BLOGS

SO, I NEED A COUPLE OF COMIC BOOK ARTISTS AND GRAPHIC NOVEL WRITERS FOR AN INTERVIEW ON FRIDAY...OTHER ARTISTS HAVE FALLEN THROUGH AND I NEED OTHERS.  i FEATURE THE TALENTS AND ASPIRATIONS OF AFRICAN AMERICANS PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU ARE INTERESTED AND HAVE A WEBSITE AND WORKS UNDERWAY OR PUBLISHED!!!!

MY SHOW AIRS ON FRIDAYS @ 7 PM CENTRAL TIME,  I GOT OVER 1000 LISTENERS IN JUST A MONTH!  DOING WELL THANKS TO THE SUPPORT HERE.

CONTACT ME:  WWW.BLOGTALKRADIO.COM/CHASITIE-S-GOODMAN

AMANDLA.NING.COM

QUICKEST WAY TO GET ME IS THROUGH EMAIL:  CHASITIESGOODMAN@GMAIL.COM

SEND ME A MESSAGE HERE ALSO!  fOLLOW ME ON TWITTER:  @GODLAUGHS

this is not yesterday...

and as much as I would like, its not today either.  Its tommorrow, and it will continue to be tommorrow until I am able to enjoy today.  Our lives are not spent enjoying today,they are spent preparing for tommorrow. Tommorrow when the rent will be due, tommorrow when the car payment is due, tommorrw when when the sun has promised to come out. 

Well, I strive to slice a little bit of time to enjoy today.  A little bit of sanity to relish today. A little bit ot time to recognize the life that flows in and out of my lungs.  The happiness that pulses through my bloodstream.    When it is so easy to live in misery and fear tommorrow, we must remind ourselves to look forward to whatever joy is promised in tommorrows. It is afterall, so easy to see clouds, to feel rain and to hear thunder, but when is the last time you stopped to hear, God's Laughter?

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/chasitie-s-goodman

So the media lies, and when we believe as Black women that we cannot find a decent Black man, than we are gullible, twisted gnomes that are more influenced by media than we are by the truth that we stare at everyday.  I see PLENTY of beautiful Blacks and Browns brimming with love and satisifaction in each other everyday.  When I buy into propoganda, I practice putting up walls in the way of a Brotha already too busy, and weighed down with stress, to climb.  Sistahs, when this happens, the Brothas simply won't climb the wall, they will keep it moving.

Sistah's we need an awful lot of encouragement lately!  An awful lot of self help manuals, books, and shows.  Just listen to your heartbeat, it tells the story of generations of Black men that have stood up to odds, and that have stood up with us as well.  Our men were the original superheroes, strong, bold, and unapologetic.  I think that they still are, just take a look around this site!

On a side note, I am looking for artists that have created Superheroes.  I would like to interview a few of you on the radioshow- http://www.blogtalkradio.com/chasitie-s-goodman 

In peace Yall!

Two of my fantasy books have recently received positive reviews.

The first is for my latest work Detecting Magic with Dick Hunter: The Mort des Hommes Files. It was reviewed by Book Reviews Weekly on their website and on Amazon.com. You can read the review here.

The other review is for my 2009 novel The Laroarian Conflict. The review was done by Chelsea Perry of Apex Reviews and can be read on Amazon.com.

Thanks for reading.

I just discovered a new and free software for authors and writers

She was Annabelle’s shadow, trailing the dark woman as she rode in horse drawn carriages, sipped wine on balconies, danced in chandelier lit ballrooms. But she always returned home to her quarter alongside the river.

Now the twin moons shined through twisted branches. The vampire followed their light down the dusty road to the juke joint. Unseen **** walked alongside her.

They stepped inside a wooden shack, the air thick with tobacco smoke and the smell of frying meat… Annabelle felt the glances of the crowd and didn’t have to probe their minds to know their thoughts.

How she dress the way she do, when she don’t never do no work?

Where she been all this time, to come showing up now?

She still looks the same -- not a day older! It ain’t natural!

Envy. Curiosity. Fear.

Annabelle sauntered over to the far left corner to where Fatback, the proprietor, sat beside a tub of beer. A table of liquor and glasses was set up beside the tub.

The big, yellow man smiled up at her. “Hey pretty, whatcho want?”

“Moonshine.”

Fatback poured her shot of clear liquid. “That’s a mighty strong drink, little girl. Sure you can handle it?”

She favored him with a smile, and dug into the pocket of her dress for a crumpled bill. As Annabelle sipped her drink, she let her eyes roam over the couples grinding in one another‘s arms. Her eyes settled on one heavily built, brown man.

Fatback smirked. “That’s Roscoe, a married man. Not that you care.”

She sent her burning thoughts to Roscoe… his eyes found hers and slid down her body like butter.

He wound his way through the dancers, and after the briefest hesitation gave her his hand. “You wanna dance?”

Wordlessly she stepped into his arms and their bodies pressed together, his pungent odor in her nostrils, and slipped her hands down the hard muscles of his back.

At the front of the juke, on a crude wooden stage, a buxom young woman sang, accompanied by men playing the piano and harmonica:

             And just can’t get enough…”

Annabelle whispered in his ear: “I’m going home. Wanna come?”

He gave her a lazy smile. “We ain’t got to go that far… Let’s go outside.”

“You want me? Then meet me at the water pump behind my cabin.”

“Where --”

She put her fingers to his lips. “You’ll find it,”

She left him standing in the middle of the floor, staring after her. After the briefest hesitation, Roscoe walked outside. She was gone.

But her voice called to him.

It should’ve frightened him, but instead his desire swelled until he thought he’d lose his mind. Roscoe ran the length of the road, following her honeyed murmur… to the quarter. To her cabin...

Copyright 2008, 2009, 2010 Valjeanne Jeffers-Thompson all rights reserved

      Throwing both hands up the painted youth replied, “No mischief at all sir Knight! I only know it took all my strength just to get him to lay upon the cart! Each day as night fell, he grew heavier. When we came here last evening, the wheel of the pushcart came off. I couldn’t try to move him until morning and just before dawn, the hyenas attacked us. Long as he is on the cart during the day, Oboe can be pulled along. He is so weak, I think he will soon die.” Just after the youth mentioned death, an unnaturally cold wind rolled in from the desert. It was the Chief who said after a hard shiver, “Hoooo! I never expected to again feel the chill of a winter wind living here.”

      The chill wind also affected the Knight as well for goose-pimples stood high upon his skin. The Chief’s words sparked within the Knight’s memory. His wife’s skin had been cold as well and then there was her other warning about ‘bringing the traveler to her at the dam before the last rays fell today.’ Looking to the sky, morning was in its full glory and soon the sun would blaze upon the land. However, the Knight noticed an insignificant gathering of clouds in the sky which should not be. The rainy season was long over and there would be none for months to come. His decision was made. Hastily, he and the Chief set to the task of repairing the cart with the Old Father still upon it. Based on Qatula’s account, if they took him off the small cart they’d never get him back on. Difficult as the task was, they were able to make passable repairs to the wheel and get underway.

      Shortly before the sun reached the midday mark in the sky, a much larger pack of hyenas had found the bodies of several of their kind. Two were the dominant female and male of a rival pack. As the much larger dominant female of the master pack’s nose took in the scent of her dead rival, she picked up the scent of a strange male creature that had made the kill. For certain it was not a lion. There were similar scents too and one of the strange creatures was near death. Whatever these creatures were, they posed a threat to this territory. The dominant female would not have it. Cackling for her packmates, the female loped off into the cypress forest after these strange interlopers. With the largest and most fearsome of all the desert hyena packs behind her, the interlopers would soon find themselves as a fine feast!

      It was as the youth said, as time went on the old man grew weaker and what should have been a simple matter for one man to handle, saw them all putting forth maximum effort. Both men put an arm around the two pushcart handles opposite the other and drove the cart further with the youth between them pushing with both hands. The Knight kept his shield on right arm while the Chief’s hung from his left. Both held their spears in their shield hand. Should anything come along they would be at a disadvantage to attack but not to defend. While pushing the cart over a path never intended for carts while huffing and blowing to keep his wind the Chief asked, “Is this damn thing getting heavier?” Looking down to see the ever deepening cartwheel tracks the Knight grunted, “Absolutely.”

      Looking up through the spindly but heavy cypress leaf canopy, the Knight’s dark brown eyes could see the sun had reached its apogee but they were not near the halfway mark to the dam. Another thing which had not escaped his notice was the summer breezes were now cold wind and thick white clouds were gathering. At the speed they now traveled, they would barely reach the dam by sunset. In addition to the mysterious dying old man growing heavier with each passing hour, doubling their efforts would see them all too tired to go on in less than an hour.

      Going faster was not possible and going slower meant not meeting the deadline. His wife said for him to use his better judgment. But what to do? Suddenly, from far back down the path towards the river mouth the Knight heard the last sound he wanted to hear ... hyenas. From the sound of their cackling, they were busy exploring this new area. Soon, the novelty of the forest ferns would wear off and they would be upon them. “Chief, our hyena friends will return shortly.” Looking up from his toil to see the seriousness in the Knight’s eyes the Chief grunted, “Odin’s teeth! How many?” Trying his best to be cheerful the Knight replied, “a few more than before!”

      Casting about for an easier way to get the cart to the dam the Chief then quipped, “To bad this damned cart can’t float! All we’d have to do is use our spears to pole it along.” The thought struck the Knight for a moment. Strangely enough, the pushcart was remarkably similar to a flat-bottomed barge in design just smaller. However, with the old man getting heavier as time went on it was likely the impromptu craft would sink. Combined with the occasional crocodile taking up residence in the lake, the idea of floating the cart wasn’t too attractive an idea. Once more his wife’s words, “use your better judgment” rang out in his mind. “That’s not a bad idea. We may have to go with that if things get bad.”

      For some reason, the Chief was not encouraged by the Knight’s words. Just under the sound of the growing wind, the Chief could now hear the cackling of multiple hyenas getting closer. Looking to the youth who now had his back against the rear of the cart and pushing with all his might the Chief said, “Boy, get yourself up on the cart and take my spear!” All too eager to stop pushing the youth replied, “You sure you two old timers will be able to push this thing without me?” The Chief’s eyes grew wide with indignation but it was the Knight who replied, “We’ll manage. The question is; can someone like you barely out of soiled swaddling and smelling of teats handle a spear?”

      Infuriated, the youth nearly fell backwards as he suddenly stopped pushing. The sudden difference in the cart’s weight without his assistance was markedly noticeable by the two men. “Hooooof!” bellowed the Chief as he had to bear down considerably. To the Knight’s surprise the added weight caused him to put far more effort to the task as well. Quickly, the youth climbed aboard the cart and took the Chief’s spear and announced, “Oh and my name is not ‘Boy’! It’s Qatula! Hey, this is a nice spear....” Movement through the fern covered forest floor caught Qatula’s attention. “Um, something’s coming. A lot of somethings!”

      Both men looked over their shoulders and saw the green forest floor come alive like small ocean waves as dozens of hyenas charged towards them! “Odin’s Mother!” Though the Knight never called upon the Gods for aid, he did appreciate the Chief’s sentiment. With his usual calm the Knight said, “That’s a lot of hyenas.” Turning back to pushing the cart the Knight said to Qatula, “Looks like we’re going to have to make for the lake after all. We’ll have to go up the path a bit further for higher ground and a better run at the lake down the slope. The last thing we’ll want is to get stuck in the mud or rocks. Qatula, the hyenas will take some time to feel us out first before they attack. We must use that time to get further along. It will be up to you to keep them at bay until we do!”

      Seeing the sudden respect and expectation from both men bolstered young Qatula’s spirits. Taking the borrowed spear firmly in hand, the youth nodded his head once sharply in acknowledgement. Not long after, the dozens of dark forms broke through the ferns surrounding the path yipping and cackling loudly amongst each other. Without looking up the Knight said, “As long as your eyes are the only ones they see, they’ll think we are some strange creature and will be cautious. Wait until one gets very close and stab it with the spear! Kill it if you can, but make sure it gets hurt. That will cause the others to be more cautious. Once they get brave enough, they’ll all come at once.”

© 2011 H. Wolfgang Porter. All Rights Reserved.

Go to Night Time Traveler Pt. V

      Looking to the Chief, the Knight signaled for him to make ready. Now crouched and stalking forward as to not alert the pack, the Knight looked for the dominant female. The youth swatted and swung his branch hitting the beasts repeatedly but to no real effect. Suddenly, largest of the grinning devils snapped its jaws upon his makeshift weapon and wrenched it from his hands. With no weapon, its fellows dashed towards him! Leaping backwards, the youth somersaulted away from their slavering jaws landing on the cart next to the now screaming old man. As the hyenas yipped angrily at their prey’s evasion, an abrupt death-yelp burst from the dominant female. The hyenas turned to see another two-legged beast land atop the completely surprised female only to witness its head severed just above the jaw line!

      Having used the forward momentum from his leap, the Knight drove the edge of his shield through the largest hyena's head only to stop deep in the moist soil. Before the nearest hyena could react, a flick of his arm saw the long fighting knife buried deep within its body. Off to his side, the Knight heard the Chief’s spear claim another of the pack as he leaped forward with a blood-curdling growl. With a strong pull, the Knight freed the shield which pinned the dominant female to the ground in death accompanied by an ill sucking sound. By now, the remaining hyena’s were in full route except for one.

      The Knight turned to see the fierce glowing eyes of the Dominant Male as they caught the rays of twilight. The Knight knew exactly why the beast stood with raised hackles, bared fangs and murderous intent. Putting down his shield and sticking the Great War Spear’s haft into the ground, the Knight slowly stepped forward and said, “I too would want blood for my mate. Come see if you can take it.” All eyes locked upon the two adversaries as they stood stock still. The hyena no longer cackled for only a long growl escaped its jaws. The Dominant Male took in the two-legged creature as its eyes would not turn away in submission. Infuriated by the two-leg’s defiance, the hyena charged and then leaped ready to tear out the two-legged male’s throat!

      The Chief ready to throw his own spear, watched in amazement as the Knight side-stepped the beast. In doing so, the dark-skinned warrior threw his brawny arm around the hyena’s neck and outstretched forelegs which was followed by the loud report of breaking bones. The hyena stared out with eyes wide in death for it had been so quick as to not allow a final rattle. The Aesir Chief stood with eyes agog after so skillful a kill. “Damn this will make a fine drinking tale!” Before the Knight could reply, out came the high and low pitched cracking voice of the youth. “Eh, that wasn’t so much! I had them all ready for the kill until you two showed up!” Looking away from the rude adolescent to the frightened old man the Knight inquired, “Are you well Old Father?” It was the youth who answered. “Ah, he’s all right.” Not one to suffer children disrespecting their elders the Chief interjected, “No one was talking to you boy. You should show your thanks for having your young hide saved.” Now with dawn in full bloom, the painted youth looked at the Chief and said, “Wow! Where did you find this one? His skin is white as old bones! And look at his hair! How much did this slave cost you?”

      Just as the Chief’s lips drew back baring his teeth at the youth’s suggestion, the Knight cut in saying, “You are being rude boy.” The youth turned to see the cold expression on the warrior’s face and he jumped back behind the cart and said, “Whoooo! You are scary!” The Chief drew near the Knight and said, “The Priestess won’t mind if I stab him will she?” Flashing a rare grin the Knight replied, “I’m not sure. But accidents do happen.” With a toothsome grin shining through a red-brown beard the Chief said as he drew his sword, “I think I can manage an accident just fine.” The youth looked from the Knight to the Chief and back to the Knight then hastily said, “Great sirs, you have shown me my behavior has been poor and I beg both your pardon! I humbly thank you for saving our lives!" Satisfied, the Chief looked to the Knight and asked, “Does that work for you Sir Knight?” Giving a single nod while looking directly at the painted youth the Knight replied, “Apology accepted.”

      After the Knight’s inquiries were made of the Old Father called Oboae and the Youth named Qatula it was revealed they were both traveling with a caravan on its way through the deep desert to a great city by the sea. It was one night midway through the journey that Qatula noticed the Old Father had walked out into the desert while the caravan slept. Thinking to bring the old man back, the youth borrowed a small pushcart to make it faster to return since the oldster was so feeble. Searching the better part of the night for Old Oboae, Qatula found him among the dunes crying about wanting to return to his home ‘in the valley’ before his death.

      Despite the Old Father’s protests, Qatula put him on the pullcart and rushed back. Unfortunately just before the dawn, the caravan had packed up and left without them! Unable to catch up with the caravan, the pair were lost and eventually were caught in a sandstorm. The next morning they found themselves by the riverside and Old Oboae pointed down river only to utter, “My Valley.” Since then, the Old Father had not uttered another word and had been growing weaker with each passing day. Looking to the Knight Qatula pleaded, “I beg you sir, help me fix the cart and lead me to the valley he spoke of!”

      The Knight pondered their tale carefully. It was not implausible considering he too had wandered into the Valley from the desert after being separated from his own caravan. The Aesir Chief and his men also found the Valley after being lost at sea and crossing the desert. In fact, all of the people living in the Valley could trace their ancestry back to someone who had been lost and made their way here through the wilderness. Then there was his wife’s warning to ‘use his best judgment’ when it came to dealing with the traveler. However, there were two traveler’s instead of one. One an old man wanting to return to his homeland before death and the other a simple youth trapped by his good intentions. The Knight’s first thought was to help the old man as it was unlikely anyone else would come this way soon. A moment passed and the Knight replied, “Fine. But we’ll leave the cart behind. It will be simpler to carry the Old Father.” Qatula was about to say something and then remembered his manners as the pale-skinned hairy giant moved to lift the frail old one from the cart.

      “All right old-timer, here we gooooof!” exclaimed the surprised Chief. By all looks the near jet-black graybeard could be easily carried with one of the Chief’s strong arms. Yet, no matter how he tried the former seafarer couldn’t so much as budge Old Oboae from the cart! “Odd’s blood! What sort of trickery is this? I’ve pulled ship’s anchors that weren't as heavy!” The Knight’s eyes narrowed at the prospect. He’d come to know the Chief well enough to be sure the man would play no pranks at so serious a time. The Knight had also come to know that when dealing with his wife’s world, nothing was as it seemed. Just to be certain, the Knight stepped forth and tried to cradle the old with no success. Looking to the youth, the Knight saw him barely holding back his laughter. Doing his best to hold his anger in front of the Old Father the Knight asked sharply, “What mischief is this boy?”

© 2011 H. Wolfgang Porter. All Rights Reserved.

Go to Night Time Traveler Pt. IV

I read the first issue of Damage Control when it first hit the stands back in the early 90's and asked myself, who would have thought about the wreckage of a superhero battle and the logistical nightmare it must be to clean up; someone who had a little bit of experience cleaning up after other people. I related to the comic immediately, and though I had no idea who Dwayne McDuffie was at the time, I was certain I would hear from him again, if for no other reason, he saw the world from a different point of view and was persuasive enough to convince someone to take a risk on him. 

Imagine my surprise when I found out he was black. Thus began my relationship with his work. I made an effort to find anything he was involved in and whenever he was involved, it was something I liked, approved of and respected his efforts to quietly bring change. I guess we will never really know the story of what it was like for him to deal with the challenges of working in the comic industry, but I am certain they were monumental, thus making his successes that much greater. He was versatile, he wrote the entire range of comics, from the magical to the super-scientific, pulp to space opera, his stories were logical, well-considered, and even when he missed the mark, it was never by much. The man was also prolific, he worked on a number of projects simultaneously, yet did not sacrifice quality. He could be counted on to tell solid tales and to make the most of the characters, their histories and always showed respect for the work that had come before.

His great respect for the history of comics allowed him to recreate classic ideas in new ways. Dial H for Hero became the wildly successful Ben 10 series spawning multiple iterations of the character, hundreds of new aliens, new ideas and spurring an entire generation into the ideas of space, science, aliens and the indomitable human spirit. His work with the Justice League managed to maintain the icons comfortably in their roles as the premiere heroes of their generation and still found ways to keep them fresh and evolving. The role of John Stewart, which has been so quietly pushed back in the comics, spoke volumes about the lack of heroes of color and McDuffie's effort to bring some parity in that regard. John Stewart was as heroic as any of the icons in this modern pantheon and the work of JLA will be considered a classic in animation for decades.

Static in both of his iterations (comic and later television adaptations) had all the hallmarks of the quintessential superhero, optimistic, serious, wisecracking and yet serious about wanting to make a change in a world that seemed to have forgotten how to change. Static's onscreen presentation gave young people of color a chance to see themselves represented in the heroic model as the leader, as the initiator, as a member of a family, with obligations to both school, friends and to their duties as a superhero. The animation also allowed McDuffie to address social issues that affected black youth and to show them the possibility of a life different than the one they thought was their only choice. I read an interview with him in the Atlantic last year and enjoyed learning so much about his personal views.

Dwayne McDuffie's passing is the loss of an industry giant. He helped to dispel the myth of there being no place for a black man in an industry dominated by whites. His work was always inventive, creative, but still respectful of the history of the genre. His greatest successes include the work on Milestone and Static Shock, creating black heroes with depth, dimension and character. At a time when no one believed there was even the potential for black heroes, McDuffie went about the business of making it happen. Twice nominated (as part of the team) for an Emmy for Static Shock, McDuffie gained the respect of his industry winning numerous prizes and nominations for awards.

Writer, editor, visionary, leader, dreamer, persistent, focused and undoubtedly a bastard from time to time, it would take all of these qualities for a brother to make a way into the comic and later movie industry, making Dwayne McDuffie a hard act for anyone to follow. And yet we must follow. He paved the way showing us we could not only make a difference, not only create something new, but to bring our stories, our views, our dreams to our children because if we don't, who will. Dwayne McDuffie inspired me greatly and I can say my current efforts to write heroes of color and to portray them in ways worthy of respect, not as caricatures is reflected in my own work.

We are great because we stand upon the shoulders of giants. Dwayne McDuffie was one of those giants. He will be missed. We salute you, sir.

Thaddeus
@ebonstorm

   I would like to let everyone know that my completely rewritten novel "The Dawn of MAN" is now available from iUniverse and Amazon Kindle. I describe it has a hard hitting, fast paced and imaginative story of revenge, redemption, the bond of friendship and the triumph of man against overwhelming odds.

   In the near future, another war in the middle east, skyrocketing energy costs, the crash of the stock market and civil unrest will set America ablaze. At a pivotal point in history, the first black president will be tested beyond human endurance and the American people must overcome long held and deep seated fears to survive modern man's first contact with an alien species.

E. Lewis

Lightning flashed.

The Archangel Michael waited. He heard the warning claxons, not activated since the Great Pogram, six centuries earlier and extended his senses to the Guardians at the Four Gates. Each had turned its attention skyward. They all locked onto a streaking meteor blazing brilliantly over the horizon heading toward the Celestial City. He moved toward the center of the city and rose skyward, his two wings slowly carrying him into the storm of Heaven. Rain covered him once he was beyond the radiance and he welcomed its cooling embrace. He felt too little these days, filled with the administrivia of managing Heaven. The unknowns of battle were his meat and drink, figuratively speaking, since he rarely ate or drank. This new threat was what he was made for.

The fireball moved fast, fast enough to be nothing but a threat. The outer defenses did nothing, as he had asked. He sensed they would not be enough as it approached them. He saw them cringing as it flew overhead, with a heat terrible enough to burn an angel. Heaven made ready below him and Gabriel stood by beneath him should he not be enough. There had never been a threat that ever took more than two Seraphim to deal with except for Him. And this, this clumsy thing was not his way.

Michael summoned his power and his two wings became four and his two eyes became four. Flame began to rise from him and his four wings became six and his four eyes became six and flame began to come from them. He increased in stature and his glow cast a light onto the Celestial City. He opened his mouth and began to sing in the tongue of Enoch, the language of Angels and could hear the Litanies of Heaven being sung below him, and the city harmonized with him.

He moved away from the city and flew out over the wall, gaining speed, preparing to stop the fireball before it even reached the city. The Four Guardians activated their Enochian patterns and the City's radiance hardened, a great shield protecting the walls of Heaven and its attendant suburbs. Michael streaked away from the Celestial City, a brilliant star, as tiny as the fireball was huge. He could feel the heat. He could smell the smoke as it passed through the air, miles away, he could feel life. It was alive... He could hear it screaming. Seconds away, he prepared himself for the impact.

Jehoel watched awestruck as Michael streaked away.

The skies above Heaven were momentarily lit with the light of a thousand suns. Multiple streaks of lightning covered the dark sky. These flashes were arrhythmic but constant, and the rumble of thunder cascaded ceaselessly. There were clouds but their movement would be strange to an onlooker. If one were to watch one would see this was a never-ending storm, moving constantly. It always rained here. Sometimes less, often more, but it never stopped, and had not for at least six and half centuries. Moving through the cloud cover and dodging the lightning were tiny flying figures, some human in appearance, others not so much, heading to and from a magnificent city of immense size in the distance. Its magnificent spires and minarets, towers and cathedrals, skyscrapers and monoliths all glowed with a pure radiance that soothed the weary flyers, or walkers who approached the city and came within its glow.

This city provided the only other light visible in this place. A steady source of golden light similar in tone and warmth to a gently rising sun. The only difference was the light did not illuminate the darkness past a few hundred miles from the city proper. Beyond that region was darkness, only punctuated with the never ending flashing of lightning in this permanent darkness. There had not been a sunrise in Heaven for almost seven hundred years.

A flying cloud of winged eyes dipped down from the sky and approached the Easter Gate. The breathtaking speed of its approach was noted by the sentries and by the city itself. The cloud of eyes began to slow as it came down to the Eastern Highway and merged with the oncoming traffic. The Celestial City proper is a huge structure, a perfect cube, but there were the Celestial suburbs as well and these stretched on for hundreds of miles outside of the City walls. To imagine the City properly one would have to image a cube on one of its points, half above the ground, half below. There are dwellings in both halves of the city and all types of entities lived there. 

Jehoel Softspeaker was returning to the city and hated the traffic that had been growing worse in the recent decades. She was an Angel of Mediation and returned from a negotiation with nearby Paradise Realms discussing terms of merger with the Celestial Host. She had been unsuccessful in convincing these other paradises to join with the Host in the coming War. Elysium wanted nothing to do with the war. They would not commit any of their divine resources, energy or heavenly servants to the cause. The Celestial Host was not trying to coerce anyone into serving, at least not yet. There were many angels negotiating on the behalf of Heaven, each going to realms they were familiar with and welcomed.

Jehoel was told to return to the city and report the results of her trip. Waiting in traffic would take several days before she would be able to enter the city, and while she waited, she Sang. This close to the Celestial City, everyone sang while they waited to be admitted. The walls of the city comprised of precious stones, resonated, reflected and refracted the songs of the approaching visitors or residents. Each stone of diamond and with flecks chalcedony returned the exalted songs of Heaven to its visitors in a way that soothed their souls, warmed their bodies, calmed their spirits and ensured everyone, no matter how long they waited, no matter how cold or tired they might be, were in a perfect state of bliss when they entered the shelter of the city.

The songs, each different, each unique to the singer created a greater harmony as they were woven together in a magnificent chorus lead by the wall's sentry angels. Clockwork mechanisms were seen patrolling the walls of the city. Great machines that resembled a variety of natural creatures, great lions with greater roars to match, capable of melting steel, bears with huge paws with stone rending claws, and clockwork eagles flapped their mechanical wings in the rain, circling the city in every rising spirals, each wing the length of a football field and capable of shaving the edge of a diamond. Heaven was known for its automatons of clockwork, each a veritable work of art from an Angel of craftsmanship and their attendant servants. Each piece was completely unique, and possessed of a singular nature that allowed each to come to life and fulfill a task assigned by the Angel upon their completion.

This song was heard throughout the realm as an echo in the soul of every person who came to Heaven. It was the Celestial Beacon and often when humans were in the act of dying, they could hear and see the Beacon as a tunnel of light they were drawn inexplicably toward. When you arrived here, you had to walk, down one of the cardinal roads which approached the city on one of its four points where each gate directed you into the Celestial City where you began your new life as a servant of Heaven. The Celestial Beacon was nearly irresistible to anyone who arrived in Heaven but if you chose to resist it, you were able to reach the only other destination here, Sheol, the City of the Archangel Lucifer Light-bringer. This other city has a variety of names, Dis, the City of Brass but it was most commonly known by its residents as Hell.

There are other Paradise Realms for the non-believers and with those the Celestial Host were in good relations with, had portals to those Heavens were accessible from here. As the primary religion remaining after the Compact on Earth, nearly all souls passed this way before they went to their personal Reward. Unaffiliated souls were able to be directed to whatever Afterlife they believed in but they were processed at the halfway point between Heaven and Sheol. Nothing is known of those souls that are processed there and the Angels there do not speak of it. Traffic between Heaven and Hell was always a constant as souls that had been released from hell were slowly migrated toward Heaven and newly arrived souls that needed the cleansing fires of Hell were directed there. All in all, an efficient arrangement.

In the central processing center of Heaven, where the spirit energy of prayer was processed and stored for later conversion into illiaster, cocoastrum and aether, there was a problem. This problem had presented itself in fits and starts for the last decade, but recently, it had grown to new proportions. Enough of a problem, that it needed someone to look into it, preferably by someone who would not make the problem worse, be seen by Humans and thus cause a religious event. Once upon a time, such a schism might not be such a bad idea, but now schisms divided resources that should be spent best on the Celestial Host, not on any rival gods or god-lings, trying to make a comeback against the Holy Church.

She fell. A shooting star in a place that has not seen stars for the dark clouds that perpetually cover it. Unconscious and unaware of her peril. As she fell, she burned. She burned, not from the fall but from that which made her fall. A machine unlike anything she had ever seen. She had been around since the making of the Celestial City and had never seen anything like this thing. It was more fearsome than the Malakim, warrior angels to heaven, whose wrath and ferocity have few equals, more horrific than the great Iron Golems, with their hidden hearts, that protected the Gates to Heaven and whose gaze, when released, destroyed all things, mundane or celestial.

She arrived in The Happy Hunting Grounds expecting what she always experienced there. Blue skies, except when it was needed to rain, warm days, and the sun shining overhead. It was a place so beautiful that if she did not know this was Heaven, a particular heaven, she would think she was back on Earth. The great plain below her was always covered with buffalo migrating from west to east covering the ground from horizon to horizon. This was her memory of the place, beautiful, grass-covered plains with verdant wildlife, and spiritual beings enjoying their ease in this paradise.

It was not what she saw when she crossed The Veil Between Worlds.

There was a pyramid, immense and coal black, standing in the Great Plain where all visitors to the Realm first appeared. Jagged bolts of black lightning leaped from it and struck the ground around it. Where it struck, creatures made of stone and glass, six legged, vaguely horse-like rose from the Earth. Ferocious, these creatures immediately joined the fray. Their screams chilled her blood, and their speed, grace and lethality became immediately apparent as the creatures engaged anything living within range. The black pyramid had doorways open upon it sides and creatures streamed forth like black locusts or black ants, and anything touched by these clouds was stripped to the bone in seconds.

The ground rumbled constantly as if it were experiencing an earthquake. Distant mountains already aflame with fire and smoke erupting. This was a paradise realm, volcanoes were simply impossible here. The air was choked with sulfurous smoke. The fields of grass were blackened with burns and the buffalo lay as charred skeletons across the plains from horizon to horizon. There were no spirits in repose, they were in battle against a variety of foes, whose eyes burned with a bright light akin to searchlights. And the things those lights touched, burned. She hovered in the sky above a battle, her hundred eyes taking in everything, the wind, the smoke, the flames, the battles both on the land and in the air.

She heard the howl of Coyote and saw the flash of lightning from the Thunderbird. They were surrounded, standing guard over the bodies of the Great Bear and the Rattlesnake. Each in their iconic forms, they were twenty to thirty feet tall. Each of them glowing the power of the Great Spirit of this place, each a guardian of their people's spirits. Those spirits were fighting for their very existence against enemies whose skin was like stone, dark and heavy and deflected the lightning from the Thunderbird's flapping wings. Coyote howled again and the creatures stopped their advance, shook and exploded into shrapnel fragments destroying their brethren who were proof against his howl. The Thunderbird's flapping wings created a great wind driving the shrapnel away from the gods' defensive position.

The Great Bear rose to his feet, having taken one of the black pyramids strikes directly to his chest. Towering over his enemies, bleeding profusely, he released a mighty roar and waded into his enemies again. The spirits of Men were here along with these godlike icons of this realm. They wielded magic and weaponry, ancient and modern with great effect but the enemy was numerous and powerful.

Medicine men summoned lightning from the burning sky, striking the ground with great explosions, casting defensive spells from their tribal staves against the burning light of the hexapeds. Tribal women wielded clouds of feathers from their headdresses as flying razors slicing into the armored hides of the enemy. The women conjured and the Earth opened and swallowed their giant enemies.
Horse thundered into the fray, his shining and sharp hooves flashed and dispatched enemies in a single strike. And yet with Coyote, Snake, Bear, Boar, Horse, Crow, Eagle and Thunderbird, all iconic gods of this realm, they were unable to stem the tide of the battle. The best they could do was to hold their own and refuse to give ground.

This battle raged for days. Nonstop. More Men appeared, more weapons appeared. No quarter was asked for and no was given. The horrors were supplemented by the hunched forms of man-like creatures each with huge hands, misshapen heads, each with the strength of ten men. There were monsters that flew and breathed a liquid fire all over the battlefield. Others bled acid, some had flaming vision. One by one the gods fell.

Bear fell first, surrounded by Men he led into the fray, they held their ground protecting him. Bear had engaged several of the enemy's larger ogre constructs and slew them all. He began to move toward the center of the enemy line, confident he would be able to disrupt it. His bear men, wearing an armor of bearskin, channeled his ferocity and his power, each of them filled with the strength of a great bear. He lent them courage and ferocity and they took the vanguard toward the structure the invaders arrived in. The men fought with great axes headed with razor sharp obsidian. They were once legendary warriors in life and in spirit they were even greater.

The tower targeted Bear again and black bolts flew like arrows toward him. His men leapt to his defense and time and time again blocked the blast, each giving his life for a few more yards. Bear drew closer to the center of the battle. The tower redoubled its efforts, and soon Bear was forced to take those strikes himself. He never stopped moving and mere feet from the largest of the ogre-like giants leading the battle, he was struck with six black spears of lightning. So fierce was the strike, for a moment, the entire area was hidden in darkness. When vision returned. Bear was dead. His men fought on but without the ferocity of Bear they were soon overrun and trod into the mud.

Snake crushed creatures and spit venom across the battlefield but he was the next to fall. Large winged dragons dropped down from the sky and savaged him and all were unable to reach him so embattled they were, all they could do was watch. Snake wrapped his coils around the aggressors and bite one of them who died as the venom burned through it. The remaining dragons released their liquid fire and Snake burned and died. In his death throes, he squeezed the life from the remaining three dragons. The dragons and Snake thrashed about and when the smoke cleared the dragons and Snake were still.

She watched, her hundred eyes remembering every detail, every creature, every structure, every shadow, every movement, spell, construct, machine and every sound that took place on the battlefield. But she took no other action. It was not her way, nor her duty. She had already predicted the outcome of this battle. Her actions would not change that outcome, only delay it. This information had to be returned to the Celestial City, so she watched and waited.

Raven and Coyote fought side by side, while the Thunderbird and Horse had been split apart from them. Boar lead a group of humans and buffalo against the enemy and they managed to reach the foot of the pyramid. A cloud of darkness exploded from one of the open doors and the darkness covered them. When the cloud disappeared, only bones remained. Boar was unaffected and proceeded to climb the pyramid. Lightning struck him as soon as he touched the pyramid, but his rage was all consuming, so he kept climbing, even as the lightning carved holes in his flesh, he kept climbing. His screams were heard all across the battlefield and were so horrifying everyone stopped and turned to watch. As he reached the main door on the pyramid, a man stepped out. A tiny man compared to the giant form of Boar. He had two flying snakes over his shoulder, each with scales of iridescent black and huge feathered wings. The snakes open their mouths and a terrible light surrounds Boar. His movement slows and his tusk stops mere inches from the strange man in the red cloak. The two snakes scream again and Boar is blasted into chunks of stone that land at the foot of the pyramid.

There was nothing she could do but return to the Host armed with this information. She could feel the Raven and Coyote sealing the realm and any passages to other nearby heavens. She knew that if she planned to leave, she would need to leave now. The Thunderbird bought them time by intercepting the lightning strikes directed at them and reflecting them back into the enemies legions. Instinctively she knew this was nothing more than a test. These creatures could have won this battle days ago, they were simply testing their capabilities against this relatively weak Paradise. They would be seeking stronger test subject soon.

As she turned to go, She could feel the will of the Enemy directed upon her. She made ready her magic and could feel Heaven on her mind as she tried to Transit. Her computations indicated she would not make it. In those seconds, she compacted all of her observations, conjectures, calculations, her dreams, her love and her life and sent them before her, a sigil streaked away into Transition; being without mass, it could transition instantly. The black pyramid extended a great cannon from the point and swiveled it in her direction.

She flew faster turned her eyes toward the sky. It was only then did she realize hundreds of other pyramids were descending on the Happy Hunting Grounds. Only one had devastated nearly every major deity in residence. They would not know this. She had to make it home. The Great Cannon fired and she was enveloped in flame.

 
She transitioned into Heaven, taking the flames with her.

Michael became aware of a waveform approaching him and stopped. He was far enough from the suburbs of the Celestial City for the confrontation. As the waveform reached him, he realized what it was. The Resonance of an Angel. The last will and testament as it were; all they knew, all they dreamed, all of their life was encoded in the Resonance. It was hers.

He braced himself and flew directly at the fireball, he would have to time this just right. At the moment of impact he separated becoming Guardian Michael and Warrior Michael. Guardian grabbed her from within the fireball and slowly descended to the ground, she was covered with burns, and all of her eyes were closed. Her wings were burned off. Her flesh crackled and sizzle with the energy of her life-force oozing out of the cracks. He covered her in his Light and she was soothed. But Michael was not very good with Light so he could do little for her but ease her pain, and protect her from his Warrior.

Warrior extended its four wings and blocked the path of the fireball and the sky lit up with its pallid sickly green color. Warrior thought he could control the explosion, his powers were strained to their limit. Moving through time, he summoned other versions of his temporal self and they combined their powers increasing his ability tenfold, but even that was not enough.

The sphere seemed to only grow stronger the longer he delayed it. Warrior extended his awareness into the flame and saw this weapon only grew stronger the longer it was delayed in reaching its target. The weapon only grew more powerful the more energy he put into trying to stop it. Whoever this was, they knew the defenses of Heaven too well. The Guardians at the Gates would have tried to annihilate this only increasing its power. They counted on someone trying to delay or attack it with energy weaponry. He knew he had only seconds to decide how to deal with it. Since he had already summoned his temporal selves he knew instinctively that time was the element needed. He directed his power and his temporal selves into moving the object through time but not space and his temporal selves surrounded the object until it would have reached the Celestial City. In those seconds, the Guardian erected a shield over himself and her. Nothing would penetrate it. He only hoped the Warrior would not need it more.

The bomb detonated lighting the skies of heaven in every direction, and a fierce shockwave swept from Warrior Michael's position. Gabriel ran from the gates of the city and moved as if time had no meaning. He streaked through the bomb blast debris as if it was not moving. The Gate Guardians directed their vision toward any debris that moved through the clouds and destroyed it before it could reach the outskirts of the suburbs. Gabriel took five seconds to reach the Warrior as he fell from the sky. Warrior Michael had lost an arm during the explosion and was blackened and burned. His wings were shriveled and mere wisps of their former greatness.

Guardian Michael was also unconscious. His left arm was also gone and he was covered with burns, but he protected his charge from any further harm. Gabriel angry that Michael had insisted on doing this alone was incredulous as his Light began to heal the catastrophic injuries Michael had suffered. Michael was an Archangel, what could do this to him?

Jehoel Softspeaker, along with everyone else standing outside of the Celestial city cowered as the super-hot winds blew through the streets, miles from the bomb blast seen in the distance. She had not been the only agent to return unsuccessfully. It would appear our enemy has decided to let the Host know of their intentions. Heaven was at war.

From the Carl Brandon Society site:

The Carl Brandon Parallax Award is given to works of speculative fiction created by a self-identified person of color. This Award includes a $1000 cash prize.

"The Carl Brandon Kindred Award is given to any work of speculative fiction dealing with issues of race and ethnicity; nominees may be of any racial or ethnic group. This Award includes a $1000 cash prize.

"Nominate works published in 2010 by filling out the nominations form (opens a new window). The nominations period runs through February 28, 2011.

"Please spread the word!

"When considering works to nominate, keep in mind that by speculative fiction, we mean science fiction, fantasy, horror, magical realism, or any works that incorporate elements of these and related genres. Works do not have to be marketed as science fiction to be eligible for these awards. We welcome graphic novels for consideration."

For more information, visit: http://carlbrandon.org/awards.html

This is the science fiction action-adventure extravaganza you have all been waiting for!

My latest novel, Warriors of the Free Worlds, published by Mocha-Memoirs Press will be released in April!

The countdown to that universe-shaking event begins now!

As you may or not know, the actor Wesley Snipes was my partner for producing a limited animation adventure based on a character I created called Zulu Mech 1. Well it did not work out with him and now he is in jail. So I have moved on with a new artist, a new 3D animation crew and new partnerships.  

I have entered Zulu Mech 1 in a contest to promote an uplifting, world class superhero for children everywhere, especially Africa . Please go to the link below, check the great art by the mighty James Eugene, read my synopsis and vote for my character. There is really nothing else of this caliber being produced now, especially with a focus on African people, so please share the link with everyone you know. I don't need to win this contest for Zulu Mech 1 to move forward, but it would be a great help with publicity.

http://www.talenthouse.com/creativeinvites/preview/a29c3b2f5edc8e477c6e02696dd64bd7/154

My deciding not to go forward with Wesley Snipes on this project was one of the best career moves I ever made.  World class people came out of the woodwork to get with me on Zulu Mech 1 after Snipes, including the Poitier(yes, as in Sidney Poitier) family and other multi-million dollar partners. I will be releasing some fully 3D Zulu Mech 1 art soon, and a trailer. As well as a pile of other mind bending African Legends adventure excitement. Speaking of which, I have a new African Legends character coming out in novel and multimedia form later this year. He is historical, and like Memnon, is a world class, world renowned figure. The character is a famous black man from the Bible, Old Testament. See if you can figure out who his is. Yes, there is movie production interest in this property too. But this time I won't deal with someone destined for prison.

To see the ill fated youtube video featuring Wesley Snipes and the art of the great Mshindo, go here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J92_61-o_mU

Thanks for your time,
Gregory "Brother G" Walker

2011 winner of the "Stop The Brainwash" contest 

2009 winner of the Octavia Butler Humanitarian Award for "Shades Of Memnon"

2000 winner of the Best New Author of the Year for "Shades Of Memnon"

"Chief Scientist, Neikhia, get your people ready to go. We are about to have company. Do you still have those mercenaries you hired earlier?" The Resurrection Frame stepped clear of the stasis housing, its repairs completed, it glowed with power.

The Chief Scientist appeared annoyed, several tentacles flailing, with the commanding tone of the armored form. But once the Major had activated the Frame,  it was clear who was now in charge. "Yes, Major. There is still one company of thirty with a supplementary group of Corvans acting as support fire teams."

"Good, we'll need them. Get your people ready. Leave everything that isn't necessary for your research. I assume you have a plan?"

"It is not ideal, but I believe the answer can be found at the Malcanari Rift. Our intelligence operatives tell us there are a series of outposts that are used to manipulate the destabilizing quantum signal used to keep the rift closed. These stations will be found within a light year of the anomaly. It is believed these outposts were actually created by the Precursors. We would only need to take control of one, maybe two to prevent the signal from being effective."

"How many people will you need for your exploration? Our ship will not carry more than a couple of extras, assuming I still have a crew at all." The major's turned his face toward Essver, Chuntra and Wex who had not moved since the two had related their tale and he had stepped into the Frame.

"We have three ships and we will deploy them with the remainder of our forces to the other stations, the more of the signal we can stop, the better." Neikhia turned a bright orange indicating a satisfaction with his planning. The Major did not counter the order.

Having recently recounted how they came to be involved in the hunt for the Major both Chuntra and Wex looked back at the Major in the glory of his fearsome armor, Wex defiantly, Chuntra apologetically. "We are sorry, Major. We did not know what to expect once you were reunited with your Resurrection Frame. You seem so very different." Chuntra was changing colors rapidly indicating her confusion and inability to regulate her current state of mind. Wex stood quietly and let her speak for the both of them. "To be honest, we would be honored to continue to fight with you. It is clear to us now, Bogumil knew of what he spoke, when he said you were our best chance of understanding the threat of the Nox. Command us."

Essver simply nodded his assent, as he had for the decades the three of them had worked together. There was never any doubt of his support.

The Frame stood quietly for a second and then a softer, less modulated voice came out of it. "I am the same man I was before I stepped into this technology. It does not make me something different. I have come to rely on your abilities and was hoping you would stay. The weeks ahead promise to be the most challenging of our time together. For a few days, I will be remaining in the Frame, so that my neural network can be backed up, and any further repairs completed. Being without the Frame so long has compromised my health and it will be a many days before I am back to full strength. I will need you, now, more than ever."

Turning to Biyu, "Pilot, Traveling Light is enroute, repaired and restored and she will need you. I need a flight coordinator, can I count on you?"

"Of course, Major, to hell and back if need be." She continued, "Scientist Neikhia, I need one of your people to take me to the surface so I can get a place for the ship to set down and get your gear together. Teela says she will arrive in fifteen minutes and the Danikans will be right behind her about six or seven minutes. Pack light, get your crews in the air. We will work out an escape plan."

Neikhia gestures and two of the technicians begin grabbing boxes full of data crystals and leading the Pilot to the surface. "Will let you know when we are ready, Major. Master Wex, Ambassadors?" The five strode off toward the surface in a brisk fashion.

The Frame strode clear of the platform where it had sat imprisoned and walked up behind the Chief Scientist. "Now that we are alone, Neikhia, What are you not telling me? I have the distinct impression you still have secrets. I am not a patient man right now, so please spare me any further lies."

Neikhia turned toward the Major and puffed himself to his full size. The Major's lack of response caused him to immediately deflate and turned all three eyes away. "I have not lied to you Major. But I have not told the complete truth. There are many other elements to this story that I could not reveal without letting the others know the hopelessness of our situation." Neikhia turned to the Major and reflexively shuttered.

The Major leaned close to Neikhia and whispered."Tell me everything."

Onboard the Command cruiser, the Admiral, rarely seen on the command deck floated impatiently while the captain and his crew completed their telemetry and preparations to engage the Danikan pirates. In addition to the pirates, the Lorus-class attack gunship detected escaping Lorissi was detected on the same heading as the Danikans. This means their target is close. 

With the effectiveness of their last jump they were positioned to jump directly to the small habitable moon of the fifth planet in this system. With only one operating jump gate, the Danikans tiny ships could not possibly hope to out run the fleet and escape back to the empire. Their ships are only system-capable preventing them from being able to out-maneuver or escape once the fleet's smaller and more nimble frigates lock onto their signals. The age of the Danikans vessels ensure they will either surrender or flee, combat against the Corvan Fleet would be suicidal at best.

"Five minutes until we drop out of interstellar warp, Captain." The astrogation officer was recalculating the drop points against the subspace eddies trying to drop out of warp as close to the moon as possible.

The Captain depressed his comm speaker for a ship-wide broadcast. "All sentients report to your battle stations. Activate condition one defenses and ship readiness. Activate all fluid-tight seals and compartmentalizations. All weapons batteries take your targeting from your gunnery leaders. All brace for combat actions."

A young sub-commander calls up the system holograms and begins the predictive assault against the Danikens. As the Admiral expected, its outcome was a foregone conclusion to the predictive engines. Their light corvettes were converted from system corvettes left here over five decades ago when this area was part of Bel-ha space. Their weapons while powerful compared to the civilian ships they were designed to police, were no match for the armors, shields or defense systems of true military ships.

As the local conflict caused the main stargates in the surrounding space to shut down, the Bel-ha retreated from the area, deeming it simply too resource poor to bother with, despite its popularity as a tourist destination. Local police forces tended the region for a century or two until local crime corrupted the police and military station here. The Bel-ha left the region in the hands of their uplifted charges, the Danikans, but the Danikans were susceptible to corruptions and when left without the influence of their Patron were inclined toward less-than-savory behavior. As long as their actions did not cause an undue loss of life, by the Bel-ha standards, how they maintained order was, relatively speaking, their business.  Such criminal scum would have been exterminated in the Imperium but this area was outside of his jurisdiction, technically speaking. This would not stop him from destroying them if they interfered in Empire business.

"Captain," began the sub-commander, "based on the designs of the Bel-ha Police Corvettes in our database our predictive engines indicate a ninety five percent probability of success with only light casualties in our frigate fleet. We will be able to solidify those numbers once we are able to get full scans of the enemy ships to understand local variations in the ship designs. Even with considerable modifications, their hull sizes and power plant limitations still place their power output beneath even our smallest ships."

"That said, sub-commander Tha'al, we shall assume the most powerful configurations possible in our current database, and prepare for the worst case scenarios. We shall offer them one opportunity to surrender. After that, terminate with extreme prejudice. Nothing matters more than capturing the traitor, Majoris Wilks. Baring his capture, he is to be destroyed along with his ship and co-conspirators. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Captain," echoed across the command deck from all of the officers present. The Captain turned toward the Assault commander's station.  Commander Kreltan, do you have a team ready to drop to the planet?"

Kreltan was a veteran of two centuries of warfare and his body had been genetically altered for combat. Large bony ridges covered all of his tentacles and his gripper arms were larger and stronger than most. His eyes had hard nictating membranes that covered them all the time, giving him an even more menacing appearance to the common Corvan. The most unnerving thing about him was his lack of color transition. Kreltan maintained the same color no matter what answer he gave, no matter what kind of conversation he had. He was completely immune to the Corvan skill of color-interpretation because he never changed color. Even his voice seemed colorless to anyone but another extremely ancient Corvan.

The Admiral listened intently. "The team is prepped to fast-drop to the surface. Transit time, four minutes. Each Elite is super-gravity trained and wearing heavy armor. Each has had experience in combat against the various species of the Humani, the Subaki and standard Mercenary tactics. If any of the Danikans are there, they will be factored into our combat predictions and annihilated. I will be leading the assault. If the rebels are there, we will capture them. If they resist. We will destroy them. We await your orders, Captain."

The Admiral thrummed the water in approval of Kreltan's report. Then he added "Commander, if it possible, we would prefer the traitor alive. Stress this to your team. He, and his sponsors of the Resurrection Program, need to be taken to task. The program is a violation of our spiritual beliefs and has only been allowed since the Humani have the support of their reptilian brethren. If we can show signs of duplicity on their part, that program can be halted politically." 

Kreltan paused for only a split-second, just long enough to let the Admiral know he did not like the idea. "Your will be done, Admiral. To Serve the Empire!"

"To Serve the Empire, Commander. Carry on."

Third eyes were all focused on the interaction between these two veteran warriors of the Empire, each having served longer than almost any others in the fleet, and each commanding the loyalties of their troops with fanatical zeal. But there was no love between them personally. Each did their best not to interfere in the dominion of the other. All ground operations were under the control of the Commander when he was on the ground. Commander Kreltan was a legend amongst assault teams in the entire empire. A warrior dedicated to battle above all else. He was assigned to the Admiral's fleet nearly one hundred years ago and they were friendly once.

 
Battle-brothers, they destroyed enemies of the empire for nearly seventy years. Narrow escapes that became the stuff of legend are still told in quiet corners when either of them are around or especially when the two may be in the same room. Their friendship had become strained when an Imperial world infected with an alien parasite had to be destroyed by orbital bombardment. The Commander believed the world could be saved and attempted to redouble his efforts to destroy the parasite which painfully consumed their hosts from the inside.

The Admiral did not agree and forced the Commander to leave the world. Unknown to the Admiral at the time, this world held the entire clan of Kreltan. The Admiral could not allow the infestation to spread. They had already lost two dozen worlds before finding the latest spawning point of the alien horde. It was the right thing to do. It was the humane thing to do. Kreltan hasn't changed color since that day nor spoken again to anyone outside of their duties since that time. He vows to never allow a world to fall to Extermination again.

The Admiral hoped that would never be the case as well. But he still missed his old friend.

The battle against the Danikans in space lasted approximately one hour. They had maximized the output of their Bel-ha corvettes. This made them the equal of only the smallest of frigates in the fleet. Eighty percent of the pirate fleet was destroyed. The remainder surrendered and powered down their shields, armor and weapons. The Admiral dropped with the Commander and his crew, both wearing Relic Armor covered with numerous campaign badges of their adventures together. In their armors, it was almost impossible to tell the two of them apart.

 
The conflict with the mercenary force took another hour, as they were well dug in and had terrain on their side. Once the Imperium forces began to do considerable damage, the Mercenaries surrendered, as was their right under the Galactic Military code. They would be treated fairly with dignity and after being ransomed by their Mercenary Guild, returned to service. In the meantime, their contracts would be purchased and they would fight for the Empire. Standard delaying tactic on the part of the rebels.

The Admiral moved through the remnants of their headquarters which aside from the rushed nature of their departure, showed no sign of fear or distress. As if the fleet had been expected. 

Two communications technicians were reviewing the outgoing transmissions attempting to figure out who the rebels were in contact with but all message logs were destroyed. Only one message remained in the queue. The Corvans began to listen to the message and after a few seconds deactivated the message.

"Admiral, begging your pardon, you will want to see this. I recommend a classified status immediately."

"Send it to me, I will be the judge of its status."

"To the commander of the Imperial Fleet, I greet you and salute you, by the standards of our Imperial Treaty between Empires ratified in the Sjurani Accords. This information is classified and can only be accessed by using your Imperial codes, unique to command officers of fleet vessels. I have encoded it in this way because I believe this to be a threat to the Empire at large. You will require two command officers to access this datastream."

 
"All of you, out. Kreltan, I require your assistance and your command key."

Both of them strode to the command holo-display in the station as their subordinates grab any remaining technology and returned to the surface. Neither has stood this close in nearly a decade and their discomfort would be noticeable to any who knew them. But they were both professionals and as they entered their command signatures and used their command signet bracers, neither was prepared for the horror of the recordings of transformation of normal Corvans into the atavistic monstrosities created by the alien quantum signature. 

The recording continued. "Officers of the Imperium, my name is Major Thomas Wilks. I am an Elite and in service to the Resurrectorum, part of the branch of the Corvan Assault Military. I understand I have been flagged as a rebel and likely a traitor, but I promise you this: what is being done here, is being done by your government. I do not pretend to understand what it to be gained by it, or who is perpetrating it, but I am duty-bound to stop it.  Analyze any data you find here, as best you can. I have ensured all of it has been left behind for you to study. The Chief Scientist and I are on our way to stop it. Knowing the Corvan Military as well as I do, you will be focused on your honor and serving the Empire. Do so. Prove what this data says is true and there is only one way to do that. Understand, this signal will affect nearly every Corvan in the Empire.  I have included the recording of the signal as well. Once you verify it, you will have no choice but to follow me and stop this from happening. We are not hiding from you. You will know where to find us."

The hologram of the Major grows larger and the camera zooms in close on the face of the Major as he makes the armor transparent. "Do not try to stop me. The lives of billions will hang in the balance. You will have another completely different mission. When the signal is activated, it will destabilize the program that has closed the Rift for millions of years. Preliminary data from the Rift monitoring system shows thousands of ships held in flux by the program. You can figure out the rest. You have two choices, hunt for me or stop the enemy from coming through the Rift. Choose wisely. Either way, if you come after me, I will not hesitate to kill anyone or anything else that keeps me from destroying the quantum array that will emit the Atavistic transformation."

The camera goes off and a stream of visual information, including coordinates, shield variances and gene sequences are displayed along with a variety of other information neither officer can decipher.  And then the audio continues. "Now, I know what you are thinking. Why am I telling you this? It is not because I have any particular love of the Corvan Imperium, because frankly, I think you could do better. But you could do worse, and this would be much worse. The truth of the matter is, I would hate to be wrong and fail and allow millions of enemies to flood into our space from what arguably may be another more technically-advanced universe."

There is a long delay before the Major continues. "I am telling you this because I need support and there is no one else I can turn to. I need your help. I cannot force you to help me, but I will do what I was trained to do; stop all enemies of my Empire, foreign or domestic. Yes, humans have not been members of the Imperium for long, but I believe in what the Imperium stands for in theory, even if we don't always live up to it in practice. Humans have simply wanted to give back to the Imperium and now it appears we may have more to offer than you thought. But we don't have much time. Within the data pack are favorable shield calibrations against the Q-signal. If you have time, I would suggest you experiment with others, the rebel scientists believe it may help offer your crews resistance against the signal. I would implement them if I were you, unless you fancy spending the rest of your life as one of those things. The Rift is fifteen days away for me and about twenty for those massive beasts you fly around in. Hunting me, or helping me, don't be late."

There is a momentary pause. Then the Major speaks one more time. "Oh, and if you call the Corvan Homeworld hoping to get support, remember this, The Corvan homeworld is the closest star system to the Rift in the Empire. Our scientists believe anyone who is living on the homeworld in the last six months has already begun their transformation since they were within the range of the test signal. Since the first test signal, the government has only stepped up their efforts to expedite the progress of the Q-array. So if you call for help, you may find yourselves branded traitors, as well. Good luck, in whatever you decide to do. End transmission."

End of Part II

'Revenant: Resurrection' © Thaddeus Howze 2010. All Rights Reserved

CALIF

By

 DERRICK L. HAWKINS

CHAPTER ONE

     “Fucking Marines,” Emperor Sol the Fifteenth grimaced. Thirteen ships of the line left gutted, almost literally stripped to the frame, crews put out in life pods while those vile creatures looted and pillaged the empires hard work. He forced his fingers to relax on the kindle even though there was no way to damage one that he knew of. Save his strength for things he could do something about.

“How many this time.” He spoke to the large robed figure that slipped into the room behind him. Inquisitor General Kalmar was his most trusted aide but the man still gave him the shivers sometimes. The dark eyes, bald pate with the lights of his enhancements flickering gave him an otherworldly aura.

          “Thirty three are unaccounted for and presumed to have gone over to the other side.” Kalmar stood the proscribed distance behind and to his left but not at the required position of attention. Sol smoothed the frown from his face with a soft sigh, after so many years the man was entitled to some liberties, as long as he did not take them too far.

     “Have we been able to find any relatives, friends?” He already knew the answer. The Marines planned their strikes with precision and careful planning with not a lot of wiggle room. They would have already collected all ties to keep them from being used against them.

“Despite knowing what to look for we were unable to get to them in time. A brilliant misdirection if I-“

“You may not say so. You said you could squash these bugs in a few years Kalmar.”

“Every attempt has been and is being made my lord. Unfortunately every successful incursion into the empires affairs makes them that much more the hero.”

“It probably doesn’t help our cause that they go out of their way not to kill anyone,” Sol muttered.

“Whereas our forces are not as selective.” Sol glared at the taller man in the reflection of the armorplas.

“I’ll give you that,” he agreed reluctantly. “The empire cannot be seen as weak, Kalmar. You of all people should know this.” He got the nod he expected. “Now tell me of this replacement for my fleet commander.”

      “Captain Dyvid Westy. From a loyal, if not notable, EAF(Army)family. The private first came to notice taking command of a destroyer when the bridge crew was killed in the Marines exodus eleven years ago.”

“I assume that since he is now a captain that went well?”

“He is credited with the destruction of five enemy ships with his own barely operable.”

“And the reason I’m just now hearing about him?”

“He was promoted to second lieutenant and placed in command of the ship-“

“Serious?” Sols eyebrows rose in surprise. “A boot in charge of a ship of the line?”

“It was expected, I can only assume, that command expected him to fail. To that end he was exiled to the Third Revenue Enforcement Service.”

     “Nothing like being punished for out-performing your superiors,” Sol chuckled.

“Unfortunately for them he turned the Third into a feared unit. He has a long list of successful raids against both pirates and Marines. His intel has helped other forces bring thousands of Marines to justice.”

     “Discipline?”

“He runs a tight fleet-“

“Fleet? Since when does a single destroyer constitute a fleet?”

“Fleet command occasionally lets him have a ship or two that is scheduled for the scrap yards. Generally, he simply confiscates pirate and Marine ships as they come along. At last count he had thirteen but as high as thirty.”

“Loyalty?”

“To you? Total.”

“That too but I mean his men. How far into deaths lair would they follow him?”

“They’ve been well into the lobby several times,” Kalmar assured him with a tight smile. “Integrating them into the new fleet would buoy those that may be disheartened.”

     Sol called up a screen on his kindle that looked into a cell deep in the bowels of the emperial palace on Earth. The former commander of his new fleet was stubborn and well trained to resist interrogation but even the stoutest man wilted when his family was put to the same methods. Surprisingly the man only caved after his youngest daughter was gang raped. He keyed in the order. In another five minutes the signal would reach its destination and soon after the traitor would be introduced to the recyclers. Good riddance.

     “I’d like to see my newest commander before I send him out.” Kalmar’s expression went vacant for a moment as he accessed the network and sent the order.

“He should be here within the week.”

     Sol reached down to rub the head of one the Rottweiler’s he kept with him but remembered he'd left them on Earth as too conspicuous for traveling incognito. As much as the best known and feared face in Sol space could. The Rotties were his true friends, they wouldn't turn on him. Inquisitor Kalmar was a Rottie in human form, vicious and loyal but he never let it slip his mind that the man had his own goals not even the Emperor was privy too. He'd have to do something about that upon his return.

     “A penny for your thoughts your highness?” He turned fully to the Inquisitor and leaned against the armorplas port.

     Inquisitors were first designed by Emperor Sol the Seventh as his personal bodyguards. They were specially designed with mental abilities that allowed them to make the best use of the hardware nano-grown into their bodies. Not everyone could handle those kinds of changes; there was a substantial failure rate even among Inquisitors who have made it through the incubation and training. Each death natural or man-made was several million credits gone to waste. Unfortunately the once secret cloning facility had undergone a change in ownership when the SyHu's commandeered it fifteen years ago, rather than go all out he simply directed Kalmar to make sure they had eyes and ears. So far so good.

     All Inquisitors were gene engineered to be at least six feet tall, Kalmar was six feet nine, not unheard of in this day and age where families had their genes engineered for whatever qualities they desired. But with ship space at a premium there was no need to have a crew six feet plus when average had a better fit. Kalmar was a large man, muscular by his own rights and probably the single most dangerous man in the empire as far as Sol was concerned. Those types of people Sol did his best to eradicate before they became a problem. Kalmar would be a challenge since it was he the empire went to take care others. Might be best to have him as far away from the upcoming trouble as he could, deal with it when he returned. By then there would be some one to take his place.

     “The fleet is prepared to depart Kalmar?” He made a show of looking at the kindle. “Have you seen these reports?”

     “It is,” the large man was at his side in the blink of an eye. Sol looked up in annoyance. “I’ve seen the reports. As usual Sector Governor Talbot appears to be on the warpath.”

     “I think its time there was a new Belts governor. Production has been on a steady slide while the number of pirate outposts in his area has risen the same amount. If I didn't know any better I'd say Talbot is in bed with the enemy.”

     “He’s complaining hard about captain Westy’s invasion of his territory. Obviously he has something to hide.” Kalmar gestured at the kindle in Sols hand, the screen flickered and Commander Westy's file came up.

     “You think he's mature enough for this kind of responsibility?” Sol scrolled thru the file noting all the complaints lodged against the man, lately from Talbot and those under his command, and the long string of successes. “Looks like the good captain has had some help.” He frowned at the inquisitor, some of the exploits listed he could hardly believe had been accomplished with the resources of the Third RES. The entire Third should've been sent to the scrappers decades ago, personnel and all. Fortunately it was a convenient place to send undesirables to keep them out of the way of progress. Lieutenant Commander Zant for one.

     “Lieutenant Commander Zant. Now there’s a man who deserves to spend the rest of his career in the farthest outpost we have. How do they get along?”

“My sources say its strained at the best of times. Zants applied for ten transfers since Westy took command; all refused of course, no one wants Zants’ stench on their command.”

     “You’d think the man would be grateful to be part of something good. By the time you return the empire will be cleansed of people like him.”

“Back?”

“I’ve decided to send you along with the fleet, Kalmar. I need eyes and ears and a steady hand.”

     “I’m sure you have plenty of those in various-“

“This is not a discussion, Inquistor General. Be prepared to depart with the fleet when Westy arrives.” Kalmar gave an abrupt bow and floated out without so much as a by your leave.

Third Revenue Enforcement Service

Commander Westy. Dragons Breath

     Commander Dyvid Westy was bored. He slouched unprofessionally in the captains chair while the quiet work of the ship went on around him. He had them on a dull patrol route previously cleansed of pirates and other traitors to the empire to give them an easy go of it after three grueling months clearing out pirates nests in the Belts Sector. And constantly doing end runs around that sectors governor and the rest of the bureaucrats who were making a mighty fine profit from catering to the very people they were suppose to be eradicating. Still, he sighed, governor Talbot was a powerful if annoying man, his sector supplied over half of the materials the emperor required to build ships. No doubt his report to the emperor wasn't going to be glowing. He didn't dare think just because there wasn't any word in the last two weeks that he forgot to complain.

     Besides adding another crossed out pirates graphic on the hull he added five former pirate vessels to his ragtag fleet of obsoletes bringing the grand total to seventeen. Let every one spread out from close quarters a little bit. He for one could use it. He should've posted his exec to one of the ships-too late now.

     Every one except lieutenant commander Zant considered this a posting that signaled the end of their career. Most made the best of things since it beat hell out of simmering in one of the emperors gene-tanks. Zant was still under the impression that those glowing fitreps were a true glimpse into the man that was him. They were at odds for a number of reasons the least being Dyvid wrote honest fitreps.   

     Zant had extraordinary skill in avoiding the heavy lifting while making it seem like he was doing it all by himself. Maybe now that the Third had a name people wanted to be associated with they all might have a slim chance at decent postings. Or maybe the emperor would send them to the recyclers, ships, crew and all and start over fresh.

     “Hopefully I'm not stabbing us all in the foot,” he chuckled out loud. “Just thinking how nice it'd be to have a ship that works most of the time,” he answered Zants questioning look.

     “I second that. People are putting in requests to move to one of the new ships in droves. They might be lowlifes but their equipment is first rate. And in case you hadn't noticed, the main viewer is down for good. We might be able to hack out some repairs from one of the other ships.”

     “I had wondered about that but I was too comfortable to ask. You know, I've been thinking about splitting the fleet. Eight and eight with an overall  command ship. I think its time you had a couple of ships under your direct command. Give you something to do besides hassle people about your fiancée.”

     “Well, I finally made some headway in that,” Zant jumped on the subject like a lifesaver. “One of my contacts finally came thru,” he paused for dramatic affect. Dyvid put on his 'I'm the interested boss' expression. “Turns out she's among those people that got caught up thirteen years ago when the Marines went rogue.”

     “Son of a bitch.” This was the most interesting thing Zant had ever said about his fiancée “That means she got dragged off to the Calif System with them. I can only imagine what kind of barbaric things they've done to her and all the other hostages.”

     “I can imagine,” Zant shivered. “And I don't like it. Unfortunately there's nothing I can do about it.”   “The only thing you can do is rid this system of the scourge.” He waved a waiting comtec over.

     “Sir, com from headquarters,” he handed him the stik and stepped smartly back. Westy looked at the personalized design on the cylinder that showed the messages origination. He sat up from his slouched position abruptly with a sharp curse. Zant mumbled a what now.

     “Is this right?” The tec nodded somberly. “Thank you, I'll read it right here.” He slipped the small cylinder into the chairs data slot and entered his private code to unlock the message.

     The image of the Inquisitor General himself dissolved onto the small screen. For some reason his pleased look scared Westy more than a scowl would have. He instinctively sat straighter as if the bald imposing figure could see him. You never knew with Inquisitors, especially this one.

     “Commander Westy you are directed to these coordinates at best possible speed. Message ends.” The stiks colors swirled and settled to bright white to signify its contents had been erased.

     “Get right to the point why don't you.” He keyed the coordinates into his console. “Helm plot a course for these coordinates. Best speed.” The comtec acknowledged the order as well and notified the rest of the fleet of their new destination.

     “I don't recognize those coordinates,” Lieutenant Commander Zant checked them on his own board. “Its going to take us at least two weeks with those ships in tow.”

     “Then that's the best possible speed. Personally I'm in no hurry to be any where near Inquisitors ” he said loud enough for whoever hadn't been whispered to by now. It wasn't usually a good thing to be summoned by the emperors right hand man.

     “He looked like he was in a good mood if that's any indication of anything.” Westy chuckled.

     “That's probably because we've been ordered to the recyclers,” Zant sighed. “The emperor finally got tired of all the complaints you've generated over the years.” He looked at Westy. “On the other hand it'd be nice to finally have some ships up to date- at least more recent than these relics. Any hint what he wants us for?”

     “No doubt the debacle with Sector governor Talbot has finally reached the highest levels,” he chuckled softly. “But, I think the rest of the fleet is in the clear mister Zant. I gave the orders. You, however may be standing beside me on the carpet as my second.” He thoroughly enjoyed the panic on Zants face.

     “Be that as it may sir? Perhaps now you'll listen to me when I speak about annoying people we need to be friends with. Considering the condition of the Third and the availability of parts-”

     “We can get parts and pieces from the pirates. They seem to have a better supply chain than the empire, certainly better than we get. Hell we've confiscated ships from them. We don't need some annoying fat ass sector governors supplies. If I were you I wouldn't stand too long in his corner. We found enough pirates operating unchecked in his sector that it wouldn't surprise me if he's standing next to us.”

     “You have made quite a lot of enemies in your time  Dyvid. Maybe its finally caught up to you.” His expression said he was praying hard. It was going to be a long two weeks.

     Sleep wasn't coming, he was anxious to get the days events over and done with. He never was good at waiting for punishment. He looked over at the time, they were do at the IG's coordinates in the next few hours, may as well get a start on the day.

     He rolled out of bed, gave some thought to his best uniform then went with the everyday one. He was a soldier and he'd look like it even on his death march.

Lieutenant commander Zant had the down shift, he always had on a sharply creased uniform, somehow he never managed to get it dirty no matter what was going on.

     “Anything interesting to report?” He settled into his chair and logged into the system. “This is the day of reckoning, Zant. Are you up to it?” He knew the man wasn't by the stressed look he had on his face the last two weeks. The closer they got the greener he seemed to get.

     “The viewers fixed, who knows how long that’s going to last, all the back ends scrapped out. Nothing that needs your attention. Just a few scrapes, every ones nervous to be getting close to the emperor. You never know what he knows about you.”

     “You can bet your ass if he doesn't know it there's an inquisitor nearby happy to give him any particulars. Whats in your closet, Zant? Anything else I need to worry about?”

     “I've performed my duties admirably. I have nothing to fear.”

     “Your face says other wise. Commander Zant, I relieve you,” he said formally. The ships ancient AI transferred command systems to Dyvid and brought up the illumination and systems for the day shift.

     Zant put his boards in standby and stepped from the dais, “We're a few hours a head of schedule. We'll be arriving within an hour-”

     “Sir, sensors are picking up a ship on approach,” the sensor-tec broke in. Westy swiveled his chair to face the man. “The configuration isn't in our database and their coming in hot.”

     “Red alert, all hands to battle stations!” Westy swiveled his chair back and locked it in place. All over the bridge others secured their own chairs for combat. “Weapons?”

     “At your command, sir.”

     “Well, lets see if they're willing to talk. Open a ch-”

     “This is Captain T'Shan of the Razorfist. This is a restricted area. State your business or be destroyed.” Westy and Zant exchanged glances.

     “Sir, I'm detecting more ships-” The sensor-tec snapped.

     “How many?” Zant asked.

     “Fifty eight.”

     “Seems the odds are in Captain T'Shans favor,” Dyvid sighed. “This is Commander Dyvid of the Third Revenue Enforcement Service ship Dragons Breath.”

     “Please proceed. Any deviations will be destroyed.”

     “Thank you Captain T'Shan. May I inquire about your ship?”

     “Yes.” The channel closed.

     “She needs some work on her conversation skills,” Dyvid muttered. “Helm pass the word and tuck us in behind her.” On the screen Razorfist wheeled around gracefully and began picking up speed.

     “What class do you reckon that is commander?”

     “We've been out so long I wouldn't begin to hazard a guess, sir.” Zant typed rapid-fire at his console trying to come up with something but gave up after a few minutes with a shrug.

     “Lets just hope they stay on our side,” Dyvid worked his own console. “That one ship outguns three-quarters of our fleet. She'd barely break a sweat putting us out of our misery.”

     Razorfist set a leisurely pace, sensors didn't show any other RES ships but he knew that could change at any moment so he set his fleet to making ready for the inevitable inspections. He dreaded inspections the desk jockeys used to justify their continued existence. They were so damn nit-picky, even with the stack of operational fitness waivers, maybe especially.

     “Maybe we're finally getting new ships,” Zant sighed. “I bet this is one of the emperors secret yards. He has them all over the system you know.”

     “I'd be surprised if we're allowed to keep our captures. Some higher echelon barnacles will end up confiscating them for official use.” Dyvid made an easy-come-easy-go gesture.

     “I can just hear the tall tales now about how they wrested the ships from the biggest meanest two hundred pirates and Marines there ever was.”

     “Do I detect some animosity mister Zant? That's very unlike you.” Dyvid chuckled.

     “I'm like every other fighting man, sir. I hate uptight self-important desk riders who take credit for others hard work.” He was so intent on his rant that he didn't notice the looks of disbelief on most faces.

     “Be that as it may we still have to be on our best behavior.”

     “What? I'm going where?” Selby stared slack jawed at her uncle not sure she just heard what she thought she just heard.

     “I'm sending you with the RazorFist to the Calif system. I need a representative.”

     “All those ships and people and you don't have any one to represent you?” She squalled. She hopped out of her seat and began pacing swiftly. “I have a life here, uncle, in case you hadn't noticed? Me and Sparm are engaged!” Sparm was her third love interest, she was looking serious about this one though.

     “I've noticed and I have a bit of bad news for you in that regard.” he cleared his throat and spoke quick. “Lieutenant Sparm-” He didn't have the heart to tell her he'd been implicated in the sabotage of the fleet and subsequently given to the genetecs. He really should have at least given her the evidence, he mightn't let the young man off with exile in a solo-ship headed out-system. But he didn't and had to cover his actions with another elaborate lie. He really shouldn't give a care but he was very fond of his only niece.

     “I had to promote him into a vacant slot. You know how fond I was of him, Selby. He had the skills I needed so I used him. Don't look at me like that. The needs of the empire always come before the needs of the individual. You know that.”

     “I know,” she sighed. “But, I really liked him.”

     “I know you did, sweetie,” and therein lie the problem. “He promised to keep in touch. After he works out the issues the previous commander couldn't.” Her eyes lit up.

     “You made him a commander?” She leaped into his arms. “Thank you uncle Sol!”

     “I do what I can favorite niece.”

     “I'm your only niece unless there's something your not telling me?” She stood back with fists on hips.    “Your the only one, still. But, down to business. I want you to keep an eye on Essie.”

     “I know there was a catch.” She smiled “Why didn't you just say that in the first place? Of course I'll keep an eye on him. I do that anyway. Have you told him?”

     “He's not talking to me. As usual.”

     “No wonder with all the stuff you have him doing to 'prepare him for his destiny',” she intoned with a deep voice that made him smile.

     “He has to be ready, Selby.”

     “I know, uncle. I'll let him know. You know him he probably already knows. If he's learned anything from you its how to 'cultivate sources'.” She laughed at his stern expression. “How long do we have until you ship us off?”

     “Razorfists new commander is enroute-say five hours?” She gave him a pout and gently shoved him out the door complaining about all the things she had to pack in the amount of time he gave her.

     “That went well,” Sol whispered to his bodyguard who'd personally escorted the understandably reluctant  lieutenant to the stations genetics. “Lets pray she never finds out.”

     “I'm not much for prayer, sir.” The man said with all seriousness. “My parents are Scientholics,” he said as if that was all the explanation required. He wasn't the brightest but he was trustworthy with some of the touchier things he needed done around the empire.

     “Sir, commander Westy has arrived.” His gaze vacant as he accessed the information on his VIOD.

     “Excellent. I'll meet them in the landing bay.” The man relayed the message and fell in half a step behind him.

     Commander Westy wasn't what Sol was expecting even after reading the mans file. He was perfectly ordinary, once he left you'd be hard pressed to remember he was even there. That was the makings of the perfect spy. Maybe after he returned from Calif he'd have a new job for him. He ignored lieutenant commander Zant and stopped in front of Westy.

     “Commander Westy,” Sol nodded perfunctorily at the commanders deep bow. “I know you were expecting Inquisitor general Kalmar, sorry to disappoint you,” he tried a disarming smile. Westy nodded nervously but didn't return the smile.

     “The request was sent on my behalf. Your fleet has been out of range for quite a while, if you'll forgive me for getting right down to business?”

     “Of course, your highness,” Westy tried to stay the proscribed full step behind him but Sol pulled him even with him and put his arm around his shoulder like old friends reunited. The guards smoothly prevented Zant from joining his commander.

     “I have a mission for you commander Westy. A very sensitive and of utmost importance to the empire. You and the Third have exhibited some exceptional strategic prowess in dealing with the pirates and the Marines, that's the kind of thing I need for this. Can I count on you?”

     “I'm honored, your highness. And speechless. What's the nature of the mission, my lord?”

     “Ah,” he clapped him roughly on the back, “I like a commander who doesn't jump in unprepared! Most of my other commanders would've agreed without knowing any of the details. That just proves I've picked the right man for the job.”

     “Thank you sir, whatever it is you require I'll try not to disappoint you.”

     “See that you don't.” He softened the threat with a grin. “But you might not thank me after you hear what it is.”

     Commander Westy and lieutenant commander Zant listened intently as Emperor Sol outlined what he wanted done. Westy was all smiles while Zant seemed to have reservations about most of it.

     “That's quite a bit of responsibility for the Third, sir. There has to be any number of fleets better equipped to handle that sort of mission.” Westy leaned back in his chair running a hand thru his hair.

     “Your royal and august highness,” Zant said full of authority into the silence, “even if we were to undertake such a mission none of the Third is equipped with String Drives. Even with them a trip that long is ten years subjective time, two years ship-”

     “I am aware of the math, lieutenant commander Zant,” Sol said dangerously. He locked eyes with the man until Zant looked away. “I have a solution to that problem, captain Westy. Westy's head snapped up.

     “It just so happens that the flagship Razorfist is in need of a captain. I can't think of any one more qualified to command her than you. Congratulations.”

     “I'm speechless, your highness.” He lapsed into silence.

     “Who's to take command of the Third?” Zant straightened noticeably.

     “I'll leave that decision in the hands of Captain Westy. Effective immediately the Third Fleet of the Revenue Enforcement Service is attached to the First Army Expeditionary Force. I'm sure Captain Westy will do whats best for the Third.” As he stood the stations AI was sending out the orders. He put out his hand to Westy.

     “Well, Captain Westy, your ship awaits. I've gathered the finest people of all disciplines to staff the fleet, I expect you to make sure their ready when they reach Calif.”

     “I'll give the fleet commander whatever assistance he requires.”

     “I'm sure that you will,” Sol chuckled softly.

     “I'm not sure I liked the smile on his face as we left,” Zant whispered as they left the emperor and his people behind on their way back to the shuttle bay. “I especially don't like he left the Third hanging in limbo like that.”

     “He attached us to the fleet, that's not exactly in limbo Ulysis.”

     “He attached us to the fleet, your the captain of Razorfist and not even in our chain of command anymore.”

     “Actually,” Dyvid grinned, “he did say he was leaving the disposition of the Third in my hands. If that’s not putting me in the chain of command I don't know what would.”

     “So, who's going to be the new commander? Some one who's been with the fleet for some time I would hope.”

     “Despite the emperors edict having the word of law, he's not going to be with us on the mission. I don't want to get started on the wrong foot with fleet commander by appointing a replacement without at least his consent.” He touched Zant on the arm lightly, “don't worry though, your the first one on the list. You've been waiting long enough.”

     They paused next to the obsolete shuttle from Dragons Breath to shake hands and wish each other good luck.

     “Captain Westy,” a black woman with captains rank approached them. He was momentarily taken aback by her lack of hair when baldness had been eradicated centuries ago. “Congratulations on your appointment, I'm-”

     “Captain T'Shan. I recognize the voice.” He looked at her rank pinned to her ample bosom then back up to her face hoping his face wasn't as red as it felt. “Um-”

     “I've been directed to escort you to your new command, our shuttle is over there,” she hooked a thumb over he shoulder at a dangerous looking flat black shuttle with guards at both open hatches while station personnel loaded last minute supplies.

     “God speed, captain Westy,” Zant shook his hand then stepped into his shuttle where the pilot was beginning pref-light checks.

     “Captain,” T'Shan turned smartly and headed for the shuttle. Westy hurried to keep pace with her. “Inquisitor General Kalmar speaks highly of you, he's not one to give his blessing lightly.”

     “From what I've heard he's not the kind to give any blessing.”

     “He has his moments but he's human just like the rest of us.” She chuckled, “Mostly anyway.” She waited for him to proceed her into the shuttle then spent a few moments talking to the guard.

     He passed through the airlock, none of his shuttles had airlocks they were so old, every body had to suit up if even one person was going into vacuum.   The interior was spacious compared to what he was use to, the miracle of modern nanotechnology shrank a lot of components that other wise would have encroached. The results were mostly smooth bulkheads of metal and plastic. The auto-doc area was hard and unforgiving, and a lot smaller than he was use to but then only one of his shuttles even had one (and he confiscated that one from pirates) but at least it looked up to date and had a door to seal it off from the rest of the shuttle.

     “We're ready to go,” T'Shan came in with the guard plus several more he hadn't noticed. “Any last minute issues? Your pretty much ass out if you have any special supplies you want.”

     “No thank you, I'm good,” he made to sit in one of the chairs but she waved him to the cockpit. She sat in the co-pilots seat and swiveled to face him. He took the pilots seat and looked over the board.

     Most shuttles were laid out the same way in the cockpit even if some of the controls were smaller or touch instead of toggles and switches and levers. He was surprised that a newer model shuttle still had positive feel controls. He preferred to know when he pressed a button without having to look at it.

     “I haven't been checked out in the newer models.”

     “Then I suggest you not run into anything,” she turned to her own board and started the pref-light.

CHAPTER TWO

     “Come on Essie, the ships going to leave without us!” She tugged his arm to pull him to his feet. He was a handsome young man but couldn't keep a girlfriend for more than a couple of weeks before his bad attitude and lack of motivation ran them off. Then there was always the ever present fear of the emperor looming over any relationship either of them had. He had the bad habit of culling the herd and not being subtle about it.

     Emperor Sol the sixteenth was eighteen years old just a month ago, five feet eleven, the shortest would-be ruler by a good five inches, he had a good build only because his father insisted on a rigorous exercise routine of martial arts and physical fitness training to round out the ten hours a day of education in everything he might need in order to rule the empire. He was a reluctant student at best but absorbed every detail of every lesson while pretending not to. Needless to say he got on every body's nerves in the worst way.

     He casually pushed his hair out of his face and linked his fingers behind his head to grin up at her.

     “I seriously doubt any ones leaving without us, we're what they call supercargo.” He drolled. She rolled her eyes and kicked his leg until he grumbled.     “I'm going, I'm going, hell, you act like your in a hurry or something.”

     “We are, uncle Sol said we had five hours to pack and be on the ship. That was nine hours ago. Your lucky he hasn't sent some of his goons to help us along.”

     “You mean to help me along?”

     “Yeah, you, now get a move on already. If I hear another lecture about how I'm suppose to make sure your ready to take the throne I'm going to assassinate him myself. Besides, you know you want to go, get away from uncle for a while?”

     “Last time I checked the Calif system was more than a while away. Its gonna take us two years to get there. Hopefully by the time we get back things will have changed around here.”

     “Oh stop it, by the time you get back your probably going to be the next emperor.”

     “Yeah, right. The only reason he's sending me away is so he can hatch a replacement that's easier to get along with and train. Some one who doesn't have a mind of his own.”

     “Your going to be a real pain in the ass, aren't you Essie?” He grinned in answer, she sighed and stalked down the hall in front of his sarcastic laugh.

     “Wait up, sis,” he linked arms and matched her stride. “I can't get excited about being kicked out of the nest like you are.”

     “What are you talking about? This is the opportunity of a life time, Essie. How many people get to go to another solar system?”

     “You mean besides the hundred or so thousand Marines? Not to mention the thousands of people that abandoned the empire a couple centuries ago?”

     “Don't be a smart ass, smart ass. This is from uncle Sol,” she handed him a stik with the emperors personal seal on it. “He said the security seal won't let you open it for two weeks,” she shrugged at his questioning look. He took it and slipped it into one of the hundreds of tiny pockets he'd sewn into his favorite ship-suit. He'd have it opened and read as soon as he got a minute alone.

     “Probably telling me never to come back,” he mumbled mostly to himself. She stopped and gave him a brief hug that took him by surprise but he let out a deep sigh. “Thanks sis, your the best as usual. Sorry you have to babysit me for the rest of your your life.”

     “I'm just keeping you out of trouble until you become the emperor. So far so good, no major catastrophe's. That I know of.” She wrinkled her nose at him. He returned her expression perfectly. “Not going to confess to anything are you?”

     “Hell no!” He laughed. “First rule of emperorshipism is never confess to doing anything wrong, especially if you have.”

     “Emperorshipism? Is that even a word?” She shoved him playfully. “Knowing you you probably already put it in the official language database.” She sighed at his grin. “When are you going to put those slicing skills to good use, Essie?”

     “Who says I haven't?” He said softly. She narrowed her eyes at him but no more information was forthcoming. He looped his arm in hers and propelled them along.

     The shuttle bay was busy with people and machinery but neither one saw any sign of a royal send off. Selby was both relieved and angry that Sol would let them go without one final word or even a hug. She risked a glance at Essie but his face was carefully blank.

     As they neared the shuttle inquisitor general Kalmar came down the short ramp of an adjacent shuttle.

     “Out of all the people uncle Sol could've sent did he have to send you?” Selby frowned up at the inquisitor general. “Don't you have something else to do? This isn't the shuttle we were assigned to.”

     “I'm sure you were expecting a royal send off but his highness has other matters to attend. Besides, I convinced him you're both self sufficient enough not to need any last minute pampering. I took it on myself to upgrade you to a shuttle befitting someone of both your exalted ranks. You'll find everything you need aboard along with your belongings,” Selby recognized some of her luggage being hauled from the other shuttle as he spoke.

     “I'm sure it didn't take much to convince him to 'attend to other matters' as far as I was concerned,” Essie snapped.

     Ignoring the comment, Kalmar continued. “At the moment I'm making sure both of you make it off the station and onto the ship safe and sound. Your highness,” he made a sweeping bow that was completely unlike him.

     “Don't be a smart ass, Kalmar,” Selby grumbled. She tugged Essie up the ramp into the shuttle. She made a quick tour then stomped back to the ramp where Kalmar waited expectantly.

     “Where the hell is the crew? You expect us to run this thing by ourselves?” She stomped down the ramp to him. He grinned down at her. She put fists on hips trying not to smile. While every one in the solar system feared this one man above the emperor she actually liked him for some reason. “Jack ass.”

     “Unless my information is incorrect, and it rarely is, you and his highness are perfectly qualified to pilot and you hardly need the usual crew for such a short journey.” She glared harder.

     “If I find you a pilot your destination is going to be Heavens Bain.” He paused a moment to let her imagine the next two years working and studying pretty much non-stop. She let out a sigh and deflated.

     “This shuttle is equipped with all the luxuries your use to plus a few extras I hope that you never have need of. Now is the time to stop being the spoiled, protected princess. Use the skills the empire has been giving you for free the last nineteen years. Both of you.” His gaze shifted to one side of her as Essie moved to the top of the ramp. She stomped back up the ramp, gave one final look over her shoulder at Kalmar.

     “Your a jerk,” she slapped her palm on the ramp controls. Just before the hatch sealed she stuck out her tongue. Kalmar chuckled. “What?” She pushed past Essie.

     “I swear you two are like husband and wife or something. He's more feared than Sol himself but your always antagonizing him. Least he's not going with us.” He stopped dead in his tracks. “He's not going with us is he?”

     “With any luck we won't be seeing much of him the next two years. You know how the inquisitors like their privacy.” She sat in the pilots seat and mumbling it was just like that bald headed ass to send her off in a ship with cold engines. She shot a rude glance at Essie chuckling softly but at least he went thru the pre-flight flawlessly. She suppressed an angry retort several times when he rechecked her work, apparently he had some training in this configuration.

     “That's basic stuff, Selby.” He said sternly while correcting the last mistake. Get your mind off your future husband so we can get the hell off this station.”

     “Now who's anxious to go? You know uncle Sol would be here if he didn't-”

     “I know,I know, if he didn't have to run the empire. Business as usual,” he called station control to request take off clearance. Of course they went to the top of the list. “Sometimes its good being the heir apparent.” He grinned as he gently lifted the shuttle without a wobble and exited the shuttle bay at twice the recommended speed.

     “Essie!” She squeaked as he took them on a looping spin between three shuttles sending them scattering. She sighed and took her hands off the controls even though she was in the pilots seat and let him do his thing. By now every one knew he was leaving with the fleet so as long as he didn't crash into anything no one was going to complain. Not to the emperor anyway.

     She turned down the shouting from the three shuttles so as not to disturb Essie’s concentration as he weaved in and around everything he could find.

     “Okay,” he finally set the shuttle on a direct course for the Razorfist at a more sedate speed. “I've been wanting to do that every since Kalmar made me start taking lessons.”

     “I'm sure he's patting himself on the back for that,” she said more to herself. “Your going to be on your best behavior aren't you?” He smiled but didn't answer. “As much as you can please? Kalmars right about one thing as much as I hate to admit he's right about anything. Its time for us to learn to live out from under uncle Sols thumb. You never know, we might actually have a life of our own.”

     “I'm sure he's already ordered every one to make sure we continue our education. Me anyway. So for me it'll be the same life.”

     “Oh, I think you'll find some way to make life away from the empire bearable. I have total confidence in your ability to find something to entertain you. And aggravate every one else.”

     “I do believe you have a point big sis.” His eyes gleamed.

     “Welcome aboard, your Highness,” captain Westy nodded slightly, “this is captain T'Shan my executive officer. My apologies for the small welcoming party, we weren't told you were coming until you were landing.”

     “Uncle Sol keeping you on your toes,” Selby sighed. “I'm sorry we're late, some last minute things,” she shrugged and looked at Essie for input but he and captain T'Shan had locked eyes. Selby looked away before Westy noticed.

     “Of course, we're slightly behind schedule awaiting the new fleet commander,” Westy looked at T'Shan who gave a slight shrug of her own.

     “Which reminds me,” Selby pulled out a stik and presented it to Westy. “Uncle Sol said you should read this immediately.” He took the stik and went to the nearest wall console. Emperor Sol appeared on the small screen.

     “Captain Westy you are to assume command of the Razorfist fleet. By now you have met my son and niece. I expect you to take excellent care of them. I think you'll find empress Selby to be of great use to you while you prepare the citizens for inclusion in the empire. Good luck, Fleet Admiral Westy.” The image faded.

     “Well, that solves that problem,” In the back of her mind Selby thought he looked a little pale for someone who just got promoted to fleet admiral his first day on the job as ship captain. In the front of her mind she was mad that her uncle hadn't given Essie any encouragement.

     “I'll make sure the fleets brought up to speed, sir,” T'Shan stepped away briskly, turned back after a few steps to look back. She sighed visibly and continued on her way. Selby turned to Essie while Westy was still in shock and found him watching the bald womans retreating form with a grin on his face. She leaned close.

     “Essie. Leave her alone.” T'Shan went thru a distant hatch and out of view. Essie sighed and brought his gaze back to Selby who rolled her eyes. He had it bad. This should prove to be an interesting trip.

     “Well, if you'll follow me I'll show you to your quarters,” they fell in behind him while workers went to work on the shuttle.

     The VIP decks were full of activity as they stepped off the lift. There was a swift ripple effect as first one person saw them and stiffened. In a matter of seconds the the only sound heard was the soft whirring of air circulators.

     “Emperor Sol the sixteenth and Empress Selby will be making the journey with us,” admiral Westy said into the silence. He looked around noting anger on more than a few faces. He'd have to make sure to put security on the job as soon as possible, wouldn't do to have the royal heirs assassinated on his watch.

     “Seeing as this is going to be a long trip we're not going to stand on too much ceremony. The emperor hand picked each of you for this mission so its only fitting that you be prepared to impart some of your knowledge to the future rulers of the Calif System. Carry on.” He led Essie and Selby thru the parting crowd to the far end of the corridor.

     “This is going to be a long trip,” Essie sighed as Westy touched the pad on the door on the left and the door directly across from it. Both swished open to reveal spacious quarters.

     “Not as spacious as your use to but at least you don't have to share,” Westy smiled. “Of course there'll be security posted-sorry can't take any chances. I'm sure there are sympathizers even here despite the severe screening process. Well, it seems I have matters to attend. Your belongings should be arriving shortly.” He stepped smartly back thru the crowd greeting and shaking hands as word of his promotion trickled through.

I am GIVING AWAY one paperback edition of ‘Veterans of the Psychic Wars’. Read the first 8 chapters FREE from Amazon, Smashwords or fReado. More information here.

Answer the following questions for a chance to win the novel:

1) Name two of the planets engaged in the Second Psychic War.

2) Who is the Butcher of Cyclo?

3) Name two forms of alien martial arts used in the story.

4) Supply the make and model of one of the vehicles ‘borrowed’ by Chi-Ro Jin.

5) Tie breaker: Who is your favourite character and why?

Use this link to send your answers via the official Red Moon site.

The winner will be announced 6th February 2011, here on this website. All decisions final.