member, allowing himself another coffee before settling back to see just how blue that US map infographic could get.
***
They were still in the air when the call came. At 05:27 a.m. on November 9th, Harrison Foster-Bright, esteemed Republican candidate for the US presidential election, conceded defeat. The call was later than they had expected, though earlier than most other historical concessions had come. It had been clear for far longer than an hour now that there was no way Foster-Bright could catch up. And as Silva watched the tall, thin figure take the stage in his home state of Mississippi, a state that Silva had won hours ago, there were shouts of jubilation from the back of the plane. Silva put his tablet down on the table, clicked open his seatbelt, and stood.
“Congratulations,” said Callahan, rising to his feet. “Congratulations, Mr. President.”
And despite the number of times Silva had wanted to punch that smug Boston smile off the man’s face, and despite the number of threats he’d made and promises he’d sworn to himself, he found himself embracing his campaign manager.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said.
It wasn’t politeness. It wasn’t a token gesture of appreciation. It was simple, bold truth. Without Callahan he’d have been lost, trodden underfoot and laughed off the stage. With him, he’d won. Simple as that.
“I know,” Callahan said.
And it wasn’t boastful. It wasn’t immodest. It was clear, simple truth. And they both knew it.
Silva gave him a nod before turning to his children first to be congratulated, then the campaign workers on the plane, and then, finally, his wife. It wasn’t until a half hour later that he again spoke to Callahan, this time in the small galley of the plane, and in private.
“You are my golden goose,” Callahan said bluntly. “And I won’t disrespect you by sugar coating things. I’ve done the impossible. And I will be rewarded.”
“You’ve been paid,” Silva said.
“Handsomely,” said Callahan, leaning back on the metal service cart. “But I will have more. You will appoint me in an advisory capacity for as long as you remain in power, with a hefty paycheck at the end of every month. And after that, you will grant me an honorary position in one of your companies for just long enough that no one’s surprised when I retire with a very healthy retirement package.”
Silva hadn’t gotten to where he was by bowing to threats. “No.”
With a smile, nonthreatening and light, Callahan leaned forward. “But I know everything, Diego. Everything. The companies, the affairs, the money. All of it. It would be very dangerous indeed to grant me my freedom. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer and all that.”
“And is that what you are: my enemy?”
“I don’t have to be,” said Callahan, leaning back again. “I don’t even particularly want to be. I am simply a man with a price, as we all are. I know what I want, and I will have it. I know you can understand that.”
Silva considered this, put his anger to one side. He was angry. Furious. But he couldn’t afford to be, and he knew it. He hadn’t gotten this far by bowing to threats. But he also hadn’t gotten this far by acting on impulse. He as much as anyone knew that prices needed to be paid.
“No,” he said again. But not quite as firmly, allowing room for persuasion, for negotiation. He wasn’t convinced yet that Callahan had what it took to follow through on his threats.
“I told you when we met that they call me the kingmaker,” Callahan said, quite calmly. “And thirty minutes from now, the door of this plane will open and you will greet the world as the president-elect of the United States. I am the kingmaker.”
Silva said nothing. There was no dispute to what Callahan said.
“But I can also be the kingbreaker,” continued Callahan. “With all I know, I could destroy what I have created.”
“And destroy yourself at the same time,” Silva pointed out. “You’d never work again if you leaked information about me.”
“True,” Callahan said. He didn’t seem disturbed by this. “But who has more to lose here? This is a small price to pay, Diego, and you know it.”
It was. However much Callahan might want, it would be a mere grain of sand in comparison to all Silva had. And perhaps the man did have a point. Given all that he knew, it would be foolish to release Callahan back into the wild. And he might prove useful. Finally, Silva nodded.
“On one condition,” he said.
Callahan raised an eyebrow.
“You never call me ‘Diego’ again.”
“As you wish, Mr. President,” said Callahan, smiling.
***
Half an hour later, the plane touched down at Ronald Reagan International Airport. There was shuffling as everyone gathered their belongings. The campaign staff was ushered toward the rear of the plane, while Silva, his children, his wife, and Callahan prepared themselves by the front door. Outside, Silva knew, waited the world’s press, and his chosen vice president. Jane Reynolds had opted to stay in DC in preparation for the victory party she knew would come. Tall, and attractive in an intimidating way, she was a three-term senator from Ohio and the reason Silva had clinched the swing state so early in the game. She was also his legitimation. “Reynolds” was a name held in great esteem in political circles. As Callahan had joked when he had introduced them, it wouldn’t be a senate without a Reynolds in it.
But Jane would be the first Reynolds to make it to the cabinet. Silva had been dubious about the choice at first. She had been Callahan’s choice, obviously. But as it turned out, having a woman on side had only bolstered his votes. And having a serious politician on side hadn’t hurt either. Surprisingly, he found over time that he actually liked the woman. He didn’t want to fuck her, which was relatively unusual for him. What was more unusual was that he took the time to interact with a woman he didn’t want to fuck. But Jane had proven to be a firm and solid ally. And perhaps, though he’d never have used the word outside of a political speech, a friend.
“Ready?”
Callahan stood one step behind him to his right. Two steps behind him to his left stood Min-Seo. The children were arrayed behind his wife. Callahan looked to Silva for permission. Silva took a good, deep breath. He set his shoulders, checked his tie one more time, and then nodded. He wasn’t nervous. He’d never been nervous in public. It wasn’t his style. Callahan nodded to the staff member by the door, and Silva painted on his campaign smile for the last time.
The door opened, and he was blinded by the photographic lights and flashbulbs. But he remembered to keep his eyes wide open. If he didn’t, the shots would be useless in the morning’s press. He took a large step, clearing the threshold of the plane, and then stopped. His smile was no longer painted on; it was genuine as he raised his hand and waved to the crowds threatening to burst out from behind the control barriers. Below him, Vice President-Elect Jane Reynolds waited, a small oasis of perfect calm in the middle of the roaring, cheering, waving crowd. Silva felt her eyes on him, and he maintained eye contact as he slowly began to walk down the red-carpeted stairs.
He was home, and he felt it. And in those few seconds it took to reach the tarmac, he was determined that he’d never leave Washington again. They’d have to drag him away kicking and screaming from this, the center of the world. The steps leveled out, but the red carpet continued, leading him to his running mate.
“Madame Vice President,” he said, extending his hand to Reynolds.
“Mr. President,” she responded, shaking his hand.
The crowds roared, helicopters buzzed overhead, and fireworks exploded from somewhere, flashing in the sky. Silva smiled. Little Diego had made it. And little Diego was about to pull off the greatest coup in political history. A camera flashed, and President-Elect Silva grinned a bit wider.
About the Author

Perhaps you wouldn’t characterize the Finance Manager of your local automobile dealership as an Amazon best-selling author—until you get to know T.T. Michael. He has worked for the past decade at a Toyota Dealership in Illinois, but he is in the driver’s seat as the writer of, Fire War, a political thriller set in the year 2076. See what happens when the United States, Canada, and Mexico all join forces to make one super country. See more about him and his book Fire War at www.ttmichael.com
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The Stark Divide -Virtual Book Tour

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Sci-Fi
Date Published: 10/10/17
Publisher: DSP Publications
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Some stories are epic.
The Earth is in a state of collapse, with wars breaking out over resources and an environment pushed to the edge by human greed.
Three living generation ships have been built with a combination of genetic mastery, artificial intelligence, technology, and raw materials harvested from the asteroid belt. This is the story of one of them—43 Ariadne, or Forever, as her inhabitants call her—a living world that carries the remaining hopes of humanity, and the three generations of scientists, engineers, and explorers working to colonize her.
From her humble beginnings as a seedling saved from disaster to the start of her journey across the void of space toward a new home for the human race, The Stark Divide tells the tales of the world, the people who made her, and the few who will become something altogether beyond human.
Humankind has just taken its first step toward the stars.
Book One of Liminal Sky

EXCERPT

 

Colin hurried back to his own quarters, frowning.

A biological agent. It had to be terrorism. The Interveners or one of the other quasi-religious sects?

It must have been introduced by someone back on Frontier. How had they done it?

There were layers upon layers of security for anything entering the ships at the station, and he’d personally checked the backgrounds of everyone who worked on or near the Dressler. If there was an Intervener among them, he had no idea who it was—and there were only two other people on board.

He just hoped that this agent, whatever it was, didn’t have a taste for people.

Dressler, have you finished the diagnostic?” he asked, entering his cabin. He pulled out some antiseptic wipes and cleaned his hands vigorously, just in case.

“Negative, Captain.” The ship’s normally dulcet tones sounded rough. “My internal systems are running more slowly than normal.”

Something else to worry about. “Estimated time to completion?”

“Fifteen minutes, Captain.”

Colin closed his eyes and thought of Trip. Out there somewhere in a ship of his own. What if this was bigger than the Dressler?

He didn’t want to panic his partner, but he had to know.

He tapped his loop. “Dressler, patch me in to Captain Tanner.”

“One moment.”

“Hey, Colin.” Trip’s voice boomed in the small cabin.

“Hey, Trip. Where are you?”

“Just closing in on Frontier Station, so I’m a bit busy. What’s up?”

Just hearing the man’s voice calmed Colin considerably. “Just wanted to say hello. We’re in slowdown, approaching Ariadne. Hey, everything okay there?”

“Everything’s fine. Looking forward to seeing you in a couple days.”

That made Colin’s legs go a little wobbly.

“Hey, is everything all right?” Trip asked.

“Yeah, fine so far. I’ll keep you posted.” He didn’t want Trip to worry, not yet. It might be nothing.

“Gotta run. Love you.”

“Backatcha.” He sighed in relief. Trip was okay. He tapped off the loop.

As he saw it, he had three options on the Dressler.

One, fix the problem, whatever it was. Dr. Anatov was one of the primary experts in ship genetics, so they had a fighting chance there.

Two, try to make it to Ariadne, where they could await rescue. He considered this the most likely option. The ship had enough oxygen to sustain them for some time, provided she held her structural integrity.

Three, abandon ship. He resolved to do this only in the direst of circumstances. The three of them could only survive a short time in the lifeboat, and they would be hard to find in the vastness of space, even with an emergency beacon.

Dressler, where’s Hammond?” he asked. He had to do something.

There was a short but noticeable pause in the response. “Hammond’s in cabin three.”

The first thing to do was to finish the inspection.

 

 

 
About the Author

Scott spends his time between the here and now and the what could be. Enticed into fantasy and sci fi by his mom at the tender age of nine, he devoured her Science Fiction Book Club library. But as he grew up, he wondered where all the people like him were in the books he was reading.
He decided that it was time to create the kinds of stories he couldn’t find at his local bookstore. If there weren’t gay characters in his favorite genres, he would remake them to his own ends.
His friends say Scott’s mind works a little differently – he sees relationships between things that others miss, and gets more done in a day than most folks manage in a week. He loves to transform traditional sci fi, fantasy, and contemporary worlds into something unexpected.
Starting in 2014, Scott has published more than 15 works, including two novels and a number of novellas and short stories.
He runs both Queer Sci Fi and QueeRomance Ink with his husband Mark, sites that bring queer people together to promote and celebrate fiction that reflects their own lives.
 
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The Stark Divide – Blitz

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Sci-Fi
Date Published: 10/10/17
Publisher: DSP Publications
 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png
Some stories are epic.
The Earth is in a state of collapse, with wars breaking out over resources and an environment pushed to the edge by human greed.
Three living generation ships have been built with a combination of genetic mastery, artificial intelligence, technology, and raw materials harvested from the asteroid belt. This is the story of one of them—43 Ariadne, or Forever, as her inhabitants call her—a living world that carries the remaining hopes of humanity, and the three generations of scientists, engineers, and explorers working to colonize her.
From her humble beginnings as a seedling saved from disaster to the start of her journey across the void of space toward a new home for the human race, The Stark Divide tells the tales of the world, the people who made her, and the few who will become something altogether beyond human.
Humankind has just taken its first step toward the stars.
Book One of Liminal Sky
EXCERPT



“DRESSLER, SCHEMATIC,” Colin McAvery, ship’s captain and a third of the crew, called out to the ship-mind.

A three-dimensional image of the ship appeared above the smooth console. Her five living arms, reaching out from her central core, were lit with a golden glow, and the mechanical bits of instrumentation shone in red. In real life, she was almost two hundred meters from tip to tip.
Between those arms stretched her solar wings, a ghostly green film like the sails of the Flying Dutchman.
“You’re a pretty thing,” he said softly. He loved these ships, their delicate beauty as they floated through the starry void.
“Thank you, Captain.” The ship-mind sounded happy with the compliment—his imagination running wild. Minds didn’t have real emotions, though they sometimes approximated them.
He cross-checked the heading to be sure they remained on course to deliver their payload, the man-sized seed that was being dragged on a tether behind the ship. Humanity’s ticket to the stars at a time when life on Earth was getting rapidly worse.
All of space was spread out before him, seen through the clear expanse of plasform set into the ship’s living walls. His own face, trimmed blond hair, and deep brown eyes, stared back at him, superimposed over the vivid starscape.
At thirty, Colin was in the prime of his career. He was a starship captain, and yet sometimes he felt like little more than a bus driver. After this run… well, he’d have to see what other opportunities might be awaiting him. Maybe the doc was right, and this was the start of a whole new chapter for mankind. They might need a guy like him.
The walls of the bridge emitted a faint but healthy golden glow, providing light for his work at the curved mechanical console that filled half the room. He traced out the T-Line to their destination. “Dressler, we’re looking a little wobbly.” Colin frowned. Some irregularity in the course was common—the ship was constantly adjusting its trajectory—but she usually corrected it before he noticed.
“Affirmative, Captain.” The ship-mind’s miniature chosen likeness appeared above the touch board. She was all professional today, dressed in a standard AmSplor uniform, dark hair pulled back in a bun, and about a third life-sized.
The image was nothing more than a projection of the ship-mind, a fairy tale, but Colin appreciated the effort she took to humanize her appearance. Artificial mind or not, he always treated minds with respect.
“There’s a blockage in arm four. I’ve sent out a scout to correct it.”
The Dressler was well into slowdown now, her pre-arrival phase as she bled off her speed, and they expected to reach 43 Ariadne in another fifteen hours.
Pity no one had yet cracked the whole hyperspace thing. Colin chuckled. Asimov would be disappointed. “Dressler, show me Earth, please.”
A small blue dot appeared in the middle of his screen.
“Dressler, three dimensions, a bit larger, please.” The beautiful blue-green world spun before him in all its glory.
Appearances could be deceiving. Even with scrubbers working tirelessly night and day to clean the excess carbon dioxide from the air, the home world was still running dangerously warm.
He watched the image in front of him as the East Coast of the North American Union spun slowly into view. Florida was a sliver of its former self, and where New York City’s lights had once shone, there was now only blue. If it had been night, Fargo, the capital of the Northern States, would have outshone most of the other cities below. The floods that had wiped out many of the world’s coastal cities had also knocked down Earth’s population, which was only now reaching the levels it had seen in the early twenty-first century.
All those new souls had been born into a warm, arid world.
We did it to ourselves. Colin, who had known nothing besides the hot planet he called home, wondered what it had been like those many years before the Heat.
About the Author

Scott spends his time between the here and now and the what could be. Enticed into fantasy and sci fi by his mom at the tender age of nine, he devoured her Science Fiction Book Club library. But as he grew up, he wondered where all the people like him were in the books he was reading.
He decided that it was time to create the kinds of stories he couldn’t find at his local bookstore. If there weren’t gay characters in his favorite genres, he would remake them to his own ends.
His friends say Scott’s mind works a little differently – he sees relationships between things that others miss, and gets more done in a day than most folks manage in a week. He loves to transform traditional sci fi, fantasy, and contemporary worlds into something unexpected.
Starting in 2014, Scott has published more than 15 works, including two novels and a number of novellas and short stories.
He runs both Queer Sci Fi and QueeRomance Ink with his husband Mark, sites that bring queer people together to promote and celebrate fiction that reflects their own lives.
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In the Beginning – Blitz

In the Beginning Banner

In the Beginning cover
Sci Fi/Space Opera
Date Published: Sept 5th 2017
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The origins of Judeo-Christian religion and mythology come together in this mature science fiction page-turner.
To combat overpopulation on the planet Orion, the government releases a birth control virus to keep women from becoming pregnant. Only the brightest and most attractive of their species are allowed to mate. But the virus rages out of control, killing both mother and child. Attempts to develop a cure fail. They only have one option left: search other worlds for advanced societies that may be able to help.
The two most intelligent minds on Orion—and former best friends—Lucifer and Zues band together to search for a secret planet. When they finally arrive, they are greeted with unexplainable death and destruction. This planet is not the answer. Something doesn’t add up. They discover an extra unknown planet in the solar system.
The new planet is covered in lush land masses and bodies of water. Different species of hominids run—and mate—freely. Fire-breathing dragons guard the land. Lucifer is determined to figure out who or what created this planet. He thinks it just might be the key to saving Orion and the Orionites.

 

Excerpt
Hippolyta cleared the launch tube and dived down into the planete’s atmosphere. It only took her a few seconds to begin to get a full view of the alien planete. She had heard the rumors that this planete wasn’t actually a planete—that it was artificial or something like that. Sure looks real to me, she thought as she made her approach. The closer she got to the actual planete itself, the more amazed she became.
This place is huge, and it’s gorgeous. It’s perfect. No pollution, no buildings, nothing covering up its inherent natural beauty. It is too perfect; maybe this place isn’t real after all. It’s too good to be true, too beautiful to have just happened by chance.
She found herself completely mesmerized by the incredible landscapes, gigantic bodies of sparkling blue water, and enormous amounts of vegetation existing all over this untouched planete. Then as if out of nowhere, she saw it. Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit! It was one of the gigantic flying beasts that were supposedly capable of breathing fire or something like that. She had been briefed on their existence. She had even been shown pictographs, but she quickly realized that until this very moment, when she was seeing one of the great beasts with her own eyes, she hadn’t really believed it.
She brought her Vimana to a complete stop and hovered in midair, not moving at all. She knew that she was in no real danger. Her Vimana was cloaked, and the miniature arc-core power source that Vimanas used was completely silent. Flight operations of Vimanas in general were completely silent. There was no exhaust or propulsion system to speak of. Vimanas moved air and space around them; they didn’t actually move through air and space, although it seemed as if they did.
“What a majestic creature! Hera, help me!” she heard herself say. Hera was Hippolyta’s grandmother. She was the greatest female warrior in Orionite history. So great, in fact, that the Orionite government deemed her worthy of deification. Hippolyta knew that it was disrespectful to say her grandmother’s name aloud since she had been made a deity, but when she was alone, where no one else could hear her, she often did. It just made her feel better.
For a few moments, she sat there completely still, in wonderment of the sheer power and grace that the creature possessed, and then said to herself, “I am going to have to go in for a closer look at this magnificent beast.” Hippolyta moved her Vimana slowly toward the creature. She was able to match its speed and came up along the side of the winged beast.
It looks like it has armor plating on its chest and head. I’d like to see it shoot some fire out of its mouth, as Mikael said it could, she thought.
Then suddenly the beast flipped end over end and turned toward her ship. Hippolyta brought the Vimana to a complete stop and didn’t move a muscle. She was holding her breath, she realized. It appeared as if the creature were looking directly at her. What the fuck? There was no way this thing could know that she was here. She was completely cloaked and completely silent. And that was when it came.
Hippolyta got her wish as a gigantic superhot blue-and-white ball of fire shot out from the creature’s mouth and totally enveloped her Vimana. “Fuck!” Hippolyta screamed as her Vimana began to plummet toward the surface of the planete. She attempted to regain control of the craft, but her flight systems were not responding. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the craft began to come back online, and she was able to reestablish control of the ship.
“Holy fuck! How did that thing see me? Must have some kind of infrared vision or some bullshit like that. That’s fucked up!” she said as she evened out her flight path. She got on the horn and spoke into her comm unit. “Olympus actual, this is Sergeant Hippolyta requesting immediate assistance. My ship has been damaged, and I may not be able to make it back into orbit.” She waited for a reply for one second, two seconds, three. “Olympus actual, please respond and advise.”
There was no answer.
“Oh, this is seriously fucking great. Fireball must have fried my communications array. Shit!” She continued on her flight path and tried to decide what to do. She’d probably be able to make it back to the Olympus; she just didn’t know how much damage the ship had endured. Then she saw, or rather sensed, a very large shadow looming over her. She looked up and saw the same creature directly overhead.
“Mikael said these things never left their own territory! Well, that was a total fucking lie! Mikael, fucking dumb-ass son of a bitch, give me good intel before you send me out on a mission! I am so going to kill that motherfucker when I get back! How the fuck is this thing tracking me?”
And then the shadow grew larger. She looked up and saw the great beast descending on her, producing a brilliant stream of blue-and-white flame from its mouth. She put the Vimana into a dead drop and pushed it to its top speed. See ya, you son of a bitch, she thought as she escaped her pursuer. She had started to approach a landmass to the southwest of where they were setting up the Atlantis base when she saw the creature again; it was right on her tail. The beast was matching her speed. She couldn’t believe it. That’s not possible, she thought, and then she saw the flame coming toward her again; this thing was not going away.
She dropped the Vimana down to an even lower altitude and began to follow the path of a wide winding body of water. She was using this winding river like a highway. She had grown desperate to escape the flying menace, but she still couldn’t keep herself from marveling at the incredible beauty and splendor of the untouched waterway that she was using to help navigate her flight path. Then even at this low altitude, she felt the shadow of the creature creep over her Vimana once again.
I’ve got to get the hell out of here, she thought. She didn’t know where to go; she needed a place to hide. The shadow grew larger as the beast began to descend upon her ship. She saw a clearing to the north of the jungle. There, right there. She flew her Vimana through the clearing and a little way into the jungle itself, where it would be under the cover of some large trees.
She didn’t know if this would work. Her Vimana was already cloaked, but it felt better than being out in the open, waiting to be burned alive and eaten. She sat there holding her breath for ten, twenty, thirty minutes, waiting for the blue-and-white flame to cook her where she sat, but fortunately it never came. After she got herself together and after many more failed attempts at contacting the Olympus, Hippolyta decided that it was time to try to make it back to the mother ship, but for some reason, she just couldn’t bring herself to go. Maybe it was fear of encountering the giant flying reptile again, or maybe it was something else. She had been entranced by the beauty of the surrounding jungle the entire time that she had been hiding from her tormentor. She decided that she was going to get out of her Vimana and take a look around.
Just for a few minutes, she thought. The beauty of this place was pulling her toward it; she could feel it. Sergeant Hippolyta popped her cockpit and was the first Orionite person to ever set foot on Terra Firma. She stomped on the ground. Felt like ground to her, but the grass was so green; the skies were so clear. It was familiar but different. It was better…much better. She was nervous about it, but she decided to remove her flight helmet as well. Mikael had said that the air was breathable. Let’s find out, she thought. She removed her helmet and held her breath for a very long time. Then in one big gasp, she sucked the alien air into her lungs.
“Great Hera!” she said to herself as the clean, oxygen-rich, alien air hit her lungs. This is magnificent; this is intoxicating! I feel incredible! Her head felt light; she was initially a little woozy. She had never experienced such raw, untouched, and unpolluted air as this. It was truly a beautiful experience. She lay down in the soft green grass and just soaked in the beauty of the place for a long time. She felt at peace; she felt happy. She felt, maybe for the first time in her life, that she was at home. After spending some time lying in the grass and soaking in the astron rays, Hippolyta sat up and looked around. The jungle was gorgeous. She wanted to go see what was back there, and so she did.
She walked through the jungle and again marveled at its untouched beauty—the plants, flowers, trees all so complete and untouched by the hand of man. She came around a turn, and that was when she saw them. There were hominids up in front of her. “Oh shit!” she whispered to herself as she ducked down behind a rock formation. They didn’t see her.
Thank Hera, she thought. She spied on the hominid creatures for quite a while. They were completely naked and without shame. They were bathing themselves and one another, she noticed, in what must have been a hot spring of some kind. There was a small waterfall up over their heads. The water was clear and beautiful; she could see their forms clearly. They were beautiful, magnificent specimens. They were much taller than the other hominid species she had seen in the pictographs; they were almost as tall as she was.
They don’t have any pictographs of these hominids up on the Olympus, she thought. Their skin, eyes, and hair were so dark. Their bodies were so muscular, their thighs and buttocks so strong, their breasts so firm and full. Sergeant Hippolyta felt something begin to stir down deep between her thighs, a feeling she had never felt before. What the hell is that? she wondered. She shifted on the rock that she was sitting on, but no matter which way she tried to sit, she could never get comfortable. She continued to spy on the hominids bathing in the hot spring.
They’re all female, she suddenly realized. There wasn’t a male among them, and she slowly began to understand that she liked that. Her breathing began to get heavy, and she began to perspire in the heat of the jungle. She began to tug and pull at her flight suit; her skin felt flushed. Other parts of her body began to feel flushed as well. Certain parts of her body began to swell and ache that had never swollen or ached before in her entire existence.
Then as if she were having an out-of-body experience, Sergeant Hippolyta removed her flight suit and her undergarments and stood up on the rock that she had been hiding behind. She stood completely naked for all these gorgeous female alien hominids to see. She wanted them to see her. She knew that she should be embarrassed by her swollen genitalia that could easily be seen through the clear pubic hair that all Orionite women possessed, but for some reason, she was not. She stood tall and proud and naked.
The hominids in the hot spring did see her. They did not seem afraid, however. They seemed curious. Hippolyta slowly stepped off of the rock face and made her way down toward the all-female tribe and then slowly entered the water. It was warm and inviting; it felt so good as the water rose up above her thighs and began to make contact with her swollen and aching clitoris. The alien females began to slowly move toward Hippolyta; they still seemed unafraid. They began to stroke her clear hair. They looked into Hippolyta’s large blue eyes; they explored her face, her nose, her ears, her mouth, her lips, and her neck. Then they began to explore other parts of Hippolyta’s anatomy.

That was the first and last mission that Sergeant Hippolyta ever flew for the Olympus arc vessel. She was never heard from again.About the Author

 

BCE is originally from parts unknown and currently resides in areas of the planet yet to be explored. His favorite pastime is reading old encyclopedias while eating Peanut M&M’s. He does believe that the warehouse depicted at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark actually exists. He has only one goal left in his life that he wishes to accomplish: to live long enough to see the aliens return so he may look over at his beautiful wife in her nursing-home bed and say, “I told you so.”

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