So You Want GOOD e-reads?

Well, one of them at least is very good.  Go to http://savethedragons.nu/   where my friend Dave Freer is posting chapter by chapter of his novel Save the Dragons.  The impetus for doing it right now is that he’s moving from South Africa to Australia and needs money to take his several animalia along.  Those of you who have pets, think how it would feel to abandon them as you face a totally strange country.  And besides the novel is worth it.

Then there is this: 

Order Now
http://www.webscription.net/p-1112-darkship-thieves-arc.aspx

Baen is selling the earc of my Space Opera Darkship Thieves.  I don’t know if it’s very good, (lousy evaluator of my own stuff) but I had more fun writing it than just about anything else, and the next one is already in my head and demanding I type as fast as I can…

I

One

　

I never wanted to go to space. Never wanted see the eerie glow of the Powerpods. Never wanted to visit Circum Terra. Never had any interest in discovering the truth about the darkships. You always get what you don’t ask for.

Which was why I woke up in the dark of shipnight, within the greater night of space in my father’s space cruiser.

Before full consciousness, I knew there was an intruder in my cabin. Once awake, I couldn’t figure out how I knew it. The air smelled as it always did on shipboard, as it had for the week I’d spent here – stale, with the odd tang given by the recycling.

The engines, below me, hummed steadily. We had just detached from Circum Terra – a maneuver that involved some effort, to avoid accidentally ramming the station or the ship. Shortly we’d be Earth bound, though slowing down and reentry let alone landing, for a ship this size, would take close to a week.

My head felt a little light, my stomach a little queasy, from the artificial grav. Yes, I know. Scientists say that’s impossible. They say artificial gravity is just like true gravity to the senses. You don’t feel a thing. They are wrong. Artificial grav always made me feel a little out of balance, like a couple of shots of whiskey on an empty stomach.

Even before waking fully, I’d tallied all this. There was nothing out of the ordinary. And yet there was a stranger in my cabin.

Years in reformatories, boarding schools and mental hospitals, had taught me that the feeling I woke up with was often the right one. Something had awakened me – a door closing, a step on the polished floor.

Now, why? Knowing the why determined how I dealt with it.

Three reasons that came to mind immediately. Theft, rape, murder.

 

Father’s Daughter