Archive for the ‘Science Fiction’ Category

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I am so excited that the paperback
of ANTI-HERO BLUES by Christopher Lee Rippee is available now and that I
get to share the news!

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If you haven’t yet heard about this
wonderful book, be sure to check out all the details below.

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This blitz also includes a giveaway
for a $10 Amazon Gift Card courtesy of Christopher &
Rockstar Book Tours. So if
you’d like a chance to win, check out the giveaway info below.

 

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 ANTI-HERO BLUES

by: Christopher Lee Rippee

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Pub. Date: August 16, 2024

Publisher: Balance of Seven

Formats:  Hardcover, Paperback, eBook, Audiobook

Pages: 400

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Find it: Goodreadshttps://books2read.com/ANTI-HERO-BLUES

 

How do you save a world that believes you’re the villain?

In Union City, where superpowered vigilantes are celebrated as saviors, rebellious
grad-student Brandon Carter sees them as anything but. Haunted by the death of
his father at the hands of a masked “hero,” Brandon’s defiance might
have landed him in a jail cell if not for his gift for physics.

At twenty-three, Brandon is on the precipice of success. Using his research, his
team is just one test away from a world-changing scientific breakthrough-a test
that nearly ends in catastrophe due to an “error” in the code.

With the project set for termination, Brandon throws caution to the wind, sneaking back
into the lab to rerun the test in secret. But when a mysterious, powerful
assassin attacks him and sabotages the experiment, a devastating explosion
levels the lab.

Against all odds, Brandon survives, transformed in mind and body. With his life on the line
and no idea who to trust, he sets out to uncover the truth behind the attack,
gain control of his strange, new powers, and protect those he loves-even if it
means saving a world that would label him a supervillain.

 

Enjoy this peek inside:

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ONE

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Failed Experiment

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You want to know about the explosion and the pillar of
fire in the sky at the Resistance Day celebration? What happened to
Vincent Vaydan? Sure, we’ll get  there, but we need to start at the
beginning.

It all went off the rails the day we turned MICSy on. 

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of Union City University and
the Vaydan Institute for Experimental Physics, welcome!” Claire’s South London
accent colored her  greeting as she smiled at the research review
committee.  She was really turning on the charm, which made sense
given that the committee could pull the plug on our project with an
email. 

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That worried me, but not as much as the possibility  of
blowing us all up in the next few minutes. My heart  pounded against my
rib cage as I raced through the pre-ignition checklist for the twentieth time,
trying to focus. With my hands shaking and a tangled snarl of anxiety,
excitement, and dread roiling in my stomach, I  glanced at the
clock. 

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9:57 a.m. 

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Three minutes until the moment of truth. 

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On the dubious bright side, if the test went badly, I
wouldn’t have a lot of time for regrets. 

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“We have what will undoubtedly be an exciting  morning
in store!” 

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Dr. Claire Wright was the head of our research  team, my
mentor, and basically a member of my family.  She was in her fifties,
having spent her life climbing to the  top of her field. Despite her
professional stature, Claire  was only five foot five in two-inch heels,
and slim. Short,  iron-gray hair framed a face that seemed cheery
despite  her aura of cool professionalism. As usual, she wore an
elegantly conservative blazer and matching skirt. 

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For our test run, she’d gone with navy blue. A few members of
the research oversight committee  were clumped by the door. Most were
watching remotely.  We’d expected a better turnout, but I suspected the de
sire to be present for a scientific breakthrough was outweighed by an aversion
to the possibility of sudden energetic events—explosions, for the
nonscientific. Two representatives from the physics department  chatted
with the Vaydan Industries contingent, a suit in  his late twenties named
Ashcroft and a tall woman I  hadn’t met, while Dr. Clifford from the
Department of  Energy, a grumpy-looking bureaucrat in a tweed jacket
older than I was, glowered at everyone from behind an  impressive
mustache. 

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The lab used to be a bomb shelter, so it wasn’t exactly
spacious. Despite taking every safety precaution  imaginable, the chance
of us causing a massive explosion in a couple of minutes was slightly greater
than zero, so it  was good we were wrapped in concrete and steel a
dozen  feet underground. Unfortunately, it also meant the lab  was a
cramped maze of fabrication machines, workstations, and bundles of wiring taped
to the floor. Most of the equipment was impressive, but none of  it
compared to the machine in the middle of the room. Claire turned to me and the
rest of the team standing  awkwardly in front of the machine that
dominated the  lab. “These individuals represent some of the
brightest  young minds in our field, and they deserve the real accolades.
Despite my title, all I did was approve purchase  orders.” Claire’s smile
turned mischievous. “Rarely in a  scientist’s career does one have the
opportunity to take  so much credit for doing so little.” 

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The observers chuckled.

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She gestured to Harvey, who nodded curtly before
looking away. 

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“Dr. Zhang comes to us from the University of  Toronto
and specializes in the computational modeling  of energetic
systems.”  

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Harvey was pale and thin, with a mop of stylishly
unkempt black hair. Dressed in a tight, black button down and fitted jeans,
Harvey looked more like a model  than a mathematician. He’d seemed like an
asshole when  we first met, but he just wasn’t great with people. I
wouldn’t have called us friends, but we weren’t far from  it. 

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He didn’t smile as the observation group shifted  their
collective gaze to him. He made most stoics seem  emotionally
unhinged. 

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“Next is Dr. Itzel Rodriguez,” Claire continued. “Dr.
Rodriguez is a mechanical engineer from the University of Mexico, by way
of MIT. She specializes in exotic matter containment and applied
xenotechnology.” Itzel was short, with an olive complexion and a mane  of
wavy brown hair, streaked with blue, that surrounded  a face with round
cheeks. She was in one of her many  science-pun T-shirts, battered jeans,
and Chuck Taylors. Her shirt of the day had a smiling proton telling an
electron to be positive. 

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Itzel’s endless enthusiasm almost made up for her
tendency to sing when she was excited. Nothing helped  complex engineering
problems like lab karaoke. Still, I’d  put money on her winning a Nobel
Prize. 

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Vibrating with excitement, Itzel beamed when Claire
said her name. “It’s great to meet everyone,” she said,  with a hint of a
Mexican accent. 

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Claire pointed to our third team member. “Many of  you
already know Dr. Nathan Chambers.” 

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I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. 

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Barely. 

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Nate was blandly handsome, with sandy-blond hair,  blue
eyes, and the muscle tone of someone who worked  out for looks.
Straightening his salmon polo, he smiled  with the casually smug air of a
guy used to being showered  with praise. I guess it came with being the
child of a  billionaire. 

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Nate was the son and heir apparent of tech mogul
Jeremiah Chambers. His PhD was just part of preparing  for his
legacy. 

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As much as I disliked the rich, though, Nate’s money wasn’t
why I couldn’t stand him. 

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The guy was just awful. 

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He ignored Harvey and treated Itzel like a waitress,
but he reserved his real contempt for me. I was the only one in the lab
without a PhD, but that didn’t bother him  as much as the fact I’d grown
up poor. 

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The first time we met, Nate had asked Claire if she’d
given all her strays research projects. I’d asked him if he  was planning
to be buried in his father’s shadow or just  live his whole life in
it. 

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It went downhill from there. 

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As much as I hated the guy, though, Nate was good  at
computational physics. It was why Claire had brought  him in on the
project, even if his presence was a needle  in the heart of my
chill. 

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“And of course, I want to introduce Brandon Car ter.” Claire
gestured to me, her smile expanding with  pride. “Brandon came to my
attention years ago, thanks  to his high-school physics teacher.” 

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Someone snickered. Maybe they’d been born with  an
advanced degree. 

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“While research is a team effort, Brandon’s equations—his
revolutionary way of visualizing and modeling  gravitational waves in
tandem with highly energetic systems—are this project’s foundation. The first
time I read  the paper that launched all this,”—Claire gestured around the
lab—“a paper Brandon wrote as a second-year under grad, I might add—I thought
it was rubbish, mostly because I didn’t think what he was suggesting was
possible.”  Claire chuckled. “When Brandon explained his work to  me,
I realized I was holding something extraordinary.” 

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The observers looked at me. Some seemed impressed; others,
dubious or dismissive. 

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I managed not to glare. 

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Whatever they saw, I doubted physicist was the first
word that came to mind. Musician, maybe, if they were  being generous.
Armed robber if they weren’t.

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I was twenty-three and nearly six foot four, with a
wiry build and the colorless complexion of my Irish  roots. My hair was
dark, a product of the Korean side of  my dad’s family, chopped short and
shaved on the sides.  I wasn’t what people called handsome. Striking,
maybe,  with deep-set hazel eyes under a heavy brow, a large nose,
prominent cheekbones, and a strong chin. 

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My uniform—a hoodie, band shirt, jeans, and a pair  of
boots, all black—didn’t exactly scream scientist. Neither did the tattoos that
peeked out from beneath my  sleeves and spread across my hands. 

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If asked, almost anyone who knew me growing up  would’ve
said the only way I’d end up in a physics lab was  by robbing it. Before
fifteen, I would have agreed. The  trajectory of my life hadn’t been aimed
anywhere good. 

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Why? 

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Because a superhero killed my dad when I was eight. If it
hadn’t been for that high-school science teacher  sending a paper I’d
written to Claire, I probably would’ve  ended up in a jail cell instead of
a lab. 

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Claire smiled again. “Collectively, this team has
accomplished something monumental: the first step in  bridging the gulf
between our world and the infinite other  worlds beyond.” 

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She waved at the device behind us. “Our machine  uses
alien matter to shape a gravitational distortion and  generate a
microscopic breach in the membrane separating our reality from others, allowing
us to receive electromagnetic radiation from a nearby multiversal strand.
To  put it another way, we’ll be capturing radio signals from
parallel Earths.” 

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The size of a cargo van, our machine might have  looked
like a haphazard tangle of wires, cables, and components grafted at random
to a metal frame, but  every module, field generator, and dedicated
processor  had been custom built for this experiment. Collectively,
it represented three years of my life and more than $9  million of
funding. 

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The machine’s official name was the Multiversal
Intermembrane Communication System. We called her  MICSy. 

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MICSy wasn’t pretty, but she didn’t need to be. At  her
heart, straining against a xibrantium containment  bottle, was a piece of
voidrium the size of a fingertip,  capable of generating enough gravity to
punch a hole  through the fabric of space-time. 

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Assuming the test didn’t kill us all in the next few
minutes. 

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“That’s right. Some of you traveled two thousand  miles
to watch us turn on the world’s most expensive  radio,” Claire said,
eliciting more chuckles. “But if we’re  successful, the technology will
pave the way for full matter  transference.” 

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The multiverse wasn’t a theory. It was a fact made  hard
to ignore by the occasional monster attacks and invaders from alternate
timelines. Masks had been known  to travel to other multiversal threads,
or parallel worlds,  and tread on strange and “undreamed shores,” to
borrow  a phrase from Shakespeare. They did it in ways not easily
replicated, however: Magical portals. Falling through  black holes. 

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If successful, we’d take a step toward making the trip
easier. 

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“Now, ladies and gentlemen, shall we make history?” Claire
turned to the team and raised an eyebrow. I looked at the clock, my stomach
churning.

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It was 10:01 a.m.

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Breaking apart, we headed to our workstations. Har vey and I
were on one side of the room, monitoring the  control system and the
voidrium to ensure the exotic  material’s energy output remained within
the containment fields’ tolerances. On the other side, Itzel monitored MICSy’s
power system, while Nate watched CPU  usage on the control-software
servers to make sure they  didn’t crash. 

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I glanced at the team. They seemed as nervous as I
felt, even Nate, who had the least to lose, outside his life. Taking a breath,
I pulled up the ignition sequence.  “Everyone ready?” 

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Harvey nodded. 

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“Make it so!” Itzel chirped. 

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“Get on with it, Carter,” Nate groused. 

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“Here we go.” I took another deep breath and  clicked
the initialize button. 

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The refrigerator-sized xenotech power block began  to
vibrate, and MICSy hummed as she generated a series  of overlapping
containment fields. The smell of ozone  filled the air, but the
diagnostics showed everything as  nominal. 

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“Containment fields on, control system running,” I
breathed. “How are we looking on your end, Itzel?” “Stable. MICSy’s purring
like a kitten.” 

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“Opening the containment bottle and bringing
the voidrium online.” Hoping I wasn’t about to kill us all, I started the
activation sequence. 

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The power block’s hum deepened as the xibrantium  bottle
at MICSy’s heart opened. The voidrium inside  glimmered with violet light
as energy flowed through it. A stillness filled the room. This was the real
test. If it went well, we’d change the world. If it went poorly . .
.  well, we might still change the world, at least on local
topographic maps. 

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“Uh, Brandon, you should look at this,” Harvey
murmured, a ripple of tension in his tone. 

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“What?” I asked, hoping my voice wouldn’t carry to  the
observers. Harvey’s calm demeanor was a joke in the  lab, which meant the
worry in his tone amounted to  hysterics for anyone else. 

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“We’re getting some instability in the voidrium modulation
field.” 

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A chill ran through me. Shit. 

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Voidrium was highly unstable. Investigators had discovered it
among the wreckage of the Rakkari ships that  assaulted Earth nearly three
decades ago. The Rakkari  had used it for faster-than-light travel, but
research so far  had produced no results other than fatal accidents.
Our  project was one of a handful authorized to work with the exotic
matter, and only for a brief window of time. 

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Sliding out of my seat, I made my way to Harvey as
quickly as I could without running, weaving around  equipment and through
wires. Harvey slid to the side as  I stepped in front of his terminal. The
screen was covered  in graphs and other monitoring tools that would
have  been incomprehensible to most people, but we had designed the
system. I saw what he meant instantly. 

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An alert message flashed in the field control system.
Uh-oh. 

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Voidrium’s energy production rate was unstable.
Previous attempts to harness it had failed due to unpredictable power spikes,
almost as if the voidrium were  fighting to break free. To compensate,
Harvey and I had  created an algorithm to predict energy fluctuations
and modulate the overlapping containment fields in real time.
Without it, we couldn’t have put enough power into the  voidrium to
penetrate the membrane separating our reality from other multiversal strands without
it exploding. Some of the best computational physicists at the university—and
by extension, the world—had reviewed our  algorithm. We’d run thousands of
simulations, using data  models constructed from other experiments. It
should have been working. 

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Instead, the algorithm was failing to predict nearly a
third of the energy spikes, pushing the field generators to  the limit of
their tolerances. Unless we could get the  spikes under control, the
generators would burn out. If  we lost one, failure would cascade through
the rest, which  would be very, very bad.

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Our theoretical modeling predicted that an explosion probably
wouldn’t generate an ever-expanding singularity that would engulf the solar
system, but it would destroy the lab, along with a significant portion of
the  building, not to mention kill everyone inside. 

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No pressure, I thought, breaking into a cold sweat. I racked
my brain, ignoring the voice telling me to  shut MICSy off. If I hit the
emergency shutoff, I could  check the field generators and debug the
algorithm. I  could blame a faulty power relay and use the incident
to  demonstrate our rigorous safety protocols. But our research review was
at the end of the month, and there was  no guarantee the Department of
Energy would let us  keep the voidrium long enough for a second test run.
This needed to work. 

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Suddenly, the solution hit me. My fingers flew across
the keyboard as I threw commands into different windows.

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“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” Claire asked from
behind me, her normally unflappable cool unable to  keep the tension from
her voice. 

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“It looks like the algorithm isn’t modulating the
fields properly,” Harvey whispered. “It’s failing to prevent roughly thirty
percent of the energy fluctuations.” 

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“Shut it down,” Claire ordered. “Immediately.” Harvey reached
for the emergency shutoff. 

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I grabbed his wrist. “Don’t.” We locked eyes. His were wide
with fear. “I’ve got this.” 

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We looked to Claire. 

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“We’re still within tolerances,” I said. “I need sixty
seconds.” 

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Claire’s eyes narrowed, and she glanced at the committee.
“One minute. If the power fluctuations aren’t  under control in one
minute, shut it down.” 

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I was typing before she’d finished speaking. Our energy
growth model wasn’t the issue. It had to  be a software bug. The night
before, Nate had “fixed” a  syntax error I’d supposedly overlooked. I was
guessing  whatever he’d done had broken something. I initialized the
previous version of the control software on a backup server. MICSy sent data to
both primary and secondary control systems as a failsafe. I could  compare
the readings on the secondary server to the  primary and, if there were no
errors in the earlier version,  switch to it. The two control systems ran
concurrently, so  there shouldn’t be any interruptions. If I was right,
the  switch would stabilize the process. 

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The program was system intensive, so it took time to
synchronize. Each second felt like an hour as the diagnostics flashed
alarms. 

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I tried not to think about the consequences of
being wrong as MICSy’s smooth purr shifted into a rumbling  growl,
drawing concerned murmurs from our observers. “Apologies, gentlemen!” Claire
flashed them a practiced smile. “It wouldn’t be science without a little
excitement.” 

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Nearly there. Five seconds until the backup came
online. 

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The lights flickered.

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Four seconds. My pulse pounded in my ears. Three. 

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The grumbling increased. Harsh, violet light radiated from
the containment bottle. The field generators’  output levels began to
redline. 

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Two. 

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The acrid stench of overheating electronics filled the
room. Electricity crackled, and a blue flash, followed by  a spray of
sparks, erupted from MICSy. It was only the  secondary power relay burning
out. We were still good. 

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One. 

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A field generator blew, sparks erupting from the side
of the machine, but the other generators still worked. The fix was going to
work. I was sure of it.

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The prior version of the control system finished
initializing. Immediately, I could see I was right. The energy  curve
began to smooth out. I switched control systems,  and the levels started
to stabilize. 

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“I’ve got it—” 

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Claire hit the emergency override. MICSy sputtered and
went silent as the diagnostic panel flatlined. The stench of smoldering
electronics intensified, and a haze filled the room. 

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People coughed behind me. 

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Shit.

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About Christopher Lee Rippee:

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Christopher Lee
Rippee won a young authors contest in third grade, which was the day he
officially decided to become a writer. He prepared by reading comics, playing
too much Dungeons & Dragons, and devouring every sci -fi and fantasy novel
he could get his hands on.

Along the
way, thanks to some great people and a lifelong love of punk rock, Chris found
his way to social work and currently works at a Pittsburgh-based nonprofit.
He’s also a certified mental-health first-aid trainer, has worked as a
neurodiversity consultant for several Pittsburgh-based tech startups, and has
contributed to several tabletop RPG products. When not writing, Chris reads,
plays games, and spends time with his lovely wife, Nicole, and their adorable
rescue dog, Belle.

Website | Threads | Facebook
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To Preserve, Protect And Destroy

by Matthew D. Saeman

 

 

 

Synopsis (from Amazon):

NASA Geologist Unearths Deadly Martian Stones: A Race Against Time to Thwart Catastrophic Mission and Save Millions from Imminent Disaster!

In To Preserve, Protect and Destroy, we follow the gripping journey of Terrence Sullivan, a dedicated NASA geologist, as he is thrust into an unexpected mission of universal importance. Tasked with the perilous job of collecting volatile stones from the hostile terrain of Mars, Terrence is initially led to believe that his mission is purely for the safety of the universe. These are no ordinary stones, but the very same that caused the catastrophic end to the first terraforming mission on the red planet.

As the narrative unfolds, Terrence uncovers the chilling truth behind his mission’s ultimate goal. The stakes are higher than he could have ever imagined, with the fate of his crew and millions of innocent lives hanging in the balance. The ship is set to return to Earth, but with a deadly cargo that could cause it to crash land in the Middle East, resulting in an unimaginable disaster.

Caught in a web of deceit and danger, Terrence must navigate the treacherous path of duty, morality, and survival. With time running out, he is forced to make decisions that will not only determine his fate but that of humanity itself. Will he be able to thwart the impending catastrophe and reveal the truth to the world, or will he become another casualty in this deadly game of power and control?

To Preserve, Protect and Destroy is a thrilling exploration of space travel, the fragility of life, and the lengths one man will go to protect it. It is a testament to the human spirit’s resilience and the power of truth in the face of overwhelming odds. This gripping tale is sure to captivate fans of space exploration and those who relish in seeing the mighty fall. Prepare for a journey that will take you to the edge of your seat and beyond, as you delve into the heart-stopping world of To Preserve, Protect and Destroy.

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Enjoy This Peek Inside:

“Madame Speaker, the President of the United States.”

Having been formally introduced to this joint session of Congress, President William Dowd III made his way down the center aisle of the House of Representatives chamber. The stark blue carpet matched his eyes perfectly and complimented the expensive, custom tailored suit he wore. As he proceeded, he was inundated with hands to shake, all of which he ignored. The president’s face resembled that of a boxer preparing to defend his belt, focused solely on the fight he’d been training for. He wanted no distractions and his pace was nearly at a slow jog.

Passing the podium from which he’d speak, President Dowd made his way to the back of the ceremonial seating posts where he shook hands with his Vice President and the Speaker of the House. He then headed back to his podium, stood and waited for the applause from half the audience to quiet down.

“Madam Speaker. Mr. Vice President. Members of Congress, Madam Chief Justice, and associate Justices of the Supreme Court. I’m certain you are all well versed in the subject of World History, so I won’t presume to educate you on this particular topic. But please bear with me as I highlight the most important tenet of the Nazi party’s rise to power.”

The president, certain his speech’s opening was a shock to all, allowed the audience to murmur for a few seconds before proceeding. “In 1918, shortly after the end of World War I and the signing of the Treaty of Versailles, a man named Anton Drexler formed the foundation of what would come to be known as the Nazi party. His beliefs and philosophy centered around German nationalism. Nothing wrong with being a patriot, right? Unfortunately, for the nearly 84 million people who would lose their lives as a result of the Second World War, Drexler’s ideology was steeped in the blaming of anyone not belonging to the Aryan master race for every problem the German people encountered. And once Adolph Hitler, a gifted orator, joined forces with Drexler, it was only a matter of time before what started as a fledgling, some would say outlandish, concept began taking root with the German people and eventually garnered full fledged acceptance.

“It’s been many decades since the thankful end of World War II, the Holocaust, and the Nazi party. But has it been too long? Are we, as citizens of this great country, in danger of forgetting the atrocities committed by one man with a silver tongue? ‘Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.’ George Santayana, a Spanish American philosopher spoke these words in 1905, more than a century ago… and they couldn’t be more applicable today. I received the video I am about to show not more than twenty four hours ago. It was captured by an agent who has been working undercover for several years amongst the terrorist organization ISIS in Iraq. I called together this joint session of Congress so that all of you could see first hand the danger posed by Abu al-Hussein, the newly crowned leader of this lawless organization, now that he has convinced Al-Qaeda and the Taliban to join forces with his in an effort to complete their Caliphate dream of uniting all Muslims around the world. The Muslim faith is one of honor and respectability, but al-Hussein and his newly formed regime have bastardized this proud religion, converting it into an organization replete with decadent thugs. Once the leader gets a taste of power, his appetite won’t be satisfied. And as has been too painfully recognized many times over in days gone by, once the mob mentality takes control, there is no way to stop it before the loss of too many lives.”

As President Dowd stepped away from the podium, the Vice President and Speaker of the House took the seats next to his in the front row. The lights slowly dimmed as a large projector screen was lowered. It reached its extent with a metallic thud, causing some in the silenced gallery to jump. And then the video began to play. Shot with a cell phone, the operator was close enough to the speaker for his words to be heard and the thousands upon thousands of mesmerized onlookers to be seen clearly. Though Arabic was the language used by al-Hussein, an English translation of his delivered message was displayed at the bottom of the screen.

It was clear from the way he spoke and the hand gestures used, that he had familiarized himself with Hitler’s greatest hits. Every statement flowed methodically and strong, and the pace with which he spoke was slow enough to ensure all listeners, no matter their learning level, could easily understand the points he was attempting to make. He used strategic pauses in order to keep his audience intrigued, and the expression on his face was one of genuine care for his people.

According to the translation, al-Hussein was bemoaning the loss of so many centuries stolen from them by infidels from foreign lands and the loss of life resulting from infighting amongst their own kind. He touted the new regime as having seen enough of their own blood, and that now was the time to band together in order to rebuff any opposition who tried standing in their way. Upon hearing these words, the crowd drew to a near frenzy of approval, and as al-Hussein saw this, he took a step back from the microphone so he could relish in his success.

The remainder of the footage resembled a political rally comprised of no opposition to the speaker being celebrated. Everything al-Hussein said was gladly accepted and then answered by thunderous waves of applause. He concluded his remarks by indicating this unification was only the beginning. That as one with Allah, they were capable of anything.

It was dead silent as the screen went dark and began rising back toward the ceiling. When the lighting brightened, and as the president walked back to the podium, he could see the challenged faces of all in the auditorium; some uncertain, some frightened, but most categorically mad.

“Though other world leaders have viewed this footage, none seem to have seen it with the concern that I… and you now have. They are considering al-Hussein with a lack of concern as did President Roosevelt, Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, and President Lebrun of France with Hitler. The difference, of course, being that the three men I just named had no reason to believe the worst could happen. Now that we have seen the possibilities, it would be irresponsible of us not to act. And since we, the United States of America, remain the greatest country ever created by God, the responsibility falls upon our shoulders.”

The president received a standing ovation, and allowed it to persist a bit longer before furthering his thoughts aloud. “Of course, I’m not asking for a declaration of war. There are those in Iraq as well as other countries in the Middle East who deplore the movement which has begun gaining footage. My recommendation is to send in a single battalion of highly trained soldiers who will train the young men and women of these countries how to fight for what they believe in; a democratic way of life where you’re not told how to dress or whether or not you can hold a job other than raising children and bowing to your spouse’s every whim.”

The round of applause President Dowd earned following that statement was similar to the one al-Hussein received, the only difference being that no one in the House of Representatives chamber fired off their guns in celebration.

“Let me be clear. Our soldiers will be nowhere near the front line. In fact, they will be safely back home long before any aggression takes place. I simply ask you all to consider the potential ramifications of allowing al-Hussein’s movement to swell, and to remember the mistakes made in the past that took so many lives. God bless you, and God bless America.”

On his journey back up the center aisle, President Dowd’s pace was much slower. He shook every hand thrust his way and showed genuine appreciation for the verbal bi-partisan support he received. But in the quiet space of his own mind, he wondered how long it would take these people to realize they’d just been duped, or if they ever would.

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MY REVIEW

Do I think we’ll ever set foot on Mars? Yes. But not for a long time. There’s too much still to learn about traveling such a long distance. Do I think once we do go there it will be exploited? Yes. There’s always those who hunger for power and wealth waiting for a new way to get it.

To Preserve, Protect And Destroy. Such an apt title. Something is discovered on Mars. People are sent to retrieve it. Some want to study it. Some want to bury it. And some want to use it. There’s that saying…” just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”

I was pulled in right from the first couple of sentences. Those brief descriptions put me there. I learned what was on Mars. Thought about what it might mean and formed my own opinions. Shared the excitement, fears and desires along with the crew. And kept turning the pages. I needed, no, had to know what the outcome was.

As I neared the end of the book all I thought was, “there’s no place like home.” And I hoped the last few pages showed me it was still there.

I enjoy science fiction stories. Especially those that might be able to happen. Throw in characters I grow to care about and some bad guys I’d like to drop kick, and I’m a happy camper.

4 STARS

 

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Interview With Author Matthew D. Saeman

On writing:

 

How did you do research for your book?

The majority of the research I did was from the Geological perspective since I knew very little about that branch of science. That information was readily available online, as was everything I needed regarding NASA, the White House, and the President.

 

Which was the hardest character to write? The easiest?

The hardest character to write was President Dowd since I’ve never met a U.S. president, especially one of his ilk. The easiest was Terrence Sullivan since I based most of his emotions after my own.

 

Where do you get inspiration for your stories?

I keep an open mind, and when an idea pops into my head I ask myself two important questions: Has it already been done and would it be fun to write?

 

What advice would you give budding writers?

Since I still consider myself one, my advice is something I tell myself every day: Trust your gut and write stories YOU think would be fun to read.

 

Do you have another profession besides writing?

I teach High School Special Education.

 

How long have you been writing?

As far as novels, only six or seven years. Prior to that I wrote screenplays and short stories.

 

Do you ever get writer’s block? What helps you overcome it?

I don’t believe in “writer’s block.” The only times I have difficulty progressing with a story are when the story has a fundamental flaw that must be fixed. Once it is, the “block” goes away.

 

What is your next project?

I have a friend who fell while rock climbing. She’s kind enough to allow me to use her experience in the story I’ll write… though I have no idea what that’ll be yet.

 

What genre do you write and why?

The majority of the stories I write are Suspense/Thrillers, mostly because there are so many fun ways to tell interesting stories in that genre.

 

What is the last great book you’ve read?

Legion by William Peter Blatty.

 

What were the biggest rewards and challenges with writing your book?

The biggest reward was finishing it, the biggest challenge was having the patience not to start writing before the outline was solid.

 

Which authors inspired you to write?

Gordon McAlpine was a friend who inspired me to do what I love.

 

 

 

On rituals:

 

Where do you write?

Resting comfortably on my couch.

 

Do you write every day?

If I’ve got a story that’s flowing well, I write every day. My goal is at least 1000 words a day.

 

In today’s tech savvy world, most writers use a computer or laptop. Have you ever written parts of your book on paper?

Never. I write on my phone, it feels more personal.

 

Fun stuff:

 

If you could go back in time, where would you go?

1700s USA. I’d love to see first hand how our founders worked together.

 

Favorite travel spot?

The Republic of Ireland

 

Favorite dessert?

Chocolate fudge cake… the richer the better.

 

What’s the funniest thing that ever happened to you? The scariest? The strangest?

The funniest was when I ordered a lamb stew that had a hoof in it, the scariest was when I almost accidentally dumped Ray Bradbury out of his wheelchair, and the strangest was hearing a cat crying outside our house that sounded like a small child.

 

Any hobbies? or Name a quirky thing you like to do.

No real hobbies, but when watching a TV show or movie, I enjoy checking my phone to see how tall the actors are.

 

If there is one thing you want readers to remember about you, what would it be?

I’m hysterically funny, despite what my wife and daughter would say.

 

What TV series are you currently binge watching?

I just finished Defending Jacob and am about to begin Billy the Kid.

 

What is your theme song?

“The Modern World” by The Jam

 

What song is currently playing on a loop in your head?

“22” by Taylor Swift. My daughter listens to her nonstop!

 

What is something that made you laugh recently?

A YouTube video where a guy is on the phone at work and his colleagues placed a tarantula on his shoulder. His reaction was priceless!

 

What is your go-to breakfast item?

An apple with reduced fat peanut butter.

 

What is the oldest item of clothing you own?

 A ratty t-shirt I refuse to throw away. It’s at least 20 years old.

 

Who was your childhood celebrity crush?

Kathy Coleman who played Holly Marshall on Land of the Lost (the TV show).

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Guest Post

I’m fascinated that EVERYONE doesn’t love to write. The thought of crafting a story from scratch, developing the characters and plot in whatever form of outline works best, then writing one chapter after another until the book is finished makes me giddy! Being a High School teacher, it’s rare for students not to ask “How many sentences do we have to write?” when I give them a writing assignment. They make it sound as if the process were the equivalent of a root canal with no novocain, which is why I do my best to make it as interesting as possible. I first tell them there are NO wrong answers. I compare writing to painting, explaining that every artist sees things in their own way, then showing them how I do it and how much fun it can be. Does this procedure work with every student? Absolutely not. But it does allow their minds to open up just enough to get the work done, and for some, exposes a love for the written word they never knew they had.

In sixth grade, my teacher asked us to write a Halloween story. To this day, I still remember how cathartic it felt to craft that one page piece. It’s something inside that can’t be defined but it truly exists. I do believe all of us possess this creative gift, yet most choose to ignore it. To each their own. I love writing. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of either the story I’m currently working on or the one I’d like to write next. I’m a dedicated soul, an attribute passed down from my parents. When I begin a project, no matter what kind, I finish it. When it comes to writing stories, completing them provides a sensation of pride from which I derive my optimistic outlook on life. I’m thankful every day that I’ve chosen this facet as my creative outlet, if for no other reason than it allows me an internal peace which, in these crazy times, seems so hard to come by for too many.

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About Author Matthew D. Saeman:

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Matthew D. Saeman, a native of Orange County, CA, is a distinguished graduate of Cal State Fullerton. He has dedicated his life to shaping young minds as a Special Education teacher in San Diego. His personal life is as fulfilling as his professional one, being a loving husband and a doting father to one child. A proud owner of a Great Dane, Matthew’s life is a blend of compassion and commitment.

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Purchase Links: Amazon / Goodreads

 

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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The Moon Run

by Kathleen Contine

 

(The Moon Run, #1)
Publication date: May 1st 2024
Genres: Adult, Science Fiction

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He’s her biggest rival in The Moon Run. And the reason her co-pilot is dead. Now they’re being forced to race together.

Finley Clarke swore off racing after a fatal crash cost her first place and her teammate. As she comes around to the idea of entering again, she finds out the only person who is willing to be her new co-pilot is the man named Garis who caused the crash.

As Finley and Garis enter The Moon Run, they realize there’s more than just the harsh desert out to get them. The other racers will stop at nothing to win. Even if it means they have to kill. Can Finley and Garis put aside their past to win the race?

The Moon Run is the first book in a sci-fi racing series by Kathleen Contine. If you like action, compelling characters, and a dash of romance, then you’ll love this new space adventure.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Finley Clarke would never get used to hurling across the desert at hundreds of miles an hour in a small metal tube. Most people saw her ship with its faded red paint flying toward the city and thought she was a talented pilot, especially because she stayed in first place for the entire race. Finley never bothered to tell anyone that in the last few minutes of every race, she had barely any control of the ship. Even now the joystick vibrated violently in her hands as she pushed it forward, surrounded by the endless buttons and knobs she’d meticulously memorized.

Just a little bit more.

Behind her in the navigation chair sat her copilot, Cayne. He faced backwards, his attention on the many monitors in front of him. They took up the entirety of the back of the small ship so that he needed to crane his neck to see every screen. Every so often, he would type something to check on the ship or the location of the other racers.

“We’ve got one coming up behind us.”

“I’m not worried about it. We’re too far ahead of the others for someone else to take first place now,” Finley said, but she kept an eye on her radar as the small dot behind them grew closer.

“Don’t get too cocky, Fin. It’s Garis,” Cayne cautioned.

Finley smirked. “Don’t worry about him. Just worry about who’s buying the first round once we win.”

Cayne laughed. “It’ll be me. Always me.”

“That does seem to be the case, doesn’t it?”

She’d been paired with Cayne a few years into her racing career, and their winning streak hadn’t stopped since. Finley knew Cayne was responsible for most of her wins. There was no one else she wanted as her copilot.

A third voice came over the communicators. Deep and gravelly. “Don’t spend money you haven’t won yet.”

Cayne laughed. “How about joining us, Bhizin? Our agent needs to celebrate with us once in a while.”

“I prefer to swim in my money instead of spending it on drinks.”

Finley sighed as her eyes narrowed on the flat, sandy terrain before her. “Later, guys. I need to concentrate.”

The small outline of the city grew closer. She pictured the crowd waiting for the ships to come roaring through the finish line. Her and Cayne climbing out of their ship to cheers as the president of The Moon Run handed them a trophy while they wore first place medals. The next few days would be filled with the flash of cameras, the shaking of hands, and multiple interviews. And then, just like that, they would start it all over again as they entered their next race. But they weren’t there yet.

“Hang tight. Garis coming up on your left,” Cayne said. “It doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand how he’s caught up to us so fast.”

Out the left side of the cockpit window, another ship the same size as theirs steadily made its way past. It kicked up a cloud of dust, making it nearly impossible to see anything. Somehow, Finley’s grip tightened even more on the joystick. “Why is it always Garis?”

“You’re both evenly skilled. A good rivalry makes for good races and more bets,” Cayne said matter-of-factly.

“I still haven’t forgiven him for that last race in Keveka,” she yelled over the rumbling of the cockpit. “We should have won.”

“Point three seconds is point three seconds,” Cayne said, mimicking Bhizin.

Finley held in her groan as she eyed a small switch on the dashboard. One quick push and it would give them a small burst of speed.

“Easy there,” Cayne said.

“How did you know I was thinking of using it?”

“Whenever the sprint to the finish line is between you and Garis, you always want to use it.”

“Well, you did say to only use it for emergencies, and this is as good a time as any.” Finley flipped up the case covering the switch. “Hang on.”

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“It’s this or lose.” With a satisfying click, she pushed the switch down.

The ship rattled and shot forward, pushing Finley back into her seat. They flew through the sand cloud, past Garis’ ship, and back into the lead. She risked taking her eyes away from the window to look at him as they passed.

Garis sat in his cockpit with his head down. The visor on his helmet obscured his face, so she couldn’t be sure if he saw them or not.

Finley waved anyway before focusing back on the race.

“Are you happy with yourself?” Cayne asked.

“Of course,” she answered. “How much farther to the finish line?”

Before Cayne could answer, Garis’ ship pulled up next to them. Red light filled the tiny cabin as an alarm sounded in the cockpit.

“He’s way too close. You need to take evasive maneuvers, Fin,” Cayne yelled.

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About Author Kathleen Contine:

Kathleen Contine is an award-winning author who has always loved stories about aliens and far off galaxies. She graduated from Saint Leo University with a bachelors in English with a concentration in professional writing.

When she isn’t writing her newest sci fi book, she’s watching Star Wars, playing video games, and reading other thrilling space operas. Metal Bones is her debut novel.

To keep up with Kathleen, visit her website at KathleenContine.com

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram

 

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 Beware the Coming Storm…

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Breaker

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The Price of Talent Book 1

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by AK Nevermore

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Genre: Spicy Dystopian SciFi Romance

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On an
alternate earth, a cataclysm has altered a subset of the population.
Talents are persecuted for their psychic and physical mutations,
giving rise to two conflicting societies based upon maintaining
genetic purity. And the Source, a shadowy corporate entity dependent
upon the exploitation of captive Talents, is hunting
them…

Self-exiled to the Outside, Flynn Scot is
oath-bound to a life of strict penance.

Cursed with a vicious temper
and haunted by the blood-stained debauchery of his past, Flynn’s
sworn off women, whiskey, and violence, and doesn’t give a damn
about whispers of the coming war. He sure as hell isn’t in the mood
to make good on a debt when it’s called in, especially when playing
white knight outs him as a Talent, and the damsel in distress as his
soulmate.

On the run from her future
as a broodmare for the Source, escaped Talent Kara Jester is no
distressed damsel.

And the last thing she wants is
to be trapped in a blizzard with a surly—and frustratingly
captivating—thug. Without the suppression meds holding her libido
in check, her biology’s primed to procreate, and Flynn’s growled
assurances that he won’t touch her doesn’t match the hunger in
his eyes.

It doesn’t align with what
fate has in store for them, either.

With elite troops hot on their
heels and the border set to close, it’s a race to the North, away
from Kara’s horrific future and towards the dark past Flynn wants
to keep buried. Clinging to the shreds of his oath, he’s forced to
choose between protecting the woman he’s afraid to love and letting
out the animal he swore he’d never be again. Either may destroy
him, if Kara’s secrets don’t get them killed first.

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Amazon
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Bookbub
* Goodreads

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Flynn put his book aside and eyed the massive pile of wood Kara had brought in. She stacked the last of the logs against the wall, pensive.

“You good?”

Her smile was forced. “Yeah, it’s just so quiet. I’m not used to it.”

She knelt beside him and unwrapped the compress. It’d long since gone cold. His gaze slid over her inspecting his knee. There was a competence and economy to her motions that gave the impression she was very good at what she was doing. He shivered at her touch, and a muscle in his jaw popped.

She peeked up at him. “Cold hands?”

“Yeah.” They were, but that wasn’t the issue.

“You have to stay off it.” She reached forward like she was going to ruffle his hair, then pulled back when he tensed, biting at her thumb.

Goddamn it. That kicked-dog look was back on her face. Flynn closed his eyes, fighting the urge to pull her into his lap and tell her everything would be okay. Wasn’t his fucking problem.

Lies, lies, lies, lies, lies. Shit was gutting him. Why the hell he felt responsible for her…

He wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Couldn’t handle his own train-wreck. Adding her to that equation would only get her hurt. Last thing he wanted was for her to see what a monster he was. For whatever had been in her eyes before to snuff out.

Screw her not thinking he was a white knight; she’d despise him.

His stomach churned, sick over it.

“Mind if I put on some pants?”

Kara stared at her hands, fingers laced together. “As long as I can get to your knee.”

“Grab me those.” She got his sweats, and he moved the recliner back upright, feeling like an absolute dick. He jerked his head at the cupboard. “Couple cans of soup in there, if you’re hungry.”

She hopped to, like he’d given an order. Flynn’s brow furrowed, pulling on the sweats. What was that about? It was like a part of her had just shut down—

He bit back a groan. That look she had before. The one where he’d sworn she thought she was fucking defective or some shit, and he’d been flat out rejecting her advances. Christ, he wanted to kick his own ass. Having an ugly prick like him say no had to be great for her ego. Motherf—

“How do I…?” She was turning a can over in her hands, frowning.

“Opener’s where you found the forks,” he muttered, watching her push around his meager supply of cutlery. God, he was an asshole, and there wasn’t anything he could say without making it worse.

“This thing?” She held it up for his inspection.

“Yeah, just clip it on and turn the wheel.”

She put her back to him, and it sounded like she was botching the job. Like she needed another blow to her confidence. Flynn sighed, hoisting himself up. So much for staying off his knee.

“You shouldn’t be—”

“I gotta piss.”

Kara turned away, flushing. He limped the six steps to the table and steadied himself with a hand to one side of her, grinning before he could help himself. She was so frickin’ adorable fumbling with the damned thing. How could you be clueless about operating a can opener?

“Here, just—no, not like—come here.” He moved behind her, adjusting her grip, and firmly clipping it onto the side of the can. Damn, she smelled good. As in there-goes-taking-a-piss-right-away good.

“Go on, turn it.” Her fingers were long and slender beneath his. Smooth.

“Like this?” she asked, peeking over her shoulder at him, all innocent and sexy as hell. It twined around him in that heady musk. Flynn’s eyes dropped to her lips—

Fuck, he couldn’t do this.

“Yeah.” He reached past her to grab a stout stick leaning between the cabinet and the wall. Woman was killing him. “Next one’s all you.” He lurched into the bathroom, cursing himself.

Kara’s bra hung limply from the curtain rod, mocking him. He ran the water, splashing the glacial iciness over his head, hard-on throbbing for the umpteenth time today. Pretty soon frostbite wasn’t gonna be a deterrent to jacking off.

And he was supposed to take her north.

Fucking Cal.

Nothing had gone right since he’d answered his call. And now he was stuck with her and a mandate hanging over his head. Keep his dick in his pants. The hell he would, she wanted him, and if she kept offering it up, who was he to say no?

Flynn blew out noisily, scrubbing at his face. No. That wasn’t him. Not anymore, and she deserved better. Emotions running riot, he doused his head in the sink, soaking his shirt in the process.

Whatever. It stank, just like the rest of him. He peeled it off and chucked it onto the pile in the corner, sponging himself down. A Binder. Why the hell did she have to be a Binder? Bred for talent and beauty. They’d done a bang up job with her. Her in that lacy bra flitted across his mind’s eye. Shit, those halos. He’d never seen—Christ, he needed a cold shower. This goddamn knee. He wouldn’t be able to keep his balance in there…though sitting in six inches of freezing water held a certain appeal. He grimaced, grabbed his scissors, and snipped a few errant hairs off his upper lip—

What am I doing?

He threw the scissors back behind the mirror, disgusted with himself. He’d keep his hands off her. Ducking his head, he sighed, staring down at his tented sweats, then at the dirty laundry pile, and finally, the walking stick.

Fuck my life. How the hell was this gonna work? He snorted, trying to remember the last time he’d had to hide an erection.

Oh yeah, about an hour ago.

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**FREEBIE ALERT!**

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**Get the Prequel Breeder FREE!!**

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https://aknevermore.com/books/breaker/breeder/

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AK Nevermore enjoys operating heavy machinery, freebases coffee, and
gives up sarcasm for Lent every year. A Jane-of-all-trades, she’s a
certified chef, restores antiques, and dabbles in beekeeping when
she’s not reading voraciously or running down the dream in her
beat-up camo Chucks.

Unable to ignore the voices in her head, and unwilling to become medicated,
she writes Science Fiction and Fantasy full time.

She pays the bills editing, wielding a wicked hot pink pen and writing a
column on SFF. She also belongs to the Authors Guild, is a chapter
treasurer for the RWA, teaches creative writing, and on the rare
occasion, sleeps.

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Website
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Amazon
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Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Shushan Portal organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Gloria Pearson-Vasey is awarding a $10 Amazon or B&N Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner. Don’t forget to enter!

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Shushan Portal

by Gloria Pearson-Vasey

 

 

Genre: Science Fiction / Thriller

Synopsis

After her sister dies, Meara Deleaney invites her bereaved nephew, Jackson, to accompany her on a book tour to Canada’s Atlantic provinces. Fearful of leaving the security of her apartment, Meara bolsters her courage by recalling the imaginary dragons she and her sister slew as children behind the hollyhock hedge.

As they travel in a motorhome from park to park and bookstore to bookstore, Meara and Jackson are unaware of the manipulating forces intent on preventing their return home. They do, however, realize they are being stalked and therefore welcome the company of another touring author, criminology professor Bartholomew Wolfe.

A long-standing professional relationship between the authors builds to romance and a persuasive invitation to seek shelter at the professor’s lodge. However, to reach the lodge, Meara—now accompanied by her nephew, niece and mother—unsuspectingly travels through a portal which exits in a future dimension near a fortress.

From there, the family is escorted under guard through dangerous territory to a lodge where metaphorical dragons lie in wait, and security comes at a price.

Enjoy this peek inside:

Mystified, they grabbed up their bags and followed Gabe (the lodge manager) along the shore toward a solitary balsam fir. At their approach, a baby bird sitting in a sandy hollow at the base of the tree hopped off and disappeared into a clump of wild grasses.

“We’ve reached our end of the portal,” said Gabe. “It’s important we all huddle together in the hollow vacated by the bird so no one gets left behind as we transition from the OD to the FD.”

Feeling rather foolish, his guests exchanged quizzical smiles as they shuffled together into a loose cluster.

“You’re not huddling! Lean into the person beside you!” commanded Gabe.

“Mother needs to sit down soon,” protested Meara.

“Yes, I’m feeling a bit shaky and I can barely breathe,” said Agnes. “Enough of your inane prattle.”

Assuring them they would soon be enjoying comfortable transportation, Gabe asked them to close their eyes and count out loud to ten. They reluctantly complied, and by the count of four, all slipped into an ever-darkening vortex and lost consciousness. When they regained bewildered awareness, they were at the edge of a wooded area overlooking the stark walls of a fortress enclosing a medieval castle.

“The Shushan Citadel,” whispered Gabe, pointing toward the fortress.

“Can we go in?” asked Penny.

Gabe hushed the girl and hastened his charges toward a multi-legged vehicle camouflaged in dull paint splotches. He identified the vehicle as a solar-wind-powered Centipede and assisted them in entering through a door in its transparent dome.

Within moments of seating themselves, the passengers realized the Centipede was moving.

About Author Gloria Pearson-Vasey:

Gloria Pearson-Vasey weaves contemporary issues into her novels, and likes a story – be it literary fiction, historical fantasy or science fiction – to be authentic and end on a note of hope.

A member of The Writers’ Union of Canada, Pearson-Vasey has also penned non-fiction books on autism and pilgrimage.

The author feels blessed for experiencing the joy and chaos of merging child raising with career, camping, travel and pets.

She lives in a picturesque Ontario town, and enjoys reading, music, country drives and time with family and friends.

Author Links: Website / Facebook / Twitter/X / Goodreads

Purchase Links: Amazon / Amazon CA / Indigo / Booktopia / Waterstones / Abe Books

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The Closed Tunnel

by Anthony Harold

 

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Publication date: October 8th 2024
Genres: Adult, Science Fiction, Suspense

Ink & Cinema Official selection Best First Ten Pages 2023, USA.

Based on real materials.

What if we told you that 3,000 feet underground is a network of high-tech cities connected by tunnels? Yes, right now.

The main character of this story, Tony from New York, accepts a job from the strange head of a pharmaceutical company. It takes him first to the National Geophysical Research Lab on Long Island and then—unexpectedly!—underground.

He finds himself in Luxor Ville, the city of the elite, and explores Hearton City with genius scientists presumed dead or missing on the Surface.

Meanwhile, in the ancient tunnels, the world’s greatest physicists are conducting an unbelievable experiment that should redefine our understanding of the laws of the universe…

Why are the richest people buying up the last subterranean luxury apartments? How are NASA and Neil Armstrong connected to the underground world? How does the hostess of the Elusive Cafe predict the future?

And is there a common secret that unites Hearton City’s inhabitants, or is it an illusion?

Feel the forgotten vibe of the TV series Lost, unlock a jar of puzzles in the wave of The Da Vinci Code, and prepare for a journey into the depths like in Wool/Silo!

The Closed Tunnel units author’s own inventions, suspense, fantasy elements, physical experiments connected to Montauk project, mystery and thriller, fashion (!), real underground wonders, and a pinch of spice.

There are diverse characters, multiple POVs, Elusive Cafe, ancient board game, scientifically created oracle cards, and a central question: whom to trust.

Goodreads / Website / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Chapter 51. Messages to Die For

Professor Ron Jefferson

Bursting through the front door, Ron immediately bolted it from the inside and pushed against it with all his weight. He felt as if he was being pursued. It seemed to him that they would be here in a minute to take him to a distant underground grave and separate him from his son for years.

With the frenzy of a mad scientist, he tore himself away from the door and dashed up the stairs. Desperately searching through a stack of papers on the desk, he sought that particular notebook. He distinctly remembered placing it on the edge of the desk . . .

No, it must be in the top drawer . . . No, dammit, where is it?

The thought that people from the Consortium might have already rifled through his papers and taken the precious notebook shot through his head.

Oh, here it is, on the coffee table by the chair. I must keep a cool head. I’m still in control.

In a flurry of movement, Jefferson swept the papers from the table, snatched up the notebook, frantically flipped through its filled pages, tore them out, and secreted them in a hidden pocket. Then, ripping out a blank sheet, he scribbled down crucial information in a hurried, nearly frantic script, struggling to maintain his composure. Time was of the essence, and he feared they might arrive at any moment.

This made Ron cast anxious glances at the locked office door after every few lines.

“They don’t even need a key, do they? They don’t even need a damn key . . .” he mumbled, startled by his deteriorating mental state.

After filling both sides of the sheet, he hastily folded it several times and concealed it in a spot that strangers would overlook. Still, its intended recipient would undoubtedly uncover—inside the double bottom of the dracaena plant pot.

They won’t find the letter. They just can’t. It must not fall into the wrong hands.

Jefferson paced the room for a minute, uncertain what to hold onto. Then his eyes landed on a picture of his son on the table.

The boy was smiling, hugging their favorite dog.

“Rover . . .” Jefferson whispered.

He opened the adjacent break room and found a golden retriever sleeping peacefully in the middle of a large bed. The dog perked up and bounded toward his master, then jumped with his front paws on his chest.

As Ron stroked Rover’s back, a new plan crystallized in his mind. He decided not to take the priceless notes with him but to hide them in the house, just as he had hidden his letter, in an even more secure location. Here, in the favorite soundproof room of his ever-barking dog.

“Soundproof . . .”

That word triggered a chain of thoughts. He retrieved his cell phone from his pocket, muttering, “I still have some time.” His eyes gleamed with frenzied determination.

A knock on the door made him wince.

“Professor Jefferson, do you require assistance with your packing? Your capsule departs in an hour. We must hurry.”

Ron locked Rover inside the break room so he wouldn’t witness his beloved master leaving. With three heavy steps, Jefferson reached his office door, slowed down . . . and opened it, fully aware that he would never be back to his cozy house again.

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Author Bio:

Anthony Harold is the author of the upcoming sci-fi sensation The Closed Tunnel. This book explores underground cities connected by ancient tunnels and will hit shelves in April 2024.

Anthony holds a Master’s degree in Physics and a Ph.D. in Economics. He has an impressive background of nearly 15 years in the space industry, including developing space-based laser systems and managing finances for a leading rocket company.

Anthony dislikes most modern movies due to plot holes, so he prefers to read and, better yet, write. He’s passionate about delving into the mysteries of Earth, exploring ancient history, and studying the wonders of techno-civilization.

Currently living in Cyprus with his grown son, a lively Jack Russell terrier, and his talented wife, who doubles as his editor and marketer, Anthony enjoys spending his free time on the tennis court, jogging along the coast, or fishing.

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A physicist discovers the secret to time travel only to find out he was not the first, it is now his task to go back and repair history.

 

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Title: The Edison Enigma

Author: Thomas White

Publication Date: February 29, 2024

Pages: 196

Genre: Scifi/Mystery 

Edison, a Chicago physicist, manages to successfully transport an object through time. Almost immediately following this success Dr. Edison is shut out of the facility and told by benefactor Raphael Barrington, to take a vacation. He is contacted by Don Rivendell, a grizzled old man with a secret. Rivendell explains to Tom that he is not the first person to discover time travel. Someone else went back and changed history by saving a young girl from dying in an internal combustion engine explosion.

Dr. Edison is tasked with going back and fixing history. He travels back to 1904 to find the younger version of Rivendell and stop him from saving the girl.

You can purchase your copy of The Edison Enigma at Amazon at https://t.ly/_NOoo.

 

 

Enjoy this peek inside:

 

Tom, Lori, and Jerzy entered the lab and stood on the landing, looking over the commotion. There was a hustle and bustle of frenetic activity as lab personnel moved from station to station, checking data, preparing modules, and entering critical information.

“Every time I come in here, I expect to see tables with bubbling test tubes and old, toothless women sweeping the floor,” Jerzy said.

Lori laughed. “Well, it would be hard to explain what bubbling test tubes have to do with this project, but I get your drift. We are kinda like Dr. Frankenstein with this whole thing.” Tom vaulted down the stairs and skipped to the control area on the opposite side of the room. He high-fived everyone he passed and crossed to an older, balding man with a semi-circle of gray hair around the fringe of his scalp. A short gray mustache covered most of his upper lip. The man had a slow gait caused mainly by forty straight hours on his feet. Tom hugged him.

“Bruce! This is it! I feel like tap dancing!”

“Well, I’ve put up with worse from you. We’re just running the final check-down now; almost complete. The data you just sent down is perfect.” Bruce had a New Jersey accent highlighted by a Yiddish lilt that caused his mustache to bounce when he spoke.

The retrofitting of the building was designed specifically for this project. Constructed like a sports arena with a high domed ceiling, the lab was ten thousand square feet open from wall to wall. Three levels encircled the room starting at the floor. Each subsequent level rose above the one below and contained a series of computer stations lined up like the NASA control room, collating, interpreting, or generating data. The entire room was connected, hardwired, and air-gapped to The Quint’s central motherboard. The Quint was the fastest and most potent AI computer known to man and contained the most significant elements of learned behavior and artificial intelligence. More significantly, it could determine and pinpoint a specific moment in time.

In the main staging area, in the center of the room, was the masterpiece of the entire project – The Time Tube. The Time Tube was a four-story, transparent tube made from indestructible acrylic conducive to energy absorption. As energy swirled through the Time Tube, it created the power needed for time travel. It stood 18’ tall with an eight-foot diameter. A raised platform ran halfway around and had six steps that led up to a full-size door allowing access to the Tube.

The lab’s roof was six stories high and supported a series of lighting instruments, air conditioning units, and safety mechanisms.  Among the other things that lived in the ceiling was a series of tubing that wrapped around the room like a tornado and converged from the roof to the lab’s centerpiece. This series of tubing was called the Cyclone. Air was pushed through the Cyclone at incredible speeds, producing centrifugal force. That energy transitioned to Euler acceleration, creating a variation in the angular velocity. Theoretically, this opens a window in time and allows the object to pass through.

After years of research, study, and failed experimentation, Tom finally understood that time is, in fact, parallel, meaning that time moves through us rather than us moving through time. In essence, time is an ever-evolving moment. We move from one plane to the next as we move forever forward. The wonder is that it is infinite, never-ending, so we will never reach the edge of time as time continues to build moment next to moment. Once Tom accepted that theory, the means of moving through time began to evolve.

With enough energy, we can freeze ourselves in a moment, thus staying still as time moves on. The challenge became moving through thousands of moments to move back in time, or more accurately, let a specific moment of the past catch up to you. It had taken Tom and his crew almost five years to reach this point. They believed they could generate enough energy to move back and forth within their time sphere to moments that have happened or will happen and return to their own designated moment and survive.

One of the most daunting challenges the team had to overcome when sending something through time was having the entire entity arrive in the same moment. Any portion of an entity that arrived a millisecond later than any other part of that entity would be split in two by the paradox of time. Using an optical lattice clock allowed the team to calculate to a precise moment. When coordinated with The Quint, the top or bottom, front or back, the side to side of any entity would arrive at the same exact moment in time so as not to be split apart.

Subsequently, above the main control area, against the back wall, was the read-out of an optical lattice clock, accurate to one second every 400 million years. It was this technology that allowed Tom and his staff the ability to pinpoint a single moment in time. The optical lattice clock uses laser beams instead of atoms to calculate the second. The light from the laser excites the strontium atoms and increases the accuracy of determination of time.

With The Quint’s exceptional calculation ability, Tom could capture moments within a zeptosecond, one trillionth of a billionth of a second, targeting specific areas of history or periods of time, with phenomenal accuracy.  Projecting these moments into the future would allow them to move forward in time as well. Theoretically, at least.

That theory would be tested this afternoon.

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About the Author
 

 

 

Thomas White began his career as an actor. Several years later he found himself as an Artistic Director for a theatre in Los Angeles and the winner of several Drama-Logue and Critics awards for directing. As Tom’s career grew, he directed and co-produced the world tour of “The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Coming Out Of Their Shells”. The show toured for over two years, was translated into seven different languages and seen by close to a million children. Tom served as President and Creative Director for Maiden Lane Entertainment for 24 years and worked on many large-scale corporate event productions that included Harley Davidson, Microsoft, Medtronic Diabetes, and dozens of others. The Edison Enigma is Tom’s third novel following up Justice Rules which was nominated as a finalist in the Pacific Northwest Writers Association 2010 Literary contest, and The Siren’s Scream.

Author Links

Website | X (Twitter) | Facebook 1 | Facebook 2 | Goodreads

 

 

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“First rate sci-fi novels. Atrium’s worlds compel both in their alien detail—and what they reveal about our own world.” — BookLife

HOME RULE was named a finalist in the Book Excellence Awards announced in April 2024.

**All books are half price at $1.99 in celebration!**

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The Bush Clinic

The Tribal Wars Book 1

by Stella Atrium

Genre: Science Fiction, Space Opera

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A space colonization story about seeking independence and home rule in the face of corporate greed. Tribal women bind together in a war zone where they are discounted as not important enough to save or keep safe.

On Dolvia, Lt. Mike Shaw demands Dr. Greensboro’s doctoring skills at the hospital, forcing the closure of her bush clinic. She witnesses forced labor, forced migration, and the threat of an epidemic from bad water. She sees how tribal women–often wearing burkas–find solutions for saving the children in a conflict zone, and she commits to the their cause for Home Rule.

Brianna Miller is an isolated girl–a mixed-blood orphan–among the Dolviet tribes. With the lessons from Dr. Greensboro, the abuse from soldiers, the sisterhood among victims, Brianna prepares for a future she will choose for herself. But first she must travel offworld.

**On Sale for Only $1.99!**

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The Body Politic

The Tribal Wars Book 2

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Brianna Miller returns to Dolvia where tribal women protest the oppressive rule of Rabbenu Ely by self-torchings in the Cylay Square. Brianna re-establishes her tribal schools and takes on assistant Kelly Osborn who is mixed blood and also a poet.

Kelly visits a neighboring planet Cicero where her aunt Carline Bryant takes over her education. While returning to Dolvia, Kelly meets the Australian adventurer Hershel Henry who has signed on for a tour of Dolvia as a photo-journalist. Henry takes an opportunity to interview the khalif on the opposing side of the tribal wars.

**On Sale for Only $1.99!**

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Home Rule

The Tribal Wars Book 3

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Brianna Miller and rebel leader Karlyhi emerge as leaders uniting the tribes against the offworld mining cartel. Reporter Hershel Henry opens a local newspaper to report a more honest version of events leading to regime change. But will bringing down Rabbenu Ely only stir more violence and unrest?

Unity starts at home. How can the tribes bind together as a nation-state after fighting among themselves for generations? Inspiring leaders are needed, and a flashpoint act that binds individuals to a single cause. When Henry witnesses (and broadcasts) the ninth death-by-fire, this one by respected teacher Kecouroo, all the tribes feel the outrage and call for Rabbenu Ely to step down.

**On Sale for Only $1.99!**

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Tribal Logic

The Tribal Wars Book 4

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From Paris, Jesse Hartley jumps back to Dolvia in the galaxy’s Westend. A bloodless coup on Stargate Junction interrupts her travel plans and sends her in a different direction. Hershel Henry is tasked with rescuing abandoned conscripts after the abusive Company withdraws from asteroid mining.

A change in leadership on Stargate Junction makes all characters question how the future will shape. How to survive the shifting loyalties among the city-states? Will my home even be there when I return?

While on a deep space rescue mission, Hershel Henry misses karsci on Dolvia the Abydian khalif steps down. Within the turmoil, will Henry connect with Jesse Hartley, or is that romance lost forever?

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**Get it for Only .99cents or free in KU! **

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What book do you think everyone should read?

 

The Little Prince is a classic for readers of all ages.

 

Do the characters all come to you at the same time or do some of them come to you as you write? 

 

Some characters are added to a scene so the action work, but later they step forward a primary characters. I’m often as surprised as the reader.

 

What kind of research do you do before you begin writing a book? 

 

Today’s writers are lucky with internet research so that details can be vivid and follow the laws of physics (at the very least).

 

I like to develop magic out of found-in-nature wonders, such as Utcan’s talisman that is a serpent pouch based on a “mermaid’s purse,” shaped in nature by a shark for a developing fetus. Utcan can spy though a hole drilled in the head of a dead fetus in the pouch and view the universe. No lie; true story.

 

What do you think about the current publishing market? 

 

Self-publishing changes every 18 months, and the services play follow the leader. If one group focused on direct sales from the writer’s website, soon enough all groups are offering the same. It’s all pay-for-play, so be certain that you have enough capital stashed away to afford the next steps such as offering audible books.

 

Do you try more to be original or to deliver to readers what they want?

 

I like humor and romance and action, but not so much dark apocalyptic setups where everybody dies after torture. Set-ups begin to bore me. I do find that when writing a long scene, I start the think that somebody has to die soon so the sequence can end.  LOL

 

If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be?

 

Don’t even get started. Writing is a life style choice. All your days are spent with characters that other people cannot know yet, and at the sacrifice of parties or friends or long walks with the dog.

 

Do you believe in writer’s block?

 

Writing is a daily discipline. There are many tricks to get past the dread of facing the blank page. One principle that I found was that when a scene isn’t working, the problem may reside with earlier scenes where better action is required for continuity. The later event is an outgrowth of a previous action.

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Stella Atrium presents planet stories about female protagonists of diverse ethnicities who encounter obstacles relatable to our lives today. How do women in a conflict zone gain voice in the public square using the few tools available to women?

THE BUSH CLINIC received an Editor’s Pick from BookLife, a 2022 Artisan Book Review Award, and a 2023 Independent Press Award for Science Fiction.

The second novel titled THE BODY POLITIC also received an Editor’s Pick from BookLife and a Artisan Book Review award.

HOME RULE debuted in the Top Ten Amazon rankings for the genre category in August 2023, securing an Editor’s Pick from BookLife, a Literary Titan medallion, and another coveted Artisan Book Review Award for Science Fiction.

TRIBAL LOGIC: Book IV of The Tribal Wars was released in January 2024.

Also be certain to pick up Atrium’s standalone novel SEVEN BEYOND that won a 2014 Reader’s Favorites Award in Science Fiction.

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Wet, Warm and Noisy by David A. Willson Banner

Wet, Warm and Noisy

by David A. Willson

March 4-29, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:

A supernatural crime thriller set in Alaska, the Last Frontier…

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Surrounded by the unforgiving climate of the frozen north, Jake Ward, a tenacious Alaska State Trooper Investigator and cancer survivor, is on a relentless quest to regain his health and return to full-duty status. But Ward’s world takes a bone-chilling turn during a routine polygraph examination when a woman escapes custody, leaving an officer critically injured. What started as an ordinary investigation transforms into a complex web of intrigue, where medical experimentation and consciousness collide. In “Wet, Warm, and Noisy,” Willson masterfully blurs the boundaries between law enforcement and the supernatural, leading readers on a heart-pounding journey through a realm where the tangible and the mysterious intersect. With time slipping away, can Ward decipher the enigmas that defy reason, or will forces that transcend human experience overwhelm him? Author David A. Willson, with over two decades of experience as an Alaska State Trooper, brings a rare authenticity to crime fiction that will both enlighten and captivate you. Prepare yourself for an electrifying thriller that challenges the very foundations of our reality.

 

Book Details:

Genre: Speculative Crime Thriller

Published by: Seeker Press Publication Date: March 2024 Number of Pages: 236 ASIN: B0CR4BV1XP Series: A Jake Ward Novel, 1

Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

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MY REVIEW

I don’t know what it is about frozen tundras that draws me to stories that occur in those environments. Perhaps it’s the cold, harsh environment. And how the characters have to survive it along with whatever means them harm. Perhaps it’s the characters themselves. They have to be double tough to survive and thrive. Or perhaps it’s the group dynamics that must happen on a place so cutoff, so isolated. It’s work together or survival of the fittest.

There were several things I especially loved about this book. One was the characters. They were genuine, with many flaws and vulnerabilities. Each had more than one challenge to overcome. Another was the inside look at investigating from a lawman’s perspective. Even the small steps were intriguing. And  then there was the supernatural element. Something totally foreign to me that felt so real, like it could happen. Last but not least was this story unfolded from several perspectives which made the characters that much more real to me. Explained why they reacted or did what they did.

Wet, Warm And Noisy. There’s a particular quote that explains the mysterious title. It’s remained in my head. Along with everything the author incorporated into this supernatural tale of quantum brain activity. I’m happy to say this book delivered in every way and I’m going to be watching this author now. I have my fingers and toes crossed that he will be writing a sequel, or several.

5 STARS

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Palmer, Alaska – Today
Cool springtime winds kicked up across the shooting range just outside the Palmer city limits. Behind the long mound of dirty ice and gravel that served as a backstop, the majestic Chugach mountains, half-covered in snow, stood proudly in the distance as two men faced a target stand. The target was cardboard, the outline of a human torso stapled to two upright posts. The men were real, however. One was an Alaska State Trooper firearms instructor serving as range master. The other was Trooper Investigator Jacob Ward. The shot timer sounded and Ward’s right hand went to his hip. In a fluid motion, his thumb defeated the retention mechanism and his fingers clasped the handgrip to free the .40 caliber Glock pistol from his belt, then pointed it toward the target. At least he hadn’t gotten hung up on the holster this time. Grip. Clear. Rock-and-lock. Almost a second had already passed when his left hand moved from its place on his solar plexus to the pistol, completing his grip on the gun. The smack step. He pushed it forward to the target, closing one eye as he focused on the front sight. The look step. He imagined his index finger pulling the slack off the trigger as he prepared to deliver two shots, center mass, but couldn’t be sure, because he couldn’t feel it. Not even a bit. Pop. Pop. Two shots. One had gone early, and hit wide of the target because his presentation was terrible. It’d been too long since he’d been to the range and the results were showing. Then, of course, there was the other issue. He aimed the gun higher, focusing on the head of the paper target. Focus. His finger started to pull back again when the shot timer beeped again. Pop. Too late. “Overtime,” the range master said, as if Jake didn’t know. It was his third penalty in as many rounds. “First shot went off early, which wouldn’t be a problem if you had a better presentation, but it’s wide. And slow.” “Yeah.” “Fingers still numb?” “Nah,” Ward lied, then turned back and forth, doing his safety scans before inserting a full magazine and replacing the pistol into the holster at his hip. Frustrated and nervous, he needlessly adjusted his hearing protection. A breeze swept across the range, startling him as it brought a chill to his shaved head. Maybe he should have worn something warmer than his State Trooper ball cap, but the blue BDUs and cap were as close to a uniform as he could get until he got approval for full duty. He wanted to feel like a Trooper today. In a bad way. “Are you pushing this too soon? The Captain is happy to keep you on light duty for a while yet.” “If I don’t get out here and just do it, I’ll never qualify. Neuropathy or not.” “True. But with three overtimes already, I’m not sure you’re gonna make any progress with a qual course today.” The burly range master took a step closer, a concerned look on his face. Ward had rarely seen the man show any feeling – he was all business. “Everyone knows you shoot well, but you’ve had a rough go lately. You’ll get there, but not all at once. Let’s ditch the course and do some slow presentations. Dry practice, maybe. Fundamentals.” But Ward didn’t move, instead squaring up to the target. It wasn’t just the neuropathy and numb fingers. He had weak toes and shaky hands. And shaky confidence. But he wouldn’t get his mojo back by sitting at a desk. And pity didn’t help one bit. “Suit yourself,” the range master said, then let out a huff and took a step back. He paused a moment, then raised his voice back to range levels. “Again, fail to stop drill at seven yards. Five seconds from the holster.” Ward focused, his eyes drilling a hole in the target where he wanted the shots to hit. “Shooter ready!” The timer sounded. * * * The drive to work along the Glenn Highway was uneventful, other than a speeder that insisted on doing eighty-five, tailgating everyone who dared occupy their lane. If he’d been driving his assigned vehicle, Ward would have activated his emergency lights and pulled the punk over for a friendly conversation. But light duty status means no Trooper rig unless you have special permission, not even an unmarked one. And no gun, at least until he could qualify. The occasional wind gust caused Ward’s blue Chevy pickup to sway within the lanes, distracting him from the sound of the political commentary streaming through the truck’s speakers. The talk radio host paused for a news report announcing a shooting at a gas station in Anchorage last night, municipal budget cuts, and something about a missing college kid. There would always be crime, and therefore, plenty of job security. The traffic got thicker as Ward traveled through Eagle River, Anchorage’s closest suburb, then even worse as he exited off the highway onto Muldoon Road. Muldoon became Tudor Road, and he turned into the parking lot of the Alaska Bureau of Investigation. He parked the truck and came through the side entrance, stopping at the break room to see if the coffee was rolling yet, hoping that a fellow caffeine addict had beaten him to work today. The empty pot announced no such luck. A few minutes later, he welcomed a steady stream of black goodness into the pot and he was on his way down the hall to the office. The Alaska Bureau of Investigation’s Technical Crimes Unit was a modest space in a boring, rectangular building in east Anchorage. What happened between those walls, however, was anything but boring. One sergeant, two civilian techs and three investigators were involved in some of the biggest criminal investigations in Alaska. Even when they didn’t have primary case responsibility, they provided critical support to other officers. It was the variety that had attracted Ward to this kind of work. Sure, he had a talent for technology, which helped get the job, but that wasn’t why he was here. What attracted him was the fact that no two days were ever the same. He could write a search warrant for a child exploitation case in the morning, then do a forensic computer exam for a homicide case before lunch. He might kick a door on a building search, only to be called away to sit shotgun in a helicopter, acting as a spotter for a search and rescue. The variety of work duties assigned to an Alaska State Trooper Investigator was unparalleled. Unless you were on light duty. “Ward!” It was Sergeant Ballack down the hall, shouting from his office. Ward got to his feet, snagging his notebook and a pen on the way out of his cubicle. That shout always came with some ‘other duty as assigned,’ or so the trooper saying goes. As always, the sergeant’s office smelled old, musty maybe. He didn’t know if it was Ballack’s bad cologne or his shampoo, but then his sense of smell kinda sucked. Chemotherapy will do that to ya. The Sergeant turned to face Ward as he entered, grabbing a few papers off his desk as he did so. The man had quite the glorious head of hair and it probably took some pretty fancy conditioner to keep its form, adding a good three inches to his already impressive height. “Whatcha got for me, boss?” “Have a seat,” Ballack said. He was impeccably dressed, as always, with a sharp red tie and blue tailored suit. “How ya feeling?” “I’m fine.” “Ward, you’re not fine. Cut the crap. Nobody who’s battling pancreatic cancer is fine. Serious. How are you?” “Surgery went well enough. Chemo is over and my oncologist thinks I’ve got a shot. Neuropathy is getting better every day. I’m ready for full duty, sir.” “My wife has a friend that works at a cancer clinic. She said you’re not out of the woods till you hit five years. Is that right?” Heck, I’d love to make it five years. A few months ago, I thought I was toast. “With pancreatic, it comes back fast, or it doesn’t come back at all. If I make it two years, I’m probably ok.” He didn’t tell him about the other problems, though. Digestive issues causing low energy, the numb fingers and toes, memory lapses, concentration, yada yada. Ya can’t kill cancer cells without killing a lot of other stuff, apparently. “Don’t rush it, ok?” Ballack put down the papers. “I can keep you busy on light duty for a long time.” Not the words he wanted to hear, and standing in the Sarge’s office discussing death and light duty, which was almost as bad, tested Ward’s patience. “What do you have there, Sarge?” “Polygraph. You game?” “Absolutely. What’s the case?” “Palmer patrol picked up some crazy chick on grave shift. Ahem. I mean, ‘a person in crisis.’ She tried to break into a warehouse a couple of nights ago. Then she babbled about being kidnapped, something about a kid, all kinds of nutty stuff.” Ballack rolled his eyes. “I’m thinking poly her, see if she’s cracked. If her claims are legit, we’ll follow up. What do you think?” “I’ve been looking for some actual police work to do.” He reached for the paper. “Find out about the kidnapping. If it happened at all. If you get admissions about why she was trying to get into the warehouse, well, that’s really the target.” “We rarely run polygraphs on victims.” “She’s full of crap. She’s a doper who tried to rob a building and we want to know why. Poly is a pretext for interrogation on the burg.” “That’s fine. I haven’t run a poly in months and I’m going blind on all those public information requests you keep handing me. It’ll give me something real to do.” Ward moved to walk out of the office. “Ward.” He turned back. “Take it easy, son.” “It’s a polygraph, boss.” Ward furrowed his brow. “I’ll survive.” “Sergeant Vance told me about the range.” Crap. “Don’t push it, Ward. I’m not talking about the polygraph, or the range. Just in general. Bodies take time to heal and you’ve been through hell.” He has no idea. “Got it, boss.” “I mean it. We’ll wait for you to be strong.” Ward bit his lip, trying to hold back, but the pity was too much for his pride. “I got it, ok? Got it. You care. Everyone cares. Don’t rush it. Loud and clear. I’m good.” Then he walked out of the room. *** Excerpt from Wet, Warm and Noisy by David A. Willson. Copyright 2024 by David A. Willson. Reproduced with permission from David A. Willson. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author David A. Willson:
David A. Willson

David A. Willson, a retired Alaska State Trooper with more than two decades of service, brings unmatched authenticity to his crime fiction. During his career, he served as a certified police instructor, polygraph program coordinator, court-certified computer forensics expert and supervisor of both Major Crimes and Technical Crimes units. With over a decade in an investigative capacity, he supervised thousands of felony cases, chasing Alaska’s most dangerous criminals.

Catch Up With Our Author: www.DavidAWillson.com Goodreads BookBub – @DavidAWillson Facebook – @DWillsonAuthor

 

 

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