Author: Erin Klitzke

 War tore the Commonwealth apart, leaving warlords and families vying for power throughout the galaxy.  That war took everything from Michael Graden and Elaine Harris–their careers, their homes, and very nearly their lives.  Together, can they find the strength to take back what’s been taken from them? 

Disclaimer and warning:   For any readers sensitive to this kind of thing, this chapter (and subsequent chapters of the book) does involve some sexual conduct, innuendo, and manipulation–all not of the very pretty kind (Emilio Delmarco is not a nice man by any stretch).  If any of this makes you at all uncomfortable, you might want to skip this one. 

Below is the first draft of the opening chapter to The General’s Lady, a science fiction romance yarn I’ve been writing on and off for a few years.  I’m not sure I’m in love with this as the opening chapter, but we’ll see if it sticks.

  

One
when worlds break

Water dripped from one of the pipes overhead. It was cold in here, cold enough that the moisture in the air condensed on those frigid pipes and then left puddles on the floor, out in the darkness of her cell. Even the light was cold, but the blue-white pool of it around her cot was better than the shadows of the cell. Who knew what might lurk in the shadows?

Nightmares. Nightmares lurk in those shadows. They came at her when she lay down to sleep, wearing the faces of men and women she’d led to their deaths—or worse, into an existence of endless pain, of captivity and privation.

She plucked at the long, deep scar that sliced across her collar bone, long-healed but carrying with it ghostly memories of pain and terror. If I hadn’t gotten hit like that, we might have gotten away. If they hadn’t tried to get me clear, none of this would have happened. At least they would have been free, even if I wasn’t.

Elaine closed her eyes against unshed tears, swallowing hard. She had stopped trying to number the days, no longer trying to keep track of time. Her life was measured in how many of her brethren she saw led past her cell in chains. There weren’t many left to take away. She wasn’t sure if that should be terrifying or heartening, now. She didn’t know where the others had been taken, and not knowing allowed her to hope that maybe they’d been ransomed or freed.

It wasn’t likely, but that hope was the only thing that kept her from shattering completely—not that she needed to hold herself together anymore. There was no one left to command, no one left to be strong for, not since they’d separated her from what was left of her unit and locked her in here alone. Sometimes she wondered if they’d left the others together in the mass cell House Delmarco had originally housed them in. Idle thoughts kept her as close to sane as someone could be, trapped like this.

The cell door opened, flooding the cell with so much light Elaine was temporarily blinded. She fumbled with her covers, trying to shield her eyes from the glare, cursing in a voice rusty from disuse.

“Still got some fire at least,” a voice said. Hands grabbed her roughly, hauling her up from her cot and to her feet, puppet-marching her toward the door.

“What the hell is this?” Elaine croaked, trying to shake the hands off so she at least had a prayer of setting the pace. Her legs were cramped and shaky after weeks of being curled into a ball on her cot. Some bloody fearless commander of armed men and women I am. “Put me down. I can march by myself.”

“Not fast enough,” the guard next to her muttered, but let her go. Elaine rocked unsteadily for a moment before she caught her balance and took a few deep, ragged breaths. Her vision cleared as her eyes adjusted to the brighter light of the hallway. Two guards, one next to her, one behind, and someone in an unfamiliar uniform in front of her. The uniformed man studied her with a critical eye.

“Not a bad piece of meat,” he said finally.  “I didn’t think they let the pretty ones into the service.”

Elaine tried to tamp down an immediate feeling of violation, tugging the plain white shift down a little further. It was all she had to wear; her uniform had been shredded when she was wounded. This was all she’d had since her recovery. Even her feet were bare, but the deck was mercifully warm beneath her feet, unlike the floor in her cell.

The uniform took her face in a gloved hand, turning it to one side and then the other. “And her face isn’t marked. Even better.” He looked down his nose, meeting her gaze. “Lord Emilio wants to speak with you. Hold your tongue and be respectful if you want to keep it.”

Fuck. Elaine almost swallowed her tongue. Back when she was still housed with the rest of her battalion and a smattering of other prisoners, she’d heard stories about Emilio Delmarco. A vicious, brutal, cunning military man, he was the second son of the self-proclaimed lord of the Scandian Arm, Victor André Delmarco. Rumor had it that the younger Delmarco had been present at the razing of Arabella Prime. He’d slaughtered thousands without a second thought.

Now he was asking for the commander who’d led the resistance at the Spine during the Breaking on Gerolima VII—one force that stood against the might of Victor Delmarco’s advancing armies.

Make your peace, Elaine. You’re not walking out of that room alive.

How did it take so long for him to figure out that they had me in custody? It’s been almost a year since the Breaking.

Hasn’t it?

For the first time, she cursed her inability to keep track of the days since her capture.

My face isn’t marked, she thought bleakly as they marched her down the corridors. They probably want to kill me in front of the vids, so they can broadcast it throughout the Arm—maybe across the galaxy. Wouldn’t that be a propaganda coup for House Delmarco? Elaine swallowed hard, though it was hard to feel afraid. She’d anticipated death for months, maybe years.

There’s nothing to go home to anyway. Why not die?

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. Because that would mean they won. I can’t just give up and die. What would that mean for the men and women under my command?

She closed her eyes briefly.

One of the guards jerked her sideways abruptly and her eyes snapped open again. She stumbled into a narrow room with a sink and a toilet. Clothes hung from a peg against the opposite wall and a hairbrush rested on the edge of the sink.

“Clean yourself up,” the uniform ordered. “Knock on the door when you’re finished.”

The door snapped shut. Elaine sagged against the wall, starting to shake.

They are going to execute me. Why would they give me clothes if they weren’t going to put me on camera and kill me? Can’t have me looking like I look in front of the cameras, right? She glanced at herself in the mirror and shuddered.

I barely look like me. They’d cut her hair while she’d been recovering from her wound, which had left her strapped to a bed for weeks, fevered, delirious, and unable to care for herself. Then she’d been tossed in to the mass cell for a few weeks before they took her to the smaller, solitary cell. Her hair had grown out a bit and hung at a ragged line near her chin, wavy and tangled. She bit her lip. I didn’t realize how much weight I’d lost. She knew she’d gotten skinny during her captivity, but she hadn’t realized how pitiful she really looked.

Squeezing her eyes shut again, she attacked her hair with the brush. She washed her hands and face afterwards, then reached for the clothes. It was the soft, thick cotton and wool of a Star Corps uniform, though there were no markings of rank or unit on the jacket or lapels.

At least I’ll go in uniform, like it should be, she thought, swallowing hard. Who knows, maybe it’ll stir up resistance.

She had no faith that it would. The war was over. The Star Corps were dead, as dead as the government on Prime, as dead as the Federated Commonwealth. It would never rise again.

People like Emilio Delmarco made sure of that.

She tugged the uniform on, smoothed it out carefully, then stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Thus by the grace of God goes Elaine Elisabeth Harris, Major, Star Corps, to her death.

She knocked on the door.

• • •

Butterflies made war on her digestive tract as she stood in front of the massive cherry doors leading into Emilio Delmarco’s study. One of the guards remained with her, his hand on her shoulder and the other on his sidearm while his superior went inside. Elaine tried to focus on her breathing.

Look like you’re calm, at the very least, even if you’re not. That had been drilled into her at OCS, when she was learning how to be in command.

“Your eyes will always betray you, though.” Michael Graden had told that one night. “But as long as you keep your shoulders square and your breathing even, they’ll forgive you whatever’s in your eyes. They’re probably as scared as you are anyway.”

They’d grown up together, she and Michael. He was a year older, entered the service eighteen months ahead of her, and helped her survive training and officer candidate school. He was the only real friend she had.

I don’t even know if he’s still alive. The realization was like being gut-punched. If he is, he’s going to find out that I’ve been executed from a news blurb or a replay of my death. That’s if he’s in any position to see either.

Her mouth was dry and her heart began to beat faster.

God, I’m going to die and I never got to say good-bye. Not to him or anyone else. Everyone else was dead, though. Maybe he was, too.

I’ll never know.

The door opened. The uniform gave her a hard, level stare. “Enter.”

Elaine swallowed hard and walked forward. The uniform opened the door a little wider. She marched in and stopped, back straight and chin high, about six feet from a figure lounging in a leather armchair in the center of the room.

Emilio Delmarco puffed idly on a cigar and stroked the belly of a scantily clad woman in his lap, though it wasn’t a lover’s touch. It was almost as if he was stroking a cat, not a woman. His cold, dark eyes met Elaine’s and she felt a frisson of ice shoot down her spine.

Stone-cold killer. She fought to tamp down any sign of fear, of weakness. Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you sweat. He doesn’t deserve it.

He’s earned it, but he sure as hell doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of watching it affect you.

“Major Harris,” Delmarco said. His voice was deep, sonorous, and deceptively gentle, a stiletto wrapped in a scrap of velvet. “Welcome to my parlor.”

Elaine took a slow, deep breath before she dared speaking. “Mr. Delmarco. With respect, why am I here?”

The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile. “Quite a loaded question, Major.” He lifted the woman in his lap, set her on her feet, then gave her a quick swat on the rump. “Sinead, go with Lieutenant Graypole. I need to chat with the major privately.”

The woman pouted but allowed the uniform to lead her away, out a side door Elaine hadn’t seen initially. Emilio watched them depart, then glanced at Elaine.

“She was like you, once. An officer from Star Corps. We broke her of her subservience to them rather handily, don’t you think?” He smiled at her, a flash of white in a darkly handsome face. Elaine couldn’t stop her shudder.

No. No. “I imagine she’s—” Elaine choked on the words “—grateful for your patronage.”

“And my mercy,” Emilio said, tone light. He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Some have not been so lucky.”

Like me. Elaine swallowed and lifted her chin a little higher, willing her voice not to shake. “Cut to the chase, Mr. Delmarco. Why am I here?”

He stubbed out his cigar, eyes raking over her. She felt oddly exposed, even in uniform. There was no reason for her to look at her like that, unless he enjoyed seeing her squirm. That had to be it. She was going to be executed. She’d led the resistance at the Spine. There was no way he could let her live.

Her blood went cold as he kept on looking. No. Oh god, no. Death would be better.

Emilio stood up and crossed the expensive carpet in two strides toward her. A scarred finger brushed her jaw as his hungry dark eyes met hers. The finger trailed down her jaw to her neck, down to the collar of her uniform jacket.

“You’re a pretty one,” he said in a breathy whisper. “You’d do well.”

“No,” she whispered.

“No?” He smirked again. “You’re not the one that gets to choose, dear Major. I do because I hold your leash.”

“I’m not a pet,” she said, setting her jaw and trying to contain her trembling.  It was getting harder to maintain her composure. He smelled like leather and gun oil mingled with wine and cigar smoke and was far, far too close for her comfort. She didn’t dare look down at all for fear of what she’d see in those tight pants.

“No,” he said, “no, you’re not. You’re lower than that. Pets are pampered. You’re a caged stray we found in the gutters and we will do with you what we like.” His fingers tangled in the collar of her jacket and he tugged gently.

The top button popped and Elaine sucked in a breath.

Emilio chuckled, a low, rolling sound that sent another shudder through her. “A pretty, fiery stray,” he murmured, lips so close to her ear she could feel the heat of his breath, “but a stray nonetheless.” He stepped back, crossing his arms as his gaze raked over her again. “But strays can be turned into pampered pets.”

“I’d rather die,” Elaine blurted. The butterflies in her stomach had returned, though not because she was afraid of dying anymore. She was starting to realize there were far, far worse things than death. It was all she could do to keep herself from puking on the carpet at his feet.

His hands were on her again in an instant, one hand laced through her honey-brown curls, the other pulling her hips hard against his. She could feel him pressing against her and it turned her stomach.

“Too bad,” he half-purred, half-growled. “You don’t get to choose, remember?”

She jerked away, gagging. He released her, laughing as she stumbled back and fell. She turned her back to him, on hands and knees as she fought against the bile rising in her throat and the tears that stung her eyes. Emilio rested his foot against her tailbone, though he didn’t put much pressure on her. Elaine couldn’t stop shaking, breath coming in ragged gasps as her stomach went into full rebellion.

He watched her as she retched, then gave her a little shove with his foot when she finished. She fell sideways, gasping, her mouth sour and her vision blurred by tears.

Bastard, she thought as she struggled to regain control.

“You won’t do for me,” he said thoughtfully, watching her as she slowly sat up and pushed her hair out of her face. “But that doesn’t mean that you won’t do for someone else.”

“B-but I led the rebellion at the Spine,” Elaine whispered.

I’ve lost my mind. He knows I led an army against him. Why isn’t he killing me for it?

“I know,” he said softly, then smiled at her. It was a cold, cruel smile, colder than the depths of space and sharper than any razor she’d ever handled. “That’s why a fast, clean death is too good for you, Major.

“This way, you’ll suffer long and well, and then you’ll die.” He returned to his chair and sat down. “Tremaine!”

A man appeared from that same secret door Graypole and Sinead had disappeared through. “My lord?”

“Chain the major and take her to the corrals,” Emilio said, eyes never leaving her. “Find out if she knows anything of value before you sell her.”

Elaine couldn’t breathe. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. Shudders wracked her as she wrapped her arms around her knees. Emilio kept smiling as Tremaine disappeared into the other room, presumably to get something to chain her with.

“This could go easy or it could go hard, Major,” Emilio said quietly. “For my sake, I hope it goes hard. For yours…well. I’m not entirely unmerciful, despite what you may think. If you behave, perhaps I’ll reconsider my choice to have you sent away. After all, here you’d live in eternal luxury and I might in time learn to forgive you for what you’ve done.”

He’s lying. Elaine swallowed down the bile that was rising again in her throat. She stood shakily as Tremaine reappeared with chains in hand. “I—I suppose time will t-tell, Delmarco.”

“Indeed,” he said softly as the manacles snapped shut around her wrists. “It will.”

At the end of Bering Songs and Silence, Brigid O’Connell makes a fateful phone call–and sets in motion a series of events that neither she nor her new partner, Tim McConaway, can predict.

What follows is the draft of Chapter 1 of Lost and Found, one of the UNSETIC Files.  I’ll be releasing the first couple of drafted chapters for free of this project and a couple others with the rest of the drafts appearing as patron-only posts.

Lost and Found is a story told from the point of view of Alisa “AJ” McConaway, fledgling mage, anthropologist, and a team leader in UNSETIC’s Portal Corps.

I look forward to your feedback.  Happy reading!

  

One

“I’m getting sick of this bloody dodging bullets bullshit.”

I choked on a laugh, shaking my head as I met Kate Berkshire’s glower head-on. “That’s because you’re not getting any better at it.”

“No, I’m getting worse,” the Irish soldier snapped, then swore, glaring at the medic to her left. “What was that for?”

“Stop your bitching,” Joshua Talmadge growled, not looking up from his work on Kate’s left arm. “You’re lucky it’s just a through and through. If it was any worse we’d be at U of C Medical trying to explain how you happened to wander in front of a bullet and oh no, please don’t involve the police, there’s no need to report anything it’s just a silly mistake no real harm done as you’re bleeding on a freaking gurney.”

“I’m sure you could pull it off, Josh,” I said, patting the doctor on the shoulder. He snorted humorlessly and shook his head.

“Don’t patronize me, McConaway. You’re ill-suited to it.”

“I don’t know, I think she’s pretty good at it.” Kate smiled weakly. “Just a scratch.”

“You could be bleeding out with your intestines falling out of a hole in your gut and it’d be ‘just a scratch.’” I grinned as I started to dig around for my cell, which had started vibrating in my back pocket.

“Popular today, aren’t you?” Kate waved me away with her good hand as she saw me digging around for my phone. “Go take it. I’m not going anywhere until the good doctor’s done with me.”

Don’t recognize that area code. “It’s probably a wrong number anyway. I’ll be right back. Try not to piss off Josh while I’m gone, huh?” I ducked out of the infirmary and into the hall. We’d been back in the Portal Corps headquarters in downtown Chicago for maybe fifteen minutes, returned from yet another off-world foray that had probably resulted in more trouble than it was worth. I glanced down at my phone’s screen again and shook my head as I tapped it and lifted the phone to my ear. This had better be quick. I don’t have time to break away from refereeing right now. “This is McConaway.”

“Hello, Dr. McConaway? My name is Brigid O’Connell, and I have some news about your brother.”

My heart stopped. Brigid O’Connell had been the name of the woman who’d led the search after Tim and Mat had disappeared over the deserts of Iraq. They’d found Mat’s plane but no trace of him in it.

That was because something from beyond the boundaries of Earth had kidnapped them both, whisked them off to somewhere far away. Only a few people knew that, though, and almost all of them worked here, worked for the Corps.

What could she possibly know? She’s not with the Corps. I’d know if she was.

“Doctor? Are you there?”

“Of course. Of course. I—I’m sorry.” I took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, trying to will my heart to slow down, to force my guts to cooperate. “I’m here. I—what do you have to tell me, Miss O’Connell?”

“It’s Lieutenant O’Connell, actually, and…he’s here.”

“It’s nice to—wait, what?” This has to be a dream, some kind of hallucination. I got shot instead of Kate. That’s it. I’m hallucinating because I’ve lost way too much blood and I’m dreaming this.

“Here, you talk to her.”

“What? Wait a second here—”

It was his voice, unmistakably my brother. My heart thudded against my breastbone and every breath was a battle.

How did he get back? How is he—where is he? There was a tremor in my voice as I dared to speak his name. “Tim?”

He sighed into the phone. “Hey AJ. Are you okay?”

“No. No, not okay. Where are you?”

“Virginia,” he said. “Alexandria. Where are you?”

“Chicago.  Where else would I be?” I squeezed my eyes shut. How had he gotten to Virginia without us knowing? Was there another Portal somewhere near there that we didn’t know about?

Goddammit, there’s too much we don’t know.

There were a thousand questions I wanted to ask him—chief among them was how the hell he’d ended up in Virginia without our knowing that he was back on Earth. I couldn’t ask that question over the phone, though, especially not with O’Connell there with him, not without knowing what she might know about him, about what he’d been through. I squeezed my eyes shut, sagging against the wall.

“Sis? You there?”

“I’m here,” I said, voice coming choked from a throat so tight I could barely breathe. “Are you safe?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

I caught a hitch in his voice and shivered. We both know why—but do you remember that I know, that Kate knows?

He said that he wouldn’t. He was going to make himself forget so he could protect us. Damn it all.

“Just making sure,” I whispered. “I…I need to see you. I need an address.” Kate would want to come with me. Scott and Sierra would be expecting a report from us on the last run. There wouldn’t be time to write one before I—before we—left.

A thought struck me. Had they known he was back? Had he somehow shown up while Kate and I were on a run and they just hadn’t told us?

No. No, they wouldn’t keep a secret like that from us. If they tried, it would be a cover up of epic proportions. Bryn would say something. There’d be no hesitation. If she knew, we’d know. End of story.

Scott and Sierra couldn’t have known—no one connected to the Corps knew. That was for certain.

Tim rattled off an address. I wrote it on my hand, struggling not to drop my phone as I did. My heart was going three times its normal speed.

“You’ll be there?” I asked, my voice still shaking.

“I don’t know where else I’d go,” he said quietly. “If I’m not there, I’ll be here. Call this number if you need to.”

“Absolutely,” O’Connell’s voice said in the background. “I’ll help her find you if you’re not already here.”

“Not like I’ve got anywhere to go,” he said, his voice a little muffled.

My eyes stung. You could come here. You could come home. I glanced toward the door to the infirmary, biting down hard on my lower lip. Why hadn’t he come here? Why hadn’t he come home?

There must be a good reason. I’ll find out what it is.

“I’m coming there,” I said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’ll be there tomorrow, as early as I can. I promise. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you.”

“Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“I missed you,” I said in a bare whisper. “We all missed you. I…I’m glad you’re back.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line before he said, “Yeah. So am I, AJ. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Love you.”

“I love you, too. Be careful.”

He hung up and I stood there in the hall, staring at the wall without actually seeing it in front of me. My brother was back on Earth. He was home.

Why hadn’t anyone told us before now?

I knuckled my eyes and exhaled a shaky breath, counting to ten before I straightened. Shoving my phone into my pocket, I headed back into the infirmary, hoping I didn’t look half as shaken as I felt.

“That was a long wrong number,” Kate said before her gaze met mine. Then she saw the look on my face and all good-humored teasing evaporated. Her expression grew serious. “What’s the matter?”

I closed the door behind me. “I just talked to Tim.”

“Tim? My Tim?”

“He’s my Tim, too,” I reminded her. “He was my Tim first.”

“Whatever. You talked to him? How is that even possible?”

“Should I be here for this?” Josh asked, glancing up from Kate’s stitches. “Because I can go if this is classified six feet above my ass.”

“It’s not,” I said, even though I wasn’t actually sure of that. “It’s fine. Just finish up.”

“He wants me to go get some x-rays,” Kate said with a slight glower. “Something about getting lucky if I didn’t nick the bone.”

“I just said it was a good idea,” Josh said. “You told me it hurt more than the last time you got shot and it hurt deep. That means bone or deep tissue damage. Do you want to be safe about this or not?”

“You’re the one who was moaning about U of C Medical.”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Would you two stop bickering for twenty seconds?” I snapped. “Kate, I’m driving to Virginia. I’m driving tonight. Are you coming?”

“Why—oh. Is that where he is?”

“That’s where he said he is.” My lips thinned. “How the hell did he get back to Earth without our knowing?”

Josh frowned. “Is he one of those ones the Cabal nabbed a few years ago?”

“Yeah,” Kate said. “He’s practically the only one we’ve ever had a chance of bringing back, too.”

I could still hear the pain and regret in her voice when she talked about that missed opportunity, even though it had been the better part of two years ago—two years this coming June. It wasn’t that it frustrated me any less, but she’d been clinging even tighter to the hope of bringing him home in those few days than I had.

He’d asked her to keep a promise and I’d never quite been able to bring myself to ask her what that promise was.

There’s no way that she’s just going to stay here if he’s back, if he’s within reach. There’s no way. I just stared at her, waiting for the answer I knew was coming.

She didn’t meet my gaze as she said, “I’ll cover for you. Call your uncle and get going.”

“You’d bet—what?”  Wait, she’s not coming with me? “Kate—”

“Scott and Sierra are going to need a report and I can make it for both of us,” Kate said quietly, finally lifting her eyes to meet mine. There was a familiar pain there, the deep one that I’d seen in snatches and glimpses since the day we’d left my brother on Mydiar. “I had days with him back then. You had five minutes. Go. Go see him and make sure it’s real. Make sure we’re not going to lose him again.”

My throat tightened.

She doesn’t want to come with me because she’s afraid that it’s not going to last—that we’re going to lose him all over again.

Truth be told, I was afraid of the same thing, but I had to believe that this time he was back for good. I didn’t know how he’d managed it, but I was sure as hell going to find out.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“I’m positive.” Kate glanced down at her knees, shaking her head. “I’ll fly out tomorrow or the next day. Call me when you get there and I’ll call you about the flight or…or whatever. Go call Chris and tell him you’re going out of town and then get going before Scott or Sierra show up and stop you.”

“It’s going to be a lonely drive,” I whispered. I was sure she’d come with me. I didn’t plan on doing this alone.

“You’ll be fine,” Kate said. “Go.”

I shivered, nodding. This felt far too familiar. “All right. I’ll call when I get there.”

“Drive safe.”

I gave her and Josh each a tight smile and slipped out into the hall, heart thudding leadenly against my breast. Kate was right. I needed to get out of headquarters before Scott Andrews or Sierra O’Rourke caught up with me—otherwise, I wouldn’t be getting out of the city anytime soon.

I booked for the stairs that would take me up to the rehabbed print shop’s foyer and Printer’s Row beyond. If I was quick, I’d be able to make it to the L in time to be home before the sun went down. I needed my car and a couple of changes of clothes from the house.

It was out of the way, but I didn’t have a choice. I needed the clothes and the least I could do before driving east was let my uncle know that I’d be doing it. He’d come to terms with what I did every day—he knew about half of it, anyhow—but I knew it went hard on him when I was away.

I was all he had left. His brother—my father—was dead and the two boys Christopher McConaway had raised alongside me were missing and had been for three years.

Do I tell him, or do I play the waiting game and spare his heart like Kate’s asking me to spare hers? My lips thinned as I stepped out into the gloom of a February afternoon in Chicago, grimacing as I realized I’d left my coat downstairs before we’d left on our jaunt beyond the Portal. It was still hanging on the back of my chair in my office, the one I shared with Carson Matthews, a cultural anthropologist whose father had been one of the ones kidnapped three years ago the same way Tim and Mat had been. Carson was newer to the Corps, had only been with us six months, but he was catching on fast.

I shivered in the wind and shook my head as I felt around in my pocket for my keys and found them. Not going back down there. If I go back down there, I’m going to get waylaid. There’s no doubt about that. I’ll just make a run for the station. I won’t freeze to death if I hurry.

Sucking in a deep breath, I sprinted for the stairs to the Red Line station a block from where I’d been standing, hoping that my wallet was in the bag I was still carrying from the off-world run and that I hadn’t left it with my coat.

Too late now. Already made the run for it.

I stumbled down the concrete steps and into the warmth of the subway tunnel, already shivering from the late winter chill. It had been a relatively mild winter here in Chicago, but that didn’t mean it was much warmer than bitter cold—especially not this close to the lakeshore. I dug around in my bag, hoping to find my wallet and eventually locating it in the deepest, darkest corner of the bag as I made my way to the turnstiles guarding the entry to the train platforms.

I breathed a sigh of relief as my fingers closed around my car keys and CTA card. Small favors. That’s all I can ever ask for.

I took the train from Harrison and hit my connections—Red Line to Blue all the way to Rosemont where I’d left my car. Sometimes I took the Metra all the way in and out of the city, but when I didn’t know when I’d be coming home, I liked the convenience of leaving my Jeep closer to downtown rather than at the Metra stations in Barrington or Schaumburg. I stared out the windows of the train, at the city and at tunnel walls, fingers tapping against my knee in agitated impatience, all the way from the station where I’d gotten on the Blue Line to Rosemont, where my insane life with the Corps and UNSETIC had begun. It felt like a long time ago.

How am I going to tell him? How am I going to break that news?

I wasn’t sure if I was trying to figure out how to explain this to my uncle, or how I was going to break the news to my brother that our other uncle, our mother’s brother, was dead. I didn’t know which one would be harder.

I closed my eyes and sighed. Dammit.

The train stopped at Rosemont and I got off, went hunting for my car. Somewhere between there and home, I’d figure out how I was going to tell Uncle Chris.

I really didn’t have much choice about that.

Just to give everyone a little taste of what I do as a writer and what people can expect out of me at various levels of patronage, I thought I’d provide some examples from a couple of works in progress from a couple different universes.

As a general rule, I write speculative fiction–urban fantasy, science fiction, post-apocalyptic fiction, space operas, traditional sword and sorcery fantasy, and supernatural stories, all of which are sometimes layered in with other genres such as horror, thriller, and romance.

My website has a little breakdown of things people might like that’s based on my published work, but around here, what you’ll be able to catch a glimpse of as a patron is unpublished work–or pre-publication work, as the case may often be.  I won’t replicate that here unless someone tells me that it’s necessary–in which case you’ll see an update to that effect.

Below are examples of a scene and a chapter, both of which are available to patrons at different levels of monthly patronage.  In the future, these will only be viewable by patrons, but these examples are free for the sake of demonstration.

Scene from UNSETIC Files: Lost and Found – urban fantasy

  The location Ezecaius said he needed to get to was just south of the Loop, near enough to Columbia College’s campus that Dr. Ford had asked me to drop him off well before I got Ezecaius to the address—as if Adam knew that I was planning on going to headquarters after I dropped his friend off at his destination. Ezecaius, for his part, stared quietly out of the window, a strange, not quite disconcerting smile on his face.

It was a few minutes of sitting in traffic after dropping off Dr. Ford before I finally asked, “So what do you teach, again?” I tacked on the “again” as an afterthought, struggling to remember if Adam had actually told me in the first place what Ezecaius’s specialization was. It had already been a long morning on top of a long last 72 hours.

“Oh, a few different things,” he said, almost airily. “International law, human rights, foreign policy—all of that and a few more besides.” He smirked, finally looking sidelong at me. “Why, are you thinking about a change in profession, Dr. McConaway?”

“No, no,” I said quickly, fingers tightening on the steering wheel as I swallowed a sudden attack of nerves. God knew that I was doing more than a little diplomacy these days whenever Kate and I went across, but I sure as hell didn’t have much of a desire to change my specialization at this point. “I was just curious, that’s all. I sometimes like to know who I’m driving.”

“And Adam has unusual friends.”

The grin was in his voice as he spoke.

“That too,” I agreed, smiling myself. I found myself wanting to like him, this eccentric man my friend and mentor had saddled me with. “How did you two meet, anyway?” Ezecaius had at least a decade or more on Ford and clearly hadn’t been one of his professors, since as far as I knew, all of Ford’s work—undergraduate and graduate—had been in anthropology, archaeology, and linguistics, not anything to do with foreign relations or international law.

“Ah. It was during his brief stint at State.”

It took a second for me to realize what he meant. “Wait, the State Department? I didn’t know that he worked for the State Department.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, shooting me another crooked smile. “His tenure was rather short-lived and that was probably a good thing. He’d been brought in as an expert to help prepare an ambassador for an upcoming assignment—cultural briefings, map reviews, historical briefs, language training, that sort of mess. He and the ambassador didn’t exactly hit it off and honestly, I could see that from the second they shook hands. I was the one doing the political and intelligence briefs and if I’d had my choice, that particular ambassador wouldn’t have been going where they were going to send him in the first place.”

“Let me guess,” I said as I steered the car around a corner, freeing us from the glut of traffic that was already clogging Michigan Avenue. “Adam had a knock-down, drag-out with the ambassador in question and told someone to shove his State Department credentials where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Ezecaius laughed. “You know him well.”

“Just a bit.” I was grinning now. “Am I right?”

“He would have if I hadn’t stopped him. I reminded him that he might need State someday and convinced him to finish out the job, which he did, though he was very sure he was going to resort to violence by the end of it.”

“But he didn’t?”

“No, he didn’t.” Ezecaius smiled faintly and shook his head. “He finished it off, wrote an assessment of his experience with the ambassador, and turned that assessment in with his resignation.”

“And then what?”

“Well, I imagine you know the rest. He did a few semesters of teaching here and there out East, did a few digs under the auspices of his alma mater and a few other institutions, and then finally landed here in Chicago in time to run into a rather promising young graduate student he was blessed to take under his wing even as he was learning to fly.”

My cheeks got warm. “You’re not—”

“Adam thinks quite highly of you, Dr. McConaway. I don’t think you realize how highly.”

“Maybe not,” I admitted, then exhaled in a sigh. “Honestly, it never really crossed my mind.”

“Perhaps it’s a thing you should give some thought to.” He looked away from me and out the window. “Ah. This should be close enough.”

I blinked, glancing at the row of buildings to the left and right of the car. “Are you sure?” I asked. “You’ll still need to—”

“To walk a little way, I know. It’s all right. I’ll manage.” He smiled at me. “Thank you for the ride, Dr. McConaway. Perhaps you’ll join Adam and Marie and I for dinner tonight?”

“Probably not,” I said as I pulled over and shifted the car into neutral. “But thank you for the offer.”

“Of course.” He didn’t wait for me to get out to open the door for him, just checked the street for oncoming traffic and then got out of the car. He opened the rear passenger door to pull out his overnight bag, slinging it over his shoulder with more grace and practiced ease than I admittedly expected from him.

“Professor?”

He tilted his head, peering at me through the open door. “Yes?”

“The ambassador,” I said. “Did they end up sending him anyway?”

Ezecaius laughed. “No. No, they didn’t, much to Adam’s relief. Mine, too.” He closed the door, still smiling. “Good luck, Doctor.”

He winked at me and then turned away. He took a pair of steps before vanishing from sight.

“Fuck me,” I whispered, staring at the spot where he’d just been. There was no sense of magic in the air, but I knew damned well that magic wasn’t the only game in town.

“Adam really does have interesting friends,” I whispered to no one.

I waited a few minutes more, just to see if perhaps Ezecaius would reappear. He didn’t, and I gave up on waiting. I shifted the car into gear, trying not to worry too much about what had just happened.

Maybe I should have agreed to dinner.

Too late now. 

 

Chapter from The General’s Lady – science fiction/romance

“That’s three,” Graden rumbled. “Your father should be more than a little pleased, I hope.”

The promenade of Argossa II’s capital, Triskelle, was littered with the remnants of battle, haunted by its ghosts. It stank of death and fear. He was accustomed to both but enjoyed neither.

“In record time, too,” Arlan murmured, keeping a wary eye on their surroundings. The city had surrendered and been reported secure by the second infantry division, but one could never be too careful, as they’d both learned the hard way time and again. “More costly than anticipated, though.”

Graden shook his head. “Your father wanted haste and damn the consequences. He got what he wanted.” At the cost of a ship and seven hundred dead or wounded on our side alone. Three additional ships damaged. Bastard doesn’t think of the human cost of war sometimes. Star-Lord Camden hadn’t been on the battlefield for two generations, though. He’d forgotten what war was like. “At least he has so far. We’ll need to resupply and lick our wounds before we can hit Talrena.”

Arlan shook his head. “He won’t be happy to hear that, but I’ll make him understand.” He rubbed his temple. “Of course, it’s going to mean another twelve rounds over when I’m going to give up soldiering.”

“Fine, I’ll tell him, then. We’ll have a shouting match and he’ll try to demote me, then I’ll remind him that he can’t because our men won’t follow anyone else.” Graden smiled wryly. “Except for maybe you, but that would just end with a few more rounds, wouldn’t it?”

Two soldiers snapped to attention as they passed through the gates to the governor’s mansion, set on a hill above the sprawling city. The place was silent as a tomb. Graden waved the men back to their duties as he and Arlan continued on.

“Has he bothered to name succession?” Graden asked suddenly. “Your father. He’s getting on, isn’t he?”

“He’d like to,” Arlan said, brow creasing and lips thinning. “But he said that he won’t do it until he knows he won’t have to meddle with it again. ‘Once and never again,’ he told me when we discussed it last.” Arlan blew out a breath between his teeth and shook his head. “He won’t name succession until I’ve given up soldiering and I won’t give up service until there’s peace enough in the galaxy that we’re not fighting new battles every day. Once our borders are secure, I think maybe I could give it up. Of course, we’ll have to convince him that the borders are secure at some point.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s a vicious, never-ending cycle, Mike. He wants me to give up the fight but at the same time he keeps throwing us back into the fray.”

“It’s not as if House Harper can do the fighting for us out here,” Graden said. “Though I think we may have to ask for their assistance if Star-Lord Camden wants us to move immediately on our next target.”

“Johnathan Harper won’t agree to it.”

“Your father will just have to put his diplomatic skills to good use and damned fast, then, because I don’t know that we can take Talrena with our division in the shape it’s in.” We might pull it off, but not without getting thoroughly bloodied in the doing. It won’t be pretty, for us or the people of Talrena. “We’ll have to see. Maybe if I lay things out using small words and a lot of pictures, Star-Lord Camden will understand what I’m trying to tell him about the disposition of our troops.” Graden pushed open the doors to the grand entry hall to the governor’s palace and paused for a moment on the threshold. Banners hung tattered from the rafters and blood smeared the floor in some places.

“Damn,” Graden muttered. “I didn’t realize there was fighting in here, too.”

“It was everywhere,” Arlan said quietly, gaze scything across the scraped marble floors and ripped tapestries, toppled statuary. “There wasn’t a safe place to be found, not even here.”

Graden felt a brief tightness in his chest. “The governor here, did he have a wife? Children?”

“He surrendered before any harm came to them,” Arlan said quietly. “I’m sure Star-Lord Camden will allow them to retire somewhere sufficiently out of the way, I hope.”

One can only hope. Graden nodded slowly.

Arlan clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s not all bad news, Mike. Some good came of all this death and destruction.”

“You mean beyond your father gaining three more worlds?” Graden asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. Our borders may be vaguely more secure with the taking of the trio, but can we maintain our grip in the long run? I’m not so sure. “Tell me what it is, Ar, because I sure as hell don’t see it.”

Arlan reached into a pocket and passed him a data stick. “Remember that derelict courier we came across on the edge of the system? I cracked the encryptions.”

Graden shook his head, taking the stick. “And you thought you’d never use that training ever again. What’d you find out?”

“Well, she was coming back from the Arm when she got chewed up, for one thing. Data’s about two years out of date.”

He stopped in mid-stride. “We don’t have anything from the Scandian Arm dating back to that period of the war.”

“No sir, not until we found that courier.”

That was a military courier. It would have been carrying information back to Command—and failing Command, it would have brought that information to the highest-ranking survivor of the Star Corps. Troop disposition, status reports, requests for aid, classified information—a goddamned treasure-trove for anyone that came across it. We’re lucky that the crew didn’t have time to wipe their drives before they died. Graden found himself short of breath, light-headed. His voice came as a hoarse whisper. “Did it…did it have anything about…?”

“I didn’t read much of anything, just enough to know what we were looking at.” Arlan gave him a long, hard look, then continued. “But I ran it through some search algorithms and flagged everything I could find about the Eagles, Mike. It was the least I could do. Other than, you know, finish up all the formalities so you can take a few hours to have a look at what’s on there.”

Graden had to take a few breaths before he could answer. “Thanks, Ar.”

“Anytime.” He squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “I hope it’s good news.”

So do I. Graden nodded, staring at the stick, then turned and walked away. 

• •  •

Fifty-second Battalion, designated Eagles, attacked on Talrena…estimate only ten to thirty survived assault…no word on disposition of those who escaped…list of dead appended…

Graden closed his eyes as tears blurred his vision. He felt a momentary flash of gratitude to Arlan for taking over today but at the same time felt anger begin to bubble up. It was irrational. His XO didn’t know exactly what was on the stick, just that there was information on the Eagles—on Laney.

He couldn’t have known. Graden pressed his fist to his brow, teeth grinding. “Damn. Damn!”

He suppressed the urge to fling the tablet across the room, though barely. Instead he pounded a fist against the edge of the table, splitting a knuckle. He growled quietly and slumped back in his chair, staring out the window. This room overlooked the gardens in the governor’s palace, brown and dead at the trailing edge of winter.

“I always thought she was probably dead,” he muttered to nobody. “But there was always just this little part of me that dared to hope that she wasn’t.” He pounded his fist against the table again.

Maybe there’s something about them escaping in a later report. That wasn’t the last file flagged, was it? He forced his attention back to the tablet. His hands felt like leaden weights as he scrolled through the files. It felt like an eternity before he found the next file Arlan had flagged for him.

Graden closed his eyes as he tapped the file open, heart feeling like a ball of ice in his chest. The Arm was supposed to be a fucking safe assignment. All the fighting was going on elsewhere. I got her that assignment. I should have taken it myself.

Why? So she could stay at Mialos and die with everyone else?

He barely stopped himself from punching the table again.

Words glowed at him on the tablet’s screen as he opened his eyes. His hands squeezed into fists, blood flowing freely from his split knuckle. He ignored it.

–have not located the bodies of twenty-three members of the fifty-second Eagles, including commanding officer Maj. E. E. Harris. Unconfirmed reports have at least twelve, including Harris, were captured by rogue officer Maj. Travis Delmarco and transported elsewhere in the Arm. We are working to confirm these reports and will advise ASAP.

“Bastards.” The word hissed out before he was conscious of saying it. Damn them all. Damn them.

He started searching for the next file. The news didn’t get any better from there.

Command, be advised we have confirmed that the following eighteen members of the fifty-second Eagles have been captured by the rebellious House Delmarco and are presumed deceased en route to Corvaris.

Her name was at the top of the list.

This time, he did throw the tablet against the wall.

He left it in shards on the floor as he stormed out of the room, down the corridor and the stairs, bellowing at the top of his lungs. “Commander Byers!”

Three shouts later, Arlan materialized, looking slightly overwrought himself. “General?”

“How long before we’re refueled?” Graden demanded.

Arlan rocked back against his heels, blinking rapidly. “I—what?”

“How long before we’re refueled?” Graden asked again, the words grating through a set jaw and gritted teeth. “When can we ship out for Talrena?”

“I was just explaining to Star-Lord Camden tha—”

“Forget it,” Graden snapped. “We leave as soon as we’re fueled. Recall everyone. Leave the wounded and a skeleton garrison here. They can catch up with us once the Star-Lord’s occupation forces arrive.” He started walking, heading toward the doors out of the godforsaken manse and into the weak winter sunshine. Arlan had to scramble to keep up.

“Mike, what’s wrong?”

“They killed her, Ar. That’s what’s wrong. Now they have to pay.”