Dragon Rider: Chapter 1

| Posted in Ebook News, Fantasy / Science Fiction, My Ebooks |


My Beginnings boxed set, which bundles a new adventure (Dragon Rider) with four of my existing Book 1s, has been uploaded to the various stores, but won’t be live until the 28th. I thought I’d post the first couple of chapters on my site for anyone who’s been patiently waiting for some dragon action.

Dragon Rider is set approximately one thousand years before the events in the Dragon Blood series, when the Cofah first came to conquer what was then known as Iskandoth. In that era, the sight of a dragon in the sky was not uncommon.

Dragon Blood fans have met Bhrava Saruth, the dragon who thinks he’s a god. (Interview here.) It takes a couple of chapters before he appears in Dragon Rider, but once he’s there, I assure you (or perhaps he assures me), that he’s the star.

Chapter 1

Magic flared, making Taylina squint and look away from the glowing emerald at the end of the scepter. Heat radiated down the shaft, making it grow uncomfortably warm in her hands.

“If you make this explode, I’m going to club you over the head with the handle.” Taylina lowered her voice to a mutter. “What’s left of it.”

Raff, her lone colleague in the tool shop, grinned at her over the glowing gem, his shaggy blond hair dangling in his eyes. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for a lowly woodworker to threaten a powerful sorcerer.”

“I’ve known you since you danced in the front yard, wearing your smallclothes like a headdress and proclaiming yourself a powerful clansman chief. I don’t feel you have the right to tell me what’s appropriate.”

“I’ve matured a lot since then.”

“Did I mention that, with the exception of the smallclothes hat, you were utterly naked?”

“I have no recollection of that event.”

“I’m sure your aunt Veyluis could fill you in on the forgotten details. She paddled you afterward, as I recall.”

Raff grimaced at her. “Your memory is good for a lowly woodworker.”

“Yes, it is. And if you call me lowly one more time, I’ll definitely club you.”

“Such violence. It’s no wonder the handsome bachelors in town haven’t come a-courting.”

She scowled at him and shifted her weight, aware of the dull ache in her hip that always came when she stood too long—aware, too, that her awkward gait and limp were the more likely reasons men didn’t come a-courting. It had certainly been the reason for much childhood teasing.

“Sorry,” Raff said, touching her arm. “It was a thoughtless joke.”

“That’s creepy, you know.”

He blinked and withdrew his hand. “My touch?”

“No, when you get all sensitive because you’re reading my mind empathetically. Or telepathically. Whatever it is you’re able to do now. You used to be obtuse.”

“Oh, I think I’m still that.”

“Maybe a little.”

They shared a grin. They’d known each other far too long for any slips of the tongue to seriously offend. Taylina was glad that he hadn’t changed much in the years he had been away on the mainland, studying to become a sorcerer and a toolmaker. Back when he’d first been accepted to that fancy mage academy, she remembered fearing that she would lose her best friend.

Disturbed by the heat, she shifted her grip farther down the scepter’s handle. She worried that an explosion was a real possibility. It wouldn’t be the first wooden handle she had painstakingly turned on her lathe, only to later watch it blow up when Raff tried to imbue it with magic.

“Raff, maybe we should—”

A distant boom interrupted her. The emerald lost its glow as Raff lost his concentration, turning toward the front window. His mouth dropped open, and his eyes grew round with horror.

“What is it?” Taylina asked, laying the scepter on a table.

From their spot in the back of the tool- and clutter-filled shop, she couldn’t see much outside, but Raff had powers that she did not.

He closed his mouth, shook his head grimly, and jogged toward the window. Taylina grabbed her staff and limped after him, skirting the big planing and cutting tools without trouble. She had spent almost as much time up here as she had in her family’s woodworking shop, and she could have navigated it even in the dark.

“It’s the Cofah,” Raff said, gripping the windowsill.

Dread curled through Taylina’s gut as she joined him to look out the window. Their island, way down in the southeast panhandle of Iskandoth, had thus far been ignored by their country’s would-be conquerors, but judging by the four huge imperial warships floating in the harbor, that had changed.

The tool shop was a half mile up the slope above town, so Taylina had no trouble seeing over the whitewashed buildings and flat rooftops to the protected harbor and the sea beyond. The cheeky Cofah had sailed right up to the docks. Her stomach clenched when she spotted several of their fishing ships wrecked, the masts broken, the craft tilted onto their sides. Flames leaped from the devastated hulls of more than one. Seven gods, how had she missed hearing the battle? Or had the Cofah caught everyone by surprise and done this with lightning speed?

“Look.” Raff pointed skyward with one hand and gripped her arm with his other.

Clouds grayed the sky, and twilight wasn’t far off, so it took her a moment to see what he was pointing to. But as the village bell tower started clamoring a warning, she saw it. No, she saw them.

Three dragons soared in the sky, human riders in black Cofah military uniforms astride their backs as if their mounts were horses instead of massive, scaled creatures with wings that stretched thirty feet or more. Reptilian tails streaked out behind them while long, sinewy necks snaked about, their lizard-like heads peering at the landscape below, sword-length fangs waiting to chomp into man or beast. Oh, Taylina couldn’t see those details well from her spot more than a mile away, but she had seen the dour man-eating dragon that claimed the back half of their island before. The great creatures were agile and strong, but also magical and nearly impossible for a human or even an army to defeat in battle. The idea that human beings, even if they were powerful sorcerers and sorceresses, had talked some dragons into working with them—and allowing themselves to be ridden—boggled her mind.

Another boom sounded, one that started a chain of many. Cannonballs soared from the warships and crashed into the docks and the buildings on the waterfront. The dragons, two golden and one silver, arrowed out of the sky, straight for town, and Taylina stepped back, fear flooding her body even though the creatures weren’t yet close to the tool shop. One breathed fire, doing little damage to the stone structures, but the others must have launched some magical attacks, for an invisible force greater than the fiercest hurricane seemed to strike the large two-story town hall near the docks. The entire building exploded into thousands of pieces of rubble.

Taylina stumbled back as screams made their way up the hill, mingling with the gongs from the bell. As loud as the booms of the cannons were, they could not drown out those cries.

“Mother, Father,” Taylina whispered, their faces leaping to the forefront of her mind. “Jessa and Morlin,” she added, naming her little sister and older brother. They were all down there now, most likely still at the woodworking shop. The woodworking shop right in the center of town. She hoped Jessa was with their parents. Her sister had been simple of mind and easily confused since enduring a childhood illness, and wouldn’t know what was going on. “I have to get them,” she whispered.

“Tay,” Raff said, not releasing his grip on her arm as she turned toward the door. “What can we do?”

“I don’t know, but we can’t stand here and watch our homes burn, and our families—” Taylina broke off, not wanting to contemplate what might happen to everyone. Would the Cofah keep attacking until the town was leveled? Or were they trying to take over without destroying everything? Would people be captured? Imprisoned? Killed?

Taylina jerked her arm out of Raff’s grip and limped for the door, ignoring the dull ache in her hip. She thrust it open, and the scent of smoke hit her like a slap to the face. The screams were louder outside, and she spotted people fleeing town, running up the brushy slope in the direction of the tool shop and beyond. Hiding in the hills might be the best way to avoid invaders, even if it meant the townsfolk had to leave their homes and everything they owned behind. Taylina couldn’t head in that direction, though, not until she found her family.

She started down the winding dirt road that led through the juniper and oleander, but paused when one of the dragons veered inland. It seemed to be coming straight at her. Before, she had only noticed one rider on each dragon’s back, but this one had picked up three more, men in soldiers’ uniforms.

“Get off the road,” Raff whispered, touching her arm.

She hadn’t realized he had been following her, but she was glad for his presence now. As someone trained to use magic, he would know more about dragons—and how to avoid them—than she did.

Using her staff to navigate the uneven terrain, Taylina stepped into the shadow of a stray olive tree that had grown up far from the cultivated groves in the flatter land above the town.

The dragon, its magnificent form visible even through the branches, soared in their direction. Even from a distance, its sheer size and the power of those wing beats inspired awe—and terror. Taylina’s knees weakened, and she felt herself a fool for contemplating running down into the town.

“It’s not after you, is it?” Taylina asked.

“I haven’t done anything to irk any dragons lately,” Raff said, hiding under the tree with her.

“But it might sense your power.”

“My power is insignificant compared to that of a dragon. It might be coming after you.” He gave her a worried frown. “The males are known to shape-shift and take human lovers.”

The dragon coasted low over Chay Jarffle’s house, the medicine woman’s small home perched along the same road that led to the tool shop. Its massive jaws opened, and fire blasted from its throat. Unlike most of the stone buildings in town, the house was made from wood, and it burst into flame as if it had been doused in alcohol first. A scream erupted.

“But I don’t think love is what’s on their minds now,” Raff added grimly.

Tears sprang to Taylina’s eyes, and she gripped the tree’s gnarled trunk. “Why are they doing this?” she whispered.

Again, she felt the urge to race down there and confront the intruders, to drive them away and protect her family and friends. But what could she do? Limp ferociously at them and beat them with her staff?

“I’m afraid this means Iskandoth lost the war,” Raff said. “I’m surprised there wasn’t word from the mainland, a warning, but we’re so far out of the way. Maybe nobody thought to warn us.”

“They should have. We’ve been the ones supplying the magical tools to help the army and the sorcerers over there.”

Raff sucked in a concerned breath, and Taylina looked at him.

“I wonder if— What if that’s why they’re here?” he asked. “Because of the tools. Maybe they want to keep us from supplying them to—” His eyes widened as he broke off.

The dragon had landed. In the center of the dirt road, less than a quarter mile down the hill, it lowered its body to the ground, and three of the four riders slid off. Fierce-looking, shaven-headed men with maces, bows, and swords, they immediately strode up the road. The dragon leaped into the air, banking back toward the town, or perhaps the harbor where longboats full of Cofah troops were being rowed toward the docks. In each one, a man or woman in sorcerer’s robes stood at the prow, some soulblade or magical staff at the ready.

Two of the soldiers striding up the road carried empty canvas bags over their shoulders.

“They are coming for us,” Raff whispered.

“Us or the tools?”

“The tools most likely. Damn it, Tay, there are dozens of powerful artifacts in there that we’ve made. Since the supply ship was delayed, they’ve been stacking up and…”

Raff grimaced, perhaps thinking now of why the supply ship might have been delayed these last months. Was the capital, way over on the western side of Iskandoth, embroiled in fighting? Or had it already fallen?

“Come on.” He gripped her shoulder. “We have to get away from the road. This tree won’t hide us from their eyes when they’re right next to us.”

Taylina knew he was right, but for a moment, her legs wouldn’t move. Numbness had crept over her entire body.

The soldiers paused, lifting their bows toward the side of the road to their right. A handful of townspeople were running up the slope, no doubt trying to escape. The scrubby brush only partially hid them, and the soldiers were able to target them. Arrows flew, and screams—women’s screams—came from the slope.

Raff cursed. “I’m going to have to try something. I wish—no, it doesn’t matter now. I’m not a warrior, but I have to do what I can. Tay, get up the slope, up to the grove and beyond. Hide up there. If I can, I’ll find you later. And I’ll check on your parents.”

Taylina wanted to object to running and hiding, especially if he was going out to risk himself, but Raff did not give her time to argue. He slipped away from the olive tree, ducking into the brush alongside the road, soon disappearing as he worked his way down the hill.

Taylina took a step after him, but her heel came down on a rock, and she slipped, an awkward jolt running up her leg to her hip. Pain throbbed deep in the joint. Reminded again of what a pitiful warrior she would be—unlike Raff, she didn’t even have magic to call upon and use cleverly—she turned and pushed through the brush back toward the shop.

A startled shout came from somewhere behind her. She hoped it was Raff using his power to hurl those men all the way back into the ocean. Unfortunately, she knew that was unlikely, since he was, as he had said, a tool-making specialist and not an elemental mage, but maybe he could come up with something.

She started to walk past the tool shop, intending to continue up the hill toward the olive groves, but she hesitated, her gaze drawn to the front door Raff had left wide open. As if in invitation to the Cofah.

“No,” she whispered. “You’re not getting the tools we made.”

Taylina looked back down the road, but the terrain hid those three men from view. Hoping that meant she had a little time—or that Raff was buying time—she veered toward the door. She grabbed a few tools from the cabinet full of finished projects, but soon realized she couldn’t carry that many of them, not when she needed her staff to lean on. She only took small items and ones she believed extra valuable because of their traits, stuffing them into a bag much as the Cofah had planned to do. Others, she moved to a storage vault under the floor tiles in the back. A sorcerer would have no trouble sensing their power and finding them. She hoped none of those men had such talents.

She limped back toward the front door, but halted abruptly. She hadn’t closed it, and the road was visible with two of the three men walking straight toward her. There was no sign of Raff. She ducked into the shadows behind a worktable. Had the men seen her? She hoped not. There weren’t any shouts.

With her bag over her shoulder and her staff in hand, she darted around tools and half-started projects, angling for a side window, one that wasn’t visible from the front of the building. She opened it, smoky air flowing inside, and crawled out. She had barely landed on the ground when the thud of the front door hitting the wall sounded behind her.

A man spoke in the Cofah language, which she did not understand at all, but she could imagine the words: “Take everything that’s magical or worth anything.”

Clangs and crashes followed on the heels of the words.

Taylina crawled away on her hands and knees, tears pricking her eyes at the sounds of destruction in the shop where she had spent the last two years working, in the shop that her father had helped her build when it first became clear that they needed to assist in the war effort, to help Iskandoth stay free. It seemed that their assistance hadn’t been enough.

As she crested the top of the hill, the olive groves spreading out before her, her eyes had even more reason to tear up. A dragon and rider flew over the trees, raining fire down onto the branches, destroying everything. She paused beside a boulder, hiding from the sky and also looking back behind her. More of the town was burning or destroyed now, and those boats full of soldiers had reached the docks. Troops raced everywhere, attacking or capturing the people who hadn’t run, those who were fighting back. Who were trying to fight back.

Gray plumes of smoke came from a familiar spot halfway up the hill, the tool shop. The bastards had lit it on fire.

Dashing tears from her eyes, Taylina picked a careful path around the grove. Frustration boiled inside her. She hated that there was nothing for her to do but hide and run—and avoid the fire leaping from tree to tree, hazing the sky with smoke that seared her nostrils and made her cough. She wanted so badly to help, but what could one lame girl do against dragons with fire and magic, and professional soldiers with blades and bows?

“You’d need a dragon of your own to fight back,” she grumbled, again wiping tears from her smoke-beleaguered eyes. She froze halfway through the motion, an idea leaping to her mind, startling her with its intensity.

“The dragon,” she whispered, looking in the direction of the southern half of the island, the half that belonged to Bergethor the Bleak.

The dragon was old, grumpy, and prone to eating sheep, dogs, and even humans foolish enough to walk into his territory. Not that anyone from town strayed onto that side of the island. An old treaty a past chief had made with Bergethor kept him from coming to this side of the island, and the locals were careful to heed the boundaries. Bergethor wasn’t a dragon that anyone bothered—certainly, nobody had ever asked him to join forces with humans to fight off the Cofah Empire. Or if they had, they had never been heard from again.

But what choice did Taylina have? Only a dragon had the power to fight another dragon. Of course, Bergethor was only one dragon, and she had seen three, not to mention sorcerers, but he was supposed to be very old. Weren’t older dragons more powerful than the young? Maybe he could drive the Cofah away.

“Just have to figure out how to get him to help,” she muttered.

The task sounded daunting, if not impossible, but she turned toward the south half of the island. Bergethor was the only one with the power to help, and one way or another, she intended to talk him into it. Before it was too late.


Chapter 2, coming soon… 🙂

If you’d like to have a copy of the story, you can pre-order it (it releases on Feb 28th) from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple, Kobo, and Google Play.

Cyborg Legacy Is Available + Preview Chapters

| Posted in Ebook News |


If you’ve read my interview with the cyborg Leonidas, or you’re subscribed to my scifi newsletter, then you probably already know that I have a new adventure out. In case neither of those things apply to you… guess what? I have a new book out!

Cyborg Legacy takes place in my Fallen Empire universe, about four years after the events of End Game. I designed it to work as a stand-alone, so if you haven’t read the others yet, but would like to try this one, it can be a starting point into my space adventures.

For now, Cyborg Legacy and my other scifi is exclusive with Amazon due to the various promo perks that Amazon offers and the fact that they’ve decided to turn the Fallen Empire universe into a “Kindle Worlds” (other authors will be able to write in my sandbox). But more on that in April when things will be ready to launch. For now, here’s the blurb and first couple of chapters of Cyborg Legacy.


Cyborg Legacy

Former Cyborg Corps soldier Jasim Antar was relieved to come out of the war alive and looked forward to switching to a less violent line of work. But nobody wants to hire a brawny cyborg to do anything that doesn’t involve brutalizing people on a daily basis. Stuck working as a debt collector alongside an eccentric pilot who enjoys knitting gifts for her grandkids when she isn’t blowing people up, Jasim longs to find a more peaceful existence.

But peace is elusive when you have a violent past. While on a routine mission, Jasim comes across the body of a soldier he served with during the war. He soon learns that someone is murdering former members of the Cyborg Corps, men who should be extremely difficult to kill. And he’s next on the list.

Jasim steels himself to reach out to the one person he’s certain can help, his old commander: Colonel Leonidas Adler. Adler is strong, smart, and deadly, good traits to have in an ally. Unfortunately, he remembers Jasim as a misfit rather than a model soldier, and convincing him to join forces may be even tougher than finding and facing the killer.

Chapter 1

A soft hiss-thunk sounded as Jasim Antar fastened his helmet, the final piece of his combat armor, and walked out of his cabin on the Interrogator. He headed for Navigation and Communications where his lone companion on the journey sat in the pilot’s seat. Knitting. Jasim grabbed a blazer rifle from the weapons locker on the way into NavCom.

When he entered, Maddy lowered her long needles and an amorphous purple and green blob that would, he had been informed, grow into a scarf to match the hat she had already knitted him. Her gray hair was swept back with a clip, and she wore a loose sweater of her own design, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, the front featuring a cheerful orange bird perched on a twig. The weapons belt secured at her waist, a blazer pistol longer than her forearm hanging in the holster, contrasted oddly with the otherwise kindly grandmother visage.

“Ready for a tough one, big man?” Maddy asked.

Jasim snorted. Big man. Hardly. When he’d applied to join the Cyborg Corps, back when the empire had dominated the system and the imperial army had been a great entity with headquarters on every planet, he’d cracked his spine trying to stand tall enough to make the minimum six-foot height requirement. He was an inch too short, and he was fairly certain the recruiting doctor had only allowed him in because the war had been ramping up, and he’d had a quota to make. Few men had been crazy enough to sign up for the extensive surgeries and body alterations that came with being turned into an imperial cyborg.

“I’m ready,” Jasim said. He’d never thought he would miss the war and the killing—the sun gods knew he’d tried to get out of the unit more than once—but at least he’d had a purpose then. Now…

“I’ll do my flyby to make sure the ship is there,” Maddy said, turning toward the control panel. Her needles and project went into the yarn-filled knitting basket next to her seat.

“Don’t get too close to the compound. He’ll have enhanced hearing, just like me. I’d rather not warn him I’m coming by buzzing his living room window.”

“You needn’t tell me how to do my job, dear,” Maddy said, swooping low over the tents, metal buildings, and salvage yards that dominated this part of Temperance. Most parts of Temperance. Targos Moon had not been doing well since the empire fell, with the dozens of governments that had sprouted up too busy squabbling over resources to worry about their people, and Temperance was controlled by a mafia clan that wasn’t reputed to be any better. “I’ve been flying since before your mother was paddling your bare bottom.”

“My mother died before I was old enough to need paddling. I grew up on the streets of New Jerome with my older sisters.”

“Well, I’m sure paddling was involved. You have a naughty personality.”

Jasim arched his eyebrows. “I’m certain I’ve never done anything to suggest that to you.” Granted, he occasionally played a prank or two on those who deserved it, but even if Maddy had deserved pranks, he would be afraid to try anything on her, since she was his boss’s mother-in-law. Any woman who cheerfully allowed her daughter to marry a man known as The Pulverizer was not to be trifled with.

“I’ve read your record. Your last pilot complained about run-ins with something called a whoopee cushion.”

“Actually, it was a splat pad, and that was only one time. And he deserved it. He was smooching with a prostitute in NavCom when I was getting shot at and needed a pickup. I trust you won’t be unreliable like that.”

“I suppose that depends on how handsome the prostitutes here are.” Maddy winked at him.

“Pilots,” he grumbled. It didn’t matter how many children or grandchildren they had. They were all half-crazy. If not all crazy. He wouldn’t be surprised if Maddy came from the word mad rather than being a shortening of her name, Madeline.

He got another wink before Maddy returned her focus to the control panel. A three-legged dog roaming a street threw back his head and barked at them as they flew overhead. The cloudy green sky was clear of other spaceships. Few people had a reason to visit the unincorporated part of Temperance. Jasim wagered most of the citizens wished they lived somewhere else. Where else, he didn’t know. Most former imperial citizens who hadn’t turned traitor and fought for the Alliance now had trouble getting citizenship on their pretty core planets.

“There she is,” Maddy said, nodding toward one of several holodisplays, this one showing the ship’s port camera feed.

The sleek black hull of a ten-man star yacht rested on a dirt lot surrounded by a brick and barbed-wire fence. Less than a year old, the gleaming spaceship stuck out outrageously in the impoverished neighborhood. Jasim was surprised the locals hadn’t broken it down into pieces to sell, but supposed the presence of the man living in the squat cinderblock structure attached to the yard might have intimidated them.

“What a beaut,” Maddy said, eyeing the yacht. “I looked at the specs earlier. She’s got real showers instead of saniboxes, and there are auto-massagers and saunas in the lavatories.”

“You don’t think The Pulverizer would put a sauna in the lav on this ship for you?” Jasim asked.

“Please, he’s a scrimper. Besides, where would it go in that tiny lav? The toilet would have to be inside the sauna for it to fit. And an auto-massager?” She sighed wistfully and looked at Jasim’s arms. “I’d ask you to put those meat slabs of yours to work in a useful manner, but I don’t want to have my bones crushed.”

“Meat slabs?”

“What do you call them?” She waved to his arms.

The armor hid the thick muscles at the moment, but Jasim supposed she’d seen him in a T-shirt often enough in the few weeks they had been working together to remember them well. He’d caught her investigating other parts of him, too, usually when she didn’t think he was looking. It probably wasn’t appropriate to think of his boss’s mother-in-law as lecherous.

“I call them arms,” Jasim said.

“How insufficient.” Maddy whistled cheerfully and adjusted their course. “I’ll get within a half-mile, and you’ll have to rappel out. There’s no place to land, and I wouldn’t want to in this neighborhood even if I could. Probably wouldn’t take the hoodlums thirty seconds before they descended on us and tried to tear off the panels for scrap.”

“Just open the hatch, and I’ll jump out.” Jasim waved at the altimeter to indicate that he could handle the thirty- or forty-foot drop.

“Ah, right. I forgot. You’re like an android.”

Jasim frowned but didn’t bother correcting her. He’d tried numerous times in the years since the war ended, but he hadn’t had much luck changing people’s assumptions about cyborgs. At least she didn’t call him “mech,” the derisive nickname many people had for cyborgs. Not that many used the term to their faces.

“Just fly over one of the streets,” Jasim said, turning toward the exterior hatch that opened up from the ship’s single corridor. “Preferably not one of those alleys full of dog piss and potholes.”

“I’ve been to Temperance before. I don’t think that’s dog piss.”


Jasim walked the three steps to the hatch—the Interrogator was a modern ship with a fast engine, good shields, and impressive weapons, but it was definitely not luxurious or large. As he waited for Maddy to find a spot, he silently ordered his helmet display to turn on. The neural net touching his scalp in several spots read the command and obeyed, and readings that ranged from sensor data about his surroundings, to the suit’s integrity, to his body’s vital statistics appeared along the sides of his faceplate. They did not interfere with his vision, and it was easy to look through them instead of focusing on them during a battle. Everything appeared normal, and his heartbeat thumped along at a perfectly normal rhythm despite his nervousness about the target he would confront on this particular mission.

He checked his rifle and the smaller blazer weapons that could pop out of the arms of his suit on command. He doubted thugs would leap out at him as soon as he landed—most people fled from men wearing the distinctive red combat armor of the Cyborg Corps—but when he was operating on his own like this, he couldn’t be too careful. Maddy might provide some aerial backup if he got in trouble, but that wasn’t her job. She was supposed to fly him to the deadbeats, tow the ships they collected if necessary, arrange to have them transported back to headquarters, and fly him to the next mission. That was it. She also, Jasim suspected, reported back to her son-in-law regularly and would let The Pulverizer know if Jasim absconded with any of the goods he was supposed to be retrieving.

A boom came from outside, and the ship tilted alarmingly.

The stabilizers in Jasim’s leg armor kept him upright without trouble, but the litany of un-grandmotherly curses that came from NavCom was alarming. He’d never heard her denigrate the size of the reproductive organs of all three sun gods before, not all at once.

“Problem?” Jasim asked.

“Some idiot with a grenade launcher is firing at us from a rooftop.” Even as she finished speaking, the Interrogator banked hard.

This time, Jasim braced himself by pressing his gauntleted hands against the bulkhead. In space, artificial gravity would usually keep the ship stable, but down here, it was more akin to being in an airplane. An airplane that was under fire.

As the ship rose and looped back the way it had come, Maddy said, “Hold back on opening the hatch. I had to raise the shields.”

As the deck shifted and tilted, Jasim made his way back to NavCom and looked at the view screen. He was in time to see a pack of men and women in baggy, mismatched clothing pointing weapons at them from the flat rooftop of a three-story tenement building. There was more than one grenade launcher among the group, along with everything from blazer rifles to shotguns to a longbow that someone looked to have made by hand. Its owner couldn’t have been more than twelve.

Maddy wore a determined expression as she arrowed the ship toward the rooftop.

“You’re not going to fire, are you?” Jasim gripped her shoulder, careful, as always, not to squeeze too hard. In addition to having the strength that his cyborg implants gave him, combat armor amplified the wearer’s power.

“Nobody fires at The Pulverizer’s ships without receiving retaliation,” Maddy said, speaking it like a mantra. Maybe it was underlined in the company rulebook somewhere.

“You’ll blow up that whole building.”

“It might improve the neighborhood.”

“There’ll be people in it. Women and children, maybe. Grandchildren,” he added, since she had mentioned having more than a dozen of those herself.

She kept flying, looking determined to blow up the entire building, if not the city block.

“Maddy,” he said quietly, giving her a slight warning squeeze, even though threatening her would not be good for his career. He did not want to wrest the controls from her, but he would if he had to.

She growled, but did not fire as they swooped low over the rooftop. The Interrogator received more fire from the group of thugs, bullets and blazer beams pinging off their shields. Those weapons wouldn’t do any damage. The grenades were another story. Maddy banked hard to avoid another one that was launched from the rooftop. It blew up to their starboard side amid a cloud of black smoke. The ship rocked, but the shields remained near full power.

“What kind of cyborg soldier are you?” Maddy asked, scowling at him as she swooped left and right to make a challenging target.

“A retired one,” Jasim said, though it seemed an odd word to use. After all, he was only twenty-seven. He’d only been in for three years before the war ended. “And not one who ever targeted civilians,” he added firmly.

“That’s not what the stories about the Cyborg Corps say.”

Jasim pressed his lips together. “I know what the stories say.”

“I wasn’t just spouting nonsense back there. We have a company policy that anyone who tries to damage one of our ships or one of our people gets handled—like a straw bale on a rifle range. Our logo is on the side of the ship where anyone can see it. We can’t let word get back of our weakness. The Pulverizer has a reputation.”

“I’m aware of it. Drop me on the roof, and I’ll deal with them.” Jasim felt like a thug when he said such things, but he couldn’t object too much to using force on people who shot at him. He just didn’t want to take out innocent people lounging on their couches and reading news holos on the first floor. Not everyone who lived in this neighborhood was a felon. He knew all too well what it was like to grow up in a place like this and have no way to escape it.

“I’ll have to lower shields for you to jump out,” Maddy said.

“I’ll be quick.” He released her shoulder with a pat and headed back to the hatch.

“I’ll have Earl send the repair bill to you.”


“My son-in-law.”

“No wonder he goes by The Pulverizer.”

“No insulting the family, cyborg, or you might not get picked up again.”

“I’ll remember that.” Jasim returned to the hatch and touched the control panel on the bulkhead beside it, calling up the forward camera on the display. Between the shock absorbers in his armor and his mostly synthetic bones and joints, he could survive if he jumped and missed the rooftop, but seeing him splat against a brick wall wouldn’t drive fear into the hearts of their attackers. “Ready when you are.”

“Lowering shields,” Maddy said.

The people on the rooftop jumped and pointed, aiming their weapons eagerly. They probably couldn’t believe the ship was coming back so they would get another chance at it. Missing sauna or not, Jasim knew the Interrogator’s parts could bring in good money on the black market. Or maybe the farmers’ market—he doubted the authorities cared much about policing illegal salvage here, and it wouldn’t surprise him to see stolen fuel cells and tube couplers for sale in a kiosk next to tomatoes and asteroid fruit.

Jasim tapped the controls, and the hatch slid open. Maddy hadn’t slowed down for her approach, and wind buffeted his armor and tugged at the rifle slung across his torso on a strap.

He was about to jump out when Maddy shouted, “One’s firing,” and banked hard.

Jasim, already crouched to spring, had to adjust his aim. He jumped from the ship, leaping outward instead of simply dropping down. More wind railed at him but not enough to alter the descent of a two-hundred-pound man in full combat armor.

As he landed on the corner of the rooftop, he planned to charge straight toward the men and women and deal with them as rapidly as possible—his armor could deflect a lot of bullets and blazer bolts, but it wasn’t as impervious as the ship’s shields and would weaken eventually. But part of the old building gave way under his feet, and he had to react quickly to keep from plummeting through to the top floor. His charge turned into a roll away from the hole crumbling open underneath him, and crimson blazer bolts streaked past above him.

“Combat armor,” someone whispered, Jasim’s superior hearing catching the words from across the rooftop. “It’s worth a fortune.”

“Get him. Get him good!”

Jasim recovered from his ungainly landing, leaped to his feet, and raced toward the pack. Not everyone agreed with the speakers, and some of the smarter thugs were already scattering, eyes wide as they took in his red armor. Several, however, stood their ground, unleashing their rifles and pistols at him. There wasn’t any cover on the rooftop, except for an open trapdoor that didn’t look like it could take a windy day, much less weapons fire. Jasim didn’t bother dodging, but he kept an eye on the readout on his faceplate, reporting on hits and giving him armor integrity updates. He almost laughed when a crooked arrow bounced off his shoulder.

He crossed the roof in a second and leaped into the middle of his foes. Even without the combat armor, his enhancements gave him speed and strength that unaltered humans couldn’t match. He knocked two men off the roof and grabbed the grenade launcher from a third before the thugs registered what was going on and tried to run out of his reach. He gripped the grenade launcher in both hands, and metal squealed as the frame bent, then snapped. He threw the pieces to the ground and knocked more people from the rooftop, some flying twenty feet before they tumbled over the side and to the ground below.

Screams of pain came up from below, and he had no doubt there would be broken bones, if not worse. But he knew Maddy was right. They couldn’t let the company be a target, and a strong showing here might mean he would face less opposition as he walked toward the target’s house. Word traveled fast, especially in run-down neighborhoods like this.

He let the people who ran get away, even though he could have easily caught up with them. Only the fools who were determined to keep fighting sealed their fate. He knocked them across the rooftop or tossed them off the building with the others. When he’d first received his cyborg implants, he’d been delighted at his newfound strength, his ability to thwart all those people who had once bullied him, but years of war and killing and walking across the battlefields of the maimed and fallen had bled the satisfaction out of him. Now, there were far more regrets than delights. Still, he did his job, because it was the only one he had.

Soon, only one opponent remained on his feet. The boy with the homemade bow and arrows. Dirt smeared his grimy face and hands, but it did not hide the terror in his eyes or the shake to his hands.

As Jasim strode toward him, he expected the kid to drop his bow and run. But he held his ground.

“You keep coming, and I’ll shoot.”

His bravery surprised Jasim, and he admired it, even if it was only likely to get the kid killed around here. Jasim wished he could take him away from the neighborhood or impart some message to him, some advice to help him survive to adulthood and find a better future. After all, that was what Jasim had gone to school for after the war. Teaching children. Helping them. But how could he reconcile that with his current job, one that demanded he not allow slights against his boss—or his boss’s ship? If nothing else, he should offer a few tips on how to survive in an unfriendly world. That way, the boy might be wise enough to run the next time.

When he didn’t stop advancing, the kid was true to his threat and fired.

Jasim caught the arrow out in front of him, before the tip would have bounced off his chest piece. He gentled his grip so that he didn’t snap the wood. Finally, the boy seemed to get an inkling of what sort of foe he faced. He lowered his bow. Still, he didn’t run. He stared defiantly.

Jasim stopped in front of him. “I have a couple of suggestions for you.”

The boy blinked. Apparently, that wasn’t what he’d expected to hear.

“First off,” Jasim said, “I recommend that when someone in combat armor enters your neighborhood, you run. Far and fast. You can’t spend the money you think you could get from selling his armor if you’re dead, eh?”

The boy’s expression grew mulish.

“But if you can’t run, because you’re a part of one of the gangs and they’re putting pressure on you…” Jasim lifted his eyebrows, wondering if that was the case, or if the kid just wasn’t that smart. “You better have some rust bangs.”

The boy’s expression changed, his face wrinkling in confusion.

“They’re sort of like grenades,” Jasim said, “but when they explode, they spit out a kind of acid that can eat through spaceship hulls, combat armor, and just about anything with a metal component. It doesn’t feel too good on skin either.”


“You’d have to find a military surplus store to get some around here, I imagine, but I’ve heard of people making homemade versions out of local ingredients.”

“What kinds of ingredients?”

“Well, you’d have to study some chemistry to learn that. Can you read? Do you go to school?”

The boy hesitated. “I did. But my mom needs… stuff, and you can’t make money around here from what dumb things they tell you in school.”

“You sure? I figure it’d be useful around here to know how to make rust bangs. Smoke bombs too. Those aren’t that hard to make. A little chemistry…”

Now, a speculative expression grew on the boy’s face.

Jasim wondered if he was planting the seed that school could be useful or if he was just making the kid think about muggings and robberies his gang could commit with rust bangs and smoke bombs.

“Teachers usually have certain things they have to teach you,” Jasim said, “but if you show an interest in something else and ask for help with learning about it, they’ll be happy to give that help.”

Jasim’s comm beeped, reminding him that Maddy was waiting for him. He held out the arrow to the boy to return it. He accepted it distractedly, as if lost in thought. Maybe he was imagining himself hurling smoke bombs.

Jasim almost told the kid his own story, of how he’d survived a neighborhood just like this, if not one that was worse than this, until he had been old enough to enlist in the imperial army. But where was the happy ending? It had gotten him off the streets, and he’d finished his degree after the war, but only to learn that nobody would hire a cyborg to do anything that didn’t involve brutalizing people. Almost ten years after he’d escaped his childhood, he was a thug, working in the same kinds of places that he’d grown up in.

“Thanks,” the boy said, scampering away, his arrow in hand.

Jasim left, having no way to know if anything he had said would make a difference to the kid. He walked to the edge of the rooftop and leaped down to the street. The pained groans of those he’d thrown off the building drifted to his ears, making him wince.

Another comm beep sounded.

“Antar?” Maddy asked.


“You’re less than a half a mile from the target’s house. I’m transmitting a map.”


The map popped up on the side of his faceplate, showing his location and the target’s address.

“Be careful dealing with him,” Maddy said. “It’ll be a lot more challenging than those scrawny thugs.”

“I know,” Jasim said, turning up an alley in the direction the map indicated. “I remember him from the Corps.”

“Ah. I’d wondered if you might.”

Jasim said nothing else. He didn’t look forward to coming face-to-face with someone else in red combat armor. Sergeant Matt Adams, a man who’d referred to Jasim as “Shorty.” A man who would have the strength to kill him. Jasim hoped it wouldn’t come to that, that Adams would agree that he was a year behind on the payments for his yacht and accept that it had to go back to the dealership, but Jasim remembered Adams’s temper, remembered that he liked to fight and that he liked to kill. He doubted very much that this would be easy.

Chapter 2

Jasim could feel eyes upon him as he turned onto the final street, old pavement crumbling underneath his boots. Ratty curtains shifted in glassless windows, and shadows moved behind partially boarded-up doors. Though aware of the watchers, he faced forward, not overly worried about them. His target was another matter.

Sergeant Adams’s home loomed at the end of a pothole-filled cul-de-sac, looking more like a warehouse than a dwelling. Jasim supposed a house wouldn’t have come with a large enough yard to park one’s luxury yacht in.

His instincts told him to leap up to one of the high second-story windows, work a shutter lose, and slip in that way, completely avoiding the target if possible. Indeed, he spotted a window where the shutter already stood open. Invitingly. But The Pulverizer, despite his ominous reputation, employed a system of collecting delinquent loans and valuables that obeyed the local laws on planets and moons that had them. Jasim first had to knock on the target’s door, inform him that his loan was past due, and ask for the return of the spaceship. If the target did not prove amenable, then he could use force. Murders were unacceptable unless they happened as a result of self-dense. Apparently, The Pulverizer had lawyers who could make charges disappear if the claim of self-defense was debatable and someone was left to press charges. Jasim had not tested that. He had no wish to test it here, either, and he eyed that open window with longing.

Bracing himself, he knocked on the wooden double-doors, the metal rivets lining the frame as large as his fist. The walls on most of the buildings on the street were covered with graffiti. Adams’s place was old and dirty, but there were no signs of vandalism. Everyone in the neighborhood likely knew who and what lived here.

After waiting for a minute, Jasim knocked again. It crossed his mind to slip around back, leap the fence, and use his lock-thwarting repo kit to simply take the ship, but he’d already walked through the alley behind the compound and heard the faint hum of a forcefield. The brick and barbed wire were clearly for show, with more deadly security measures waiting unseen. It would be safer to walk through the house, out the back door, and into the yard.

But nobody answered the door to let him in—or oppose his wish to come in.

Jasim tried the latch, certain it would be locked. He had a kit that could neutralize technological as well as physical locks, and was halfway to reaching for it, but before he could pull it out, the latch gave way and the door creaked open.


He waited for the telltale thud of footsteps from someone running toward him. All he heard was the buzz of flies. He sniffed before remembering that his helmet would filter out smells—along with any toxic substances that might be in the air. Still, as he walked into a cavernous warehouse-like room half-filled with stacks of crates, he began to suspect that he might not have to face Adams after all.

A metal door stood closed along the back wall—it should lead out to the yard—but Jasim turned toward a hallway off to the side, assuming it led to offices or maybe a living area.

The buzz of flies grew louder. Dim light filtered through the shuttered windows, but there were not any lamps on. There were not any lamps at all, or any sign that electricity was present in this part of the city. Adams must have a generator out back to power the forcefield.

Old wooden floorboards creaked under Jasim’s armored boots. Doors lined the hallway on both sides, some closed and others open. He passed a lavatory and an office, where a desk was piled high with what looked like bills, paper ones. He didn’t see a netdisc or any hint that the warehouse was hooked up to the sys-net. He opened two more doors, one to a kitchen area and one to an empty bedroom. The last door at the end of the hallway was open.

By now, he didn’t expect to encounter anyone. He was already feeling pleased, for The Pulverizer’s rules allowed him to take the yacht if it was present and the owner wasn’t, merely leaving a note that it had been repossessed by request of the title holder. When he walked into the back room, it was dark, and surprise jolted him when he almost stumbled over something on the floor. Flies flew up, one bouncing off his faceplate. Jasim barely noticed, his eyes focused now on the unmoving man sprawled before him.

Clad in nothing but his underwear, the man lay between the bunk and the door, bed sheets tangled in a heap near his feet. His gray eyes were frozen open in death, a pained grimace stamped on his face. Deep, bloody gashes had been cut all over his arms, legs, and chest. For a second, Jasim wondered if he had stumbled across some strange ritualistic murder—or sacrifice—to one of the obscure elder gods. But he didn’t have to look at the placement of those scars for long to realize what had happened. Someone had cut out the man’s—the cyborg’s—implants.

Though his stomach twisted, Jasim leaned down to push apart one of the gashes so he could be certain. Yes, a grayish implant responsible for strengthening a cyborg’s extensor digitorum muscle should have been in that spot, and it was gone.

Jasim leaned back, frowning. One of the man’s burly, heavily muscled arms stretched toward a corner of the room where a large, red metal box rested on the floor. An armor case, identical to the one that held Jasim’s armor when he wasn’t using it.

“Someone took your implants but not your armor?” Jasim muttered. Yes, the implants would be worth more, but the armor would be a lot easier to take and sell. Someone had to know exactly what he was doing to extract the implants without damaging them. Not to mention that someone had to be able to kill a cyborg, no easy feat, to gain access to them.

Jasim walked to the case and lifted the lid. The entire set of armor rested inside in pieces, neatly put away into the proper slots. Odd.

“Well, it doesn’t look like you’re going to object to me taking your ship back,” Jasim said quietly, looking down at the man’s face. Shaggy hair fell across the forehead, and a thick beard hid the mouth and jaw, but Jasim recognized him regardless. He hadn’t liked the man, but his squad had fought alongside Adams’s squad more than once. No question. This was Sergeant Matt Adams. His target.

All Jasim’s job required of him was to reclaim the yacht, and he could have headed into the yard and done that without looking around further, but he couldn’t help wondering what had killed the man. It was more than idle curiosity. Seeing one of his fellow cyborgs dead made him uneasy. He found himself looking around for threats, for something that might endanger him too. Even when they were clad in nothing but underwear, cyborgs weren’t easy to kill, and it was a foregone conclusion that Adams had been dead before the implants had been removed.

Jasim knelt to look at the body more closely. The pectoral gashes were long, but hadn’t gone through to bone and organs. Blood smeared Adams’s body and stained the floor, but there weren’t any bullet or blazer wounds, or any deep punctures.

Adams might have had a heart attack, but the man was only about thirty, so that seemed unlikely. Even though all the tinkering the imperial doctors had done to create their cyborgs had resulted in some metabolic oddities and a shortened lifespan—something the recruiting fliers hadn’t mentioned—they rarely dropped dead from heart attacks, at least not in their thirties. Few lived to old age, but as far as Jasim knew, that was because they were picked for dangerous jobs and met violent ends long before they were old enough to retire from service. The man who’d been the Cyborg Corps commander when Jasim had served, Colonel Adler, had been one of the oldest in the unit at nearly forty. Jasim wondered what had happened to him after the war. He would be closer to forty-five now. Was he still alive somewhere? What work had he found after the fall of the empire? Something more glamorous than repossessing people’s belongings?

Jasim rolled the body over, looking for deadly wounds on the other side. Adams wasn’t stiff, and it looked like rigor mortis had come and gone, so this must have happened a few days ago. He was surprised nobody in the neighborhood had been in to loot Adams’s belongings, especially with that window open and the front door unlocked.

Jasim didn’t see sign of broken bones or any suggestion that there had been a fight. He magnified his faceplate to examine Adams’s neck, ignoring the cuts on the sides. Was it possible someone had strangled him? It was hard to imagine someone even getting his hands around the thickly muscled neck. Even someone in combat armor would be hard-pressed to fight off the defenses of a cyborg long enough to actually finish strangling him. Could he have been attacked by a fellow cyborg? Maybe he’d rubbed more than the titleholder of that yacht the wrong way with his inability to stay current on his payments.

“What’s this?” Jasim murmured, leaning closer and touching the front of Adams’s neck.

There was a tiny puncture in the skin near a tendon. It almost could have passed for a pore, but the hole went deeper than that. If Jasim hadn’t magnified his faceplate and looked specifically at Adams’s neck, he never would have noticed it.

He leaned back on his heels. “Did someone poison you in bed, Sergeant?”

Once again, Jasim peered about the room, as if what or who had done the deed might be lurking nearby, but only flies buzzed around. Whoever had done this had come and gone. A stealthy assassin, or maybe even a drone that had been sent in with cutting tools. That might explain why the implants had been taken but not the armor. A drone would simply have orders to perform one duty, not loot a place for all its valuables. Usually, a cyborg would hear the soft buzz of something flying and wake up, but an empty bottle of vodka rested on the table by the bed. Adams might have been sleeping more deeply than usual.

Jasim sighed. If he were on a more civilized world, he could call the police, someone who could perform an autopsy, and he could find out what poison had killed Adams. But there weren’t police here. Just mafia thugs who enforced what passed for the law. And who anywhere would care that a former imperial cyborg had been killed? The Corps had been feared far and wide from its earliest inception, both by enemies and by loyal imperial subjects. They’d ruthlessly patrolled the empire, enforcing peace with violence, as they had been designed to do.

Jasim stood up. The word would get out soon enough, and the locals would swarm the place, taking Adams’s armor and anything else of value.

“An ignoble end, my friend,” he murmured.

He snorted softly. Friend? Surely Adams hadn’t been that. Jasim had avoided the man whenever possible. But somehow, death erased distaste, reminding him more of how they had been alike than how they had been different.

Jasim tapped the armor case in the corner, activating the hover ability. He didn’t like the idea of the locals fighting over it to sell it, so he would take it, along with the ship. The yacht had to go back to the dealership, but he would look up Adams, see if he had any living family, and return it to them if he did. Times were hard for most people now. Let his relatives sell the armor if they wanted.

Technically, the armor belonged to the empire, but after the final battle, there had been no supply sergeant left in headquarters to turn it in to—there had been no headquarters at all. As far as Jasim knew, all the cyborgs who had survived had kept their armor.

As he headed back through the warehouse, the armor case hissing softly as it floated behind him, Jasim commed the Interrogator. Chances were, what had killed Adams would remain a mystery, even if he tried to investigate it, but he knew someone who could find Adams’s family more easily than he could—assuming she didn’t charge a fortune.

“Everything all right?” Maddy asked.

“Yes… and no. Will you get in touch with Arlen McCall for me?”

“The weird skip tracer whose dog is more likely to answer the comm than she is?”

“That’s her. Just send a message, ask her if she can look up our target and find out if Adams has any family and if so, where they are.”

“You killed him?” Maddy asked, no hint of reproof in her voice.

“No. Someone else did. Three days ago would be my guess.”

“And they didn’t take his yacht?”

“I don’t think they took anything,” Jasim said, glancing at the crates in the warehouse.

“Give me a couple minutes.”

Jasim tapped the button to unlock the back door, and it opened without any security requirements. Apparently, if one got past the cyborg, exploring the rest of the compound was easy. He found the button to lower the forcefield protecting the ship and walked to the sleek yacht resting in the dust. There wasn’t so much as a dent. Aside from missing payments, Adams looked to have taken care of his baby. Maybe he had enjoyed the auto-massager.

As he approached, Jasim hoped it would be as easy to get into—it wasn’t uncommon for people to booby trap their ships when they knew the repo men were coming. If they couldn’t have it, they didn’t want anyone else to have it either.

But he boarded it without trouble. The hatch opened welcomingly for him, and the AI called him “sir” when he walked up the ramp. Already familiar with the layout and operations, he headed for the yacht’s version of NavCom. He sat down and fired up the craft. His piloting skills were limited, and he wouldn’t want to deal with the gravitational anomalies out in space between the system’s three suns, but The Pulverizer had sent him to a quick training course, and he could get most vessels through local air and to the transport stations where they would be loaded with other freight and returned to their originators.

“Antar?” Maddy asked over his helmet comm. “You have your netdisc with you?”

“No, but my armor can hook up to the sys-net if there are local satellites that don’t charge by the second.”

“No promises about that, but your buddy is just over at Bronos Moon, so there wasn’t much lag. Looks like she got your message immediately. Or the dog did. I’m not sure. But a text message came back through. I’ll forward it to you right away.”

“Right away?” Jasim asked. “Is there something alarming in it?”

“Only if you’re a cyborg.”

“Well, thank the sun gods there aren’t any of those around here.”

Maddy snorted. “You’re an odd boy, big man, but I’m still going to finish knitting your scarf.”

“The gods are shining triply upon me today,” Jasim said, while holding back a grimace. The hat she had made him, a gift she had given him after their first mission together, made his head itch. And other body parts too. Wool. Horrible stuff. He hoped whichever colonist had thought it would be a good idea to freeze sheep embryos and bring them on the voyage from Old Earth had fallen into a volcano and died as soon as he stepped out of his ship.

“Clearly,” Maddy said. “Meet you at the transport station?”

“Yes.” Jasim tapped the thruster controls and lifted the yacht into the air, hoping no more locals with grenade launchers would take pot shots at him.

His helmet beeped softly, and a message started to display on his faceplate. It paused after only a line. A polite flashing warning told him that he needed to pay to see the rest of it, and would he like to authorize charges?

“Authorize,” he grumbled, wondering if the effort—and expense—to find Adams’s family was worth it.

Yes, he decided. It was bad enough he was leaving the body behind, so they wouldn’t be able to hold a proper funeral. But CargoExpress forbade the shipping of corpses, as he’d learned on another occasion, and he doubted The Pulverizer would authorize Maddy to take him on a two-week trip to deliver a body. Knowing the boss, he would have another assignment ready for Jasim before he had this yacht secured and ready to ship.

After informing him that funds were being withdrawn from his account, the message displayed.

Sergeant Matt Aaron Adams, it read, originally from Zeta Colony on Sherran Moon. Surviving family, grandmother Jessica Adams, Zeta Colony. Possibly more pertinent information? Fourth former Cyborg Corps soldier killed in the last month.

Jasim blinked. “What?”

Of course, he did not receive an answer from the recorded message. But if McCall was on or orbiting Bronos Moon, he could get one soon if he sent the question to her. The message continued for a few more lines.

Others deceased: Mahir Abadi, Stefan Albrecht, José Luis Alvarado. I’ve attached a file with the reports. Most are just one-line obituaries. All of the cyborgs died of mysterious causes and in their sleep, and their implants were removed, presumably after the fact. Only Alvarado’s death was investigated. He worked for Senator Bondarenko on Perun. An unidentified substance was found in his bloodstream, believed to be a poison or venom. You better watch out. You’re an A too.


“I’m an A too?” Jasim asked, puzzling over that before it dawned on him. His surname. Antar. All of the dead cyborgs’ surnames started with the letter A. “What in the suns’ fiery hells?”

Was someone going down the Cyborg Corps duty roster? And if so, why? If they were being targeted so their implants could be sold on the black market, what did the order of deaths matter? Wouldn’t it be easier for the murderer to simply pick the closest cyborgs available?

A hollow chill went through him, and he was glad no thugs on rooftops fired at the yacht, because he was barely paying attention to his route. He had pulled a lot of guard shifts with Alvarado. They were next to each other on the roster. Did that mean he was the next target?

Jasim rubbed his face, not sure if he should flee to the far border worlds, go about his normal job while taking precautions, or try to find out who was behind this. The latter appealed to his sense of nobility, but where would he even start? McCall could perhaps help him with research, but who knew how much she would charge? He was surprised she hadn’t mentioned a fee already. The Pulverizer always paid her invoices when they needed her to find people who had gone off the grid with their stolen belongings.

A bump behind his seat made Jasim jump. For a second, he thought someone had stowed away, but it was just Adams’s armor case, still hovering where he’d left it after boarding. Seeing the cyborg armor jarred a new thought into his mind. An unsettling one.

Earlier, he had been wondering where his old battalion commander, Colonel Adler, had gone after the war. He was an A. Had he already been targeted? Already been killed? It could have happened somewhere remote and not been reported to the news organizations yet.

Jasim hadn’t known the man well—in fact, he was somewhat terrified of him, both because of his reputation and because he’d made a bad impression on the colonel early during his enlistment—but maybe he would know what to do about all this. At the least, he should be warned that someone might be after him. If they hadn’t already gotten him.

Trying to set aside that grim thought, Jasim recorded a message to send to McCall.

“Thanks for the help, McCall. Let me know how much I owe you for the information. And I have one more request. Can you find out where Colonel Hieronymus Adler is currently located?”


Thanks for checking out the preview! Please grab a copy of Cyborg Legacy to read the rest of the adventure.

Interview with Leonidas from Cyborg Legacy and the Fallen Empire series

| Posted in Cut Scenes and Fun Extras |


If you’ve read any of my Fallen Empire series, you’ve already met the cyborg soldier Leonidas, and you’ll known he wasn’t a point-of-view character in the books. That changes in my new adventure, Cyborg Legacy. It introduces a new hero, another cyborg ex-soldier named Jasim, but it also brings back Leonidas as a secondary character, and we get to spend some time in his head. We also get to see how family life is treating him four years after the events in End Game.

You can check out the novel on Amazon if you want to learn more about that adventure, but for now, I’ve arranged an exclusive interview with Leonidas right here. Thank you to those on Facebook who chimed in with questions!

Note: There are naturally some spoilers for the Fallen Empire series in here. If you haven’t finished reading those books yet, and you care about spoilers, you may want to skip this.

Interview with Leonidas

Cyborg Legacy Cover

Cyborg Legacy Cover

Hello, Leonidas. Thank you for agreeing to sit down with me. Well, you’re not exactly sitting, I see, but standing. Vigorously. Is that some form of exercise? You’re listening, right? 

Leonidas: I have to train when I can now that my family keeps me busy. A man needs to be fit when pirates come knocking on your hatch. Also, he needs to be able to fit into his combat armor. Did you know that Beck is still using me to taste-test his recipes?

That doesn’t sound too bad of a life. We’ll start with a light question first. Kantami asks: if you have any say on what stickers get put on your armor to make you look less fierce, what kind of stickers will you choose?

Leonidas: I have no say. Sometimes I can wrangle the children into choosing smaller stickers over larger ones. I also try to steer them away from stickers that smell or can play music. If I had a choice in the matter, there would be no stickers. Stickers featuring weapons or combat armor wouldn’t be that bad… But the girls never choose such things. I seem destined to wear kittens for the rest of my life.

All right, next question. Michael says: Judging by how much fun you had using a rocket launcher… would you consider taking on some more t-rexs for an upgrade… I could see a shoulder mounted rocket launcher serving you well… even if it had to have FIVE kitten stickers on it.

Leonidas: What kind of question is this? Of course. Does this mean we’re going back to the moon with the genetically engineered dinosaurs soon?

Ah, we’ll see. I don’t think Alisa is a big fan of Cleon Moon, due to the fact that Solstice still lives there. Here are a couple more serious questions. Bob asks: 1) Would you do it again, knowing what you know now? and 2) Is it a path you would allow your son to take?

Leonidas: Would I partake in the adventure with Alisa? Or would I join the imperial army and undergo the cyborg surgery? I don’t have any regrets now about joining Alisa (now that I’ve survived knowing her). As for the surgery, I wouldn’t say I don’t have any regrets, but I would do it again, for the same reasons I did it back then. I would have tried harder not to alienate my little brothers in the process though. The military itself suited me fine. It was a tough and violent time, especially those last five years, but since the war ended and I’ve been retired, in a manner of speaking, I’ve found myself missing the challenges and the action. I like fatherhood and being a husband, but I can’t look back without some nostalgia for the importance of the work we did, the built-in adventure and high stakes, and the bonds I had with my fellow officers.

I don’t know if sons are in the stars, but I wouldn’t object to them joining the military, but it would be hard for me to stomach it if it was the Alliance military. Maybe it’s futile at this point, but there’s still a part of me that hopes something else will come along…

Stacey asks: Why do you love cookies and chocolate so much?

Leonidas: I have a fast metabolism. Sweets break down quickly and give me energy.

So no addiction problems, eh? 

Leonidas: Of course not.

No days where you wake up craving Beck’s brownies? No twitches if you don’t get your fix? All right, sorry I asked. Put down that–what is that? Some kind of dumbbell? It looks heavy. Hey, maybe I’ll see if I can get Beck to bake you something after we complete this interview.

Leonidas: *flat stare* It’s not over yet?

Not quite. Your fans have a few more questions. Maria asks: What were your first thoughts when you first met Alisa/when you first saw her in her combat armor?

Leonidas: When I first met her? I was contemplating shooting her. She was impertinent, mouthy, and wearing that damned Alliance flight jacket. I had to remind myself that the war was over and that there were laws about shooting civilians. At least, there had been before the fall of the empire. I suppose on Dustor, nobody would have cared. But I’ve always tried to do the honorable thing, regardless of local policies.

Of course, by the time I helped her find some combat armor, I’d learned to appreciate her mouthy… mouth more. At the least, I didn’t mind it as much. And she’d used it to come to my defense a few times since we first met. I was quite surprised when she didn’t try to turn me over to the Alliance back when we were escaping Perun. That’s when I started to see her as a friend and an ally, and I wanted her to stay alive, so I was pleased to see her in her armor.

It wasn’t until later, after certain events, that I noticed that women’s combat armor isn’t entirely unflattering, since there are a few curves on the outside to accommodate the, ah, curves within.

Does it take a cyborg soldier to find women’s combat armor sexy? Hm. No, don’t answer that. We have another question from a reader. Joy asks: Does he still really want the Empire back in power now?

Leonidas: I do miss the safety and security that the empire provided for its subjects throughout the system. The Alliance is proving to be rather selective in who gets protection. I can understand them not wanting to overextend themselves, but they seem content to leave the border worlds to fend for themselves. I will admit that the empire was not without flaws, but I still believe it was a superior system. I wish those who felt the need to rebel had worked to change the system from within instead of destroying centuries’ worth of infrastructure and stability.


For the next question, Sarah asks: How do you feel about Abelardus’s continued presence on the Nomad?

Leonidas: He and Young-hee have finally moved on. I don’t think I was ever so pleased to see another man get married, though I find it amazing that Young-hee could put up with his many, many character flaws… She seems to be able to keep him in line however. The only perk to having him onboard was that I had a living, breathing sparring partner with whom I rarely had to hold back on my punches. Not holding back was quite pleasant. For many reasons.

Navs asks: 1) Any plans of having kids in the near future? And how many would you want?

Leonidas: As I answer these questions, Alisa and I have been married for more than three years, and we’ve had twin girls. I had originally imagined we might have more children, and a son would have been appealing, but the girls are quite, ah, vigorous. They seem to have a hive mind and know how to work together to reach their goals, however forbidden those goals are. I never realized how difficult it would be to childproof a spaceship.

Yes, I hear old freighters don’t always come with all the perks you’d hope. Okay, next question! Heli asks: 1) Are you going to contact your brothers one day and explain to them why you chose the path you did, or has that ship sailed for good for you? 2) if you could have surgery to go back to a “mainstream” human would you do it, and if you did are there any cyborg features you would like to keep?

Leonidas: I’ve talked to my brothers a couple times since my wedding. One of them even came to the ceremony, the one who joined the Alliance… I think he was pleased that — as he assumed — Alisa was converting me. He seemed a little smug about it. No, I haven’t spoken to them about my decisions when they were younger. It seems like it would be self-serving, or at least serve no purpose now.

I don’t think I’d choose to give up the cyborg implants now. They’ve been a part of me for too long. I like being able to defend my family. Fiercely and imposingly, as Alisa would say.

Chanel asks: Do you now have moments where you regret leaving Prince Thorian, especially since you never got the full story on what happened in that box and even though you found love and a family?

Leonidas: I do regret leaving him. I know he’s in capable hands with Dr. Dominguez, but I also believe Alisa may be right, and that perhaps he should have a family rather than tutors and a mission. At the least, he shouldn’t have just those things. I would have gladly taken him with us to become a part of the family, but I also understand his commitment to his duty. It was his choice in the end. I hope he doesn’t regret it. We’re here if he changes his mind.

Dena asks: Although you wanted children, how does it feel to suddenly be a step-parent?

It was odd in the beginning, and I didn’t know how much authority I should attempt to exude over Jelena, especially since she feared me early on. We’re gradually working things out though, and she’s even been an advisor at times, in regard to her mother and the twins. Not always a reliable advisor, mind you, but an advisor nevertheless.

Nicole asks: What would you have done if you actually weren’t attracted to Alisa after your operation? (I would’ve been devastated, I love their love! 😂)

Leonidas: There wasn’t much chance of that being a problem. I shouldn’t admit this (Alisa won’t be reading this, right?), but I was attracted to everything after that operation. I even had some lurid dreams about–oh, this interview is going to be publicly available? I should leave it at that then.

Heike asks: When will you make this beautiful needlepoint battlefield with flowers? 😉

Leonidas: It’s up in our cabin now! Jelena informed me that chocolate wasn’t a grand enough wedding present (I beg to differ), so I set to work on it in secret as we traveled, and I presented it to Alisa on the day of our wedding. I must confess that the flowers are quite small. Alisa claims they look like blood droplets. It’s just that I couldn’t imagine say purple flowers on a battlefield. Red flowers seemed appropriate.


That’s it for the interview! Please check out Cyborg Legacy if you want to learn a little more about what Leonidas has been up to since End Game. Here are the links for the main Amazon stores:
Amazon UK
Amazon AUS
Amazon CA

For now my science fiction adventures are exclusive with Amazon, but I’ll have more fantasy coming out on all of the sites this year. Thanks for reading!

Streamlining Your Writing, Publishing, and Marketing Process to Become a More Profitable Author

| Posted in Book Marketing, E-publishing |


2016 was a tough year for a lot of indie authors, with people reporting everything from flawed reporting and not getting credit for page reads in Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited program to no longer being able to get Bookbub ads to no longer being able to afford Facebook ads due to their increasing popularity with authors. Every year, there’s more competition, with more ebooks than ever for readers to choose from. Where the Kindle Store was once flooded with mediocre covers and blurbs full of typos, we’re now seeing lots of self-published books that look as good as (or better than!) trad published books.

The industry has matured, and a lot of authors are finding it tough to get noticed. More, authors that once sold well are struggling to earn what they did back in 2012 or 2013, even though they have more books out now.

Despite all that, some established authors had banner years in 2016. Further, I know of at least three authors who came out of nowhere, publishing their first books ever in late 2015 or early 2016, and went on to make six figures. Their first year in the biz. And none of them showed up with huge backlists to start out with (Granted, they’ve all been insanely prolific, but I do want to point out that these were science fiction and fantasy people, not authors writing romance or erotica or whatever genre you’ve heard is super popular).

For myself, I had my best year ever in 2016, on the heels of what was my previous best year ever (by a long shot) in 2015. Now I’ve been writing a lot (I launched and completed my entire 8-novel Fallen Empire series in 2016), and I think you’ll find that as a common denominator with a lot of the success stories, but I also don’t think you have to put out a book every month to make it as an indie.

I do think you need to be efficient as a writer, publisher, and marketer though, hence the title of this post. I’m going to offer a few suggestions for making the most of your time and making sure the books you put out sell.

1. Analyze what you’ve been doing with the 80/20 Rule firmly in mind.

I’m sure you’ve heard of the 80/20 Rule or Pareto’s Principle. There are lots of interesting applications, but as authors, let’s keep it simple here and suggest that 20% of the work is responsible for 80% of the results.

Once you’ve got a good-sized backlist, with multiple series out, you’ll probably find in any given year that roughly 20% of your titles are responsible for 80% of your income. This may be as simple as your backlist versus your new releases, but it may also be that one of your series, or one subgenre that you write in, perennially outsells your other stuff. If that’s the case, write more books like that!

I know, I know, as authors we don’t want to be accused of doing the formulaic or repeating ourselves, and we often try the new and different, but if you’re just trying something new because you feel obligated not to repeat yourself, well… maybe instead, you could put a new spin on some things that are, quite frankly, probably favorite types of stories or characters for you. (There’s a reason you wrote them in the first place, right?)

If you don’t have anything that’s selling well yet, then that’s when trying something brand new might be a good idea. Jump down to #3 in this post if you think that’s you.

By the way, this rule also applies to marketing, perhaps even more so than to writing books. If you make a list of all the things you do that fall under the realm of “marketing,” and if you’re good at analyzing where your sales come from through smart links and careful monitoring of campaigns (this is key), you’ll probably realize that a few of the things you’re doing for marketing are resulting in the majority of your sales. You’ll probably also find that a lot of things you’re doing are wasting your time or resulting in so few sales that you would be better served doing something else. Like writing the next book.

I know it’s a cliche, but it’s true: few things sell books better than publishing more books. As they say, you can’t win the lottery if you don’t buy any tickets. I definitely put my focus on writing, and I always have. I doubt I spend more than 5% of my work time on marketing-related activities, and that’s counting my occasional Facebook and Twitter posts.

Look at everything you’re doing for marketing, and look at the results, and then run the  WIBBOW test — Would I Be Better off Writing?

2. Learn how to write more quickly and efficiently so you can publish more often. 

As much as I’d like to say it’s possible to make a living publishing a book or two a year, you’re going to find that dang hard as an indie author. (Few trad authors with fewer than ten books out are making a killing either — I know a lot of the scifi and fantasy trad authors doing well who started in the last 5-7 years have a lot of books out already).

I don’t think it’s at all surprising that I had big leaps in income in 2015 and 2016 because I’d gone from publishing 3-4 novels a year when I was getting started to closer to 8-10. Last year, including pen name releases, I believe I hit 12.

Yes, this is easier when you’ve already written several novels and you’ve naturally gotten better at doing it more efficiently, and of course it’s easier if you’re able to write full time, but I’ve met people with kids and full-time day jobs who are still writing 6+ novels a year.

I won’t attempt to give tips on how to improve your writing speed, since there are plenty of resources out there that cover it, but I will say that I outline, I turn off the internet if I’m finding myself distracted, and I prioritize my word count over anything else (yes, I’m sorry email friends — that’s why I’m always behind on my inbox) when I’m working on a new project. And that’s often!

For a more helpful resource, check out Rachel Aaron’s inexpensive 2K to 10K: Writing Faster, Writing Better, and Writing More of What You Love.

3. Be smart about the genres and niches you write in.

No, this isn’t another “write to market” tip, though it’s probably not a bad idea to read Chris Fox’s Write to Market: Deliver a Book That Sells if you haven’t already. If that’s something that could work for you, by all means, go for it. I’ve seen countless authors talking about how they were making pennies and then finally wrote a book “to market” and suddenly jumped up to four figures a month in earnings.

But, for those who are like me, and never like reading (or writing) the popular stuff (like gag me with a spoon if I see one more vampire, man), there’s still hope. I’ve always been someone who, for whatever reason, is never interested in anything that’s mainstream. What can I say? I’m not very mainstream. (That’s code for: I’m kind of a weirdo.) The cool thing about indie publishing is that you don’t need to sell tons of any given title to make good money. The internet is huge. Your people who share your same quirky tastes as you do are out there.

That said, you can still be analytical about the series you choose to start. I’ve often said that even though my stuff is never to market, I do write books that have some commercial appeal. They’re not so quirky that the market is going to be severely limited.

If you have ideas for three or four different stories in a couple of different genres, go out there and do some research. (Chris Fox’s book can be helpful for analyzing the potential of any given subgenre on Amazon.) Which genres are trending upward? Are any underserved by trad publishing right now? Are any subgenres just coming into existence? We recently did a podcast with someone talking about LitRPG. A few months ago, I would have said WTF is LitRPG? Go look on Amazon. Some of the books with the keyword in the subtitle are doing amazing (there’s not even a category for it yet).

A few years ago, Amazon created new subcategories under romance. Science fiction romance and fantasy romance. I’d gone through a phase of reading all of traditionally published SFR out there a few years before that, and there sure wasn’t much of it. Once the category was created, it got easier to find more, more put out by indie authors. Not only did I buy some, but I made a pen name and wrote some (you can read my first and second posts on launching the pen name anonymously a couple of years ago). The stuff I wrote was far future space opera romance and not to market (aliens steal women from Earth for breeding purposes, go!), but it sold well because I published the first few quickly into an underserved genre that was still fairly new. And there was an audience for what I enjoyed audience, even if my pen name books were never going to launch into the Top 100 overall on Amazon.

On the podcast in 2015, we kept interviewing authors who were doing really well with space opera/military SF. A long time Star Wars/Star Trek/Firefly fan, I’d been thinking of writing a space adventure series for a long time. Since many authors were rocking it in what was another genre fairly underserved by trad publishing, I decided to bump a fantasy series I was planning to the side and devote most of 2016 to jumping genres and writing the space series. Again, my stories weren’t to market (it might be the only pilot-mom-goes-looking-for-her-kidnapped-daughter series out there), but they had enough commercial appeal that they found a readership. And as I’ve already shared, 2016 was my best year ever.

So before you commit to writing your next series, take a look at what’s out there now and what’s selling. It’s very possible that one of the handful of ideas that you’re excited about has more potential than the others.

Good luck, and I hope you have an amazing 2017!

Interview with the Dragon Who Thinks He’s a God (Bhrava Saruth)

| Posted in Cut Scenes and Fun Extras |


For a holiday treat, I decided to bring back my tradition of posting character interviews (with questions submitted by you).

First up, in celebration of my new Beginnings boxed set (with a new adventure featuring the dragon who thinks he’s a god, Bhrava Saruth), I’ll be interviewing the dragon himself. My thanks to all who submitted questions on Facebook (if you’re not already following me there, you can click here to do so).

Oh, and for those who aren’t familiar with Bhrava Saruth, he appears late (far too late for his tastes) in my Dragon Blood series. The first book, Balanced on the Blade’s Edge, is free everywhere. Also, for those interested in checking out the new Bhrava Saruth adventure when it comes out, I’ve got all the links to the boxed set at the end of the interview. Thanks for reading! 

Interview with Bhrava Saruth

Greetings, good dragon. Thank you for deigning to speak to a lowly human such as myself.

I always have time to speak with my worshippers. You didn’t by chance bring me anything, did you?

Of course. I wouldn’t come to your lair without an appropriate offering. Mango tarts are one of your favorites, aren’t they?

They are most excellent. I enjoy eating them while receiving belly rubs. *pointed look*

Uh, I have ink on my hands. Maybe we can do the belly rubs after the interview? And after you shape-shift into something less… large and scaly?

Do you not find my true form magnificent? *narrowing of eyes*

Yes, yes, very much so. Uhm, here, more tarts?


You’re a very busy dragon, so I’ll get right to the questions.



I am a busy dragon god. Will this interview be published all across Iskandia? So that more humans will learn of my existence and flock to worship me?

Oh, I’m certain there will be flocking. Okay, here goes. First question! 

Carole asks: Bhrava, I know you love your belly rubs, any Lady Dragon in your future to rub your belly???

Lady dragon? Female dragons do not rub bellies. They are only interested in intimacy during their mating cycles, which are many years apart. And their idea of intimacy involves clawing and biting. I have heard of fellow male dragons losing limbs during the process. At the least, you can be certain there will be much bloodshed and loss of scales. I usually only visit with female dragons when biological urges require it.

For bonding and belly rubs, I do prefer humans. You have such excellent hands (and your fingers are entirely devoid of sharp claws). Of course, I am always willing to offer a godly blessing in exchange for attention from my worshippers. 

Deanna asks: Bhrava, Other than your dragon form, what is your favorite shape?

My dragon form is most impressive, is it not? But humans sometimes fear it. I don’t know why when it is clearly majestic and beautiful. I have found, though, that humans adore and never fear small, furry animals. They also like to stroke them! This is why I often take such forms when I do not wish to alarm my newer worshippers. And also when I wish to have my belly rubbed. When a small, furry creature rolls onto its back, humans seem to instinctively know what to do. There is no need for mental coercion. 

I like cats and puppies, but the ferret form may be my favorite because it’s easy to ride along on a human’s shoulder or squirm down into a satchel or grocery bag if it’s necessary to hide from non-believers. Also, there are sometimes tasty foodstuffs in those bags.

Kantami asks: Bhrava, when you’re not looking for worshipers what do you do for fun or relaxation?

Flying is the most wondrous thing! You must try it if you haven’t already. I like to soar high over mountains and then plunge down into valley lakes or into the sea. Also, it startles the tarts out of the sea life.

Kim asks: I seek the great god Bhrava Saruth’s wisdom on the best flavor of ice cream.

Anchovy, of course. I do wish one could find more meat-flavored ice creams. Lamb is so delicious. How could lamb ice cream not be wonderful?

Jennifer asks: Bhrava Saruth, what is your goal in life? How do you see yourself fitting in with the human race? What do you want to accomplish?

My goal? To be known to all of the world and have many followers, of course. Also a grand temple would be nice. I’m working on Ridgewalker now to build me a temple. It is a great honor for him.

As far as fitting in, why would a god wish to fit in? A god must change the world so that it fits him!

Richard asks: Bhrava when did you come to realize that you were a god?

It was many centuries ago when an early rider pointed out my fine attributes and how unusually magnificent of a dragon I was. I had not realized it! After a great battle, in which I drove away many enemies, this rider’s people also saw my great worth. Some of them began to worship me as a god. I realized I must be a god. I was destined to protect humans and bless them and be worshipped by them. It is strange that I had not realized it earlier. 

Georgette asks: Bhrava Saruth, I am one of your devoted followers. I have excellent hands and would love to attend your needs. Rubbing your belly, of course. May I ask as to why you chose Sardelle to be your High Priestess?

Sardelle is an excellent high priestess! She doesn’t yet know how good she will be, but she is quite diplomatic and rarely offends anyone. This is an excellent value in a representative, especially when one’s size and long fangs can be a touch intimidating to some. Dragons can be so misunderstood! 

Sardelle’s lippy sword is taking some getting used to, but I believe I shall also sway Jaxi to my side one day. After all, everyone knows how useful dragons can be. And we’re quite handsome, as well! Between you and me, Jaxi has been known to fantasize about dragons in a most… libidinous way. 

If you wish to apply for the position of assistant priestess, I would be happy to have more loyal helpers. In fact, that will be crucial once the temple opens. We’ll be flooded with curious and interested humans. Potential worshippers! 

Jo asks: Bhrava, what do you have to say to your worshippers from another dimension who read of your exploits and worship you from afar?

I am most pleased to accept worshippers from all dimensions and all worlds. It is a pity, however, that you cannot come for a proper blessing. Perhaps I will have my biographer write down my wisdom in a text so that it may touch everyone, everywhere. Yes, a god should have a religious text, shouldn’t he? This is a magnificent idea. Thank you. Also, can you send baked goods to my dimension? 


If you would like to read the story of how Bhrava Saruth became a god (in his eyes), please check out Dragon Rider in the Beginnings boxed set. It will be 99 cents throughout the pre-order and then pop up to $2.99.

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