Category Archives: BOOKS

Madame President Blitz

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Contemporary Romance

Release Date: October 6, 2020

Publisher: After Six Publishing

 

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This is Washington DC and there’s only one she here.

A smart, standalone, contemporary romance from New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Tara Sue Me.

 

For Independent Anna Fitzpatrick, being President of the United States means she’s finally in a place to make a difference. Known for her intellect and charm, she never appears anything other than calm. After getting dumped by the man she’d been living with once he learned of her presidential bid, Anna vows to remain single throughout her term. It’s an easy task, after all, no man has ever made her feel the way her law school classmate did years ago. Or at least the way he made her feel until he walked away without so much as a goodbye.

Navin Hazar is content being one of the nation’s top news anchors. It may not be the plan he had for his life, but plans don’t always go as anticipated. Like his plan for no one to find out he knows Anna personally or did know her, once upon a time.

For fifteen years, they’ve been able to ignore each other, but her election to the highest office changes everything. And when Navin inadvertently lands on Anna’s Press Pool, they realize the only thing more aggravating than politics is love.

 

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 Excerpt

I hear her approach more in the silence descending upon those she passes than I do from any noise her group makes. Though there are only four agents with her today, two in front and two behind, their appearance holds everyone spellbound. Conversations stop mid-sentence. No one moves.

As they continue toward us, Gabe and I step into the hallway without a word, allowing her security team to search my office before she enters. I take a deep breath and prepare myself to come face-to-face with a memory from my past, one I’ve avoided as much as possible. I see now it was inevitable and childish for me to behave this way. 

She’s walking toward me, talking to someone at her side, and then she looks at me and I have to remind myself to breathe. I’ve seen numerous pictures and videos of her, but they in no way compare to flesh and blood Anna. She was memorable in her early twenties. She is stunning standing before me now, a woman in her thirties.

 

About the Author

 

NEW YORK TIMES/USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR

Even though she graduated with a degree in science, Tara knew she’d never be happy doing anything other than writing. Specifically, writing love stories.

She started with a racy BDSM story and found she was not quite prepared for the unforeseen impact it would have. Nonetheless, she continued and The Submissive Series novels would go on to be both New York Times and USA Today Bestsellers. One of those, THE MASTER, was a 2017 RITA finalist for Best Erotic Romance. Over one million copies of her books have been sold worldwide.

 

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Aurora’s Cowboy Daddy Teaser

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Ranch Rescue Book 1

Western Romance, Contemporary

Date Published: September 30, 2020

Publisher: Blushing Books

 

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Holt Coleman runs the Rescue Ranch with his five brothers. A project
initiated by their parents and supported by the entire family. They rescue
abused women, and abused horses. Two very different ventures with more
similarities than expected, both are suffering from past trauma and have
lost the ability to trust. Currently, the ranch needs a new house mother to
welcome and assist the women who are seeking safety here. When convicted
murderer Aurora Bickman applies Holt’s intrigued by her application
and her past. When he meets her he knows he has to have her, as an employee,
as a lover and as her daddy.

Aurora Bickman was released from prison early given her good behavior and
prison overcrowding. Most people thought she didn’t serve long enough
but they also didn’t know her sentence began shortly after she married
her deceased husband. Feeling as though she’s imposed on her best
friend’s hospitality long enough, and even though she’s scared
beyond belief, she is ready to start her life over on her terms. Surprised
she has an interview and worried she’ll be rejected, she pushes the
feelings aside and takes a chance at the Rescue Ranch. When she sees the
gorgeous ranch and meets the handsome Holt Coleman, she feels as if her
dreams have a chance to come true. In more ways than one.

This is book one in the Rescue Ranch series and can be enjoyed
independently.

Publisher’s Note: This sexy, Daddy Dom, cowboy romance contains
elements of danger, adventure, mystery, sensual themes and power exchange
and is intended for adults only. If any of these offend you, please do not
purchase.

EXCERPT

The delicious smell of trees hit Aurora square in the face as she stepped out of her borrowed car. It was the incredible smell of spring in the Texas Panhandle. There was the mixture of just mowed grass, wildflowers, and horses.

She glanced around. No one came out of the large ranch-style house to greet her. The house was huge, with a wrap-around porch on both the bottom and top level. Both of them were decorated with plants and flowers, and so many rocking chairs that Aurora didn’t even stop to count.

A picture of sitting here after dinner, reading a book and enjoying some iced tea made her smile. But then again most things made her smile lately. She’d spent six months in prison, and had been on parole another two and a half years, but not able to set foot out of Rainwater County near Dallas until two months ago. Now she was free, and jobless. The house in front of her wasn’t something she would be able to afford. But if they gave her the job she was here to interview for, then maybe she would be able to sit here and enjoy her tea at night.

She snorted in derision as she slammed her door. She’d interviewed for so many jobs over the last few months, and none of them had gone well. When potential employers heard she was a convicted murderer they usually thanked her for coming and said they’d get back to her. They never did.

For this job she’d talked to Holt Coleman on the phone. His voice had been deep and reassuring and he’d asked her to drive to Bookman Springs, about one hundred miles southeast of Amarillo. It was almost two hundred miles from where she was bedding with friends outside Dallas. Since it was so far she made sure there would be no surprises.

“Just so you know, I’m a convicted murderer,” she said.

“Don’t worry about getting a hotel room in town,” he’d said as an answer. “We have lots of room here for you at the ranch. You can stay here and have dinner with us and meet my brothers, too.”

She’d been so shocked at his response she had almost dropped the phone. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Convicted murderer, yeah, I heard. Please be here around two tomorrow.”

Aurora pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the time; ten minutes after two. She put it back in her pocket and walked toward the front door. Before she could mount the stairs the screen door flew open and a handsome cowboy stepped out.

“Hello, darling! Welcome to the Rescue Ranch.” He hurried down the stairs and held out his hand. “Austin Coleman, at your service.”

Aurora laughed as she shook his hand. “Aurora Bickman. I’m here to see Holt.”

“Yeah, about that.”

Aurora’s heart fell. Her words from last night had obviously set in, and Holt didn’t want to see her. The jerk had let her drive all this way. She tried to pull back her hand, but Austin held it tight.

“Holt is out helping to settle a new filly. I’m supposed to offer you tea and tell you he’ll be here as soon as possible.” He finally let go of her hand. “So come in the house, we’ll fix a drink, and well, I’m sorry to say, you’ll have to wait.”

He turned and went up the stairs as fast as he’d come down them. Aurora guessed his age to be around twenty-five or so. He had the screen door open before she reached the top. She went inside to see an immaculate house full of wooden furniture and walls decorated with western art. The far wall was floor to ceiling glass, with French doors in the middle that were open, letting the smell that had greeted her outside float in.

“Beautiful,” she said.

“Mom and Dad designed it,” Austin said. “Their room is downstairs, and the six of us have rooms upstairs.”

“Six of you?” Aurora asked. “And your parents live here, too?”

“They use this as their permanent address, but right now they are living out of an RV, traveling the nation. We haven’t seen them in forever.” He took a step and then turned back around. “And yes, six of us: Holt, Hawkins, the triplets Reed, Kyle, Wyatt, and then me. I’m the baby.”

“Which is why you got stuck with me,” she said.

“I volunteered,” Austin said. “It’s my night to cook dinner, and I need the time to put steaks in to marinade and let them soak up the flavor. I make a great steak. You’re going to love it.” He waved his hand around the room. “Take a gander, and I’ll get you that tea. Sweet? Or unsweet?”

“Sweet, please,” she said.

“Good girl,” he said with a smile before he headed to the left and disappeared through a doorway. “Make yourself at home,” he called out.

Aurora took advantage of her alone time to examine the room. Near the glass walls there was a staircase that disappeared up to the second floor. There was also a hallway on the other side of the room. In between the two was a large fireplace that showed signs of being used in the last few days. She wanted to explore, to see what was at the top of the stairs, to see what was down the hallway.

But like a good little inmate she stayed exactly where she was; she was so used to being told where to go, and when to go, that she had problems thinking for herself.

“What are you doing?”

Aurora looked to where Austin stood, two glasses of tea in his hand.

“Waiting for you to come back,” she said.

He smiled, then said, “Have a seat.”

“Where?”

“There’s lots of them here,” he said, moving his hand in the direction of the two sofas and several chairs sitting in the middle of the room.

Aurora took a seat in a large wingback chair. She accepted the glass of tea he offered her before he sat down on one of the sofas.

“You a Texas girl?” he asked.

“Born and raised in Lubbock,” she said.

“Ah, the dust bowl capital of Texas,” he said, right before he drained his tea.

Aurora took a sip from hers. It was cold, sweet, and delicious. “Where were you born?” she asked.

“All six of us were born here in Bookman Springs.” He crossed his legs. “Our parents have always been big on supporting local businesses, which includes doctors and the hospital here.”

“Do all six of you work at the ranch?” she asked.

“Yup.” He stood. “Need more tea?”

Since there was barely a sip missing from her glass, Aurora shook her head.

He turned to leave and then said, “Oh, looks like you’re saved from me.”

Aurora stood and turned toward the windows Austin was looking through. A large man was dismounting a horse. He tied the reins around a hitch, then started up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He took his hat off as he strode through the door, and Aurora thought her heart would stop.

He was, without a doubt, the most handsome man she’d ever seen. She imagined him to be in his late thirties. He had dark, close-cropped hair and several days of dark stubble, mixed with a little gray, on his chin. He wore a denim button down shirt, jeans, and chaps.

“Aurora,” he said as he stuck out his hand. “Forgive my rudeness, and welcome to the Rescue Ranch. I’m Holt Coleman.”

“Thank you,” she managed to say. She shook his hand and could have sworn she felt a jolt of electricity from his touch.

“Well, I’m going to go work on dinner,” Austin said. He started to leave, but stopped when his brother asked him to bring another glass of tea—no, make that a pitcher—to the back deck. “Sure, sure,” Austin said. “At your service.”

When he was gone, Holt chuckled. “Austin feels put upon because he’s the youngest. Come on, let’s go outside and we can talk.” He put his hat on the coffee table, then indicated she should precede him out the French doors.

There was one table on the deck. Holt hurried over and held out a chair for her. Aurora sat down, shivering a bit when he touched her shoulders as he pushed the chair toward the table.

“We work as hard as we can to keep to a schedule here, but sometimes things happen unexpectedly.” He sat down next to her. “We had to rescue a filly this morning from up near Borger. We left the house at four, and got back around eleven. She was anxious, so Kyle, Hawk, and I were getting her settled.”

“An abused horse?” she asked.

“Yes, starved and beaten.” She could hear the anger in his voice. “If the sheriff there hadn’t already arrested the guy I would have busted his lip.”

“That’s awful,” she said. “Was he arrested for animal cruelty?”

“For that and for doing the same thing to his wife,” Holt said.

Austin appeared and placed a tray on the table. “I added cookies.” He mock curtsied and then went back in the house.

“Like I said, he thinks he’s put upon.” Holt poured himself a glass of tea. “So, tell me about yourself. But before you begin, don’t tell me about why you were in prison. I want you to tell all of us tonight at supper. It’s best for everyone to hear that story firsthand.”

“All right,” she said. “Um, born and raised in Lubbock. I’m single. I have no brothers and sisters. My parents don’t talk to me because I’m an embarrassment to them. I have a few friends who stuck by me through the whole ordeal.”

Oh, and my late husband’s brother wants to kill me. She kept that part to herself.

“I can’t even get a job at a convenience store.” Her hands shook as she took a sip from her tea. “I-I…” She knew she should be honest, but she didn’t know how much to tell him. “I’ve lived with Dana and Jake since I got out of prison. They’re being very generous with me, but I know they want their lives back. I’ve been there two and a half years. That’s a long time to have someone in your house.” She cleared her throat. “I had some money, and I’ve been helping with utilities and food and the like, but it’s almost gone now.”

“Where did you get the money?” he asked.

“I had an aunt who died while I was in prison. She left her estate to me.” Aurora stared into her glass. “I was named after her. She was my mother’s sister, and she hated Mom for abandoning me. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it helped more than you would know.”

Tears built up in her eyes and she wished she could blink them away. When they fell down her cheeks she was surprised when he patted her hand.

“I can only imagine how hard it’s been on you,” he said. But he didn’t keep on the subject of her family. Instead he turned to business. “I need to talk to you about this job.”

Aurora sniffled. She could tell from the sound of his voice he was about to deliver bad news, and that meant she was going to be unemployed when she drove back home tomorrow.

“You’ve been totally honest with me, and I haven’t done the same with you.”

Aurora turned her gaze toward him. His look was gentle, yet she could see hesitation there.

“I told you we needed someone to be a sort of den mother, but it’s not for us.”

She looked at him in confusion. “Austin said your parents were doing the RV thing.”

“Yes,” he said.

“If you want me to help with the horses, I don’t know that much about them.”

He took a healthy swig of his tea before he said, “How are you with abused women?”

***

 

About the Author

Melinda Barron loves to explore Egyptian tombs and temples, discover Mayan
ruins, play in castles towers, and explore new cities and countries. She
generally does it all from the comfort of her home by opening a book.

Melinda loves to lose herself between the pages of a book. The only thing
she loves more is creating stories from the wonderful heroes and heroines
that haunt her dreams and crowd her head. She believes love is for everyone,
not just those who are a size 2. Her books are full of magic, suspense and
love, in all sorts of shapes and sizes.

Mel currently lives in the Texas Panhandle, with two cats, and a file
stuffed with new ideas to keep her typing fingers busy, and your heart
engaged.

She also writes as Maura McMann.

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Newark Minutemen Blitz

 

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Historical Fiction

Date Published: October 6, 2020

Publisher: Morgan James Publishing

 

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Based on a true story about fighting fascism in 1930s New Jersey, Newark Minutemen tells an unforgettable tale about forbidden love, intrigue and a courageous man’s search for avenge….

During the Great Depression, Jewish boxer Yael Newman meets Krista Brecht, daughter of the German-American Nazi high command. When his affections turn real, his friends warn him against crossing the line. When Krista leaves for American Nazi summer camp in Long Island, New York, he swears to rescue her. But his mission becomes much more when he’s recruited into the Newark Minutemen by the Jewish mob and FBI to go undercover and fight the American Nazis who are taking over America.

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Excerpt

Chapter 1
Put on the Gloves
February 20, 1939
 
YAEL: Madison Square Garden. New York, USA
If we fail today, we might as well throw in the towel.
My ears hammer against the roarin’ crowd. We must stop the rallying call for a Nazi Party in America. The last thing we need in the middle of the Depression is a fascist party here to support the one the Nazis are building in Germany. Everyone’s still nursin’ their wounds from the Great War.
I catch the cold iron bar—the one I spent all night sawin’ off with my hacksaw—on the first bounce. But the clank it makes between Sieg Heil chants signals our death warrant. My heart freezes as I scan forty-thousand blinkin’ eyes around the arena. I wonder which ones have read through my fake salute? Blood thrusts through my veins like water loadin’ in a fire hose. I almost vomit. Dangit! I’m my own worst enemy.
The pumpin’ in my body mounts like a geyser ready to blow. Right here and now, maybe I should grab my fellow fighters and exit the Germandom defiling the Garden. Yes. Madison Square Garden. New York City, USA. The last time I was here I was sixteen and my best pal, Harry Levine, knocked out another heavyweight to win the 1936 Golden Glove. Now, just three years later, the Bund’s American Führer, Fritz Kuhn, is celebrating Der Tag—The Day—on Washington’s birthday in the most iconic American arena we have.
Another cheer goes up and shakes the ceiling rafters. The heat from heiling bodies curdles my stomach as if I’d swallowed gasoline. I fume when I think about how Kuhn is bastardizing our American symbol into a red, white and blue Nuremberg Rally on our sacred President’s Day, February 20, 1939. Today, the stainin’ of an American symbol, tomorrow our country could be consumed by a brewin’ dictatorship if Hitler marches on Europe. The disgust rears saliva in the back of my throat. I hack out the salty vile.
Even if I’m not as stupid as I am brave, my options are limited. Blockin’ the aisles, seven hundred brown-shirted, swastika wielding, high-booted Hitler replicas are poundin’ their boots against the coliseum floor to the beat of the drum corps. Many of them are not much older than me. Addin’ insult to injury, the mockin’ color guards wave their swastika flags side by side with American ones. I clamp myself to the floor. Let’s face it. At this point, I have one choice. Pray no one kills me.
Beads of sweat simmer on my brow. Any false hopes of escape are dashed as a glint bounces off the brass knuckles of my worst nightmare, Axel Von du Croy. The light licks my good wool suit. Well, my only suit. Behind the uniformed soldier, his fixer, Frank Schenk, pokes another Gestapo-type Stormtrooper and grabs a third. He leads a squad through the masses toward us, disrupting unified party cheers of Free America. Free America. Free America.
But we, they call us the Newark Minutemen, are trained boxers. We won’t be knocked out without a fight. Our members are scattered throughout The Garden. To the left are Maxie and Al Fisher, Nat Arno, and Abie Pain. Nearby are Puddy Hinkes, Harry Levine, and his cousin Benny. And then there’s me, Yael Newman. The eight of us muscle against the press of fanatics, forcin’ our way through the crowd. We wedge between Hitler disciples and chafe against Nazi regalia. The evil glares tell me we’re not makin’ friends. We clamber over seats, step on black boots and duck under Hitler salutes. We’re searchin’ for the other members of our militia to gain a foothold that will help disrupt this ominous occasion. I’m countin’ on the rest of our scattered troops to slide their hidden iron bars down their sleeves into their fists. As I dodge a swastika-banded arm, my own bar falls again. But this time, I catch it breathlessly before it sets off alarms. Harry and I hurry toward the swarmin’ center aisle.
An amplified German accent booms. “Fellow Americans. American Patriots. I do not come before you tonight as a stranger. You will have heard of me through the Jewish-controlled press as a creature with horns, a cloven hoof, and a long tail.” I glance up at the stage. Below the towering portrait of George Washington, the Hitler uniformed Bund leader, Führer Fritz Julius Kuhn, leans into the microphone at the podium.
The hard-faced, square-jawed Führer pronounces what he calls a unified Germandom in America. “We Gentiles are fighting for an Aryan-ruled United States, insulated from dirty blacks, Japanese, Chinese, vermin Jews, dishonest Arabs, homosexuals, Catholics, and even useless cripples and alcoholics.” This shadow-Hitler party is putting democracy up for negotiation. There’s no doubt. I’ll bet my right arm that the Nazis are gonna start another world war.
Around me, the shoulder-belt wearin’ audience raises Hitler salutes to the six-foot, two-hundred plus pound bully. They’re cheering a man who is dehumanizing people. Peerin’ into the crowd, I cringe at the notion that so many good German-Americans who could be my own neighbors have bought into the Nazi stance. Sure they have inherited the high cheeked look. But it’s more. They have assumed that stiff carriage, that humorless expression. That mind that screams discipline and punctuality, rules and obedience. A heart that freezes everything they touch, like a tongue that freezes on an icy flagpole.
Kuhn commands his Aryan audience to demand that the government be returned to the American people. “We, the German-American Nazi Bund, will protect America against Jewish Communism parasites,” he says. My teeth clench. He’s a master at twisting thoughts. “We will protect our glorious republic and defend our Constitution from the slimy conspirators and . . . WE WILL MAKE AMERICA GREAT.”
Führer Kuhn stuns me with his words. From the next aisle, the commander of our Newark Minutemen, prizefighter Nat Arno, waves at me to keep movin’. But my distraction is costly. In the time it takes me to blink, khaki arms trimmed with a black spider woven on a red armband lock around me. They drag me toward the exit to the tune of a female voice singin’ the American anthem. “Oh, say can you see, by the dawn’s early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming—”

 About the Author

Amazon best-selling author, Leslie K. Barry is most recently a screenwriter, author, and executive producer. Her previous professional work includes executive positions with major entertainment companies including Turner Broadcasting, Hasbro/Parker Brothers, Mattel, and Mindscape Video Games. Other areas of business include executive for the first e-shopping platform called eShop and marketing for Lotus Development, the US Post Office, and AOL. She was an Alpha Sigma Tau at JMU (James Madison University) in the heart of the Shenandoah Valley and attended a grad program at Harvard. She has spent the last twenty-five years with her husband, Doug Barry, in Tiburon, CA raising their four kids, Zachary, Brittany, Shaya, and Jackson, and their dog, Kona. On the side, she’s devoted to genealogy where she has uncovered many ideas for developing untold stories that help us appreciate the context of history, preserve lessons of the past, and honor memories through family storybooks. For fun, she likes to travel, ski in Sun Valley, Idaho, play tennis, and visit her family in Maryland, Virginia, and South Carolina, where she most enjoys Maryland hard crabs and hush puppies, Ledo’s pizza, and chocolate horns. You can visit her website at NewarkMinutemen.com.

 

 

 

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Gatekeeper Blitz

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Book One in the Daemon Collecting Series

 Fantasy

Date Published: October 6, 2020
 Publisher: Spark Press
 

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Rachel Wilde comes from a dimension that exists adjacent to ours. The people there have structured their society around daemon collecting: they locate, catch, and repair malfunctioning daemons (creatures out of phase with our world that tempt people to do good or evil). Now Rachel has been given two unusual assignments: 1) find a person who has been trying to break down dimensional barriers, and 2) track down a missing line of gatekeepers, human placeholders for a daemon that was too badly damaged to repair. Authorities of Rachel’s world believe the missing gatekeepers are descended from a girl who went missing from West Africa hundreds of years ago, likely sold into slavery. With no leads to go on, Rachel seeks help from Bach, a raving homeless man who happens to be an oracle. Bach does put her in the path of both of her targets―but he also lands her in a life-threatening situation. Somehow, Rachel has to stop the criminal, reunite a gatekeeper with her stolen past, and, above all, survive.

 

 

About the Author

 

ALISON LEVY lives in Greensboro, North Carolina with her husband, son, and variety of pets. When she’s not writing or doing mom things, she crochets, gardens, walks her collies, and works on home improvement projects.

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Starfighter Rising Tour

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 Science Fiction

Date Published: 9/17/2020

 

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The enemy wanted him. The galaxy needed him.

Sixty years ago Nolvarics nearly conquered the solar system. They were
defeated by starfighters.

Konran dreamed of becoming a starfighter, but he blew his one shot five
years ago. Now his life is stuck in neutral as a glorified rock
hauler.

He didn’t expect to find Nolvarics lurking within the solar system.
They didn’t expect him to survive the confrontation.

Now all eyes are on Konran as he is plunged into a whirlwind of space
battles, peril, and conspiracy. The Nolvarics will stop at nothing to catch
him, dead or alive.

Can Konran rise up and claim his destiny, or will the galaxy fall?

 

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EXCERPT

Finally, his target comes into view. Barely visible despite the sparkling backdrop of one hundred million Milky Way stars, an icy, gravitationally bonded cluster of space rocks emerges through the inky darkness of deep space: one of a hundred Nolvaric operating bases lurking out here in the Kuiper Belt. 

Some of the ice rocks loom large with the diameter of Neptune’s Nereid. Others glisten like meteors, swirling dangerously throughout the chaotic cluster on rapid, angular orbits. Ambient light is scarce at 5.9 billion kilometers from the sun, but Konran has no trouble seeing. Holographic overlays enhance his vision, displaying the objects teeming about by rendering their infrared emissions and quantum gravity distortions. Augmented so, the scene almost looks like a video game from the ’80s—the 2180s, to be precise.

Nolvaric starfighters converge on Konran like bloodthirsty mosquitos at sunset. With four wings like crab legs, pointed fuselages like herons’ beaks, and shark-fin masts protruding from the top and bottom, the enemy starfighters glint like demon spiders against the galactic backdrop. Known as Askeras, these are the nimblest, nastiest, most infamous of all Nolvaric starfighters. No longer able to ignore the escalating starfighter threat, Konran’s plasma cannons unleash upon his foe. Mounted in rotating turrets at his Sparrowhawk’s wingtips and nose, the cannons gyrate like shoulders in sockets, auto-tracking Nolvaric targets and spraying plasmic death in all directions. Enemies surround him, and Konran jolts and jags through their ranks. Askeras explode like firecrackers as he evades their return fire.

Passing through their midst, he stabilizes his trajectory and slows down just enough, letting them get close. The Askeras flock behind him, closing in as if for the kill. 

Works every time, he thinks with a grin.

Konran inverts his Sparrowhawk, and his cockpit and craft reorient in an instant, flipping his point of view toward his aft thruster. In the same instant, his wingtip and nose-tip plasma cannons transmute from guns to gravito-nuclear rocket engines, providing him maneuvering capability as his formerly aft thruster assumes the role of megacannon. 

Konran’s fingers find the targeting solution before his computer signals a lock. 

He pulls the trigger, unleashing a concentrated kiloton blast of plasmic devastation from what moments before had been his backside. Fifteen Askeras disintegrate as forty more scatter. Konran reverts his Sparrowhawk, his weapons and propulsion systems resume their standard roles, and he rockets once more toward the gravitationally bonded cluster of chaos that was the Nolvaric operating base.

His Sparrowhawk careens around the diameter of an ice-encrusted, Texas-size rock, skirting no more than a dozen meters above its surface. More crablike Askeras descend upon him, and he releases his orbit, quickly dodging through a cloud of man-size space debris before losing the Askeras between a scattering of larger space rocks. 

Gravity switches constantly within the agitated anarchy of asteroids, but Konran adjusts effortlessly, surfing the gravitational gradients like he was born for this kind of action. His guns tear through another pack of Askeras as he winds around an oblong icicle half the size of Portugal. And then there it is: a glowing, pulsating ice rock at the center of the swirling chaos—the heart of the Nolvaric operating base.

It rotates there, seemingly slower than the surrounding bedlam. It beckons to Konran, washing his cockpit in an ethereal, incandescent green. More Askeras focus on him, and he diverts all power to his aft thruster, jetting forward on the power of a thousand sequential gravito-nuclear explosions. 

This will be the only attack run, the one chance to win or die. 

Konran inverts his Sparrowhawk. His cockpit flips and his craft reorients in preparation for the killing stroke. A green light appears at the edge of the energy source, then another and another, revealing the deadliest of the Nolvaric defenses: concentrated plasmic energy bundles propelled like cannonballs from the heart itself. The green plasma balls fill the vacuous space before him, each trying to end him. They destabilize as they get close, exploding with vicious stored energy and rocking his Sparrowhawk with relentless plasmic shockwaves. Konran dodges one, then ten, then fifty of the blasts, intent on his target. 

His megacannon comes within range, and he depresses the trigger. 

A column of orange plasma leaps from his Sparrowhawk: a kiloton of destruction inbound on the target as if someone had just hooked a firehose up to a hurricane and funneled in all the lightning at once. The green Nolvaric heart shudders, wracking and cracking beneath the blast. Konran’s sensor displays indicate massive fissures forming within the glowing green asteroid—but it isn’t dead yet. His trigger finger itches as his megacannon cycles and he dances between waves of green plasma balls. 

One more well-placed shot will complete the job. 

Konran knows the spot, feeling it more than seeing it within the monstrosity of a space rock. He takes aim, angling slightly with a careful boost from his dual nose-tip cannons—which, inverted so, are presently providing propulsion to his Sparrowhawk.

He squeezes the trigger.

And with an enormous green flash, a Nolvaric plasma ball smashes straight into his cockpit. And everything goes black.

About the Author

Daniel Seegmiller grew up loving Star Wars, Mech Warriors, and all things
sports. He started out as an English major before switching to his other
love, science. He has an MS in mechanical engineering and has worked on
everything from biomechanics, to machine learning, to defense technology.

Daniel loves dreaming up awesome adventures…like, literally, he
wakes up in the middle of the night with the best ideas. Most of the stories
he writes are for his kids. Starfighter Rising is his debut novel.

He lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico with his wife and three squirrelly
children.

 

Contact Links

Website

Facebook: Daniel Seegmiller Author

Twitter: @DanSeegWrites 

Goodreads: Daniel Seegmiller

 

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