Interzone #235 Jul – Aug 2011 (Science Fiction and Fantasy Magazine)

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And then, as Tenerife watched, a warship slid through the rift. Wu pointed to the display. Wu looked at Tenerife and licked his lips. The Terran Space Navy does that. In the meantime, Mr. Wu, prepare another jump solution. Abe, can you hit anything with the laser? Bolivar spoke to Mr. I want to see how fast they are. As soon as you have a jump solution, prepare an S. Bolivar glanced at Tenerife. His author interview series for his blog Rambling On has also brought him notice and enabled him to build a network of writing industry friends.

Because his job as a corporate trainer requires regular travel, he frequents used and new bookstores all over the country. He can be found online at his blog, on Facebook, at his website www. He has another Christmas tale and a mystery novel in the works. He sat down for an interview about Space Battles: A lot of the good writing-related things that have happened to me lately can be traced back to Twitter.

In this case, it was somehow becoming connected to Bryan Thomas Schmidt and starting to take part in the weekly sffwrtcht sessions. Space Battles was an invitation-only call, and Bryan invited me to participate. Other than playing around with loose sf ideas for a print amateur press alliance who remembers those!

In the end, I decided that I needed to stretch myself and at least attempt a submission. Honestly, not only is this my first anthology sale, it was my first anthology attempt. The POV character is an experienced system Ambassador, through whose eyes we see both struggles. You have written other stories in this world, correct? Tell us about those.

The Denthen star system, comprised of the planets Tarasque, Gemin, Adon and the remains of the planet Refarael, have been bouncing around in my head for several decades. The characters started out as a costumed super-team of aliens who visit Earth. I had the concept, but never really did much with the characters. This story introduces two of those original characters, sans costumes and super-heroic code-names, and two of the original supporting characters.

Both stories take place on the planet Tarasque and fill out some of the social structure of the system and, in one case, some of the history. I started out writing stories about my favorite super-heroes when I was in 6 th or 7 th grade. Batgirl, the Teen Titans, those characters. Those stories, as well as the hard SF novel I wrote in 10 th grade, have long-since disappeared.

Clarkesworld Magazine, Issue #59, August 2011

You have had other stories published, right? And a Christmas story. The first is more of a character piece, the latter a nice little slice of light horror. Each chapter includes an illustration by my good friend Don Cornue. Friends and television, mostly. My parents were not big readers. I always credit my friend Terry Wynne, though, for really hooking me on SF and fantasy. And of course, every week I feature interviews with various creative folks writers, editors, actors, singers and more on my website www. They were running once more.

Jespeth was thrown off her feet. Opul and Revanian were both guests on this ship, and they had a history; slamming into the man from behind in the midst of an attack would not help tender their dislike for each other. The question, barked as it was, was not tense. Captain Marijen Parantwer had what could be either described as a blessing or a curse: Ilgallen Parantwer had been one of the most famous military leaders in the known history of Tarasque, and not a generation had gone by in several centuries without some member of the family being in the military.

She kept a cool head in tense situations. How many other current ship captains, military or not, could have stayed on the trail of a pirate vessel of unknown origin outfitted with advanced tech through six—or was this seven? The ship rocked again, and to Opul it felt like the fire had come from the same direction and hit the Parantwer in the same place. He was no expert, of course, and his sense of direction had been thrown off thanks to the six—no, seven, he was sure of it—warp jumps the ship had made. Most diplomatic missions consisted of two jumps at the most, with fair warning ahead of time for those whose systems were adversely affected by the sudden change in motion.

Opul had spent most of this last jump seated, belted in, and feeling more than a bit queasy. In point of fact, he had left queasy behind at least three jumps ago and progressed to outright, if controllable, nausea. These missions are for younger men, he thought, with stronger constitutions. Opul could follow the most byzantine social behaviors to get to the root of a political problem, but spacial vectoring and astro-navigation made him feel like an illiterate child. Before the captain had even finished speaking, the Parantwer was moving in what felt like three directions at once: As the ship moved, the image on the front viewscreen moved with it.

Opul caught and then lost sight of a large planet with a debris field ringing the equator.

As the senior Far-Range Ambassador of the Denthen planetary system, Kcaj Opul had made it a point to learn to recognize every space-faring ship built under Tarasquen and Geminid control, which accounted for the majority of the fleet. There were a small handful of Refaraelian ships remaining since the destruction of that planet, but none of those had ever been intended to be extra-system fleet-worthy and Opul would have recognized them as well.

And of course Adon had no ship-building capability, nor did it need it. Which made it all the stranger that the crew controlling it were absolutely from the Denthen system. A home-grown pirate crew who had been caught smuggling off of Tarasque, among other things, a colony of hectets—a highly endangered species. There was also the possibility of human cargo other than the crew itself. Every jump the pirates made with their alien tech allowed the opportunity for complete escape or at the very least for a vast outdistancing of the Parantwer. They had not yet lost the pirates because Captain Parantwer had made all the right battlefield snap judgments, just as her ancestor had been known to do.

There was more than just luck involved in so consistently predicting where the enemy was going, and even more so when they were going. She seemed to be making another of those snap judgments right now. Her command crew fed her a constant stream of information, a non-stop chatter that had increased in overall sound level, but not in urgency, since the drop from warp and the first barrage of fire.

She responded with coordinate changes and weapons commands in an even, crisp tone that said exactly what she needed it to: Not a face among the command crew showed any doubt as they carried out her orders and fed her fresh information. The pirates had fired immediately as the Parantwer dropped out of warp, from a vantage point on a slightly higher plane. This was a classic move among the pirates who operated near the Denthen system: It was no surprise that they were finally trying that tactic on the Parantwer , despite the fact that it was not a poorly-armed merchant vessel but an actual fighter of the Fleet.

The question that mattered was: Engines and Helm be prepared to initiate fast pursuit. A quarter of the bridge staff began tapping on their station consoles. Opul had no idea what Maneuver Eighty-Seven was, but he noticed Revanian nodding in approval. It was highly unlikely that she would jump the gun and initiate pursuit too soon, or have any lag in reaction once the order for pursuit was given.

She was here simply to aid in the safe return of the smuggled colony, should the Parantwer succeed in its mission. Captain Parantwer turned slightly in her seat, so that she could see the scientist. Maneuver Eighty-Seven will, ideally, stop that ship in its tracks. There may be some collateral damage, but it will prevent them from jumping again. Not in hysteria, as Opul expected, but in a tone of righteous indignation.

We will do what we can to bring this mission to a successful close, but we cannot allow the tech that ship possesses to get away. The next time they strike, it may be more than hectets they take, and it may not be simple black-market piracy they intend to perpetrate. In Tarasquen society, that would be an incredible slight. For surviving Refaraelians like Revanian, it was simply an indication that Liborel was as important as whatever else Revanian was thinking about. No response at all would have been a slight.

Her posture implied that she was mainly paying attention to the forward viewscreen, but that she had at least half an eye and a certain amount of her attention on the data streaming across her console. In each of the three—not four, he was sure of this now—encounters, the pirates had not acted at all unusually. Again, hands flew across control panels. And his numerous Rocky and Noodles short stories are just a small part of his story collection. But, finally I struck on the idea that no one said it had to be hard science, and grim battlefield blood letting.

It went over very well. And really had no thoughts of ever doing another. I started out telling stories to the other kids at night under the street light. Is writing your full time career? There are 70 books on the shelves, hundreds and hundreds of short stories and comics published, and thousands of non-fiction pieces.

So, this is what I do. I mostly known these days for doing supernatural investigators. My Teddy London series 9 books is coming back into print for the third time right now. He was my first occult detective. And Dragonlord , my sword and sorcery series. And Lai Wan, who is a character from the London series who got popular enough to get her own stories and comics. It just helps keep me fresh. What other projects do you have in the works that we can look forward to?

He was as big as Doc Savage and the Shadow back in the day, and they have me writing a series of new adventures for him. Just tell them to go over to www. As members of the crew of the E. More specifically, they were in orbit around Belthis Prime, one of the newest candidates for entry into the grand Confederation of Planets, of which the Earth was the big cheese. Thus the ship had earned itself the job, desired or not, of being present at every official Confederation Entrance Ceremony that the Confederation could manage.

The demonstration was part fireworks show, part how-do-you-like-them-apples, but it was, nonetheless, most effective. Yes, of course, they were all aware that sound could not travel in a vacuum. It could not even exist. And yet, somehow the destructive rays were slathering the area with not only color, but for lack of a better word, music, as well. Impressive in their furious manner, are they not, hum? Magnificent in their ferocious demeanor, no? And, to be fair, he was not just doing so to keep the oddly-shaped alien smiling.

In fact, the human contingent actually had no way of knowing if their current could hosts could smile. The Belthins were basically a race of beings that resembled nothing else more than a stack of meat pancakes. They did not possess heads, persay, but heard and saw and spoke through a variety of slits located around the summit of their conical bodies.

Their means of locomotion consisted of puckering their rounded base and then moving by tilting themselves back and forth as they wobbled along. Needless to say, the Belthins did not believe in stairs. Most of them fell within the range of three to four feet tall with few exceptions. They were also quite a symmetrical race, the majority of them being almost exactly equal in their diameter to their height.

Clarkesworld Magazine, Issue #59, August | Best SF

And, how long ago did they do so … or was it was it merely a lucky stumble? Plemp formed a hand-and-arm-like appendage with a thought, extending it in a casual manner, gesturing with an impressively fluid bow that he would be most happy to answer such questions. As he explained, he was not scientist or even mechanic enough to give away any important points about their defenses. All our weapons have been developed, constructed, designed upon these lines over our centuries, hum?

From the slightest personal protector, to our deluxe line of planet smashers … yes? All are music to the ears, no? Valance and his science officer did not hesitate to agree. The Belthin weapons were extraordinary, both in that they possessed devastating power, and yet did not use very much energy at all to create their devastation. And, unlike the old style nuclear weapons of Earth, they were an utterly clean source of destruction which left no undesirable residues or contaminants behind.

But, to use in space, new this is for us, you understand? Did not need— did not know there was need, did not suspect, hum? You are with us, no? Full Throttle Space Tales 6 story was her third anthology sale but wound up being her first SF story published. Oh yeah, I forgot.

Tag: militarysf

First space themed sale. The other two sales are SF related. His corp was getting ready to fight a battle. They were discussing the advantage of small ships doing bombing runs. It got me to thinking. Where would smaller ships have the advantage over a large fleet? What kind of people would have these ships? Why would they want to fight if they were so outnumbered. I have two other sold stories: The anthology features artifacts found on other worlds. In this book, a girl goes to visit her grandmother. She assists with a team of scientists trying to bring stability back to our poisoned world.

Tell us about those please. Hopefully, my suggestions at the very beginning have helped the sffwrtcht gain a following and become as large as it is now. One of my favorite sub-genres is Urban Fantasy so it was natural to want to do those. I feel that UF has a very broad range of readers and potential story lines. I mean, where else can you get action, adventure, a bit of romance, self reflection, character development and kick tail story lines?

I still have my very first story I wrote in 1st grade. Actually I do, the Gammi universe deserves some exploration and I intend on doing that sometime. She paused and spun on her heels. Finally he shook his head. Still even the best commanders made mistakes. Akinda sighed and moved to her desk. Naz had a touch of nostalgia as he remembered his grandmother. Akinda shared the same skin tone, a warm brown with a slight build. He almost chuckled at the thought of comparing the two women.

Her eyes flicked up to him then back down. His lips pressed harder together with every word the General said. He slowly released the fists he had clenched. Naz slammed his hand down on the table. Before she could protest, he continued. And we are paying you well. She tried to avoid his gaze. He knew how the Council worked. Akinda leaned forward and put her elbows on the desk. I want to make use of that advantage.

The ships are almost ready. My crews like you. I want you to serve as liaison between my fleet and the Gammi pilots. You saved lives, Captain. Akinda shook her head. I need you to help me train these pilots so we can break the Ukra. He was silent for a very long time. The blips on the screen scattered and disappeared. Working quickly, she signaled those three ships. After three years now of significant work editing books, stories and now an anthology with authors, I can tell you I have come to the conclusion every writer ought to get experience being an editor.

If you set a deadline, particularly as I did, many months out for your project, and hardly any stories come in by deadline, you start to worry. I had invited 37 people and needed stories, and I had 6 come in by deadline. Torgersen and Jean Johnson. Some of you expressed an interest beforehand and I honored that. Not a word after the post-deadline pleas for more stories. I have heard nothing. How do you think that makes me feel about their professionalism and their friendship?

My job is to help both your story and the anthology as a whole be the best it can be. I want us all to win. But neither do you. When I ask for changes, I expect you to discuss it yes, but I also expect you to make the changes. We can discuss it. I had some authors who asked to keep a couple things for various reasons and I agreed because they willingly made every other change I asked for.

I hate asking people to change their precious words. One of my authors wrote enough backstory to fill several novels and his story dragged and suffered for it. He refused to make changes, even after I went through and marked stuff out for him. Most editors would have just rejected it, but I went the extra mile.

I wanted to help him make it work. Who would you rather work with? It broke my heart. The first story Jean Johnson subbed, I rejected. I did the same with trunk stories from Jay Lake, Kevin J. Anderson and Chuck Gannon. The stories were all brilliant. But then I also rejected a couple off sub-par stories as well.

Contents Lists

And one of them was by a good friend. That was really hard. It hurt me to say it. I wanted their stories to be good. I wanted them all to be ready and right for the anthology. Thank God I chose not to do an open call. I actually had to push it back waiting for stories. How does that make me look professionally? Oh, the publisher was gracious. It needs to not just fit with the stories around it and flow well, but you need to polish it for typos, get their name right, format it, polish it. It takes a lot of passes reading the stories and it takes a lot of time nitpicking little details.

Sadly, I just the other day found a typo in one story near the end of the anthology which I should have caught. I am going to be kicking myself about that forever. I let those writers down. It takes work to keep fresh eyes rereading the same stories over and over because of all the details. It feels really good to help fellow writers achieving career goals even as you achieve your own.

It feels really good to know someone finally made it into print with you. I never looked down on editing as lesser—less of a craft, less significant than writing— but I also never realized how good it could feel to do it and see the end result published professionally. What lessons have you learned from editing, working with writers, or editing others?

In addition to writing, Grace is the editor and publisher of Splashdown Books, a leading Christian speculative fiction publisher in New Zealand. Well, that would be you, Bryan, who sent me an invite. I am in a couple of anthologies so far: Frank Creed and Forever Friends ed. The Book of Sylvari ed. Chila Woychik , Year of the Dragon ed. Ambrose and The Cross and Cosmos, Year 1 ed. However, Space Battles was wrapped up the fastest of any — well done! So the emotions are very real, although I sent them into space.

Please tell us a little about those. A computer technician gets more than she bargains for when she plunges herself and her companions into virtual reality cryogenic stasis to escape a raging plague. Cyberpunk dystopia, set in a future Ireland. Legendary Space Pilgrims A pair of freedom-seekers escape the mind-controlled slavery of Planet Monday and follow the Voice to unknown worlds where wonders and challenges await.

You also are the publisher of Splashdown Books in New Zealand. Tell us about Splashdown please. Too many great manuscripts and not enough publishers led to the conclusion that I should use my publishing knowledge for their benefit. You can get a taste of all our authors to the end of in the group anthology Aquasynthesis http: Homeschooling for me also meant lots and lots of reading, mostly fiction, adding to my arsenal of words and styles, which has been a huge influence on my writing.

Do you have plans to do any more with this universe? My companion, bending over her console, turns to look up at me. We become still and watch the displays. At the last second he veers away. I should have said we. But she appears not to have noticed. It may be my battle, but now I have drawn her into it, never ever what I wanted.

A split second later, the ship bucks under us. I forgot the harness again…. I gazed at the star-encrusted universe and the huge curve of Neptune, with its vivid blue bands and posse of tiny moons. I had seen it countless times through a telescope in earlier days, but now it was so close, it felt as if I could reach out and touch the shimmering surface. I held out my gloved hand and watched the soft swirls of condensation drift between my fingers like soap suds in a basin.

Somewhere out there was my enemy … dying or adrift? Somewhere, too, was the repair ship Kasif , coming to fix us. But she was days away yet. One last look, then I entered the airlock and activated it. Its hiss roared in my ears after the silence of the vacuum. I prayed it was enough. After twenty hours spacewalking to mend the deadly puncture, all I wanted was to get out of this suit. The airlock light moved to orange, and then after an age, to green. I hauled on the handle and swung the thick inner door open. The main hallway of the starship loomed before me, still lit only by emergency panels.

Bait and Switch

Stars spin around us as we pitch end over end through space … away from the scene of the battle, never to return. Why did he give up now? I shook the images from my mind. The Namaste was my home. The only place ever worthy of the name. I sighed inside my helmet, and the faceplate fogged a little more. Stepping over to the nearest wall computer, I checked the oxygen level. It was almost normal, so I flipped the catch on my helmet and yanked it off, my hair escaping its ties to cascade down my back.

My personal vow was to keep travelling outwards from Earth till old age got to me. The lights came back up just then and I smiled. I made for the bridge, letting myself bounce and feel the all-but-flying sensation of low gravity. I landed on my toes, slipped through the door, and commanded a systems check to begin.

The ship reported all systems marginally functional, except propulsion. We would be stranded until the rescue ship arrived. I strode back into the hallway. I stretched my neck after the long day in confinement. Piano music sounded from the central area, and I hurried to unzip my outer suit.

It fell to the ground and I stepped out, leaving it where it lay. What was that odd smell? I shook out my clothing and entered the room. No one was there, but the music player was illuminated. I peered at it. My eyes flicked here and there in the dim light reflected from the hallway. Perhaps she was in the bathroom, or in her cabin. But why would she leave the music playing? To this day I was determined to be the best at everything I set my hand to. I have no idea how, but they are! I moved back into the hallway in light bounds that hardly touched the floor.

I passed the open bathroom door. The smell grew stronger. I reached the row of cabins and passed by the unoccupied ones. The whump this time is deafening even through the helmet, the flash steals sight, and it is all I can do to keep hold of the thrashing chair. We were explorers, and everyone knew it. The mission was dying, as all could see. Only Lauren and I remained, and if either of us left, it would be closed down. But we were still here, clinging to the spirit of adventure. After all, one never knew when new recruits would come to us and restore the full potential of this ship.

I lived in hope, and in terror of having to return. But my worst fear had found me. I wrinkled my nose. What was that smell? It was almost like the heavy, sweat-tinged air you get in a sealed room where someone has been sleeping a long time, only it was even heavier, and made me feel tired just to breathe it. I pushed the door all the way open and slipped inside. I glance at the main viewscreen and remain transfixed at the sight of a silhouette far too close for comfort.

A tall, fat candle burned on the nightstand, spent wax stalagtites dripping off at odd angles. Lauren lay motionless on the bed, in her spacesuit but without the helmet, arms and legs laid out ramrodstraight. I perched on the edge of the bed and reached for her hand. I pulled off her glove. Her fingers were cool to the touch, and I rubbed them in both of mine. Still she did not move or wake. Her faint breathing was steady. I poked her shoulder and my heart raced as she showed no reaction.

She floated up off the bed as I rattled her, but she was as dumb as a rag doll. I shook even harder, putting all my muscle into it. I was so thrilled to be accepted into a collection featuring so many talented writers! The initial story idea, a civilian space freighter crew-member who has to fend off an alien attack using her ship as an improvised weapon, came from a piece I did several years ago that never really came together and which I never submitted.

Another story set in this universe came out in Interzone. Which came first and how do they tie together? Each colony is loosely based on different cultures and religions that exist today. When another woman, an offworld pilot, is brought to her, badly wounded and desperately in need of medical attention, Shaomi must choose between the dogma of her religion and the core beliefs of her true faith. A sequel, Nights of Sin , followed in Both books follow the life of Kirin, a woman who, after the murder of her twin sister, seeks out the power of necromancy to bring back the dead as her unliving champions.

Both books recently went out of print in mass-market paperback but a few copies exist here and there, both in the new and second-hand markets, and a shift to e-book will hopefully see them back in print for Kindle, Nook, and other e-readers soon. A third book is also outlined and may one day be released….

You recently got married and went on a honeymoon. Did you find the cross cultural experience inspiring creatively? Will those experiences influence your work? We honeymooned in Budapest and Prague, and already those cities, with their centuries-old cathedrals and cobbled streets, have begun creeping into my work. High school is also where I discovered role-playing games, and for years I fed my storytelling jag with endless hours of Dungeons and Dragons, Vampire: The Masquerade, and a host of others.

In college I did a little work for FASA the game company responsible for Battletech, Shadowrun, and a number of other great games — just a little fill-in flavor text writing and stuff, but it definitely gave me the desire to tell stories for a living one day. Soon, but not just yet.

To be away from the endless, well-meaning condolences. He shakes his head and peers out through the smeared visor. Full of little bits and pieces from the life he lived before his conversion. All Enoch had was six months of misery during his brief rumspringa, confused and dazzled by the lights and noise and baffling speed of everything around him as he wandered through sprawling port cities on Prospero and New Constantinople. Six months of struggle, leading to that terrible, drunken night.

The alley behind the nameless bar, blood on his hands and police lights in his eyes. Cages after that, each one worse than the last. Enoch grunts and closes the channel. By the time the whistle of returning pressure fades, Enoch is ready to face the crew. The red vac-warning light cycles to green, automatically releasing the clamps on his helmet seal. He combs this thin, sandy-blond hair away from his face with stubby fingers, smoothing it down over the stumps where his ears once were.

When everything is stowed, he shuffles off, eyes fixed on the deck, hands clasped over the hard swell of his belly. He does not meet the eyes of his fellow shipmates, nor speak on the infrequent occasions when others call his name. By the time he reaches the machine shop his shoulders and neck are trembling.

It says nothing, offers no words of awkward sympathy. It, like Enoch, is all work, all the time, just the way he likes it. The way he needs it to be. He dogs the hatch shut, spinning the manual wheel around and around until the green light goes on. The Captain is a frugal man. He makes do, and asks them all to do the same.

The wheel stops turning. Enoch is locked in. This is one place, other than outside, that he can be alone. He looks at his tiny cell: He forces himself not too look at the photo. Enoch sighs and strokes his beard, tugging it gently. Behind him, the woman and the child in the photo smile in brilliant sunshine, unaware of the future calamity that awaits them. And we all remember what happened on Solace. Many voices mumble agreement as Enoch twitches, the word stinging, sharp as a slap. He hunches over his tray, eyes downcast, hoping that nobody has seen his reaction. I say we should take the fight to them!

The uniform stretches tight across her bulging biceps and flat, man-like chest as she hammers a ham-sized fist on the table. Blow alien asses to hell! The mess echoes with agreement as pilots and soldiers and scattered support personnel call out agreement. Enoch watches from his seat at the last table as men and women raise clenched fists and shout for blood. The call stirs something in him, a hot, red pulse that he can feel behind his eyes.

But that was before Solace. Making his heart pound and his hands clench. He takes a deep breath, eyes fixed on his food, struggling to ignore it. The question, asked lightly, cuts through the din. The officers and soldiers fall silent, heads turning as one to look at their commanding officer. Major la Romano raises his cup and takes a long swallow.

His black eyes twinkle with amusement as he dabs at the corner of his thin lips with a napkin. Now his narrow shoulders rise and fall in an elegant shrug. The Concordance navy is in tatters. Our ground forces are badly shaken, and demoralized. The silence in the room thickens. Enoch looks up from beneath lowered brows and sees the scowls of disappointment, the far-away looks of remembered defeats. The Major puts his cup down on the table. To rebuild our strength, and share our stories, and, of course, to plan our revenge.

He stares out at the assembled officers and crew, his black eyes hard as obsidian. We will show them that humanity does not bend the knee. And we will win. All around, scowls turn to grim smiles. The captain nods, but Enoch can see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the stiffness in his neck. Cap frowns, his disagreement plain for all to see. He scowls into his cup, and says nothing.

I am His sword, and His shield, as are all these brave men and women you see here. We do what must be done to honor that charge. For as Samson said: The room explodes with shouts and cheers, not just the soldiers, but some of the crew this time as well. Enoch feels his breath catch in his chest as the red hunger swells, the desire to hit, to cut, to lash out. He thinks of the picture back in his cell, the image of Ruth and Miriam that he holds in his heart when the animal bays for blood.

Usually the memory of his family is a cooling rain, soothing his rage, but this time the vision serves only to inflame him further, feeding his fury like gasoline poured onto still-glowing embers. Enoch hunches in his seat, fists clenched beneath the table, shoulders shaking as raucous shouts echo through the room, fading slowly as the soldiers file out, returning to the improvised bunks set up in the cargo hold. The Major nods to his host and joins the officers, no doubt headed for one of the staterooms, there to drink toasts of contraband spirits to their inevitable success.

A few scattered soldiers, in groups of two or three, sit and chat quietly. Luke, the skinny mess attendant, clears dishes and wipes tables. Her dark hair is shaved close to the scalp, short enough that he can see the lines and swirls of old tattoos, murky blue and brown. They cut off all their hair, he thinks, so it will not interfere with the armor and machines they wear to war. Wants people to stand and fight. He hears her come up behind him, rocks in his seat as she slaps her hand down on his shoulder.

Big hands, honest grease under nails, yar. The hand strokes, trails up along his neck and over his stubbled cheek. Her rough-nailed fingers stir his hair, lifting it away from his amputated ears. Like some scars, me. Blossoming, huge, more than he can hold onto. The Marine lies sprawled on the deck, bright blood on her lips. Echoes of her clattering fall chase themselves through the mess. The steward and the remaining soldiers stare, eyes wide. Professional astronomer David Lee Summers. He spends his nights assisting scientists on staff bi-weekly at Kitt Peak Observatory near Tucson, Arizona.

His lives with his wife and two daughters in Las Cruces, New Mexico. David, you helped start the Full Throttle Space Tales series and have edited two of the anthologies so far. How did all of that come about? Author David Boop and publisher David Rozansky had been meeting during the summer of and came up with the idea of putting together an anthology about space pirates. I gave it some thought and I started talking to David Rozansky.

That was the point where Space Pirates was formalized. Over dinner with some other authors, we came up with the idea that Space Pirates would be the first of a series of anthologies. That was the birth of the Full-Throttle Space Tales series. He was the protagonist of my first novel, The Pirates of Sufiro. That novel opens with Firebrandt, and his crewmembers Suki Mori and Carter Roberts being marooned on a distant planet. Meanwhile Ellison Firebrandt and his crew are taking advantage of this fact and raiding a mining facility operated by one of the governments.

Firebrandt makes a bargain to join the blockade rather than allow his crew to perish. Do the shorts follow a storyline tied to the novels or are they standalones? Ellison Firebrandt and Carter Roberts appear in three novels: At this point, I have five prequel stories featuring Firebrandt and his crew—about 23, words of material in all. You also edit Tales Of The Talisman and have written a number of novels. How did you get started as an editor?

In many ways my beginnings as an editor are tied to The Pirates of Sufiro. What she decided was to create an audio small press called Hadrosaur Productions. The Pirates of Sufiro was to be the first book published. We had started talking to some other authors and created a small anthology called Hadrosaur Tales as a way to showcase those people plus a few others who we hoped to lure to the press.

Eventually, the audio press went by the wayside and Hadrosaur Tales became a magazine in its own right. After editing the magazine for ten years, we went through some format changes and renamed it Tales of the Talisman. Has the FTST series been a success? What do you think is the appeal of these anthologies? I think the appeal is the premise, these are meant to be fun, action-packed collections of science fiction tales.

Even within that definition, there is room for everything from serious, thoughtful stories to humor. I think the variety of stories, the variety of authors, and the variety of themes all appeal to readers. I would recommend them to anyone who likes a good, fun action-oriented science fiction tale. The stories have humor, romance, strong science fiction ideas and fun. Rise of the Scarlet Order from Lachesis Publishing. This novel tells about the formation of a band of vampire mercenaries. She checked the scanners.

I see no indication of weapons being powered up. Roberts nodded, acknowledging the report, but he did not relax. Instead, he double-checked the readings himself. When he was satisfied, he looked over at the pilot. Lowry pulled back on the joystick and activated the landing rockets. Unbuckling his harness, he turned around and faced the landing party. Cautiously, Roberts moved forward into the docking tunnel. Such robots were usually sound activated. Nicole Lowry crept beside him and peered down the corridor, then activated a handheld computer.

Turning to face the landing party, he smiled. The virus is still active and defense systems are shut down. A new voice cut in on the transmission. State your purpose in this sector. Firebrandt took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked at Computer and instructed him to open a channel. A moment later, Computer nodded. I have no objection to the blockade. Captain Firebrandt, I am authorized to destroy your vessel. To celebrate the release of Space Battles: A construction worker by day, who describes himself better than I ever could as: Tragic aesthete and lover of martinis.

A tad ornery, most days. He turned out to be the editor. This is your first science fiction anthology sale, correct? I lost a lot of dead bodies in the editing process, but still tried to maintain a kind of moral ambiguity when it came to the two main characters. Rarely is war about moral absolutes, and I wanted to explore that idea in a futuristic setting. Also, I just liked the idea of guerilla warfare in space.

I wrote for most of my life, up through high school, but got all practical in my first run of college and decided to get an engineering degree. Something about being able to make a decent living really appealed to me, I guess. It took a helluva long time, during which I wrote next to nothing, but I eventually got that degree. The last liberal arts class I took before graduating, though, was a fiction writing course. This was a one-shot deal. The Outworlders are just going to fall to squabbling amongst themselves after the fall of the Confederation anyway, and how much fun is it to write about squabbles?

I would read anything and everything as a child, if it looked even remotely like fantasy or science fiction. Anything that lets me escape into another world for a while is okay in my book. What are your writing goals? All of the above? You know how it is. Why is that, anyway? Who trained them, anyway? But now there was nothing for him to do but plummet planetward, watching as the Galaxy grew ever larger through the visor of his helmet. Here are my favorites. Two are by the same director, two are about the age of silent movies, two have protagonists with comic dog sidekicks, and three are set in France.

Charlize Theron shines in this black comedy about a hard-drinking, self-centered writer of young adult fiction who returns to her hometown to reunite with her high school sweetheart Patrick Wilson. So what if he happens to be happily married with a newborn infant? The clever script by Diablo Cody Juno does a great job of setting up viewer expectations—then dashing them in unanticipated ways. The complex relationships between McGregor, his lover the luminous Melanie Laurent from Inglourious Basterds and his father all ring true in this poignant tale of new beginnings.

Voldemort in the long-anticipated showdown! The action-packed finale to the Harry Potter saga delivers movie magic once again and a satisfying resolution to the epic series, which ends on a high note. The Adventures of Tintin. This beguiling black-and-white silent movie — about a forlorn silent film star Jean Dujardin coping with the advent of the talkies — speaks to something that still resonates today, the sense of loss that sometimes accompanies the arrival of the next technological marvel.

And Oscar-nominated Melissa McCarthy is a scene-stealing laugh riot. With his exploration of London in Match Point , Barcelona in Vicki Cristina Barcelona , and now Paris, Allen seems to have found a formula for reinvigorating his career. Like The Artist , Hugo celebrates the age of silent film and is populated by an array of peculiar characters, including Sacha Baron Cohen as an officious, child-hating station inspector and Ben Kingsley as a bitter toy store owner with a mysterious past. I challenge you not to be moved. Contemporary Tehran seems utterly alien, yet so familiar, in my favorite movie of , a riveting Iranian family drama about a child custody dispute—and a murder charge.

It features the best ensemble acting performances of the year with characters that are nuanced and sympathetic, and a script nominated for best screenplay that underscores the sometimes-subjective nature of truth. Margin Call moody financial thriller set in the nighttime offices of a New York City investment firm on the eve of a market catastrophe ; Drive a strange hybrid of languorously paced art film and brain-bashing action flick starring a magnetic Ryan Gosling ; Another Earth a duplicate version of Earth appears in the sky—a metaphor for second chances—in this compelling indie about terrible mistakes and redemption.

Finally, here is a list of actors more deserving than Jonah Hill of a best supporting actor nomination: Originally published at Mercurio's Blog. You can comment here or there. It still makes me laugh that I was mentioned in the same breath as a multiple Pulitzer Prize nominee. Best of all, I got to share this experience with my fellow Fluidians N. Jemisin and Matthew Kressel who were also nominated. I spoke about a topic near to my heart: Rich Horton recently called it one of the best stories published by Interzone in Both of these stories were accompanied by haunting illustrations of the Wergens by Ben Baldwin, which I loved.

They are my sixth and seventh stories, respectively, to appear in the acclaimed British mag. Campanella, who gave a terrific performance. Take a look at the ice-field and towering glaciers of Triton , illustrated below by Brian Mutschler! That same story also appeared in the Starship Sofa Vol. In sum, not a bad year. I was in Bethany Beach, Delaware last Thursday lounging on a beach when I received a text message from Raj Khanna and an email from Genevieve Valentine congratulating me. This was followed by a tidal wave of congratulatory emails.

Making the news even more sweet was that two of other nominees included members of my writing group, Altered Fluid. This completes the trifecta for that amazing novel: Way to go, Matt! There have been several in-depth reviews of the story, which do get into the politics. In what is just a small excerpt of his thorough review over at Trumpetville, Pete Tennant makes the following observations:. Is the acceptance of torture a result of ignorance or the product of superstition? Do we send people to be tortured because we genuinely believe that this is a reliable means of extracting intelligence or is it because we think that as long as someone out there is suffering for us, we will be safe?

Rivera asks this question through the lens of South American culture, the story is elegantly written, beautifully atmospheric and filled with some wonderful local colour. Also, Sharon Campbell at Tangent Online provided a thorough review of the story. Rivera jumps nimbly between bystander, torturer, and victim in [a] fast-paced tale [where]…the wars and terrorists of this not-so-distant future have left everyone a victim in some way….

Tight, fast, dramatic, and tortuous. You can read it HERE. The awards are presented annually to individuals who have demonstrated outstanding service to the fantasy field. The World Fantasy Awards nomination ballot has also been announced. Lifetime Achievement winners are announced in advance of the event.

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