Monthly Archives: December 2021

Eryinath-5 Virtual Book Tour

Eryinath-5 banner

Eryinath-5 cover

Knolan Cycle, Book II

Science Fiction

 

Date Published 11-01-2021

Publisher: PhoenixPhyre Publishing

 

photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

After returning from a successful mission with the Knolan Shock Forces, Hāthar needs a break. With Arra his mate pregnant and he still recovering from his last mission, Hāthar has compelling reasons for sticking close to home. But newly developed stealth technology has enabled Knola’s enemies the Valdrōsians to ambush one of Knola’s Deep Space Fleets, inflicting heavy losses.

Intelligence has identified the facility from which the new technology originated. Developing countermeasures, however, will require a raid to steal the technology and abduct the stealth project managers. Having recently defeated just such a raid, Hāthar is asked to evaluate the feasability of the Knolan plan.

The plan is insanely risky, but Hāthar senses he is the best choice to lead it. With the fate of his adoptive home hinging on the success of the mission, he sets aside his personal preferences in favor of duty. Eryinath-5, The Dancer Nebula continues the chronicle of Knola’s thousand-year war with the Valdrōsians—and the coming climactic clash that will determine the fate of Earth and our corner of the galaxy.

Eryinath-5 tablet

EXCERPT

 

Chapter 5—The View into the Abyss

“The Way is a path, not a destination. It cannot correct what is flawed.”

Varineya—First Oracle of Knola

Hāthar stepped through the open proximity door and gave the Command Center a once-over. Smaller than he expected, but reminiscent of the bridge on an Accipiter class cruiser. A series of displays lined the circular desk in the center of the room, with powered chairs inside its circumference. The chairs all faced outward, oriented toward the displays and the command consoles embedded in the desk itself. He glanced at the domed ceiling and found the expected globe-shaped holographic repeater.

The Guardian and Counselor Amasadara sat in two of the powered chairs behind the circular desk. 

The Guardian beckoned. “Welcome, son. We would like your opinion on a mission we’re contemplating.”

Hāthar bowed formally and received a bow from the Guardian in return. “Why me?”

“Your experience on Rykynaar seems applicable,” the Guardian replied, waving him to a seat.

Amasadara nodded to the diminutive intelligence captain in the wine-red cruiser suit and silver piping of the Deep Space Fleet Intelligence Corps. She turned to one of the consoles embedded in the desk and punched in a series of commands. 

As a holo-cast materialized inside the circle of the desk, the woman faced Hāthar with a professional smile. “I am Zukinar, DSF Intelligence. The following is classified ‘Most Secret, Command Circulation Only’…and is current as of two weeks ago.” 

She faced the materializing holo-cast of a planet. “This is Tranyarmätt, a Type III planet in an unclaimed Sectar we call Punahir. 

“You will perhaps recall a Type III planet is habitable but uninhabited,” the Guardian added for Hāthar’s benefit. He waved to Zukinar. “Please go on.”

She nodded. “Tranyarmätt is hot by Knolan standards, with almost non-existent polar regions. Triple canopy jungle covers much of the continent of interest.”

Zukinar tapped a few more strokes at the command console and plucked a briefing stylus from the sleeve pocket of her cruiser suit, thumbing the slide on it to zoom the holo image out. Pointing with her stylus, she aimed a red dot at a tiny orb in a medium-sized cluster. “The planet is a little more than fifty-nine rift days from the Kholibaar system…located here.” 

The red dot traversed the holo-cast, to circle the Kholibaar system. Memories of Hāthar’s first desperate battle above Ashilear and those who died defending it flooded into his mind.

“Two months ago, one of our S & R ships patrolling the security zone around Kholibaar detected a short burst of unexplained electromagnetic radiation from the Punahir Sectar. Per protocols, the captain launched an unmanned probe to investigate. The burst proved to be a new cipher of Valdrōsian origin.”

Zukinar zoomed the holo-cast back to Tranyarmätt. “The message originated here.” The holo-cast zoomed in again, displaying a shallow valley with a nine-domed structure near a large river. The facility’s largest dome was at the center, connected to eight smaller domes by passage tubes, in a symmetrical eight-rayed star.

“A Valdrōsian expeditionary command center,” Hāthar observed.

“That’s what it looks like,” Zukinar agreed. “Prototyped from one, perhaps. But as you will see shortly, it is not a command center.

“Most of the intercepted traffic is in an untranslatable cipher, but syntactical clues suggest the message was an ‘eyes only’ status update for the oligarchs on Valdros. And possibly even Arctōsa.”

“So whatever this installation is for, it’s important enough to update the Empress?” Hāthar asked.

“Correct,” Zukinar confirmed. “The—” 

“And why will become clear in a moment.” The Guardian turned to Zukinar. “My apologies for the interruption, Captain. Please continue.” 

 “Yes, your Eminence.” She turned back to Hāthar. “The probe unearthed another interesting anomaly. Based on size, the facility radiates an energy signature several orders of magnitude larger than it’s mass alone would suggest.”

“How much larger?” Hāthar asked. 

“About five times expectation.”

“And?” Amasadara prompted.

“A second probe discovered a Valdrōsian expeditionary docking facility on the smallest of three natural moons orbiting the planet. The probe also imaged four Valdrōsian cruisers, one a battle-damaged Kröeshen class, while the other three are of a previously unknown class.” Zukinar frowned. “That is all we received before the probe went dark.”

“Went dark?” the Guardian prompted.

“Yes, your Eminence. Until then, the probe was functioning perfectly. We infer it was likely destroyed by a short-range fighter from one of the cruisers.”

“Or a piece of orbiting rock,” Amasadara suggested.

“Possibly, Counselor.” Zukinar’s expression suggested she didn’t think that likely.

“You said one of the cruisers is damaged?” Hāthar asked. 

“Yes.” Zukinar turned back to the command terminal and tapped a few keystrokes into a floating side-menu. An array of probe images cascaded onto the display. She scrolled through them with her fingertips, selecting one and swiped it to a display next to the command terminal. The dock and cruisers swelled as she increased the magnification, finally zeroing in on a damaged ship. 

“Note the hull breaches on the Kröeshen class cruiser.” Zukinar focused her red pointer on the cruiser’s nose. “There. Halfway between the nose and the bridge you can clearly see hyper gun damage. She’s definitely been in a fight.” She moved her pointer to the port pulse engine stub-wing. “She’s also missing her port stern weapons station, and note the missile gouge, here.” The red dot of her stylus circled another puncture near the mouth of the shuttle bay. “It seems not to have detonated, or there would be considerably more damage.”

Hāthar nodded.

Zukinar grimaced apologetically. “This is more intuition than inference, but based on the Kholibaar after-action report, we believe this is likely the fourth cruiser from that engagement.”

Amasadara smiled. “You are aware Hāthar was aboard the Cygnus in her last battle above Ashilear?”

“I had heard that, Counselor.” Unperturbed, Zukinar brought up a wider image of the planet and the moon. “The moon and the docking facility are in geosynchronous orbit, with the docking facility on the moon always facing the planet.”

“Meaning the facility, whatever it is, remains under continuous surveillance.” Hāthar frowned. “I’m guessing their choice of locations is not accidental?”

“That is our inference as well,” Zukinar agreed. “Especially in light of something else the probe imaged before it went dark.”

“Please continue, Captain,” the Guardian interjected.

Zukinar leaned over the command console and brought up a long photo array, which sorted itself. A close-up of the facility on the planet came up on the display. 

“For reference, the imaging-array I’m going to show you was captured at nineteen images per second, so the original file was a little jerky. But by stitching all the images together we were able to fill in what was missing due to the low-res image capture.” The image began to move, playing what amounted to a slow-motion film. “Note the shuttle emerging from the port in the central dome.”

“Shit,” Hāthar blurted out in English. “That’s their new shuttle!” 

“I’m sorry?” Zukinar interjected.

“No, I’m sorry,” Hāthar replied, in Knolan. “What I meant was, that’s their new stealth shuttle.”

“Yes, Hāthar-Tahk,” Amasadara agreed. “It seems we have found their production facility. Or one of them.”

“Technology for which as yet we have no countermeasure and cannot duplicate ourselves,” the Guardian added. “And though the facility is not defenseless, the Vals have left themselves a good deal more vulnerable than I would have expected.”

“Which brings us to the mission?” Hāthar guessed.

“Correct,” Amasadara leaned forward in his seat. “The prototypes you captured on Rykynaar have proven insufficient to reverse-engineer their stealth technology. But if we were to combine them with the minds responsible for creating them…?”

“You’re thinking of raiding the facility,” Hāthar guessed.

“Yes,” the Guardian agreed. “Which makes the mission profile eerily similar to the Valdrōsian raid you thwarted on Rykynaar. Your experience in that engagement may help us understand how they exploited our weaknesses…” he smiled wickedly. “…and offer insight into how we might exploit theirs.”

“And you have no more experienced leaders in the KSF who—”

“More experienced certainly, son,” the Guardian agreed. “But more…unpredictable? He shook his head. “We have a plan. One we believe has a chance of working, but we need a decidedly un-Knolan, un-Valdrōsian mind to help us see what we may be overlooking out of operational habit.” He met Hāthar’s eyes. “We are confident you can provide that.”

About the Author

D.B. Sayer

Dirk’s path to authorship wasn’t quite an accident, but almost. It’s not that he didn’t write. He did. Still, through two previous careers, first as a Marine officer and subsequently as a corporate trainer, Dirk started way more stories than he finished. But in the backwash of the 2008 financial meltdown, his employer filed for Chapter 11. Cordially invited to leave and not return, Dirk found himself out of work and excuses.

Since then, Dirk has published West of Tomorrow, Best-Case Scenario, Act I of Nyra’s Journey, a collection of short fiction entitled, Through the Windshield and Tier Zero, Vol I of the Knolan Cycle. All are available from Amazon in paperback and Kindle. His latest work in progress is The Year of Maybe, Act II of Nyra’s Journey, due out in 2022.

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Twitter

Goodreads

Pinterest

Purchase Links

Book 1 on Amazon

a Rafflecopter giveaway

RABT Book Tours & PR

1 Comment

Filed under BOOKS

My Name is Mary Virtual Book Tour

My Name is Mary banner
My Name is Mary cover

African American Christian Fiction, Women’s Fiction, Women’s Mental Health

 

Date Published: December 7, 2021

Publisher: Jess, Mo’ Books LLC

Stepping away from her comfort zone, author JC Miller orchestrates a written tapestry chronicling the fragile state of a woman on the edge of insanity.

Plagued by a lifelong curse of mental illness, Mary Magdalene finds herself spending her golden years in a mental asylum. Her once zealous life becomes minimized to an endless routine of over-stimulating antipsychotic drugs. That is until Salmone Abrams, a hidden jewel from her past, resurfaces and helps her remember who she once was—The Queen of Harlem. Madame Mary Mags.

Inspired by her jazz playlist, JC Miller’s current novella, My Name is Mary Magdalene, shakes the family tree while exploring the often-stigmatized topic of mental health. This fictional spin on the biblical account of Mary Magdalene and her seven demons travels from the late 1940s into the mid-1990s as Mary recalls the battles that tore her life apart. Fear, Lust, Entitlement, Greed, Misery, Dependency, Guilt—emotional baggage that once achingly held her down propels her to victory.

My Name is Mary tablet

EXCERPT

“Man is the cruelest animal” – Friedrich Nietzsche 

Hello, My Name Is… 

My name is Mary Magdalene. I know you’re wondering, how did a heathen like me get stuck with such a sacred name? My Mama named me—on her deathbed. I haven’t thought about Mama, or me for that matter, in years. I try not to think about the past; it helps make the present more doable. Life brushes past you. Months and years seem to blend into one indistinguishable blur. It wasn’t until Salmone Abrams, with his beautiful and gentle self, walked into the psychiatric ward where I was an involuntary mental patient, did I even think of such thoughts. Up until that moment, everything I knew and everything I was, was dark, hidden, and dying inside of me. 

That morning, an orderly rolled me out onto the East Lawn Pavilion for breakfast. 

Supposedly I was soaking up rays from the end of the summer sun. Nurse Mulligan would have never allowed such a courtesy. From the moment we met, she disliked me and handled me with mean intentions. She was, by nature, a nasty and uptight person who assaulted me every chance she got. Having no one to turn to, I was devastated and stripped down to my foundation. The first chance I got; I bit a plug out of her arm. I was placed in a Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit from that day on, and Nurse Mulligan made sure I was uncomfortable and forcibly over-medicated against my will. She kept me loopy, feeble, and isolated. But on that last sun-filled day, the evil wench had a premature delivery. An acting psych nurse, who changed the trajectory of my life, was filling in for Nurse Mulligan’s maternity leave. If I could have, I would have jumped for joy when I heard the news. As it was, I was still coming down from being drugged, and I hadn’t eaten anything. My hands felt like rubber mallets; I couldn’t lift a spoon, let alone bring one to my mouth. To make matters worse, my next set of meds were scheduled after breakfast; instead of numbing me, they caused me to see monkeys. If I wasn’t careful of how I reacted, the meds were capable of sending me straight to lockdown in the secluded padded rooms. That was where I usually spent my afternoons—hungry and screaming at a locked door with dem damn monkeys crawling the walls. 

That blessed morning, Salmone Abrams, wearing the most angelic smile I’ve seen in a long time, along with Nurse Lindt, the fill-in, walked across the East Lawn with a giant fluffy white teddy bear in his right hand. 

“Mrs. Owens, you have a visitor,” Nurse Lindt announced with a smile not quite as charming as Salmone’s but kind. “It’s your grandson, Mrs. Owens.” She added, reiterating the information on his visitor identification badge while resting a gentle hand on my shoulder. I drew away my shoulder, rejecting her. 

Next thing I know, you’ll be drugging me up and locking me in too. No, ma’am. 

Get your hand off me,  I thought, keeping my eyes on the colorful plate of food I wanted to eat but could not. 

Salmone squatted down next to me and placed the gift down on the table in front of my plate. The teddy bear was holding a big red heart made of felt that read, I Love You. I didn’t know how to act. I was giddy on the inside but forgot how to express myself. It had been so long since a man, smelling and looking as good as he did, brought me anything. I did get that one cracker from Eddie, a patient who frequented my room when I was incapacitated to poke his nasty drawn-up thing in me. When I say poke, that’s what I mean; he thrust himself into me. We didn’t have sex—it was just a thrust. I think Eddie forgot how to do the rest and he came back hoping to remember. 

He did give me that stinking stale cracker, though. Salmone, wearing a navy-blue open blazer over a white tee and faded jeans, inched closer to me and brushed my hair with his hand. I didn’t realize I still had hair. It wasn’t something you thought about often in there. 

“Hey, Maw-Maw, ‘memba me?” I turned toward him, and he smiled that same pleasant smile. 

There was a dim flicker of recognition, but I didn’t know him from Adam. I think I smiled anyway. Why not?  He was colored, kind-looking, and called me Maw Maw—speaking the language I grew up with. 

“Awww… there you go!” Nurse Lindt responded, clasping her small, white age-spotted hands together, pleased with my reaction to Salmone. “I’m going to give you two some privacy.” She lightly touched him to attract his attention. He was gazing at me, and I was avoiding his eye contact. “If you need me, Mr. Abrams, I’ll be in the nurse’s station. Also, the orderlies in blue uniforms are here for you if needed.” She added, stopping the one that I hated as he was walking by. Dino. He was one of Nurse Mulligan’s flunkies. A tall, narrow, slimy piece of crap. He was strong, though. The other was a woman with a nasty facial tic. I hardly ever saw her around except when Nurse Mulligan needed her. 

“Hey!” Dino responded, stopping in his tracks, and smiling wide for the new Head Nurse, with crooked, metal-wired teeth and acne scars tracing his face. 

Salmone stood and shook his hand. “I do have a few questions. Is my… 

grandmother able to speak?” He gestured toward me, rubbing my head again. He had me curious about how I looked. 

Dino glanced at Nurse Lindt first, and she nodded, giving him permission to answer, being that she was new. “Ahh, well no! At least not in full sentences…that I know of.” He answered using facial and body expressions that implied he somehow cared. “She hasn’t spoken to her treatment team…her social worker, or the unit’s clinical psychologist, Dr. Davis, since her admittance.” 

Damn, fool!  I thought, observing Salmone’s immediate disheartened expression. 

I talk. Just not to that raggedy-mouthed rascal.  I looked up at my teddy bear, into his big placid black glass eyes, and felt sad now myself. I wanted Salmone’s company. 

“Ooh,” he uttered sadly, stooping down near me again. “I guess I’ll sit with her for a while anyway…maybe help her eat some of this good-looking food.” He picked up that heavy behind spoon, and I opened my mouth like a little bird as he scooped up some cold eggs. Lord was I happy. 

Salmone didn’t stay long that first day, and I wasn’t sure when, or if, he would return. I didn’t have any answers for him, but he did make me remember who he was. 

He was the preacher’s kid from back home in New Orleans. Little Sal, all grown up. The little boy who used to run behind my great-niece, Rah…I claimed her as my granddaughter. He and his family lost contact with mine around the same time I did. Ten years ago. Sometime after that cursed night back in 1984 that finalized my admittance into the crazy house. Sal told me that he moved to New York City and became a cop. In his spare time, he searched for my family, mostly Rah. His childhood crush and committed friendship propelled him. He said the only public record he found on her was from high school, listing a welfare hotel in Hell’s Kitchen as an address, with no forwarding information. 

When I left them, they were staying with me at my Brownstone on Strivers’ Row in Harlem. Back when I was well, and well to do. Sal said it was like my family disappeared from the face of the earth. No listed employment, utility bills, loans, credit cards. Nothing. He looked so sad, having hit a brick wall. I wasn’t much help either, and I knew he was counting on my assistance. I simply sat there while he held my hands, rubbed my arms, and looked directly into my eyes. He wasn’t scared, like most people. 

They saw the mental unit as a locked box of angry people held against their will. It was. 

If the top of my head could have been unscrewed and looked into, it would have scared the hell out of most. Yet Sal looked at me with love and concern. He told me that he attempted to visit before, around three years earlier, after discovering my whereabouts. I was on lockdown, and Nurse Mulligan deliberately fed him a trough load of hogwash, deterring him from coming again. He almost didn’t. Then, he figured, if Rah was gone for good, he could enjoy a piece of her in me. 

I listened carefully as Sal rambled, drinking his every word. I hadn’t been spoken to in so long; the words gently fell upon my ears and revived my hearing. I enjoyed Sal’s youth, his zeal for life, and how his almond-shaped eyes gleamed and danced as he reminisced over old times back home in Louisiana. I didn’t utter a word, and although my expression was blank, my eyes smiled in remembrance of the world I seemed to have forgotten. My thoughts were knocking around in my head, but at least they were my thoughts and not those tormenting voices. I wanted to talk to Sal. I wanted to join in his laughter, but I felt a lot of irrational shame about being there. Besides, I was afraid. I, too, didn’t know where my family was. They abandoned me just as I did them. I couldn’t fault them. Dr. Davis told them that I would never recover from my Schizophrenic psychosis. Was he right about me?  I wasn’t sure. I definitely wasn’t myself, yet I wasn’t who he said I was either. I didn’t know who I was anymore…but I knew that my name was Mary Magdalene. 

About the Author

JC Miller

JC Miller lives in the scenic Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania with her husband, children, and floppy-eared Bassador pup.

Raised by a single mother in the Bronx, JC pulls from early experiences to showcase the soul of urban survival through faith-based novels. She also dedicates much of her time uplifting women via her blog and creating content with partner and friend, MR Spain, through their publishing company, Jess, Mo’ Books LLC.

On her days off, you can find JC whipping up her famous Red Velvet cake and listening to songs from her impressive vinyl record collection.

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Instagram

Purchase Link

Amazon

a Rafflecopter giveaway

RABT Book Tours & PR

Comments Off on My Name is Mary Virtual Book Tour

Filed under BOOKS

Somewhere Between Light and Time Blitz

 

Somewhere Between Light and Time cover

Historical Fiction

Date Published: December 21, 2021

Have you ever met a stranger and felt that you already knew them?

The story begins in the 1800s when Elias and Henry are souls on the Other Side. Their own time as humans lies ahead of them, but they unwittingly observe their ancestors-to-be as they progress through major historical events. From slave-liberation missions in antebellum America to the horror of the Vietnam War, they follow six generations across two centuries. But as the family separates, the descendants form two divergent lineages, thousands of miles apart, into which the two souls are eventually born.

Elias and Henry grow up in different countries but meet again in modern Britain—without any recollection of the Other Side. Civil-rights activist Elias is hiding from a Russian kidnapper when he runs into Henry, who has become a kind-hearted but prejudiced Englishman. Against the backdrop of repeating historical patterns, they become entangled in a love triangle with free-spirited Lana, who becomes Elias’s protector.

Blinded by his intolerance, Henry unwittingly brings danger upon them as the agent closes in on Elias. But soon, all their historical experiences unravel into the present, and eventually produce an unexpected, startling ending.

Somewhere Between Light and Time is a fast-paced adventure drama in which historical events and everyday reality are interwoven with elements of the supernatural. Aiden Leman lives in East Sussex, England, where he works in financial services for his day job. He studied International Relations in Scotland and was previously active in the teaching sector. He has worked in five different countries across three continents, although his dream job would probably be a firefighter.

Somewhere Between Light and Time phone, tablet, paperback

 

 

Purchase Link

 

Amazon

RABT Book Tours & PR

Comments Off on Somewhere Between Light and Time Blitz

Filed under BOOKS

The Sweetest Ladybug Blitz

The Sweetest Ladybug cover

Children’s Books

 

Date Published: November 24, 2021

Publisher: Underline Publishing LLC

Imagine if everything happening in your imagination also happens in real life. This is exactly what happens one day in the life of a curious, sweet, and intelligent girl named Johana. Under the colors of a beautiful ladybug, Johana discovers all the mysteries and beauties hiding in her own garden!

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Instagram

Purchase Link

Amazon

a Rafflecopter giveaway

RABT Book Tours & PR

1 Comment

Filed under BOOKS

Apocalyptic 7 – Salvations’ Cry Blitz

 

 

Christian Fiction, Drama

 

Date Published: December 20, 2021

Publisher: Lulu

Faith is the Only Hope for Survival…

Apocalyptic 7-Salvations’ Cry is a story of battles between God’s earthly warriors and malevolent forces. The Divine Scriptures guide A7’s missions, as they must learn how to count on each other and put their hope and trust in God. In a system morally bankrupt in 2043, a former government assassin learns who she is in Christ and leads a team to unearth a key organization who presumes they’re descendants of fallen angels. They accept orders from a mysterious leader who can read minds. While chaos breaks out between the team, only their faith will carry them from mission to mission to stop the Apollyon. The Apocalyptic 7 comes together to block the Apollyon from creating a world built of chaos. During the missions, they learn Black Rain, a vigilante group, craves to dispose of the Apollyon for good. A7 must stop them both, before God consumes the cities in the Middle East, as He destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah in generations past. Through evidence and acceptance, they prepare for battle, which is their only hope for survival in this life and into eternity.

Apocalyptic 7 - Salvations' Cry tablet, paperback, phone


About the Author

Arnita R. Leonard


Arnita—Nita Nae was born and raised and still lives in Los Angeles, where she accepted Christ at 24. Received a Bachelor’s in Business Management in 2002 and 2007, a Master’s in Justice Administration. Arnita is a 28-year veteran of Social Service Administration, Management and Auditing. The passion to write started in High School and in her early twenties, having vivid dreams; Amethyst in Love and Detective Brenda Sayers: Mercy Undercover (unpublished were born). There were many dreams that followed, which spawned other books, such as Unconditional Counsel (Christian Faith Publishing, 2020). Apocalyptic 7—Salvation’s Cry, birthed from a dream during her writing mentioned in Unconditional Counsel. Four more books have since followed, The Ghosts of Slavery’s Dance, Unconditional Counsel Too: Unbroken, and Apocalyptic 8—The Cry of Heavens Army), The Container, and co-authorship for Embrace the Dawn: To Live Again—Margo Leonard (my mother-unpublished).

Contact Links

Website

Twitter

Facebook

YouTube

BookBuzz

Purchase Links

Amazon

B&N

Kobo

Lulu

RABT Book Tours & PR

Comments Off on Apocalyptic 7 – Salvations’ Cry Blitz

Filed under BOOKS