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Earth’s Last Encore Virtual Book Tour

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Science Fiction

Date Published : 07-24-2025

 

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Saddled with a dying sun, humanity has no time to catch its breath after
barely fighting off alien invaders. A defective yet determined super-soldier,
Lieutenant ‘Duck’ Diaz shoulders the task of proving
humanity’s worth to the Stellarans, an advanced alien species offering
salvation.

Haunted by his failures and mistrusted by those he fights to save, Duck finds
an unexpected ally in Hannily, the Stellaran princess who believes in the
potential for unity. Together, they must bridge the divide between two
fractured worlds, confronting betrayal, cultural rifts, and their own doubts
to give humanity a second chance at survival—or risk losing everything
to the void.

 

Earth's Last Encore tablet

EXCERPT

Chapter One

The Girl Beyond the Horizon

The stars had become humanity’s enemy. Their bright futures had
been reduced to a flicker.
Holding this flicker close to his heart, a soldier expelled a chilling
breath through a tight-fitting breathing apparatus and plunged a stake
deep into the freshly dug earth. This makeshift headstone sat at the
tip of a steep drop-off on the edge of a lonely mountain. The wind
raged against the heavy clouds covering the sky. Bittersweet satisfaction peeked across his face when the headstone didn’t waver amidst
the elements.
He brushed the dirt and dust from his mute black uniform. Then
he snapped his legs together and proudly saluted the grave before him.
“For your sacrifice and victory. You may be gone, but our best is just
beyond the horizon. I’ll…” he paused, contemplating his following
words, feeling their ever-present weight, “…take it from here.” He had
no tears for the dead. Instead, he offered his sweat.
He started walking away from the drop-off, passing many similar
graves.
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2
The communicator on his ear chimed before a young man’s chipper voice resonated from it. “Out there again, I see.”
The soldier smiled and couldn’t wait to reveal the news. “It’s finally finished, Julian! I buried the last one.”
“I’m happy for you, Duck. Your dad would be proud seeing what
you’ve done for all of them.”
Duck’s face soured slightly. “He should be buried here, too.”
Julian joked, “The greats find more interesting ways to die.”
“That was him, alright. If only I—”
“Don’t even start. Just do what you can, and things will work out.
They have another mission for ya. Could be something valor worthy.”
“I bet it’s just more stray asteroids.”
“Then it shouldn’t take very long. You can hurry back, and we’ll
celebrate you finishing the memorial. I have some strong stuff I want
to try.”
Duck’s face tightened. “Ugh, no thanks. I’m not trying another
failure in your long line of alcohol experiments. Even a mad scientist
would have quit by now.”
“You baby. Getting sick is part of the drinking experience.”
“Usually preceded by a nice buzz. Not bleeding out the nose.”
“Suit yourself. Call me when you get back. Alcohol or not, I
wanna celebrate.”
“You got it, doc.”
Duck’s earpiece went silent. As the wind died, light came down
onto the gravesite, bringing his uniform to life. Its solid black color
gave way to glimmering silver stripes and a holographic American flag
patch on his right shoulder. On his left was a golden iris insignia. The
sun caught his eyes as he looked up. They were silver and artificial. As
his augmentations adjusted, he bathed in the intense light from the
sun. Earth’s bright yellow star had grown large and ominous.
“Hang in there, big guy. We still need you.” He then called, “Masterpiece, let’s go!”
Earth Last Encore
3
A gold and maroon spacecraft pierced the dusty air. Its thin,
curved wings stretched outward. The craft gracefully lowered until
it was hovering inches above the ground and remained there without
twitching or swaying. Duck put his hand on the round, black-tinted cockpit window, and his silver eyes illuminated. The glass window
peeled away, allowing him to climb into the cockpit. Once he was inside, the glass reformed itself into an airtight sphere.
He sat in a deep seat and replaced his respirator with a helmet.
The helmet was not just a protective device; its cables stretched
throughout the cockpit. His eyes illuminated the helmet’s fibers, and
an outline of him appeared on the control panel. He frowned as he
read, “Fifty percent, after a little digging?”
Slowly, the Masterpiece lifted vertically into the air without the
shake of propulsion or the sound of spinning fusion engines. It broke
through the cloudy peak and into the upper atmosphere in seconds.
Duck got a complete view of the ominous star that warmed the solar
system. His augmented pupils shrank as he looked at the sun and absorbed its dwindling power.
On top of the control dashboard sat a small Ficus. Its tendrils
spilled over the dash. It, too, soaked in some much-needed rays. “Sorry
buddy. I know it’s not much.”
Once the Masterpiece broke through the atmosphere, Duck
looked down at the now blue-and-brown planet that was Earth. After
a few seconds, he had to look away. His mind returned to those at the
graveyard. If they could see what they fought for now. Why did I have to
be the only one to live? These thoughts were a plague with no cure. All
Duck could do was push them to the corner of his mind. The mission,
whatever that was, needed to be his focus—for those remaining on
Earth and for himself.
He ordered, “Get me connected to Command.” His earpiece
chimed, and Duck spoke, “This is Encore-0. Go.”
An anxious operator replied, “We need you to check out something in the Martian constellation, Lieutenant.”
logan peterson
4
“So, it is more asteroids.”
“We’re not sure yet. Dr. Wellington thinks it could be alien life
readings.”
Duck’s brow furrowed. “The Envoy?” His soul started stirring,
and he gripped his dual yoke controls, ready to engage.
“Maybe. We’re getting scrambled readings because of the Martian radiation. Could you move in closer so we can piggyback off your
ship? And whatever you encounter, do not engage.”
He scoffed. “I can handle it.”
“Just to be safe. You’ve never seen combat, Duck—I-I mean,
Lieutenant Diaz.”
Duck sighed and shook his head, used to the nickname. “I’m still
an officer.”
“Of course. My apologies, sir.”
Another voice, deep and empathetic, came on over the radio.
“Diaz, this is Vernon. We haven’t had any Envoy readings since their
final attack. If it is them, we need to be extra careful.”
“Commander, I can handle it.”
“I know, Lieutenant. You hold the same spark as your father. But
even he knew there were times to prepare and plan. No matter what,
humanity will see tomorrow. Our best is just beyond the horizon!”
Duck quieted his burning soul to a flicker. “Roger that. Over
and out.” His silver eyes glowed along with the cables connected to
his helmet. His ship made the jump into deep space. In the cockpit,
Duck’s shoulders shrunk. “Most advanced super soldier reduced to an
antenna.” Vernon’s words echoed in his mind. “The same? We’re not
the same at all.”
The Masterpiece accelerated quickly, passing the moon in minutes and heading toward a red cluster in space. Duck’s eyes sparked,
and the brilliant silver light broke into a soft glow. The Masterpiece’s
gyroscopic mechanism malfunctioned, sending Duck flying like a
bowling ball through space. Once the Masterpiece regulated itself
again with a sudden halt, Duck’s neck jerked back.
Earth Last Encore
5
“Shit!” The control panel now read thirty percent. “Masterpiece,
what’s going on?”
A comforting female AI voice resonated within the cockpit. “I
apologize, Lieutenant. The system was overloaded due to your volatile Encore energy. I advise you to ease back on the power you’re supplying.”
He reached up, placed his fingers next to his augmented eyes, and
grimaced. “Can’t I do even this?”
The Masterpiece took this as a directed question. “It can’t be
helped. Your augmented Encore body wasn’t meant to be sustained
by a dying star.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” It’s not just the sun. It’s me. Defective and still breaking. As the Masterpiece sat in space, he saw a
glimpse of the Earth in his heads-up display. The blue light filled his
eyes with purpose. Still, the commander’s counting on me. I can still do
something for humanity.
“How long will it take given a limited power supply?” Duck asked.
“Approximately one hour.”
“Nearly ten times as long?” He shook his head and took a deep
breath. “Fine, that’ll have to do.”
An hour and fifteen minutes later, he arrived at the Martian constellation, sweat dripping from his face. Duck looked out to where the
bright red planet had once orbited; now, all that was left was a mesh of
radioactive asteroids held together by gravity. He kept his craft close to
the asteroids as he searched.
He flipped a few switches and began to relay any incoming signals
back to Earth to be analyzed. After a minute, his fingers got restless.
He could see the signal’s origin on his monitor. As long as he was careful, surely there’d be no harm in checking it out.
The Masterpiece weaved through the massive Martian rocks.
Some were the size of continents, and their spinning and constant
crashing together made predicting their movements extremely difficult. Duck flew close to these moving rocks, paying no mind that one
logan peterson
6
wrong move could crush him. His Encore eyes expanded his depth of
view, and the Masterpiece channeled that sight into precision. Even
with his lower energy output, he could chip a pebble off an asteroid
without scratching the paint.
Then, amidst the red chaos, a light like no other caught his eye.
Duck licked his lips and flexed his fingers around the yokes. The light
was surprisingly small. Too small to be a spacecraft. As Duck flew closer, his nerves started dissipating, and a warmth settled in so that he felt
like a bug approaching a UV lamp.
A young woman was suspended in open space. The light Duck
had seen was her long golden hair. Her complexion seemed metallic
in its blackness but also exuded warmth. An encasement of sparkling
particles adhered close to her body. When it caught the light from his
craft, it shone like diamond dust. Duck surveyed the area but didn’t
see any signs of another spacecraft or the wreckage of one. “How the
hell did you end up out here without a ship?”
Duck turned back on his comms and radioed in, a little disappointed. “I have a humanoid alien female. But she’s, like, floating in
space without a ship. Is this the reading you were tracking?”
“Good work, Lieutenant. Now that you’re close, these readings
aren’t even close to the Envoy. Is it alive?”
“I have no idea.”
“Bring it in, but do an ocular scan, just to be sure.”
“Roger that.”
Duck’s helmet extended downward, connecting with his uniform. Each part of his uniform sealed off any exposed points and
began regulating oxygen. Just like that, his uniform had converted
into a spacesuit. He disconnected the cockpit’s cables from his helmet
and ensured the fasteners on his suit were secure. He connected a safety line from his suit to the cockpit and gave it a good tug. Before opening the canopy, he paused. “Shit, almost forgot.” He grabbed a plastic
box and placed the Ficus inside of it. “That was almost the end for
Earth Last Encore
7
you, buddy.” The cockpit’s glass window folded backward as though
it were made of gelatin.
Duck jumped out of the cockpit, holding onto the safety line as
his suit emitted small bursts of air, pushing him toward his goal. He
reached out and grabbed her by the arm. “Alien captured.” Even as he
held her, the particles remained close to her skin. He also noticed a
pair of striking white gloves against her pitch-black skin that gleamed
like polished obsidian.
His arm wrapped around her slim and tender body. She was
squishier than he’d expected. Duck pulled her back to the cockpit and
set her inside, and a second seat formed around her, supporting her
body. Once the canopy closed and oxygen returned to the ship, the
particles surrounding her collected into her white gloves, which slowly turned black. Once the particles had dissipated, Duck noticed that
her skin had slightly luminous spots throughout, as though stars had
been imprinted onto her body. Her clothes were conventional. While
the material and stitching styles were foreign, they weren’t far from
what any fashionable woman would wear. However, Duck did question whether or not heels in space were practical.
He took off his helmet and leaned in for a closer inspection. Using
the small flashlight stored in his suit, he inspected her eyes. They were
regal green and the most human part about her, even the pupil dilation.
She didn’t wake up even with his intrusion. Duck sighed in relief.
“No sign of Envoy possession. You don’t have anyone else in that head
of yours, do you?”
He reset the cables on his helmet, and his eyes glowed silver as his
ship sped back toward Earth. Curiosity and maybe some nerves made
him continually look back at her, but he found her lying peacefully
each time.
As Earth came back into view, he radioed Command. “This is
Encore-0. I’m coming down for re-entry. Alien remains unconscious.
logan peterson
8
Ocular scan showed no Envoy possession. Requesting medevac upon
our arrival.”
“Affirmative, Lieutenant. We’ll send a medevac to retrieve it.”
“Roger that. Encore-0, out!”
Before descending, he noticed his silhouette on the monitor flashing orange and reading fifteen percent. He asked the Masterpiece,
“How long would it take me to charge up to fifty percent?”
“You would need two hours of direct sunlight to photosynthesize
properly. However, my calculations can’t be exact with the degrading sun.”
“You gotta be kidding me.” He looked at the sun making its
way past the horizon. His eyes twitched, and the light they emitted
softly flickered. “Direct sunlight, that would only waste more time.”
He shook his head, remembering the trust Vernon had put in him.
“Whatever. This is more important.”
He set his controls for re-entry, and the Masterpiece started its
descent. He looked back at the alien with sympathy. “If you are alive, I
hope you’re a good one.”
Once safely through the atmosphere and in the blue sky, Duck
soared around a large military base surrounded by an even larger
makeshift settlement. Enormous craters littered the landscape, and
a giant radiating piece of Mars nestled into the once snow-covered
Rocky Mountains. The land was dead.
His ship swayed as the light in his eyes waned. He took one hand
off the controls and grasped at his forehead. His status screen read five
percent. “You like taking everything I got, don’t you?”
His craft descended vertically onto the runway. The Masterpiece
extended its fins toward the ground, holding itself in place. Duck
sighed in relief and removed his helmet. The see-through cockpit
opened, and a scalding breeze brushed his short brown hair. Men were
already arriving with a stretcher to transport the alien.
While Duck unstrapped the alien, her right arm twitched, and
she opened her eyes. She eyed him up and down as she came to. Duck
Earth Last Encore
9
paused in surprise. He had released only a “Hel—” when she swung
her left arm around his shoulder. Quickly, he leaned back and snatched
her wrists. Her strength couldn’t match his, but that didn’t provoke
a concerned or frightened expression. Duck stared her down with a
fierce gaze, calling for the men, “She’s awake! Don’t come any closer!”
She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulled him toward her, and
gave him an open-mouth kiss. Duck’s eyes were right next to hers, and
instead of pulling away, he hesitated. As their eyes met, he saw a mirror
into his own emotions. But when she bit down on his lip, he snapped
out of his close encounter. With relative ease, he broke her vice grip
and pulled back, hitting his head against the side of the cockpit. He
pulled a firearm from his suit, pointed it at the same eyes he had just
admired, and shouted, “If you can understand me, don’t move!”
She licked her lips, and her gaze became somewhat glazed over,
like she was looking through Duck. A few uncomfortable seconds
passed, and right before Duck thought he should shake her back to
reality, she smiled and pronounced with a regal tone, “Do not fear,
human. I have come to save you.”
Her comment flooded over Duck like a wave. He asked skeptically, “Save me? What the hell are you talking about?”
She brought her hand up to her chin and pondered for a moment.
“Apologies, I did not mean that in the singular term. I have come to
save humanity from your dying planet.”
He was stunned by her declaration but knew he had to take control, regardless of her intentions. With his gun pressed against her forehead, he threatened, “If you mean what you say, don’t resist. Put your
hands behind your back and stand up slowly.” His eyes were fierce and
focused but green with a lack of experience. His hand shook as he held
his gun tightly against her skin.
Keeping a dignified composure, she complied with his demands
and assured him, “Do not be so fearful, I have no weapons. You can
even check under my clothing.”
logan peterson
10
Duck secured her arms and pushed her up toward the edge of the
cockpit. “That won’t be necessary. Just do as I ask.”
With her head outside the cockpit, she took a deep breath into
her chest. The sun shined down on her hair and illuminated the softly
glowing constellations on her skin. As Duck got out, he grabbed her
by the hands again and pressed his gun to the small of her back.
“I told you not to worry. I would not risk ruining the relationship
between our species before it begins,” she promised.
“Then you shouldn’t have bitten me.”
“Apologies. I only remember passing out in space, and waking up
to your face startled me. I was simply defending myself.”
He blushed. “That so?”
She turned her head back toward him and smiled. “Oh, how rude
of me. I didn’t even ask your name.”
After a brief hesitation, he murmured, “What?”
“A name. I assume you have one. You can call me Hannily.” The
sincerity and kindness in her voice shook Duck’s guard.
As he looked more and more at her face, he started to soften. Trying to think of something else, he turned to the soldiers. “Her name is
Hannily. She has no weapons and has apparently come to save humanity. Take her to Commander Limbani immediately.”
They both saluted, “Yes, sir.”
Suddenly, his vision blurred, and his body got heavy. Unable to
keep himself up, he collapsed to the side. One soldier grabbed Hannily’s freshly bound arms and pulled her away from him. She struggled
and asked, “What’s happening? Is he okay?”
Barely conscious, Duck replied, “Calm down, I’m fine.” To the
soldiers, he repeated, “Get her to Vernon!”

 

About the Author

Logan Peterson
I am a working new father and served in the US Army where I drew
inspiration for Earth’s Last Encore. I am a nerd at heart for Anime,
Kpop, TCG’s, you name it. When I’m not writing overly
introspective work I’m playing with my Corgi and new son. I currently
reside in the Minnesota Twin Cities.
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The Accelerates Blitz

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Science Fiction

Date Published: April 24, 2025

 

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In a world ravaged by a viral apocalypse, fifteen-year-old Ethan Mercer
lives for one purpose: to protect his brother, Leo. Born from GeneCorp’s
failed experiments to defeat death, Leo is a one-year-old whose body ages at a
terrifying speed. Unlike the savage Accelerates, children transformed into
predators by the virus, Leo clings to a fragile thread of humanity.

Together with Mia and Clara, two survivors altered by the same catastrophe,
Ethan crosses a landscape of ruins and relentless danger. As they struggle to
stay alive, Ethan faces the devastating truth that Leo, the last hope of
redemption, may also be the instrument of humanity’s final collapse.

In a final act of sacrifice, Leo confronts his inevitable fate, altering the
course of history in ways no one foresaw.

Years later, survivors gather in Leoland, a sanctuary where sunflowers grow in
the rubble and memories remain alive. There, hope endures beyond all loss,
proving that even in devastation, love can take root again.

About the Author

 Tak Salmastyan

 Tak Salmastyan (b. 1963) is an Armenian American artist, educator, and author
based in Los Angeles, originally from the Lori province of Armenia, where he
was born Takvor, meaning “The King.” Admirers later called him
“The King of Spiritual Hooligans,” a title that reflects his
refusal to be confined by boundaries. His work has been exhibited
internationally from New York to Tokyo and includes the creation of
Autoplasticism and BinArtism™, approaches that merge automatism,
neoplasticism, and binary code to explore the tension between technology and
emotion. He has taught widely across Southern California, received numerous
awards for art and film, and authored Window to Freedom, The Accelerates:
Forty Days to Dust, and Echoes That Suffocate.

 

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Earth’s Last Encore Blitz

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Earth's Last Encore cover

 

Science Fiction

Date Published : 07-24-2025

good reads button

 

Saddled with a dying sun, humanity has no time to catch its breath after
barely fighting off alien invaders. A defective yet determined super-soldier,
Lieutenant ‘Duck’ Diaz shoulders the task of proving
humanity’s worth to the Stellarans, an advanced alien species offering
salvation.

Haunted by his failures and mistrusted by those he fights to save, Duck finds
an unexpected ally in Hannily, the Stellaran princess who believes in the
potential for unity. Together, they must bridge the divide between two
fractured worlds, confronting betrayal, cultural rifts, and their own doubts
to give humanity a second chance at survival—or risk losing everything
to the void.

 

About the Author

Logan Peterson

 

I am a working new father and served in the US Army where I drew
inspiration for Earth’s Last Encore. I am a nerd at heart for Anime,
Kpop, TCG’s, you name it. When I’m not writing overly
introspective work I’m playing with my Corgi and new son. I currently
reside in the Minnesota Twin Cities.

 

Contact Links

 

Website

Twitter

Blog

 

 

Purchase Links

 

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

 

RABT Book Tours & PR

Comments Off on Earth’s Last Encore Blitz

Filed under BOOK BLITZ

The Matrix Opal Virtual Book Tour

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A Dystopian Science Fiction Novel

Book 1 of the Duchy Wars

 

Science Fiction

 

Date Published: 03-25-2025

 

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A rewarding travelogue through a richly drawn world and its cultures,
this arresting series-starter finds Atrium, a master of anthropological
science fiction, inviting in new readers with an enticing hook. Bybiis has the
talent of a beastmaster, enabling her to command a host of creatures. For
this, she is tortured and inked with magic-suppressing tattoos. Bybiis and
Ariseng, from the Siibabean forest, are warned by a mystic shopkeeper,
Ariseng’s aunt, that the two are “stronger together than either is
alone.”

The Matrix Opal tablet

EXCERPT

Opaque mist with the scent of evergreen and anise is receding to reveal sandstone walls. To lead the visitors to the high dry place that whispering people are using for gatherings. To be simple is the walking, but Arrivi guests are picking their steps and wiping their brows and talking together. Returning softly are their sighs, echoing among the obelisks. The stone forest is hoarding echoes of heroes from seasons past. Never fading are these returning sounds. 

To be asking what? Orissa’s lies! To use your Cochin words well enough. The subject before the verb. And to correct your words is my right too, are you thinking?

Sure, to make myself understood. Glad to.

To be arriving together … they arrive together … returning from a khalif’s funeral, the guests are disembarking from one fixed-wing plane, alright?

Uninvited guests attracted by the torture of Bybiis the beastmaster, to be spying our goods at the bazaar table. What? They … they are spying … browsing our goods, asking for matrix opal. 

To know what is matrix opal. Oh, fine. Matrix opal be’s known to me: good enough?

I know about matrix opal. 

There, in five words or less. To keep this up, I can go all day, your love of pronouns. He, she, shit, they, and I – always with the I. Me, me, shit, me. Never looking past your noses. 

To be making an effort to learn my language, which of you be’s stepping up?

So… uninvited guests arrive here to enjoy the torture of Bybiis and approach the worktable in Dianko’s bazaar where my cousins trade for Stroenuk slate. The female commander Omiibuk of high acclaim, Osal the sailor with his own ship, and Baleb the silk merchant who be’s known to us. Bringing with them a pregnant woman, a real worrier by the name of Kelly, a poet and the wife of Rufus el Arrivi. 

Being a wrong term is Stroenuk, but you are not caring. Men who can shiver slate from the towers in our stone forest are Stroenuk, only them, but using the term in hard tones is your choice. Not even knowing the word’s value. And blame is settling on me. 

Enough Cochin for you that is being?

Kelly has coppery hair braided down her back. A roomy leather vest with a long rear panel is hers, and tying her skirt into pantaloons over wide sandals that mostly are not sinking into the molasse. “The path is uncertain in this mist,” Kelly says between ragged breaths. “What signposts to guide us?” She is touching the sandstone wall for balance, tangent to a ward of direction and nearly making it flare. 

I choose to pick the new leaves of a striisnia succulent. I gesture to Kelly. “Under your tongue for easier breathing.” Kelly is turning the leaf over in her palm, and rubbing it clean of any grit. “And for my companions?” 

Omiibuk is staying in the town, not counting our task as important. Osal the sailor is seeming steady, glancing around as if counting the towers. Baleb el Yahya is sweating and sighing like city folk. Store-bought slip-on shoes with an eel skin vest over linens. To be well supplied is Baleb’s rucksack as though my cousins are helping him to plan this journey. 

To offer Kelly … I offer Kelly two more new leaves and, turning away, I am hearing them debate the relative risks and benefits.

In a long tube with a strap, Kelly is carrying a map and several images of the summits of our stone towers. Yesterday, she is rolling out the map on the merchant’s table and wanting me to admire the features, claiming that her tribe is living on the savannah beyond the Striiduc ridges, calling our sacred forest a rift valley of thin towers in regular rows that are shaped when the plateau is shivered by con-ti-nen-tal drift. She is wanting me to nod at her use of the big words. 

Honor she is expecting for her few Cochin words mixed with Arrivi? No attempt is made before today to know the whispering people. No attempts by Arrivi to rescue us from the torturer.  

Only because payment is made am I leading them on the path. I wait for them to catch up with their stumbling steps. Kelly is wiping sweat from her brow. “So easy to get turned around. How do you find the path?”

I lick two fingers and touch the tower wall, then lick them again. “Sandstone,” I say with a jerky gesture to show alternating ridges beyond. “Next is limestone.” I flail the air with my hand to show more distant ridges. “Next is slate and nickel. After that is only basalt.”

“And the opal is in the basalt?”

“Opal all around. Os-si-fied in cracks. Easy to dislodge.”

“And the matrix opal?”

Like that word is unknown. Matrix opal I am seeing many times, the tendrils of black basalt obvious against the milky gemstone. To walk ahead and consider choosing a longer path that is boggy. To take the high path, not for Kelly and her friends, but to honor the whispering people who are waiting. 

Yeah, yeah. To use my pronouns, to posit the self in front of events that must follow in my wake. Events all around, not waiting for Arrivi guests to sort them. 

The dry place is a squat plateau rising from the molasse, surrounded on three sides by totems that are seeming to gather in council. Behind them, the many towers of our stone forest are emerging from the morning mist as if to spy the intruders, reflecting sunlight with the warm flavors of pine and tamarind. 

Elder Aremore waits, a bundle of bones wrapped in linen decorated with leather strands beaded with opals. Behind her are Froon and Faulk. I bow with fingertips touching my collarbone before stepping back, ignoring Kelly’s demand for greeting. Faulk is grabbing my arm. “To be bringing them here?” 

I jerk away from him. “Payment be’s made in the bazaar.”

Aremore is circling the fingers of a bony hand, and Faulk is falling silent. She is gesturing that the three intruders may sit cross-legged on the ground. They are spending time in greeting, and Kelly is rolling out her aerial map of which she be’s so proud. 

So boring is their talk, like the public torture happens never before. In Dianko while the first tattoos are added to the shoulder of Bybiis, grackles are flocking with harsh cries, and the erriv are aborting twins. An infestation of spiders, not uncommon in this season, seems to be called forward by her suffering. More tattoos are added to the skin of Bybiis and the beasts are settling, thus showing the suppression of her talent by applying the skin wards. 

Aremore is signaling for me to step forward. “Advising these ones in Dianko is your duty now. Spend the day with them tomorrow.”

I know Aremore and her ways. She is sending me out because I am having no value to them. “What benefit is coming to me?”

“To be named to the council of the whispering people is your mother in her turn.”

“No appeal in a future benefit.”

We are hearing the insects buzz while Aremore considers what to offer. Her leadership is extending past her prime. Dislodging her is sacrificing little in my view. “To attend the college on Moorea, a sister is wanting. We are not refusing.”

“Both sisters, leaving before I agree. Travel costs and tuition are for you.” Aremore grudgingly nods. “And what for me who is risking all?”

Aremore smirks; her turn for securing a favor. “These foreign men are wondering why you must be the advisor. Show them.”

“Only describe.”

“To show is more convincing.”

“My word is my bond.”

Aremore is removing a chain over her head that is holding a platinum brooch. Nestled within the scrollwork is the matrix opal of Orissa, the famous opal of seeing. “For your journey tomorrow.”

“A day trip?”

“For as long as you advise. But … these ones must have proof of the testing.”

“What proof are they offer–”

Froon and Faulk are grabbing my arms and forcing me to my knees with my back toward the intruders. Ignoring my struggles, Froon loosens my belt and is pulling the tunic to reveal a colorful tattoo between my shoulder blades and extending to my waist. Two newts, one with feathery gills raised, are circling in a courting dance. The marbled backs of the tattooed newts are covering inert wards. To be bottom feeders in our ponds are newts, the choice of image an insult to the whispering people. I am showing no tears, though, and no sobbing. I raise my chin, and my back is straight. Let the intruders have their fun. 

Aremore is handing the chain to Froon who is slipping it over my head so the brooch rests against the tattoo, against the larger newt’s head. I feel the chain’s weight and the cool platinum. “Ariseng is having the talent to create wards and making others flare,” Aremore is telling the intruders. “The warden in Dianko is believing that Ariseng’s talent is suppressed by tattoos, that her skill is tainted. The same is possible for your Bybiis. Show them.”

I struggle against the strong grip of the men. My talent is my own.

“A Dianko warden before,” Aremore tells Kelly, “is having a skill, but many seasons ago. This current torturer is adding a wrong structure. Against the black skin of Bybiis the lines of tattoo are not showing, so adding color becomes his new business for appeal.”

With my back turned, I am hearing Kelly sigh. She is making no objection to the display of my flesh, I notice, allowing them to shame me. “The talent of Ariseng is not suppressed?” Kelly whispers. 

“Show them,” Aremore insists to me. I only shake my head, and she sighs with exasperation. “The brooch you may keep for the women of your family for as long as echoes are sounding in the stone forest.”

I turn my head to consider her bargain. “And the matrix opal of Orissa belongs to me only.” Aremore is nodding and looks away. “Say it,” I insist.

“Ariseng be’s the one true holder of the matrix opal of Orissa.”

I shrug off the restraining arms. I straighten my back and square my shoulders so the brooch is resting on the center of the tattoo design, in a space between the newt bodies. I place my left hand on the right hand and my doubled palms on the dry place, feeling the gritty warmth of my home. A slight buzzing is sounding in my ears. My touch is revealing the blue glow of wards etched into the sandstone. Foreign guests are sitting on a circling blue pattern of Orissa’s wards that is extending into the long pathways of the molasse. 

Sweat is showing on my forehead. I feel the sting of salt in my eyes. I slowly release my breath, tasting anise. On the closest obelisks, the connecting wards for direction and stamina are coming alive in the sunlight, flaring in a rush before fading when I remove my hands from the sacred ground. The caw of a murmurey bird is resounding in echoes, and she launches from the high branch so that her shadow is passing over our gathering. Whispering together are these intruders, impressed with the bird’s leaving.

“Not curtailed is Ariseng’s talent,” Aremore tells the visitors. “To be making Ore’s torture stop, Bybiis must agree that repression is successful.”

“We value your advice,” Kelly says to her. “We are doing as you suggest.”

I only straighten the tunic and stand, looking down at Aremore. I double the chain so the brooch is resting on my breastbone. “My sisters leave for college before I am leaving with these ones.” 

She nods and looks away. 

Kelly and the two men are closely watching. The shoulders of Osal are moving like he sways to some music. His leathers are laced with wards for protection, but not for him. Grabbed up from the original owner this vest is being. How can Osal believe the wards are helping him when they are made for a man who is dead? 

“Serving is not my duty,” I tell Kelly. “Running errands and to follow orders are not for Ariseng. Advice is offered when I am having some, but demanding is not the good choice.”

Kelly is holding a palm high and horizontal as if to receive alms. “We are honored that one of talent deigns to walk the path with us. We agree to your terms.”

About the Author

Stella Atrium

 

Stella Atrium is a cynical septuagenarian who has spent a lifetime
exploring female characters for real world reactions to obstacles. Often
pushed into submissive and non-verbal roles, women really live in a world of
networking among aunties, cousins, wives of husbands, convenient friends and
neighbors. This rich world is largely unexplored.

“I grew up with all brothers, so I knew about women from stories and
from school. What I found at school wasn’t anything like in the stories,
so I set out to learn why.”

 

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Anticipation Day Virtual Book Tour

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Anticipation Day cover

Science Fiction

Date Published: December 3, 2024

 

 

2025 Book Excellence Awards Finalist in Science Fiction

 

“A musing science fiction novel about the future of AI, Anticipation
Day follows a group of friends as they try to improve their lives through
government-sanctioned fantasies.” —Foreword Clarion Reviews

“A boundary-pushing plunge into a vividly imagined future,
Anticipation Day poses powerful questions about identity, the human
experience, and our digital destiny as a species, resulting in a provocative
mixture of Black Mirror and The Surge.” —The Independent Review
of Books

 

In the summer of 2026, amidst the sights and sounds of one of the oldest
pubs in London, Dr. Joshua Lee receives a call that will alter his life for
the foreseeable future—he’s asked to work on a clandestine
project that will transform every American’s way of life.

Six years later, amidst the steel and glass canyons of the Denver suburbs,
a group of friends assemble for dinner the night before their first escape
into Anticipation Day, an immersive simulated experience that is promised to
be an annual respite from the daily grind.

Amongst this group of friends are Alexandra, Eric, Patrick, Mike and
MaryAnne, each at inflection points in their lives and each with their own
life scars and unrealized dreams. As they prepare to plug into the
simulation, they are forced to confront their own fears and desires, all
while interfacing with their chosen simulated experience, blurring the lines
between reality and the artificial dreamscape.

These experiences force the group to confront their deepest fears, chase
exclusive happiness, and unlock truths buried within their souls. As they
delve deeper into the algorithmic labyrinth, more truths about their
existence are fully revealed.

However, the question begs: Will their journey lead to salvation, or will
it unravel the very fabric of their existence?

 

Join this eclectic band of suburbanites as they look for meaning amidst the
chaos of the digital age. Anticipation Day beckons, but not everything is as
is seems in this electrifying tale of urban futurism.

Anticipation Day tablet

EXCERPT

CHAPTER 1

 

THE SLEEPLESS NIGHT

 

March 14, 2030

 

Dr. Joshua Lee rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. It was impossible to go back to sleep. He sighed and asked his virtual assistant, Sylvia, what time it was. Her response didn’t help: “Good morning, Joshua. It is 4:33 a.m. local time, 6:33 p.m. Sydney time. Would you like me to summarize your upcoming day?”

“God no,” Joshua mumbled.

“Alright, Joshua. Please let me know if you need anything,” Sylvia replied.

At least he had gotten four hours of sleep. Drinking coffee past 8 p.m. was never a good idea, and having a cup at 9:30 p.m. to help calm his nerves was, in hindsight, an awful decision. With the biggest day of his life staring him in the face, Joshua should have popped some edibles, put on a movie, and gone to bed at a reasonable hour. Oh well, there was nothing he could do about it now.

He pulled off the blanket slowly and stumbled to the bathroom to relieve his bladder. Maybe that would help him relax.

After what felt like a record-breaking piss, he returned to the bedroom and opened the drapes of his suite on the top floor of the St. Regis hotel, staring at the bright lights of Washington, D.C.

He couldn’t help but wonder what this day, three and a half long years in the making, would bring for him. Joshua had poured his heart and soul into this project, missing first steps, first words and one anniversary with his wife Julie, all for the goal of getting legislation onto President Randolph’s desk for signature.

If that happened, and it was still a big if, Julie and Joshua could confidently say it had all been worth it.

As a result of this goal, he had been in Washington, D.C. for the past three painstaking weeks, which were filled with meetings, late-night sessions, and sleepless nights, all to prepare for his speech today to the Special Committee on Artificial Intelligence, a subset of the Senate Judiciary Subcommittee on Privacy, Technology, and the Law.

His colleague, Neil Jergenson, was more than happy to let Joshua handle the speech and was hopefully sleeping in his suite on the second floor. Given his fear of heights, Neil had suggested Joshua take the suite on the higher floor, which was ironic given how high Neil was all the time.

At the relatively young age of 35, even Joshua found himself physically and mentally exhausted by the end of this three-week stretch. As such, everyone on his team agreed that he should take it easy the day before the speech. So, he had done just that by working out in the morning, eating a lean, healthy breakfast, and reading some books he had packed before his trip from Sydney. After a nap, he ordered a late lunch from room service, watched TV, and practiced his speech.

Julie, their seven-year-old son Owen, and two-year-old daughter Olivia had returned to Sydney weeks ago. The kids needed to get back to school, and Joshua and Julie didn’t want the kids around the media chaos that could follow his speech.

Joshua already missed his family dearly. And his home city of Sydney. He hadn’t spent much time there since they moved to the United States a few years earlier to allow him to perform his research. He eagerly looked forward to returning home after this exhausting process was over.

Julie had been an absolute angel, supporting him through each failure, redesign, subsequent failure, subsequent redesign, and eventual breakthrough. She was the rock of their family, never complaining about the long nights and weekends required of him and always understanding why it was necessary.

He was grateful she was by his side when he received the call that Neil and he were to present their findings to the panel after the huge success of human trials performed earlier in the year.

As he gazed out at the lit-up buildings of downtown Washington, D.C., tears welled in his eyes. He sighed, turned away from the window, and searched for the remote control to turn on the television so he didn’t feel so alone. The local station popped on, with the “really early morning” crew reporting protests in London, which had broken out as a rebuttal to the Church of England’s statement that Artificial Intelligence was against the teachings of the Bible and society should eliminate it in lieu of reverence for God.

Ah, London,” he thought, sighing deeper than before.

Though he had been to London only a few times, the city held a special place in his heart. Even as a young boy, reading Sherlock Holmes, he had wondered what it would be like to walk the dark and misty streets of London at night.

As a teenager, watching old movies and shows about the Royal Family’s history and majesty made him wonder what it would be like to be a royal, surrounded by people who were privileged and wealthy, yet so stuck in their ways. While traveling the world and being adored by millions of people sounded wonderful, the lack of privacy would surely get old after a while.

However, it was his visit to London in June 2026 that he would never forget, as it changed his life forever.

Lying back in bed, he switched off the television, hoping to get a couple more hours of sleep. “Don’t get yourself worked up, J-Dog,” he muttered out loud, using the nickname he had created when he was very young as a way of fitting in with the cool kids from school. “Stop thinking about London and focus on your breathing. In… out… in… out…”

Yet, breathing didn’t help. His mind kept returning to London, to the raw excitement and hope from that phone call in 2026 that brought him to this very bed in Washington, D.C.

 

About the Author

Jeff Michelson

Jeff Michelson is a Certified Public Accountant by trade, a deli owner on
the weekends and a first time author. Jeff lives in the NJ suburbs with his
family, including their dog Maggie and lots of koi fish!

As a first time author, Jeff really enjoyed the creative process of writing
this book and hopes others enjoy reading the story as much as he enjoyed
writing it!

 

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