On Hiatus


I’m sorry to the folks who have been loyally reading for a couple of years now, but I am going to have to put Legacies of the Lost Earth on hiatus for a couple of months so I can devote my attention to actually finishing a few projects (another science fiction yarn, Redeemer, among them).  I hope you’ll understand and I’ll see you in September!

Please check out my published work on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, and Kobo and check out my other serial, Awakenings, at awakenings.embklitzke.com.

Keep your fingers crossed that I’ll have the print edition of The Last Colony out there for you all to see, too!

Due to 19th Annual GVSU Renaissance Festivals, no update this week

Due to my slow recovery from being at the GVSU Renaissance Festival this past weekend and getting far too little sleep and spending far too much time in the sun, there will be no update this week.  Stay tuned for the next update, when we’ll figure out what Alana’s been doing since waking up with a raging fever!

The end…?

And then the bombs began to fall as the black ships dipped low in the atmosphere, laying waste to the colony.







Just kidding.  Happy April 1 (and happy anniversary to my wonderful parents, who have been married 36 years today–no foolin’).

Real update will post on April 8, hopefully along with an update regarding when I’ll be doing the paper and ebook releases of The Last Colony along with UNSETIC Files: The Measure of Dreams and Awakenings: Omens and Echoes, all of which are currently in the works and destroying my brain.

No update this week

Apologies to everyone who was looking for an update today.

Due to travel and day-job commitments, There will be no update this week.  Expect a return to regular updates on Saturday, July 7.  Thank you for sticking with me!



To tide you over until the next regular update, a selection from the draft of Ashes to Ashes, the sequel to The Last Colony.


Tim Winston adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, tugged at the front placket, and adjusted his cuffs again.  He flexed his gloved hands, taking a deep, slow breath as he waited outside of the red wooden door, studying the whorls and patterns of the wood’s grain.  Being called here was big.  There’d been a notice left on his desk to report to the office of the Inspector General immediately.  Since he hadn’t screwed up anything lately, it could only mean one thing.

A new assignment.  A big one.  Considering that the only really big thing that would require an investigation was the bombing of the Whispers…

Focus.  Breathe.  This is huge.  Huge.  This could be a career maker.  The biggest difference I’ve made ever.  It could mean the difference between war or continued peace.  His stomach twisted.  War or continued peace…

The door came open, startling him.  The Inspector General’s page smiled at him and stepped clear of the doorway.  “The Inspector General will see you now, Inspector Winston.”

Tim took a deep breath and stepped into the office of Inspector General Sephora Damerian.  She stood as he entered, towering over her large desk and the shorter man standing at the window.  Tim swallowed hard.

The prime minister.  Shit, she is assigning me to investigate the Whispers bombing.  He found his voice after a moment.  “Inspector Damerian.  I came as soon as I got your message.”

“Yes,” the tall woman said quietly, “I know.  I’m sorry we kept you waiting.  Mr. Parkstone inquired about your qualifications and I was obliged to inform him of my utmost confidence in you as an investigator.”  The dark-skinned woman was a head and a half taller than Prime Minister Anton Parkstone and he was significantly less impressive in the presence of the Inspector General.  Tim suddenly realized why they never appeared in any broadcasts together.  “Prime Minster, this is Inspector First Grade Timothy Winston, one of only three First Grade inspectors still in service to the Office of the Inspector General.”

Parkstone turned fully from the window and extended a hand to Tim, who moved over toward the older man to shake his hand.  “She speaks quite highly of you, Inspector.  Tell me, how did you get to the rank of First Grade so young?  You couldn’t be more than thirty.”

“Twenty-nine, sir, and the same way Frederick Rose did: hard work, determination, not being afraid to make enemies and getting the job done.”

Parkstone glanced toward Damerian.  “Ironic that he brings up Inspector Rose.”

Damerian winced.  “Yes, well, who wouldn’t?  The man’s legendary in the halls of our office, and tragic.”  She glanced sidelong toward Tim.  “He’s the only one to be killed in the execution of his duties as an Inspector First Class.”

She means that as a warning.  Rose died investigating Mimir.  She’s telling me this is going to be about as dangerous for me, especially since no one’s taken responsibility for the destruction of the Whispers the same way no one took responsibility for Mimir’s death…everyone just swooped in to pick up the pieces and finish the job, like Chinasia and the Compact and Idesalli.  “I have no intention of meeting an end like Inspector Rose did, ma’am.  I’d like to think I’ve learned from his mistakes.”

Except that the only mistake he ever made was being a zealous investigator.  He was going to figure out who bombed his home come hell or high water.  And that’s what got him killed.

“That’s good to hear, Inspector Winston, given what’s going to be asked of you.”  The Prime Minister drifted toward the corner of Damerian’s desk.  He leaned against it, studying Tim for a few long moments, as if taking his measure.  “You seem like a smart man, though.  I imagine you can already guess what we’re going to ask of you.”

“You need me to investigate what happened at the Whispers.”  And not die in the process of investigating.  He glanced toward Damerian.  “Right?”

The Inspector General nodded slightly.  “You’re correct, Inspector.  That’s exactly what we’re going to ask you to do.  Alone.”

Alone?  This really is like Rose’s investigations into Mimir.  “Alone, ma’am?”

“The Whispers is a long way out, Tim.  I only have two dozen inspectors.”

And they’ve got their hands more than full investigating irregularities and violations here.  He nodded slowly.  “I understand, Inspector.”

“Do you?”

What isn’t there to understand?  I’m flying solo because it’s a long way out and she can’t spare the hands.  I’m sure it’ll be fine.  There’ll be someone local to help, right?  “I think so, Inspector.  I mean…there will be local authorities to help, right?”

The prime minster and the inspector general exchanged glances before Damerian looked back to Tim.  “That would mean that there were extant local authorities.  Most word that we have says that the place was wiped out entirely.  Other reports say that what few survivors there were died at the hands of the attackers or have run for E-557.”

The Rose Foundation colony.  Maybe I’ll find some answers there.  “That’s the nearest trustworthy system, I assume?”

“The nearest neutral system, at least.”

Damerian ignored the mumble from the prime minster and nodded.  “As close as it comes, yes.  The Whispers is pretty far out there.”  She rubbed at her temple and finally sat back down.  “I’m not sure how much help the Wanderers will be, either.  They’re very insular.  You’ll need an in and I’m afraid we just don’t have one.”

“Well, maybe I’ll find one at E-557,” Tim said, trying to inject optimism into his voice.  I’ve got a lot of research to do before I hit the space lanes.

“We can only hope,” Damerian said

Extract from histories of the diaspora

The roots of the Human Diaspora lie in the ecological devastation suffered on Old Earth from the nineteenth through the twenty-second century anno domini (AD).  By 2135, Old Earth’s surface was all but abandoned.  A traveler from the twentieth century would not have recognized the world as their own had they visited early twenty-second century Earth.  The planet was dying, and in another fifty years, it would be all but inhabitable.  By this time, humanity had established biospheric colonies on Luna and Mars.  The first of the O’Neill Cylinders was commissioned in 2057 AD by Lila Chen and David Brinson.  It housed over forty thousand men, women, and children, as well as a menagerie of Earth-native creatures.  In 2135 AD, seven million people lived in O’Neill Cylinders alone.

This was but the beginning of the Diaspora.  Terraforming commenced in 2095.  Much of the data on the science and the  technology of this process has been lost in the intervening centuries, but this much is clear: there was a sense of urgency amongst the people of Old Earth, a realization that what they had tried to do to save their dying planet came too little, too late.  The last recorded human departure from Old Earth was in 2153.  A ship of twenty-seven men and women from a city called Vancouver lifted on a September morning en route for the Mars Colony at Prima Sulis.  The Europa and Ganymede colonies were established just three years later.  Within another hundred years, the inner ring of the Solar system was abandoned.  Humanity, like a cloud of locusts seeking food, was on the move.

The humans who began the Diaspora and the generations preceding them made many mistakes.  They are mistakes we continue to make today, with our rapacious use of resources, the bleeding of our worlds dry ecologically.  If we do not learn from these mistakes, we are doomed to repeat those of our forbearers.  This is not a lesson we can afford to ignore.

                                          — Erich Quizibian, Historian (Rose Foundation), Roots of Disaster: Predicting the Death of the Human Race, c. 5073 PD