Wesley Britton's Blog - Posts Tagged "science-fiction-and-aliens"

To begin introducing myself as an author, I thought I’d talk a bit about my blindness. After all, that was one characteristic I gave my main protagonist, Dr. Malcolm Renbourn. My own blindness resulted from a genetic disease called retinitis pigmentosa, Malcolm’s came from being ripped across the barrier between the multi-verses. Hence, that’s why so much about genetics in the Beta-Earth Chronicles.

I admit being very surprised by something I’ve noticed in all the reviews posted at Amazon and Goodreads. Some astute folks have pointed out the depth of the books comes from all the social and cultural issues addressed in one way or another—race, class, religion, sex, politics. But little is said about disability. I sense a reluctance out there facing disabilities which I can’t explain.

Which leads to the question—how much of author Wesley Britton is in the character of Malcolm Renbourn? In a way, I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask. I’m certain there’s much about him that must reflect who I am. For me, I know there are incidents and experiences from my own life I used in the first three chapters of The Blind Alien. However, from the moment Malcolm escapes across the border into Rhasvi, I’ve always felt he had become his own man, always surprising me thereafter. Perhaps you’ve heard TV actors talk about how they started playing a role before a switch goes off inside them and the actor steps into their character, becomes that character, and goes deeper than reading lines and hitting the marks. Well, that moment happened for Malcolm, in my mind, when Bar sends him north into freedom.

What has this to do with disability? Well, when blindness becomes a central attribute of your being, especially when you’re on a strange planet and absolutely nothing is familiar, what doesn’t blindness impact? I think of one scene where Malcolm meets the blind prophetess, Lorei Caul. While Malcolm became sightless at the age of 35, she was blind from birth. These are very different experiences resulting in very different responses from people. One person has memories of what they once saw, what they lost; the other has no such memories—being blind was all they ever knew. So the individual who became blind later in life has the added confusion of trying to mix and match what they feel and hear with things they remember. From personal experience, I can say those of us who went blind later in life have to go through a process of grief and loss. I drew on this truth quite a bit in The Blind Alien.

For another observation, in book two I had a priestess reveal Malcolm’s eyes perceive blackness. Lorei’s eyes perceive nothing at all. There’s a difference. Malcolm has the awareness of darkness, of something impenetrable filling his visual screens. Lorei has no such awareness and senses nothing missing. Here’s something to ponder—the difference between blackness and nothingness.

What has blindness meant to me, a man who started losing his sight in his mid-twenties? A complex question with a complex answer. Let me try this. Some twenty years or so ago, when being a poet of some small renown was my creative identity, I had a friend who was a Lakota-Sioux Shaman. He looked at me one day and commanded, “Write me a poem about the joys of blindness.” Talk about a writing prompt!

The result was “The Veil.” Reading it again so many years later, I can think of many revisions and changes I could and probably should make. But I think it more honest to present it just as it appeared in Talus & Scree, one of my favorite print magazines of the small-press era.

THE VEIL

When the blindness came, so did the veil
& few look in & those that do
I cannot tell for certain

what I am perceiving. Not light, not dark,
not the common colors shared by most.
I see no body language so speak it poorly.
I see neither smile nor frown so ignore both.
Cannot tell friend from stranger, so the veil
swells like a smoke or fog
around me in protection, confusion,
aloneness while
interdependency grows just as thick and wide
regulated by the whims and schedules of others
living around the cracks of others' good will,
hearing more intentions and promises than fulfillment
or commitment or truth
and grasp the limitations after
the embers of rage finally subside

and accept the moment, what is,
what can be patiently done,

ah, patience against my worse nature,
finally accepting calm Now after the
Disappointment Series and feel the
Ying of happy quiet aloneness without
the being with anyone not just to be alone
the Yang of the female other who
may be illusion, fantasy, nightmare
while I casually, cautiously, distantly
touch others veiled not to be hurt
veiled to expect assault
veiled to be comfortable within
and always aware of the separateness
that lives against my belief in
interconnections
expecting more than is offered
expecting more than can be given

so I create little footnotes in books
and minds and groups and drums and
the image of the invisible man walking
thru the town that did not see him before
and is not looking for him now
as I await the next step
whether shin-cracking or
softer, whether pain or the touch
of my dogs & toys

so I have not answered your question. You wonder what are
The joys of blindness?

Well, the joy of music, but I had that before.
The joy of touch, but that has a powerful yang.
The joy of surprising connections, the nuggets
amongst the dross,
and the surprise of occasionally remembering a color,
a face, place, a possible poem
but mostly I find the happiness in thinking of Buddha,
of little accomplishments, small adventures, never minding
the great promise of youth
and knowing how much I've improved--hell,
I've had so far to go--and how different
I do things now so I must call the happiness
acceptance, letting go of illusions
becoming aware of illusions
de-emphasizing illusions
putting illusions into perspective
knowing my past is my own illusion
shared delusionally with others
whose place in the Now is never certain
and uncertainty has its place, especially in

a cocky man
who came to belief and conviction very slowly,
from the Bible to the nothing to the nothing with
meaning
who expects all to be transitory
as is All
and to cease craving, the source
of suffering, and emphasize service and
gifts, even gifts not wanted or expected,
and see what seeds grow.

----
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Remember the 99 cents sale of The Blind Alien while it still lasts!

Beta-Earth website:
https://drwesleybritton.com/

Wanting to give some love to A Throne for an Alien, the fourth book of the Beta-Earth Chronicles, I thought I’d share an action scene from the book with you. A rather edited passage as the full scene is too long for a simple blog post.

For a quick set-up: For nearly 20 years, The Collective, an international cabal of ruthless scientists, has been Tribe Renbourn’s most consistent threat. Among their many experiments to battle the Plague-With-No-Name was the creation of enhanced mutants like Sasperia Thorwaif Renbourn who has incredible physical ability and an often overheated mental metabolism.

Another such mutant is the elderly Kiem Holenris, the current head of the Collective. After calling a truce with the Renbourns, Holendris was delighted when she learned the children of Sasperia Renbourn, with their combined mutant DNA merged with Malcolm Renbourn’s Alphan genetics, carried the cure to the ancient curse of Beta-Earth.

Problem: Due to extraordinary circumstances, the files with the cure are only on one electronic pad. And that pad was stolen by agents of Gant Thanq, an evil member of the royal household of Hitilec.

Holenris knows the only way to save the world is to steal the pad back in a night invasion of Thanq’s headquarters. It will take two enhanced mutants to pull it off, even two old adversaries who both rely on the same special medicines to stay alive.

So here’s how Sasperia describes the adventure, with some sections cut for length. I probably should define a number of terms, but that would add to the length I’m trying to control. Hopefully, nothing will be too incomprehensible to throw off your enjoyment of this little battle:

I confidently turned and walked to the bedroom, where I knew Kiem Holenris was working on the disguise that would hide her features from anyone or anything that might see us even in dark night shadows. When I saw her pulling on tight boots over her feet and calves, I first suspected her gifts in deceit were as marvelous as any Shadow-Kin. I saw her body that bore muscles as broad and limber as Alnenia's. In fact, she seemed built like a man used to carrying heavy materials. As she moved, her limbs stretched and pulled as if those of a young woman. When she looked up at me, I full startled. Her face not yet covered with the black mask, she looked younger than myself. Her short hair was dark and shiny. There was nothing of the crone in her beautiful, uncracked face. Kiem Holenris looked as fresh as the cool, white surface of dawn-bowl cream. For a fleeting moment, I thought, Were the two of us to battle, even I might well lose.

Then, the truth struck me. "Oh Sojoa!" I cried, stepping forward, "You've taken an overdose of our formula! Kiem, this cannot —"

She raised both her arms and flexed her fingers to both interrupt me and test her new strength. "I estimate," she told me with calm, strong tones, "I have perhaps six hours as you see me. Then, yes Sasperia, my body will cruelly incinerate." She smiled with deep happiness. "Little kitty, I need but six hours to complete my life's work. As I said, the need for the Collective will soon pass." She rose, and planted her hands firm on widened hips. "I am prepared to be sacrifice. Let us go."

My mind spinning in a flurry of thoughts, I quickly pulled on my own invasion suit of a close fitting tunic, leggings, gloves, and laced boots. I pulled on the rubber headgear that covered my hair and exposed only my ears, eyes, mouth, and nostrils. I pulled on the belt that had deep pockets with the gas-filters, small explosive materials, and the safe-breaking device. As I dressed, I observed Kiem Holenris examining herself in the mirror, smiling as she stretched her arms, jogged in place, and rotated her torso and head. The backs of her legs rippled in the tightness of her muscles. The energy in her entire frame seemed to crackle in her aura. She looked more and more youthful by the moment.

. . . In a private elevator, we two quickly descended to the basement floor and raced behind rows of trans’s and columns. At and end door, we paused as Kiem looked around. Finally, she nodded, and we darted to a metal cover in the street. Opening the hole, we moved in quick time down the pipe to the tunnels of waste below and made our way to another such opening in an alleyway behind a building next to the Lorilian headquarters.

Following Kiem, I crawled up the side of this unfinished eight level structure. It was a new addition to Monte Carlo waiting for merchants to design what would fill the now empty halls. Like many such skeletons in the area, only vats of paint, spackle, and piles of molding laid behind the uncharged Sojoa sheets we climbed past with ease. using the crevices between stones for finger and toe holds, I felt the almost soft smoothness of the yet unweathered masonry. How strange, I thought, for a Ducal of the Alman Mentela to be creeping up buildings like a Shadow-Kin from Rigil. Instead of participating in loud debates behind long tables, I thought of the Collective agents on the streets below creating small diversions and blocking access to this alley. No one saw our ascent. It felt like I was participating in a battle, now being the warrior I'd not been during the war in Alma.

When Holenris and I reached the roof, we crept to the other side and looked down. Yes, there was the outside ledge across the street called First Draw Way. The level we were targeting was six levels above ground. Behind the inviting porch, we knew the offices of Kuf Oy's Eniq were secure from all directions. How could anyone get to that ledge unless, of course, they could leap across a wide four-laned street? Even then, how could magnificent leapers gain access unseen by electronic eyes and ears?

Together, Kiem Holenris and I laid at the roof edge waiting for the answer to the second question. Over and over in my mind, I measured the length of our jump, how I'd land on the cold ledge, how I'd quickly need to move, and what I'd need to do on entering the room behind the closed arches of thick Sojoa-sheets. As we waited for inky dark to fill the skies over the colorful lights beckoning in the signs below us, I wondered how my companion measured time. Inside her, I thought, each moment must be a lifetime, a memory, a new scheme, new discovery, new disappointment.

. . . I also thought of the wizened face of the woman beside me, seemingly the last head of that Collective that had shaped my fate long before the arrival of Malcolm Renbourn on this world. I thought of my bronze skin tanned under the Bilan sun and how my children, my children alone of all my sisters, had borne the fruit yearned for since history began. What had shaped all civilizations was now answered in genetic ladders that were half alien, half genetic mutations. All these streams had come together in one little pad of electronic data hidden in the offices across from where two women waited. And waited.

. . . In a power station located beams from this place, a mysterious overload suddenly cut all power to this part of the city. All of the colorful tribute to Alpha quickly became as black as what my Husband saw each minute. As if sharing one mind, Kiem and I rose, and ran back halfway across the unseen roof of a quiet building. As if four legs of the same body, we ran forward, building momentum. In the same moment, we launched ourselves high over the street, trusting we'd correctly measured the arc to our landing. As I hit a cold floor and slammed into a stone wall, I knew I had done well. A quick glance to my left told me my partner was safe as well. I felt small breaks in my ankle bones and knew for one brief moment my feet, my hands, my breasts were bruised like a normal woman. As ever, I felt the healing energies quickly repair any damage. Equally as quick, we two flattened our backs beside the Sojoa-doors knowing at least one guard would have heard the thuds and come running. One breath. Two breaths. I heard the lock clicking and then sensed a body moving forward. With one motion, I grabbed an extended arm and twisted it, loosening the chroner from one surprised Secops grip. I pulled the body toward me and slammed a mutant fist under an open mouthed jaw. As this body slumped, I saw Kiem pull the small nose filters from her belt and insert them into her nostrils. I did the same as Kiem tossed several thin vials into the room. We heard coughing, choking noises, and then quiet. Then we heard alarms and quickly ran into the room.

In the dark, I knew Kiem was rushing to a V-AV where she could first turn off the alarms, send a signal through the building's networks that would shut down the backup generators, and mechanically lock the doors to the room from inside. With all the confusion happening within the building, and the planned confusion now erupting in the streets below, with luck we had the time I needed. As Kiem did her labors, I sprang to the wall to the right of the main desk and began ripping off wall coverings, not trying to discover just how to covertly get to the safe we knew was imbedded in the wall. My fingers pulled at thick sheets of laminated wood, but I was strong enough to pull and pry and finally snap off the protective layers. There it was, the sophisticated round door with the triangle of three locks. I reached into my belt pocket and pulled out the small machine I'd had no time to master. All I could do, or was expected to do, was place the circular box between the locks and secure it with the suction cups on the back.

I pulled out three smaller boxes with dangling wires which I secured on each of the locks. Each wire I inserted into the proper holes on the center box, and I pressed a button.

While I waited for the device to do its work, I turned and watched Kiem inserting pads into the computers on the desks. It would be long not before every record, every file within this building or connected to it would find itself scrambled, destroyed, or unusable. Then I heard clicks on the wall beside me.

"Now!" I called.

Kiem ran to my side, as I easily pulled the safe door open. I stood back as Kiem's fingers reached inside and explored all she could grasp. Small piles of objects and pads fell to the floor I bothered not to look down at. Finally, I heard her sigh, "Ah!"

I studied her gloved hands as she held the precious, small green square between her fingers. All across it were tiny raised dots I understood not. For one moment, I watched her eyes mist as she clenched the final solution to the mystery of the ages. I wondered if this was the longest moment of her life.

She looked over at me and nearly thrust the pad into my hands. Wordlessly, I tucked it into my now empty belt pocket while she pulled out other pads and handed them to me. I accepted them all. She stood back and I heard her dropping tiny fire-grenades. As pops and green smoke began to sprout by my feet, we rushed back to the ledge and studied the streets outside.

I had to smile. For some unknown reason, at least unknown to the Net officers and the Secops who'd poured out of this very building, panicked people had pulled their trans's into the wrong lanes and blocked traffic from all directions. Women and men stood in the streets yelling and jumping out of their vehicles. It would have taken only two or three planned agents to start this chaos, and then the turmoil would have cascaded on its own. I turned to smile at Kiem but my thoughts quickly turned on themselves. She was looking down like me, but I could tell her body had begun to quake and quiver. Was it illusion or was her tight-suit becoming too big for the body within?

She looked at me and croaked, "My hair turns white again. Blessed be, little kitty." "Then we must hurry," I cried.

She nodded. We ran back into the room, paused, looked at each other, and then ran. And leaped. I pulled my body to its full length to ensure I at least was able to grab the edge of the empty building's roof. I needn't have worried. I landed flat on my face and belly and felt unaccustomed pain. Even such as I have their limits. And my eyes were beginning to water. As we'd begun our leap, I knew something was wrong. From the corner of my eye, I'd noticed Kiem Holenris's jump was aimed not across the way for this roof. She'd leaped almost straight up, as if jumping to the sky. In that moment, I remembered Malcolm's story of Icarus the Fool who'd flown too close to the Alphan sun with wings of feathers and wax.

I quickly rose on my hands and knees and crept to the edge of the roof. Yes, I saw it below, the terrible crush of someone's trans roof. I saw a black form draped from one end of the bent metal. But the dark night hid the details. Sojoa, Sojoa, I prayed, make her end quick and but one flash of pain. Let her not feel the flames of a body now rebelling against chemicals it can withstand not. She had died with double purpose. To end her existence with minimal pain. And to leave her body as a means to draw Lorilian ire at the Collective. And my family not. Blessed be.


Follow Wes Britton here at Goodreads!
Remember, the 99 cent sale of The Blind Alien is still going on! A Throne for an Alien is still only $4.95!

I can’t tell you when because Bear Manor Media hasn’t told me yet, but The Third Earth, book 5 of the Beta-Earth Chronicles, is launching this fall! Here’s a short teaser:

For twenty years, Dr. Malcolm Renbourn and Tribe Renbourn faced adventure after adventure, struggle after struggle on Beta-Earth.

Now, Renbourn and five of his Betan wives are forced to cross the multi-verse once again, this time to the strange world called Cerapin-Earth. After startling and frightening physical transformations, the altered Renbourns meet two new kinds of humanity. One is the dominant pairs who are able to share thoughts and sensations at the same time. The other are the nams, single-bodied people the pairs deem defective mono-minds. As a result, nams are exiled from the overpopulated cities of pyramid hives.

Tribe Renbourn must join the outcasts and teach them they are as worthy of love and acceptance as any unkind pair. But helping the nams learn how to stand up for themselves ultimately leads to a catastrophic war. At the same time, Cerapin scientists plan another multi-versal jump that must also end in a costly disaster. Along the way, two sexy spies complicate everything.

On a world where technology is worshiped like a religion, how can the nam rebels overcome the superior armaments of the pairs using primitive weaponry? While this conflict brews, Tribe Renbourn explores what it means to be human in ways they never expected. Will their epic end like it began, forced to sacrifice themselves to save a doomed city?

---
For another tease, readers of the Beta-Earth books know there’s no lack of sex going on in Tribe Renbourn. That doesn’t change on The Third Earth. For example, Malcolm meets an identical pair of very willing and very vivacious girls. Like all their kind, Pidghe El and Pidghe Le share their physical sensations, responses, and thoughts at exactly the same moments.

On top of that, on Cerapin-Earth, Malcolm Renbourn’s sight is restored. This means, after 20 years, he can again enjoy the delights of looking at women’s legs. In the case of the Pidghe girls, they share another typical Cerapin characteristic—their bodies are covered by natural multi-colored splotches, stripes, and streaks. This makes their legs, from the Alpha-man’s point of view, rather exotic and erotic. And irresistibly tempting. More so when you consider whatever you do to one girl, her sister shares exactly the same thing.

Get tempted yourself when The Third Earth debuts—stay tuned!

http://bmfiction.com/science-fiction/...

Once upon a time, there was one thing that amused me about Star Trek episodes not set on any of the Enterprises or other starships. Whenever Kirk or Picard’s Enterprises flew over a strange new world, they usually encountered one leader or a handful of council members who always spoke for an entire planet. Yes, there was usually a rebel opposition of some kind or a culture in conflict with the other government, but, again, we met only a handful of these folks. The Enterprise just couldn’t fly over the rest of the planet, encounter different countries, and talk to other leaders. The galaxy seemed full of inhabited worlds with only one, two at most, governments and cultures per planet.

Of course, I realize in the context of a one-hour TV drama, there’s limited time to introduce many new guest characters or try to flesh out much cultural diversity on these inter-planetary stop-overs, at least those not part of empires like the Klingons or Romulans. That’s where a literary epic can go places a starship on the move doesn’t have time to explore. (Of course, I’m talking single-episode stories, not civilizations like the Vulcans, Bajorans, or Cardassians who are so wonderfully developed over many story-lines across multiple series.)

For my part, from the very beginning I knew a number of settings and cultures would be involved in the Beta-Earth Chronicles for a variety of reasons. For example, when Malcolm Renbourn is ripped across the multi-verse in The Blind Alien, he’s a captive in the country of Balnakin. A racist, slave-holding culture, Balnakin believes its people are naturally superior to everyone else as their emphasis is on new technology, the disciplined dignity of its citizens, and their eyes are focused on the future, not the history so prized across the ocean on the Old Continent. When Malcolm escapes to freedom, he goes north to the much looser but far less powerful country of Rhasvi. It’s there where he really begins to learn about his new planetary home as his polygamous family begins to form.

But, by the end of The Blind Alien, Tribe Renbourn is forced to flee Rhasvi after a series of devastating catastrophes and disasters. After sailing over the Philosea Ocean, they settle in the country of Kirip in The Blood of Balnakin (book 2). Here, everything is different not only for the man from Alpha-Earth, but for his Rhasvin wives as well. Having grown up in poverty, most of them never expected to go to places outside their small home regions, especially to a country suspicious of outsiders where everyone speaks a different language. In many ways, the Renbourn women are now a bit like aliens themselves, ostracized by locals unhappy over this unwelcome intrusion of non-Kiripeans. As international figures, the family of exiles and outcast tour many regions of the Old Continent, meet many religious and political leaders, and are even captured at sea by the Liege of the island country of Arasad who threatens fatal consequences to Tribe Renbourn for their not bowing to her evil will.

By the opening pages of When War Returns (book 3), Malcolm unhappily realizes he has to do unpleasant things to give his growing family official protection and a secure sanctuary against the tribe’s growing list of threats and adversaries. This means Tribe Renbourn must relocate to Alma where Malcolm reluctantly accepts the title of Duce of Bilan, which places him in Beta’s equivalent of England’s House of Lords. Alma is very much the opposite of Balnakin with a deep cultural love of history and colorful pageantry. To make his title legitimate, Malcolm must accept an arranged marriage with Sasperia Thorwaife, an enhanced mutant who wants to take control of Tribe Renbourn.

At the same time, the Prince of Alma has lustful designs on the Renbourn wives. His sister, the High Priestess of Alma’s official church, wants to impose a strict orthodoxy on all inhabitants of Alma. In particular, she wants to end religious freedom for the country’s immigrant populations, and many of them live in the region the Duce of Bilan represents in the capital.

As the story progresses, the Renbourns battle one of their own, the heir to the throne, and a church that inflames the entire country to the brink of civil war. By the end of When War Returns, that war erupts and the Renbourns are among thousands of refugees who take to the sea to flee the coming bloodletting.

The fourth book of the saga, A Throne for an Alien, begins with that refugee fleet following the Renbourns wherever they go. That ends up being the island of Hitilec, a neglected country which sits in Beta’s version of the Caribbean. In my opinion, a new character, Elena Richelo, best paints a vivid history and culture of Hitilec in her introduction to A Throne for an Alien. So I’ll let her give you her thoughts in her own words in a post here next week. Stay tuned.

What all this means is that the circumstances surrounding Malcolm Renbourn and Tribe Renbourn are constantly changing. They face uncertainty from ever-shifting threats, pressures, and adversaries that arise from so many international and very personal forces. Readers can never know what to expect as the tribe moves from being frightened fugitives to becoming alleged political leaders themselves to survivors of disasters that impact an entire planet. And, as the saga progresses, the threats intensify as old foes are joined by new, even more powerful enemies whose agendas have more and more consequences for the Renbourns and Beta-Earth itself.

Of course, I admit my panorama can’t measure up in any way with a galaxy of humans, Vulcans, Betazoids, Klingons, Romulans, Ferengi, Bajorans, the Dominion . . . In most ways, it’s hard to see any parallels at all between my books and Star Trek or Star Wars or any other science fiction saga that uses spaceships, robots, advanced technology, or exotic weaponry.

But I can think of one thing we all share, or at least something I tried very hard to make the center of my books around which everything else revolves. Memorable, engaging characters. If my characters don’t fascinate you, intrigue you, resonate with you, nothing else matters. True, I hope readers will feel they’re experiencing a rich, detailed canvas that integrates history, culture, politics, sex, religion, and so many aspects of human life on two earths. In my books, I hope you’ll see all these things through the eyes of one blind alien and the many personalities of Tribe Renbourn in all the places they live and travel.

The Beta-Earth Chronicles (so far)

The Blind Alien (still on sale for 99 cents!)
https://www.amazon.com/Blind-Alien-Be...

The Blood of Balnakin (Book 2)
https://www.amazon.com/Blood-Balnakin...

When War Returns (book 3)
https://www.amazon.com/When-War-Retur...

A Throne for an Alien (book 4)
https://www.amazon.com/Throne-Alien-B...

Coming This Fall!

The Third Earth—The Beta-Earth Chronicles: Book 5
http://bmfiction.com/science-fiction/...

I’m delighted to report the 99 cent sale of The Blind Alien is capturing the imagination of new readers.

In particular, two of those readers took the time to post reviews this month at Amazon. I’m reposting them here. Let me say this: I don’t know these folks. Never met them, never corresponded with them. In fact, 98% of all the reviews for my books at Amazon or here at Goodreads are by total strangers to me. For what that’s worth—

A well crafted sci-fi story, August 3, 2016
By
Piaras

The Blind Alien is a well crafted sci-fi adventure. And I would imagine that fans of this genre will love sinking their teeth into this one! This is my first time reading this author and I must say I was very impressed.

The story had every element a good story should have. An exciting plot, attention to detail, but best of all fleshed out, well-written and well-rounded character development. There’s an abundance of well illustrated scenes that really make you feel like you are right there in the story, and that's something I really look for in a good book.

This captivating and commendable work had me immersed from the beginning. The story flows from scene to scene with ease, and the author shows exceptional skill when it comes to storytelling. There are twists and turns in this page turner that will take the reader on a gripping journey!

It’s one of those stories that come along once in awhile that makes you want to read it non-stop until you get to the end. I’m giving nothing further away here. And this, I hope, will only add to the mystery and enjoyment for the reader!

I’ll certainly be looking forward to reading more from Wesley Britton in the future! I would definitely recommend this book! Five stars from me.

Great mixture of fun and inspiration :), August 4, 2016
Amazon Customer

This was an absolute eye opener. Never have I ever thought about how we would be seen if we too came to be on a different planet. It puts a remarkable spin on regular books about alien invaders. The tortures that Malcolm-the human alien from Earth, was subjected to and had to endure is nothing short of what an alien would have had to endure, had they found themselves on Earth mysteriously. The way Malcolm spun his wise plan to get away from the high leaders and their numerous test was ingenious. That scene left me giggling. His proceeding victory, in gaining partial freedom and achieving a status as a Teacher was well noted. However when things took a turn for the worst and had my heart pounding, he found help. This section gave me hope that even when all things seem lost and we want to despair, there will be help in one form or the other. The 'Helprims' are a set of brave women and I admired them a lot. The courage they displayed and their resilience in assisting Malcolm in his healing process was marvelous. Also Malcolm although now blind showed remarkable strength and adapted well to his new surroundings. I totally recommend this book.


The Blind Alien is still on sale for 99 cents!
https://www.amazon.com/Blind-Alien-Be...

Coming This Fall!

The Third Earth—The Beta-Earth Chronicles: Book 5
http://bmfiction.com/science-fiction/...

I admit, the following excerpt is very strange. That’s because, from time to time, I tried to inject some humor into the Beta-Earth Chronicles. For example, I think characters pulling playful tricks on each other can be very funny.

Here’s one example of female guile from The Blood of Balnakin. To set things up, one storyline is the shaping of the Balnakin Kalma Salk into a full member of Tribe Renbourn. At first, absolutely no one wants this to happen. The mistrust between the Renbourns and all Balnakins is very deep. However, being a devout believer in the goddess Olos, Kalma accepts the divine prophecy that her physical bonding with Malcolm Renbourn will be part of the needed reconciliation between her country and the long hated Renbourns. (That story is told in The Blind Alien.)

This bonding will require Kalma to face one of her deepest fears, of committing what she has been taught is the sin of all sins, of a Balnakin brown lying with a light-skin. On top of that, she has no special attraction for Malcolm. She assumes the goddess will move something to spark passion and desire between them that will override the near terror in her heart.

For his part, Malcolm isn’t interested in what the goddess Olos wants and is deeply resentful of her pulling strings in his life. He likes his family the way it is and has no wish to shake things up. He finds Kalma abrasive and obnoxious and has good reasons for this. She is abrasive and obnoxious. He’ll accept the inevitable if he has to, but he won’t lift a finger to get things going.

So what to do? Three of the Renbourn wives concoct an imaginative conspiracy. Doret, Elsbeth, and Alnenia spend three days doing interesting things to Kalma’s food and drink. Beyond immersing Kalma in erotic poetry and chattering about their favorite physical pleasures, they’re essentially getting her secretly stoned to set up what they can do with the power of suggestion.

What does this accomplish? Here’s what happens in Kalma’s words:

the morn of the fourth day of this foolishness, I had had enough. I burst into Alnenia's office. I demanded, "Sister, what is all this strange curiosity with my food and drinks and eyes and unusual gifts?" "Why, what mean you?" Alnenia replied, innocently looking up at me from behind her desk. "Mean you Elsbeth's interest in making sure your meals are pleasing?"
"Play no more games with me!" I exclaimed, "There is more here than culinary foolishness! What goes on here?" Alnenia looked at me intent, staring into my eyes.
"Yes," she said, as if being a Helprim preparing a diagnosis. "You are getting rather impatient. Ah, feel you any unusual discomforts?" "I have an itch," I began, and then stopped. I turned and closed her door. I sat in her chair and stared back at her. "I am leaving not this chair," I announced, "until you give me explanation full!"
Alnenia turned her cran to one side and looked thoughtful. "It's the fourth day," she said to herself. "It is finally seeming to work." Her face told that she had come to a decision. "Yes, it is the time for truth." She sat back and smiled. "Know you anything about the Ming-ti plant?" "No, I know not," I told her cold. "What is the Ming-ti plant?"
She picked up a skol-stick and tapped it nervously on her desk. "It really should be Doret or Elsbeth to explain it. What I know, they told me. The Ming-ti plant is a heaf
that grows not natural on the Old Continent. It's one Doret ordered seeds for from Menzia. It's a powerful, ah, ah, well, when its leaves are dried and cooked into foods as spices or ground into powder and put into nectars, it, ah, ah," she smiled broad, "considerably enflames our natural drive to be speared. It creates a strong need, very strong, in women for a man-stalk bonding. In your case, the results should be very,
very interesting."
"Interesting!" I thundered. "You've poisoned me and call that interesting! What mean you?" Alnenia looked hurt and shook her head. "Poisoned? Oh no, there is nothing toxic in Ming-ti. The only possible trouble you could have is, well, if you were unable to act on the stimulus inside you. But," her smile returned, "your acting on it is the point. It is long past time for Malcolm to part your legs with full thrusts in between."
I stood and paced before her desk. Questions filled me, and the first was obvious. "Have you others taken this Ming-ti?" "No," Alnenia admitted. "We knew nothing of it until Doret spoke of it after our visit to the Mother-Icealt. None of us, ah, have ever needed the stimulus. We thought of experimenting with it, naturally. For Doret, she'd probably only need a very small amount. Then again, all Malcolm has to do is reach his hand up her tunic, play with her nipples, and irresistible shockwaves, well, you know. Or soon will."
She laughed. "Joline is about your body weight although not as strongly built or muscled." She laughed again. "But, then again, you'd only have to show Joline the plant, tell her of its purpose, and its effect would be complete on sight."
I stared at her. "So, how much of this Ming-ti is in my blood?" Her eyes lit up. "That's what is extraordinary! Very, very extraordinary! Again, Doret can better answer your questions. Normally, I understand, one meal only is sufficient. You've —." She paused and looked at me in wonder." You should, by now, be unable to do anything else but think of being speared. I'm tempted to alert Yil and tell him to clear all males out of —."
"You'll do no such thing!" I exclaimed with full power, pulling her door open. "I am sufficiently disciplined and self-controlled to fight this poison! I will go find Doret and find a cure for this mean trick!"
I stormed up the stairs and burst into Doret's sparsely furnished room. As usual, I found her sitting cross-legged on her mat, meditating, a skol-book by her side. "So, little sister," I demanded, "tell me of this Ming-ti and how to cleanse it from me!"
Doret opened her eyes and looked at me. She studied me. "Finally," she said, "I can believe not it took so long. Well, sit while you can. I'll explain." I sat on her mat while Doret stood and walked over to her desk. She returned with a stack of books, each with many markers poking from the tops. She sat by me, opened the first on the stack, and offered me the book. I looked at the skols and saw the words "Ming-ti." I read the description, history, and reputed uses of the plant and looked at a picture of the tall, leafy weed. "Oh ha," I said, "This says the famed belief that the Ming-ti leaves have powers of excitement have been proved not."
"So it says," Doret agreed, "as do most books written for readers without special knowledge." She handed me another open book, this one yellowed with age with old and faded print. This one had a drawing of the plant along with recipes for its use. "I'd share these others," Doret said, indicating the rest of her stack, "but I'd have to read them aloud to you. They are in the lost and secret languages known only to Icealts of the Old Dome."
She opened a box, and pulled out a set of strange skols and symbols. "From the Mother Icealt herself, I have details unknown outside of priestly circles. For what some say is unproven is merely a matter of knowing how to work the magic proper." She looked at me kind. "I'm wonder struck you can sit there with focused eyes. Have you any idea how much power flows in you? Can you feel your body sweat?"
"How do I rid myself of this?" I asked, looking at my hands and arms. Indeed, I was sweating. My itch was near throbbing.
Doret smiled and shook her cran. "There is one release, and one release only. I confess fear for Husband watching you sit there. The more you resist, the stronger your drive will be."
"Enough!" I cried, "I would see these plants!"
Doret nodded and stood. "Let’s go see Elsbeth's private garden." She picked up her EV-com and coded for Elsbeth. "Sister, May we meet in your rooms? Kalma would like to meet your Ming-ti works."
We walked down the hall and waited for Elsbeth by her door. She appeared smiling. "Oh yes," she beamed. "I see it." As she opened her door and led us to her porch-garden, I asked almost pleadingly, "Sister, gentlest of all, how could you do this to me?" She looked up at me with a hurt expression. "Kalma, Kalma, understand you not? We're only helping your body overcome the fears in your womb. We have taken your fear of touch and turned it upside down. Your fear must have been very strong," she said as we walked into her enclosed porch. "Your desire will be as your fear. Which might break Malcolm's bones."
She led us to one corner where a tray of plants sat in Sojoa-light. The tray looked as if it had once been full of plants. Now, only three bushes remained with many three-pronged leaves soaking in the light. Next to the tray was a three-part stand. Two poles stood upright, one pole stretched between them. From that pole, three plants hung downward, their leaves drying and falling to waiting plates below. "The richness of the Ming-ti juice," Doret said proud, "is enhanced when Sojoa dried, for obvious reasons. The more Sojoa light, the more we women need Sojoa milk." She pointed to a skull-bowl where dried leaves floated in a liquid. "Now there is the solution I can reveal not, the secret that science has uncovered not. It is what converts mere itching into a need of the womb. Kalma, your forehead is wet. I think not you should stand here and delay much longer."
For some pointless reason, I exclaimed, "I will defeat you and your trickery and pay you back in kind!" I stormed out of Elsbeth's rooms. I rushed to my quarters and thought to lock myself in my room. I knew this was foolishness. I went to my mirror and examined my face. Yes, my eyes were red, my skin damp, my body quivering. My breasts had hardened. I laid on my bed and groaned. I clenched my teeth. I dug nails into my palms. I slapped my belly.
I know not how long I writhed and saw images in my mind of Joline's verse and her toes reaching high to limbs of blue leaves and Malcolm's fingers awakening the music in his wives and green plants drying in Sojoa-light and suddenly my body moved without my mind and I nearly ran down the hallway to Husban's room. He was there, he was there, my soul cried, working peaceful at his V-Skiler. He heard me come in but recognized not who I was. "Yes," he said kind, knowing it must be a tribe member to enter his third-floor sanctuary.

Doret: Close to eve-plate time, I heard a soft knock at my door and I called permission for admittance. Kalma walked in looking agitated. I studied her but could read not the confusion on her face. She was biting her lips and unable to focus her yellow eyes. "Little one," she finally stuttered, "Your magic worked well. Very well. Extremely well. Amazingly well. Astoundingly well." She smiled with a faraway look.
She looked unsteady on her legs, like she'd topple any moment. Then her eyes cleared and she looked concerned. "Ah, Doret, you need to see Malcolm and try a different
kind of magic for him or help him to the Int-Clin or whatever should be done. Doret, I'm afraid, ah, I'm afraid I surprised him. He says his back will move not. He groans when he tries to move." As my jaw dropped, and I rose to help Malcolm, Kalma's dreamy look returned. "The rest of those plants," she breathed soft and firm, "are mine."

The Beta-Earth Chronicles (so far)

The Blind Alien (still on sale for 99 cents!)
https://www.amazon.com/Blind-Alien-Be...

The Blood of Balnakin (Book 2)
https://www.amazon.com/Blood-Balnakin...

When War Returns (book 3)
https://www.amazon.com/When-War-Retur...

A Throne for an Alien (book 4)
https://www.amazon.com/Throne-Alien-B...

Coming This Fall!

The Third Earth—The Beta-Earth Chronicles: Book 5
http://bmfiction.com/science-fiction/...

Note: As I’m about to dive into Dagmarth: Escape From Palmar by Joseph J. Miccoliss, I naturally wanted to know as much about the book as I could before adding it to my late summer reading. Here’s what Joseph wants you to know in a synopsis and short Q&A:

Kodus has lived a boring life in Stronghaven, sheltered from the world and isolated from any social interaction. This is until he meets a girl who leads him to adventure into Estonia. His life in Stronghaven was forced by his parents only for protection. His mother and father were the king and queen of Dagmarth, a beautiful planet considered the center of all galaxies, until a savage enemy led a surprise attack that nearly obliterated it. Some Dagmarthians found safety on the planet Palmar, where his parents hid for years before coming back to our own world.

It was a new prophecy told on Palmar that encouraged one last hope for winning the ongoing war and restoring Dagmarth to freedom and peace. But, every promising future comes with a cost. Dagmarth must convince one extraordinary boy to become its bright-shining hero. His name will be Kodus Solaris Hemsley.

All of Dagmarth will realize the hard part is not protecting Kodus, but convincing the boy to fight for them and all planets on its side. He will discover magical powers and skills that outmatch any warrior. It will be his destiny to be the hero for all – the hero of a new generation of freedom and peace. A quest that begins with an escape from Palmar and depends on Kodus accepting the truth and his destiny.

Questions & Answers:

Q: What inspired you to write this story that created the series?
A: I wanted to see something new be introduced in the Fantasy and Magic genre. A hot brand to be a breakthrough for a new generation of literature.

Q: Why is the Dagmarth series better than similar brands?
A: I will loosely quote a review by saying that the Dagmarth series seems to defy labelling. This statement captures my intention for this series because it appreciates familiar concepts and takes them to a new level with a refreshing idea. Dagmarth appreciates Harry Potter because this new series focuses on a main character who doesn’t know his true identity, destiny, or the greatness of the powers he will obtain. Dagmarth appreciates Lord of the Rings because this new series focuses on a futuristic period of advanced technologies and magic used by enemies fighting about freedom and peace versus an empire under one leader. Dagmarth appreciates Star Wars and Star Trek because this new series involves space adventures with lots of action and exploration as characters convince others to join a side of the ongoing war. Readers will see that the Dagmarth series is a crossover of sci-fi/fantasy that attempts to use exciting elements in a refreshing way to focus on a true aspect of our reality – the war on terrorism. This is why I believe the Dagmarth series is better than similar brands because it is opening an undiscovered door of fiction.

Q: How do you see this series progressing?
A: It will be exciting to see how Kodus reacts to the truth upon discovering it. Will he embrace it as this unbelievable journey beyond his wildest dreams or push it away for any reason? The free sample which is obtainable by emailing me from my website or Facebook page will lead to Kodus becoming curious about space during his studies. Of course, you would have to buy the book to find out more beyond this. I do have some ideas for the second and third book in the storyline.

Q: What is your purpose for creating this series?
A: The Dagmarth series is intended to focus on becoming of age during times of terrorism and discovering one’s role in the ongoing war, and accepting it.

Ordering information is at:

https://www.amazon.com/Dagmarth-Escap...

More information about the Dagmarth series is at:

https://www.facebook.com/josephjmicco...

https://josephjmiccolis.wordpress.com/

I know. Making overt connections between my books and the writings of Mark Twain stretches and strains credulity. This despite the fact that, for a decade of my life, I was completely immersed in the life and works of Samuel Clemens. My master’s thesis and doctoral dissertation were about his religious views. During those years, I was a happy member of the lively and personable Twain scholarly community. To be honest, I miss those days and especially those people.

Still, only once during my writing process did I feel Twain was looking over my shoulder when I crafted the first chapter of A Throne for an Alien. I remembered, or thought I remembered, one chapter from Life on the Mississippi that opens with a descriptive overview of an area on the Mississippi. Then Twain narrowed his focus to a specific town, then narrowed his view to one street, then one house, and finally one sleeping drunk on a porch. Well, as Twain once said, I remember everything whether it happened or not. Actually, the passage read like this:

http://www.bartleby.com/library/prose...

Interestingly, the way I remembered the scene, Twain would have been using a cameratic technique long before any camera could do anything like this. According to some helpful Twain scholars, he’s starting the scene with a "Zoom in" or "establishing shot", also known as a bird's eye or pan(orama) shot. You’ve seen this used in films like Psycho, The Birdcage, and The Dark Knight.

The way I recalled the passage is what I tried to emulate when describing the fleet of exiles in the opening pages of Throne for an Alien. The “bird’s eye” view comes from what the character named Joline imagines what the spirit of her murdered sister Bar might see looking down from the clouds. Later in the chapter, Joline has Bar’s perspective focus on the ship of her former family and then her spirit looks into the ship’s cabin. You can see for yourselves how I used the pan (orama) technique here:

Joline: One day looking over the horizon-deck of our "Barbara Blue," I thought of my lost sister, Bar. For one moment, I wondered what she might think if she looked down from the skies over Tribe Renbourn. From the quiet clouds feeding occasional gentle rains onto the foaming, rocking blue waters of the Philosea, she'd see one of the strangest, most magnificent sights in Betan history. As our fleet, our "rag-tag" fleet as Husband described it, sailed east across the Philosea, 60, 70, 90 ships would sometimes be a swelling entity all together, sometimes be streams of smaller fleets seemingly independent but parallel, and sometimes scattered armadas when boat-Captains decided to linger in ports or at island landings at their will.

That day, I thought, the view from where I stood on our ship was just as dramatic as any overhead eyes. After all, my vision was combined with the smells and feels of ocean winds and waters. Some days, we all saw and smelled smoke rising like gentle ladders to the clouds from ships of burning engines. Sometimes, we heard sky booms and saw vapor trails from fast-moving wingers racing above us, no doubt looking down to see what they could see. Many days, wide-sails with proud Alliance signs were filled with the winds and we looked through our glass scopes to see who was nearby.

Some decorated sails we knew well, many our friends from Biol, Oyne, and Persis. We smiled seeing their new flags bearing the Half-Moon sign Husband had made the emblem of the first peaceful resistance to a government gone mad. We waved at friendly sailors climbing up rigging or waving at us from watch-nests atop sturdy masts, especially the cargo-ship Alnenia's father, Sikas Ricipa, had loaned our tribe to carry many of our support-hands. Other ships in the distance we saw rare. We knew their leaders only by Two-Way or EV-com contacts. We knew every ship in the fleet was filled with fearful refugees, many wondering if Alman submersibles would rise to the surface to demand some ships be turned around.

Others worried the powerful Alman Navy might make attempts to capture individuals the new Alman government might have reason to want. Men especially feared their homeland might insist on reclaiming them. But, in the main, the Alman Navy was conspicuous by its absence.

"Perhaps," Alnenia mused, "they prefer to leave us at the mercy of the elements and possible raiders."

Only as time passed did this unease seem to slowly vanish like the flocks of seabirds winging overhead. Of course, many of these ships were small and designed not for long voyages. Many such had been provisioned in quick time and lacked for food, water, and long-distance navigation equipment. Cargo ships had been hastily converted into passenger vessels. Sometimes we lingered to allow these stragglers to keep close to their protective neighbors. Some days, we all paused as if we were one
body to allow ships heading other directions to cross or cut through our path.

"I would never have imagined," Husband remarked, inhaling the sea air he loved, "that there could be traffic jams in the middle of an ocean."

We had many such. All these disparate exiles cast their fates away from the country that had given us all one choice — bend your mind, your soul, your will to one Lunta, one vision of Olos, one cruel woman with double-powers or leave. So many left. For reasons even the prophets said not, many followed the Duce of Bilan, My Husband, the blind alien of Alpha-Earth to wherever he and his tribe might go. And on this, the third arc of our voyage, we knew not where we went.

To our east, we knew Rhasvin ships were forming a buffer on their coast as if to say, "Sail on, sail on, but sail not here." We knew Arasad ships floated like barracuda to our west as if hoping for at least a few morsels of tribute. But mostly the world watched and wondered.

At the moment I stood on our deck and thought of sister Bar, my womb was too full of the present and the family around me to wonder too much about the doings on other ships or in remote lands. Instead, I allowed my imagined cloud-spirit of Bar to narrow her vision, pointing her fleshless eyes downward at her namesake, our pride, the "Barbara Blue." She'd have seen a very different husband from the tortured animal she'd first met in the Bergarten see-through cell, the abused teacher in the Balnakin School, the haunted husband and father who'd been blamed for the deaths of thousands. Now, if she looked closely, she'd see a man on the deck of his ship playing games with children of nine mothers, including her own daughter, Becky. If she looked close, she might amaze to see a father and his tribe in happy play, a tribe seemingly unconcerned that, once again, our family was homeless.

Once, our tribe would have looked cautious outward, wondering and speculating about the future in new places under new rules with shifting lines of power and need. Once, our Tribal Council would have mourned the loss of a beloved home and the roots we'd sought to plant on Island Bilan. Now, this tribe in transition was led by a father deliberately losing games for laughing offspring between tickling helpless mothers to the decks. Now, the reluctant father of an international exodus seemed to fear nothing.

Still, wise eyes would see Noriah of the Willing Horse and her ten Trustees
spending much time on deck, teaching children and adults alike the ways of alertness and preparation. As she had for years, Sister Doret still taught everyone intricacies of Kin-Po, our exercise that was also our physical defense.

Had the spirit of Bar peered into the window of our ship's parlor, she would have seen the famous corner of Two-Way wavers that once beamed out signals of distress when Tribe Renbourn was at the mercy of Arasad raiders. Now, she'd see maps of all sizes and designs decorating the walls as every Renbourn of every age had been given a vote in the great question. Where was home?

----
Find out what happens next in A Throne for an Alien—The Beta-Earth Chronicles: Book 4
https://www.amazon.com/Throne-Alien-B...

Book 1, The Blind Alien, is still on sale for 99 cents!
https://www.amazon.com/Blind-Alien-Be...

Here’s one last free sample from A Throne for an Alien. It’s the very descriptive and gentle introduction as “written” by a new character, Elena Richelo Renbourn. Elena paints the setting for Throne in her own words. Here ya go--

Many of the new terms below I won’t explain here as they are being introduced for the first time in Elena’s words. But you might like to know the title, Duce of Bilan, applies to Malcolm Renbourn, the title he accepted when he bonded with Sasperia Thorwaif which made him a member of the Alman Mentala, roughly the equivalent of England’s House of Lords. The reasons for that are a long story, a huge part of When War Returns, book 3 of the Chronicles.

In her first paragraph, Elena identifies this book as the last in the series. What she couldn’t have known, and what this author didn’t know at the time, was that other adventures awaited Tribe Renbourn on a Third Earth.

So without further ado and hoping those who haven’t read the first three books won’t get lost or confused, meet Elena, her family, and her country. I suspect you’ll experience a big surprise at the end, but an introduction is no place for spoilers:

Alone in my private chambers, I, Elena Richelo Renbourn, sit and skol these painful words by myself. Unlike our Preparations to our first three books, my bond-sisters feel my thoughts are of special interest beginning this, our last chronicles of the first generation of Tribe Renbourn on Beta-Earth. Sister Doret believes my story is the least known and worthy of some introduction. Sasperia believes my perspective sets the stage for the events of these years with a voice not part of the First Circle. Jona prefers to skol not at all. So, I will tell of how the little-known country of Hitalec came to offer its shores to the water-meandering Renbourn tribe and the exiled fleet in their wake in the year, 1735.

In 1720, I was in my ninth year when the word went forth that an alien from a sister-earth had been captured and was living in our northern neighbor, Balnakin. For our island, for all our part of the planet, such news was fascinating but remote. As I grew, the stories of Malcolm Renbourn and his wives, Lorei, Elsbeth, Bar, Joline, Alnenia, and then Doret, Kalma, and Sasperia were adventures of a tribe relevant to the Old and New Continents. But these stories were of little importance in our hemisphere. Hitalec, in truth, was also of little importance in our own region, the island countries part of the Grovsea basin. In the words of my Father, we were the tail of a dog whose history was wagged by others. For Hitalec was a country barely a nation.

Simple said, my mother, Nor, the Queen of Hitalec, ruled as a connector between tribes from three cultures. We had three populated regions that were primarily colonies of our neighbors. Our capital, Satraq, and the lands around it on our western coast, for example, were beholden to Menzia. Menzia was, and remains, the curving land bridging the New Continent with the land mass known as Verashesh.

My Mother's eldest sister, Kinita, ruled Menzia with her three husbands and helped our land with resources and protection. Like her sister, my mother, too, had three husbands in the Menzian royal-blood tradition. Her first bond-mate, the late Marmine Richelo, father to my older sister, Bet, had been Consort-Liege before his ill-timed fall down a mountain face. Bet would one day rule Hitalec with her wary and worried eyes.

In the craggy north coast beside our capital was Rumus, an undisciplined colony of settlers from Rymo, the desert land between Balnakin and Menzia. Once, these were the people who had filled our island before waves of disease, earthquakes, and other now forgotten devastations wiped out a population of mostly farmers and animal grazers.

My father, Tusjin, brother to the dead Consort-Liege, was Lord of this region of survivors. He was a kindly man who adored My Mother and his daughter. One day, I would govern here bonded to one Lord or another from the same culture, obedient to my sister.

Below Rumus, next to my Mother's domain, was the unruly Lumus, our industrial area governed by My Mother's third husband, Gant Thanq, the leader of the thin-haired and cat-eyed Lorilians. They were a race who had founded their own colony there many years past to have a base for their own trade interests in our seas. Unlike most from Grovsea countries, the Lorilians were blue-brown not in their skin tones, but were instead the yellow of puffy Ear-Leaves in planting times.

The daughter of this union, my sister Moy, was both slow of mind and encouraged not by her father to accomplish much in her life. She'd be ill-suited for governance or bonding, which her father desired not for her. For the Lorilians wanted little to do with a central government in our country. With government comes responsibility and restraints. The southern half of Hitalec wanted neither.

The rest of our island, beautiful as it was, was surprisingly sparse in people. For many years, the northern coast to the east was but a land for escaping Balnakin slaves to pass through after short voyages from their unfriendly homeland. Few stayed, wishing to distance themselves from slave-raiders. Those who tried to plant roots were at the mercy of foragers, bandits, and the sea-pirates who roamed freely on that coast. So, over time, few even tried to make use of our fertile soils.

By the time of my maturity, the hills to the south and to the east of Lumus were filled with secretive and hidden enclaves of former slaves only now learning that Balnakin no longer sought them. After Crater Bergarten and the miraculous bonding of Malcolm and Kalma Renbourn, blues still poured through the region as freed people, but they still wanted distance from Balnakin fearing changes in political winds. They still dug the tunnels and underground vikas free from the prying eyes of satellites in the sky.

Only the port town of Weg, an unorganized area of fishers and small farmers, sat unmolested at the end of Hitalec, far from the interests of their government. So, a vast area of land sat dormant. Inviting. Waiting.

Hitalec, remote as it was, had not been untouched by the influence of Tribe Renbourn. The Renbourn reach had, in fact, made its first presence on my island while I began completion of my school years. Helprims and teachers for the Fisher Way were now brought to our disadvantaged people in Weg and to the blue-skin cave-dwellers.

In Rumus, I dealt much with the Salk family who had many contracts with our businesses who bought and sold goods based on Alphan designs. I recall one eve listening to My Father telling My Mother about the Renbourn's visit with the Mother-Icealt of All-Domes.

"There is comfort," he said, "knowing there is another earth like ours. We're alone not."

But such musings had little to do with a young woman's life that was bordered on four sides by the Grovsea. Alma, Kirip, Silvivan, even Rhasvi were my world not, even if I shared the mother-tongue of Alma.

So, in our royal palace, we watched the vicious and deadly turmoil in Alma as if watching dynasties change in Rigel or Minnestt. When we saw the strange fleet leave the Old Continent led by the Duce of Bilan and his tribe, we watched as if seeing a tale of imaginative skolers.

My Mother leaned forward and said to My Father, "Tusjin, I've read the reports of that fleet. Those ships carry Helprims, Legems, fishers, farmers, builders, and perhaps miners and engineers — and the famous Renbourn Tribe. They seek new roots. I cannot see such as the Renbourns settling here. But the others? Tusjin, we have lands that could use such peoples. Perhaps Hitalec could attract some of the unwanted of Alma? If those sailing now settled here, they might well call for their tribes still on the Old Continent."

My Father laughed. "Perhaps. Should I make inquiries?"

And that is how it began.

Elena Renbourn,
Liege of the United States of America

The full A Throne for an Alien is available at:
https://www.amazon.com/Throne-Alien-B...

Book 1 of the series, The Blind Alien, is still on sale for 99 cents!
https://www.amazon.com/Blind-Alien-Be...

Coming This Fall!

The Third Earth—The Beta-Earth Chronicles: Book 5
http://bmfiction.com/science-fiction/...

While this is a story that goes back a few years, I thought readers might like to know how a doo-wop group called The Tokens became connected with some fantastic sci fi.

Back in 1961, The Tokens took the world by storm with their Number One hit, “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.” They had other hits as well including “Tonight I Fell in Love” and “Portrait of My Love” before several members, including singer and drummer Philip Margo, went on to become producers for groups like The Chiffons, The Happenings, and Tony Orlando & Dawn.

In 2011, I had the opportunity to interview Phil for online radio’s “Dave White Presents” where we discussed The Tokens, the group’s involvement with Neil Sedaka, the fascinating history of “Lion,” and his time as a pop producer. He had been involved in the George Harrison “My Sweet Lord” plagiarism suit. Phil was still angrily convinced Harrison had ripped off The Chiffons’ “He’s So Fine” in the melody of “My Sweet Lord.” He pointed out Phil Spector had been involved with both recordings.

Phil had agreed to do this interview as he was plugging his then-new sci fi opus, Null Quotient. If you missed the novel when it came out in 2010, well, it’s the sort of book that hasn’t lost its impact or appeal. If you haven’t experienced The Null Quotient, well, here’s my old review to whet your appetite:

The Null Quotient is an imaginative, thought-provoking Sci-Fi novel by an author with an interesting pedigree. Back in the ‘60s, Philip Margo was a founding member of The Tokens, the doo-wop singing group with such hits as “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.” While The Null Quotient may be a long way from intricate vocal harmonies, the book does have a layered approach to story telling that’s as engaging and entertaining as any Top 10 musical chart topper.

First, the story opens with skilled pilot Ahneevah in battle witnessing the apocalyptic end of her world. A million millennia later, she’s discovered in her spacecraft by archeologist Zack Carver and his former student, attorney Leslee Myles. In short order, Ahneevah and her ship demonstrate extraordinary abilities, and they’re needed. For one matter, bio-terrorists are out to destroy humanity, a rogue administration is trying to take over the U.S., and para-military operatives are trying to seek out and destroy the super-human woman they think is an alien from another planet. Then there’s sociopathic Dax Wolf who’s looking for the secrets behind the remarkable alien ship. Most fearsome of all are “The Custodians,” a group of “Supreme Beings” who’ve destroyed civilizations on earth 28 times before as previous life forms here had reached their doom point. Humanity in the 21st Century, the 29th Configuration of life on earth, is reaching that point as well—unless the ancient being named Ahneevah and her two human friends can find a way to convince the “Custodians” that humanity has enough merit to warrant a second chance.

What drives this tale is the apparent considerable scientific research Margo must have conducted to give all these matters credibility. At times, the narrative perhaps bogs down as nearly every question a reader might ask is answered in very detailed conversations between the characters. How do you account for a being and her craft surviving for so long, repair themselves so quickly, not to mention heal mere mortals with but a touch? Margo doesn’t play mystical slight-of-hand—he provides plausible reasons for how it’s all done.

One novel game Margo plays is the use of classic Sci-Fi movie, film, and book titles in the titles for each episode—Star Trek, Planet of the Apes, Stranger in a Strange Land. At the end of the book, Margo explains these are nods to projects that have inspired him, although there are no direct connections between any of these classic endeavors and the story he’s telling. These titles simply give the reader something else to think about as they move through time, across dimensions, and into a future we can hope won’t happen.

The Null Quotient is Sci-Fi for intelligent readers who like action-adventure, good character development, a fresh approach, strong female leads, and surprises on nearly every page.

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