Phil Giunta's Blog

As always, I’m excited to participate in the Smashwords eBook End of Year Sale starting on December 8, 2025 and running until January 1, 2026.

My  novels Testing the Prisoner and By Your Side will be 50% off ($1.49 each) during the sale. Thank you for supporting independent and small press authors!

Ben Reich, CEO of Monarch Industries, has been unsuccessful in persuading his rival, Craye D’Courtney, to agree to a merger. Frustrated, Reich corners old man D’Courtney alone during a party at the mansion of a mutual friend and kills him. However, D’Courtney’s daughter witnesses the crime and manages to escape with the murder weapon. Thus begins a cat and mouse game of tracking her down while the investigating detective, Lincoln Powell, is forced to refrain from using his telepathic abilities to “peep” into Reich’s mind. Powell is certain that Reich is the murderer, but needs hard evidence. Reich hires other telepaths to run interference for him all the while experiencing horrible nightmares about being hunted by a man without a face.

First published in Galaxy Science Fiction magazine in 1953, it’s easy to see why The Demolished Man was the first book to win the Hugo Award. Bester presents an engaging thriller in which a crime is committed in a world where telepaths occupy all levels of society. Watching Reich evade capture—and a punishment known as Demolition—with the top telepathic investigator hot on his trail makes for a captivating read. 

Perhaps this post should have been written sooner, but I’ve been traveling over the past week and I needed time to process one of the most painful losses I’ve ever endured.

On October 10, 2025, one of the longest running friendships in my life ended with the death of Joe Knedlhans. A retired NYC police officer, Joe was owner and curator of the Toy Robot Museum in Adamstown, Pennsylvania, otherwise known as the antiques capital of U.S.A. His shop and museum, filled with 3,000 toy robots from the past 60 years, was part of the original Stoudtburg Village nestled among eight miles of antique shops along Route 272.

After retiring from the NYC police department, Joe and his wife Margo Moore, a former Hollywood actress, moved to Adamstown in 2000. They had often visited the town to go antiquing and it was there that Margo bought Joe a toy robot as a gift. She gave him another for his birthday and again at Christmas. Three toy robots grew into nearly 3,000. They purchased a home in the Stoudtburg Village with their shop and museum on the first floor.

As Margo collected toy pigs and piggy banks, their business was initially called The Toy Robot and Pig Museum. After Margo died later in 2000, Joe changed the name to the Toy Robot Museum, but it would be another two years before he removed the pigs and filled in the last display cases with more robots.

My wife and I met Joe on a blistering day in August of 2002. Although I had been to Adamstown before, the Stoudtburg Village was new to me. All of the buildings were constructed in the style of of an old, quaint German village complete with center courtyard and fountain. It was at this fountain where a middle-aged was sweeping up with this back to us. He was the only other soul in sight.

My wife and I compared the experience to the classic TV series, The Prisoner, starring Patrick McGoohan. We continued walking until we found the Toy Robot Museum at building #9 in the plaza.  No sooner did we enter than the middle-aged man with the broom followed us and introduced himself as the curator of the museum, thus beginning a 22-year-long friendship.

The museum was a sight to behold. It was not a massive place, but Joe knew how to take advantage of space and filled the first floor with IKEA display cases with robots tastefully displayed and on some of the cases, playback devices mounted on the door would allow you to hear the original TV commercials for some of the toys with the press of a button. The museum also included a robot pinball machine and arcade game and even a few classic toys that visitors could play with including good ol’ Rock ‘Em Sock’Em robots.

Check out this thorough video tour of Joe’s museum from 2024.

In this video, Joe talks about the origins of his museum compliments of his wife, Margo.

And this one is from 2008 where a much younger Joe is interviewed about the museum.

You can Google the Toy Robot Museum and find dozens of videos about it.

 

In the early 2000s, Joe hosted annual gatherings of toy robot collectors. These events were called BotStock. People flew in from all over the country as well as Canada and Europe to attend the event and visit the antique shops along the “strip” looking for treasures. The group would gather for dinner, trading and buying robots from one another, and donating items to be raffled off as well as bringing swag items for everyone.

When BotStock faded away, my wife and I still visited Joe two to three times each year, especially for his birthday and around Christmas. We settled into a routine of stopping at Joe’s museum first in the morning to chat and drop off a little gift that sometimes included a toy robot as well as a signed copy of my latest book, and chocolates. After chatting with Joe for an hour or so, my wife and I would browse the antique shops then return just before closing to drive Joe to dinner.  Sometimes we covered the meal, but most of the time, Joe treated us. He was generous that way, often declining payment when we wanted to buy something from his shop.

In May 2025, I emailed Joe to let him know that I would be passing Adamstown on my way to Maryland for an annual SF convention called Shore Leave. He replied that he was available that day and would be happy to see me.  However, a month later, he followed up with sad news that his sister was in hospice in NYC and was declining quickly.  I told him to contact me if there was anything he needed.

A few more weeks passed before he replied that she had died and as her executor, he would be overwhelmed for a while. Again, I offered assistance but never heard back. My next email to him in August just to check on him also went unanswered. Finally, in early October, I checked the Stoudtburg Village website on a whim and read a notice that the Toy Robot Museum was permanently closed.

I then checked Alphadrome, the online toy robot collectors’ forum and found no news about Joe. However, when I went back to the site over a week later, there was a long discussion thread about Joe’s death, which my wife and I confirmed when we found his obituary. I left a remembrance on the funeral home website as well as Alphadrome.

I was packing for a trip to western PA that week, but cleared my schedule for the Sunday after I returned. My wife and I agreed to drive out to Adamstown to check on the museum and see if we could learn how Joe had passed. Another member from Alphadrome met us out there and later in the day, the three of us went to dinner at Zia Maria’s Italian Restaurant at about the same time Joe would close his shop and go to dinner with my wife and me.

I tried to take some solace in the gorgeous autumn weather as my wife and I stood outside Joe’s dark and locked shop on Sunday morning instead of being inside laughing and chatting with him and deciding on where to go for dinner after he closed. But that solace wasn’t enough to compensate for the loss of our wonderful friend.

After inquiring with a few neighboring shopkeepers, we learned from Janet, the owner of Plum Pudding Antiques, that Joe had taken ill in early October and died in the hospital in Adamstown. She and her husband Tom were named as his executors.

More than once I had remarked to Joe that visiting him, his museum, the village, and Adamstown in general took me away from whatever stresses I was facing in my life and brought me peace and joy. That’s all lost now and it will be a while before I accept that. However, I am grateful to have known Joe and all the wonderful moments and memories that I’ll carry with me for the rest of my days. He brought enormous fun and friendship to all who knew him.

One of the highlights of my year is attending the five-day Mindful Writers Retreat in Ligonier, PA with a stellar group of writers that I’ve had the honor to call friends for the past seven years. Our retreat takes place at the Ligonier Camp and Conference Center (LCCC) nestled in the Laurel Highlands region of the Allegheny Mountains of western Pennsylvania.

LCCC is a kids’ camp during the summer. Off-season, they rent out their facilities to various groups. Each room at the Lamont Lodge has three sets of bunk beds. In years past, I enjoyed sleeping on the top bunk but on this occasion, the ceiling fan was a bit too close for comfort when climbing atop any of the three bunks so I took the lower bed this time.

As I’ve written in years past, everything about our retreat is magical from the location to the hours of quiet writing time to the fun and camaraderie we share during our five days together. Attending the Mindful Writers Retreat for the first time in 2018 was one of my best life decisions for my soul as well as my writing career.

The first two days were sunny and clear. Clouds and rain rolled in for Wednesday and Thursday, but my sunrise walk through woods and along the mountain on Tuesday offered an opportunity for spectacular views, as always.

   

 

As for writing, my goal for the retreat was to finish the outline for the sword and sorcery story and write at least the first two or three scenes.

Also, I wanted to take at least a half day to review a paranormal mystery novella that I started in 2022 and worked on sporadically for about a year in between short story projects. I picked it up again last year’s Mindful Writers Retreat and had not looked at it since. It needed more work than I could give it in the few days at the retreat so I turned my attention back to the S&S story and wrote 2,100 words. The limit is 5,000 per the publisher’s submission requirements. Once I finish this story, I plan to turn my attention back to the novella and finish it by summer 2026.

It has long become tradition for many of the writers  to gather by the fire and chat on Thursday evenings as it is our final night together. We do have social time during lunch and dinner, but many of us only see one another once or twice a year at the retreat so the fireside chats permit us more time to catch up.

After our 9AM brunch on Friday, it was time for final hugs and goodbyes. This a group of writers I’ve have come to miss when we’re apart but fortunately, I will see three of them in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware in a few weeks as we gather at Browseabout Books on Saturday, November 8 from 11AM to 1PM to sign copies of our Mindful Writers anthologies.

On my way from the retreat, I visited the Flight 93 Memorial in Shanksville, PA. Every autumn, when I drive Route 30 on my way to or from  Ligonier, I consider stopping here and never do. Friday was a damp, cold, windy day but nevertheless, I was determined to visit the memorial. Although the visitor center was closed due to the government shutdown, I walked to the overlook and then drove around to the Wall of Names.  My last stop was the Tower of Voices, a 93-foot tall wind chime near the entrance and exit. All told, a sobering experience and reminder of how much we should cherish our friends and loved ones.

  

A Spatio-analyst lands on the planet Florina to warn the authorities of a threat to their world. For his troubles, his memory is wiped and he is left on the planet unable to function. He is cared for by a local woman and trained to work in a factory. Over time, flashes of memory return, placing him and those closest to him in increasing danger. Asimov delivers an adroit mix of intrigue, mystery, and science fiction in a fast-paced story with solid world-building. It should be noted that this tale is set in the same universe as his Foundation series with Trantor as the seat of the Galactic Empire.

For me, the end of summer is typically accompanied by trepidation. As much as I love autumn for its gorgeous foliage, cooler weather, and of course, Hallowe’en, I dread the imminent approach of winter. Once the holidays are over, I have no use for the cold, dark months that exacerbate my battles with depression and anxiety. January and February are like the Monday of the year. Bleah.

However, we’re not there yet and I’m enjoying a spate of sunny September days with mild temperatures. I’m also looking ahead to several wonderful book events in the coming months, which will be  listed at the end of this post. You can also find them on my Upcoming Events page.

As I write this, I’m awaiting the results of two writing contests that I entered in the first quarter of this year and I hope to hear back soon from a popular magazine about a short story I submitted over the summer.  Should I have any good news to share about these, I’ll post it here and chat about it on my YouTube channel. 

Speaking of summer, I took a hiatus from writing new material to compile a collection of most (but not all) of my published short stories from the past fifteen years. I reviewed each one and made a few light edits. Revisiting these characters and their adventures was a fun trip down memory lane.

Dreams from the Edge of Reality will offer 27 stories of fantasy, paranormal, detective, and even a few inspirational. Advance review copies have been sent to a handful of writers for their opinions and I hope to release the book by summer 2026. 

I held back all of my science fiction stories as they take place in the same region of our galaxy and will be gathered into a collection of their own to be published in 2027. More on that later. 

There were also a few personal reasons for taking a break from writing, which included a series of minor home repairs and renovations, ongoing business regarding my late mother’s estate, litigation over a matter I cannot reveal at this time, a few health issues, travel, and the need for self-care while juggling all of the above.  

Despite the obstacles, I managed to record new videos for my YouTube channel, Got a Story for Ya, in which I read story excerpts and offered updates on upcoming events, writing awards, and book releases.  A new episode should go live in late September. 

Near the end of August, I got my writer’s legs under me again and started working on a short ghost story that is partially derived from a novella-in-progress that I placed on hold in 2024.  I should finish the ghost story in the next week or two and if accepted by the publisher, it will be included in a Halloween anthology in 2026.

In October, I plan to resurrect the aforementioned novella and focus on that to its long overdue completion. With any luck, that will be published next year.

As promised, here are a few upcoming events where you can find me this autumn. Hope to see you at one or more of these if you’re in the area. In the meantime, enjoy these final weeks of summer and stay safe out there.

CREATURES, CRIMES, & CREATIVITY – Doubletree Hilton, Columbia, MD. September 19-21, 2025. Keynotes: Tom Straw and Jody Lynn Nye. Additional author guests include Ellen Crosby, L. Marie Wood, Joe Brosnan, Mark Bergin, Sharon Buchbinder, Weldon Burge, Austin Camacho (con organizer), Ef Deal, Bill Fawcett, Phil Giunta, Dana King, Serge Koren, Joanne McLaughlin, Roberta Rogow, Ilene Schneider, Ann Stolinsky, Lane Stone, and more!

WITCHES DAY OUT – Tri-Boro Sportsmen Club, Northampton, PA. Sunday, October 12, 2025. Halloween craft fair with live DJ, tricky tray, costume contest, kids activities, and more! I will have a table at this show.

 

 

EASTON BOOK FESTIVAL – Downtown Easton, PA. October 13-19, 2025. The seventh annual Easton Book Festival presents literary programs for adults, teens, and children, including readings, seminars, open mic performances, story-times, panel discussions, a Small Press Expo and a Young Adult Fest.  I will participate in a number of literary events and discussion panels on Sunday, October 19 in the Sigal Museum Gallery.

BROWSEABOUT BOOKS – Rehoboth Beach, DE. Saturday, November 8, 2025 from 11AM – 1PM. Excited to join several fellow authors at Browseabout Books in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware to sign copies of our latest Mindful Writers anthology, Retreat, along with previous titles such as Shell House, Into the Woods, Love on the Edge, and more.

 

In early 2024, Ann Stolinsky of Celestial Echo Press invited seven writers, myself included, to be headliners for an anthology called Ruth and Ann’s Guide to Time Travel.  Aside from one reincarnation story, I had never written a true time hopping tale before. This old familiar trope has been done so often, and from so many angles, that I was intimidated by the challenge.

Nevertheless, I began thinking about how time travel could be used as crime prevention and that led me to write a tale that partners a physicist with a detective to stop a serial killer before he gets started.  “A Thorne in Time” went on to win first place in the Pennsylvania Press Club Communications Contest in 2025. I hope you enjoy the opening scene. Thanks for reading!

A Thorne in Time

by Phil Giunta

Captain Garrett McNally straightened his tie as he marched along the concrete walkway that led from the driveway to the front of the sprawling Thorne Mansion. The weed-infested gardens and overgrown lawn clashed with his memory of the last time he stepped foot on this property twelve years ago. Every inch of the place had been immaculate then—a paradise at the edge of the city.

Its luster had since faded and McNally couldn’t help but wonder if that began the moment he informed Robert and Emily Thorne that their daughter, Tanya, had been the latest victim of a serial killer at the tender age of twenty-two. Robert suffered a fatal stroke a few days later and Emily lost her battle with cancer six years after that. As far as McNally knew, Tanya’s twin sister Noreen still lived here, alone.

He jogged up the steps to the portico where two dead plants in mold-covered cement pots flanked a weathered mahogany door in dire need of a cleaning and new finish. He rang the camera doorbell. A few seconds later, a form undulated in the frosted privacy glass before the door swung open. McNally had expected to be greeted by a woman in her mid-thirties, but Noreen’s salt and pepper hair, tired eyes, and drawn complexion lent her the appearance of someone much older.

“Ms. Thorne. It’s been a long time.”

“So long in fact that it’s Doctor Thorne now. Nice to see you again, Captain. Please, come in. I appreciate you driving all the way out here so soon after I called. Can I get you anything? Water, coffee…?”

“No, thank you. I’m good. When you said you had new information regarding the Westside Slasher case, I cleared the rest of my day.”

“Well, I hope to make it worth your time.” She closed the door behind him. “Let’s go to my office. So, how’s your daughter these days?”

“Darla’s doing well. Joined a new law firm not too far from here. Still misses Tanya. Talks about her once in a while.”

“They were closer than anyone realized back then.”

She led him down a short hallway to a room with four large monitors mounted in a square formation above a cluttered desk. They were connected to a single laptop by a tangle of cables and adapters.

Thorne tapped the space bar. Every screen lit up, each with a video file ready to play. “I must ask you to indulge me, Captain. Twelve years ago, the first victim of the Westside Slasher was Sarah Peretti. Do you recall his sixth and final victim?”

“Of course.” McNally cocked his head. “It was your sister.”

“Are you sure about that?” She grabbed the mouse and clicked the play button on the first screen. An anchorman with Channel 14 News shifted in his seat. “The sixth victim of the Westside Slasher has been identified as twenty-eight-year-old Mae Kaplan of Roycetown. Kaplan worked for MacHale Medical Center, just three blocks from where she was attacked and stabbed seven times. Police are—”

Thorne stopped the video.

“That’s not right.” McNally frowned. “I don’t recognize that name and as the detective on the case, I remember every victim.”

“What about this one?” Thorne launched the video on the second monitor.

“The sixth victim of the Westside Slasher has been identified as twenty-one-year-old Hailey Mahlberg of Bartlett Village,” the same anchorman reported. “Mahlberg was a senior at Declan University—”

“Hailey Mahlberg was the third victim not the last one,” McNally said. “What is this?”

“As I said, Captain, indulge me.” Thorne slid the mouse to the third screen and clicked play.

“The sixth victim of the Westside Slasher has been identified as thirty-year-old Deb Webb, a mother of three and math teacher at Upper Carlton Middle School. Police are—”

“Are these deepfakes? Did you use AI to fabricate them?”

“I don’t have access to that kind of technology.” Thorne folded her arms and leaned against the desk. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t use it to disrespect these women, especially since my sister was one of them. What you watched are three videos from three different timelines.”

“Come again?”

“I don’t have the tools to make deepfakes, Captain, but what if I had something that could help you stop the Westside Slasher before he claimed his first victim?”

McNally snickered. “Like what, a time machine?”

***

“A more accurate term would be time portal. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

In the center of Thorne’s sub-basement lab, McNally gaped at the gray metal arch that stood floor to ceiling. Several pairs of colored cables wrapped around its thick metal framework, terminating in scattered sockets where small green and amber lights pulsed and flashed. A shimmering, translucent field of pale blue filled the span beneath the arch. Across the room, four monitors were mounted on the wall above a long white counter, reminiscent of the office upstairs.

McNally paced around the arch, examining every detail, before shooting a sidelong glance at Thorne. “You gotta be kiddin’ me.”

“It’s no joke, Captain. Those videos I showed you were the result of my three failed attempts to save Tanya’s life in the past, which spawned three alternate timelines. Originally, she was the slasher’s second victim. Each time I traveled back, I managed to steer her out of harm’s way only for her to be murdered somewhere else a few days later. In the process, the list of victims always changed.”

McNally rubbed his forehead as the reality of Thorne’s words set in. “So every move you made had a kind of butterfly effect.”

“Right, but where you and everyone else remembers only the final sequence of murders—the current timeline—I remember all four timelines, perhaps because I was tethered to the time portal. The computers in the house are all connected to the arch, which allowed me to save the videos I showed you from each timeline.”

“How long did it take you to build this?”

“It was my father’s invention. He spent two decades designing it and working out the math before constructing the arch. All he wanted to do was explore history, but he died before the portal was finished. So, I dedicated the past twelve years to learning the science behind it and making a few upgrades.”

“How does it work?”

“I could show you fifty-five pages of equations.” From the pocket of her cardigan, Thorne produced a small device with a screen displaying several rows of icons, similar to a phone. Its edges glowed with the same blue light as the arch. “Or we could just take a trip.”

“You control your time travels with that?”

“Correct again. I leave through the arch and when I need to return, this handheld controller generates a portal back to it. I have two of these devices, should you decide to help me.”

“I’m listening.”

“Regardless of the changes in the timelines, a few things remained the same. The first victim was always Sarah Peretti, you were the detective assigned to the case, the murders stopped after six, and the killer was never caught. Now we have the perfect opportunity to stop this bastard before he even gets started.”

“You want me to go with you twelve years into the past and catch the Westside Slasher before he becomes the Westside Slasher?”

“That about sums it up.”

McNally laughed. “This is insane.”

“Captain, when you came here twelve years ago to tell us that my sister had been murdered, I peppered you with questions about whether you had any suspects or witnesses or any leads at all. Do you remember what you told me?”

“I couldn’t say much. It was an open investigation. Technically, it still is. But I believe I said I wouldn’t give up until I found the killer.”

“I’m offering you that chance now, Captain. Please help me save my sister.”

Read the conclusion of “A Thorne in Time” and other fantastic tales in Ruth and Ann’s Guide to Time Travel!

A new episode of my video newsletter is up in which I chat about Lehigh Valley Comic Con , Easton Book Festival , Witches Day Out, and Creatures, Crimes, and Creativity Con .‌I also read excerpts from my stories, “In the Span of a Heartbeat” published in Black Cat Weekly (Issue 176, January 2025) and “Isaac Geary’s Instant Utopia” published in Bright Mirror (Oddity Prodigy Productions, May 2025).‌One correction: I mention that the Lehigh Valley Comic Con has one-day shows every “August and July.” That should be every August and December. I blame lack of sleep.‌

In April of this year,  I sold a Halloween story to Black Cat Weekly magazine to be included in one of their upcoming October issues. I’ll share more details on that when it’s published.

This was the second story I sold to them, the first being  a science fiction piece titled “In the Span of a Heartbeat,” which appeared in Issue #176 in January 2025. I realized recently that I’d never shared the opening scenes of that story here on my blog as I did with my three other stories that were published in the first half of the year. So, here it is. I hope you enjoy this subsurface trek into danger, discovery, and personal reckoning.

During a survey mission on a distant planet, a group of scientists discovers an underground cavern rich in valuable artifacts, but soon find themselves hunted by a pack of subsurface creatures.

In the Span of a Heartbeat

by Phil Giunta

A string of expletives assailed Norimi as she entered the lab. The gruff voice bellowed from the conference table in the back corner, above which hovered a massive rotating hologram of Uzo, the largest of three planetoids at the edge of Enyari space. Its desolate, pockmarked surface resembled an artist’s palette of taupe, white, and burnt umber with occasional patches of slate blue. Uzo was also home for the next four weeks and the final stop on a yearlong expedition to survey the last undeveloped real estate in the solar system for colonization.

At the workbench across the lab, speleologists Wyn Kuona and Seth Reizig conversed in hushed tones as if afraid to draw the ire of the science team’s cantankerous leader.

Norimi sidestepped the hologram to find her father hunched in his seat, jabbing a finger at the touch screen in the table’s beveled edge. “Everything all right, Dad?”

“Can someone please tell me how the hell to pull up the damn contour map from Sonda?”

Oren, the team’s technical engineer, bounded in from the adjacent room. “No problem, Doctor Jurahn. Let me show you.”

The seismologist rolled his chair aside as the younger man hunched over the screen. He tapped once, swiped twice, and Uzo faded out. One more tap produced a rectangular cross-section of a lava tube connecting two massive calderas.

“Thank you.” Jurahn stood. “Perhaps my daughter married someone useful after all.”

Ignoring Norimi’s fuming gaze, the team leader cleared his throat. “Before we begin, just one announcement.” He clasped his hands behind him as Kuona and Reizig fell silent. “I received word from Captain Milliken earlier this morning. She’s been diverted to the edge of Zhoreen space. Hostilities are escalating in the region and the navy wants more firepower along the border. As a result, she will not be able to pick us up as scheduled. The closest ship to us is the Praetorius, but it’s five weeks out.”

The team responded with groans and slumped shoulders.

“Yes, I know. We’re all anxious to go home, but after a year in space, what’s an extra week? Now, let’s review our objectives for today.” Jurahn traced his finger along the edge of the holographic contour map. “According to the body wave emitters planted by our Sonda rover last year—”

“Just before it crapped out.” Kuona folded her arms across her chest and smirked at Oren. Norimi’s husband had designed the rover, which went offline five months after landing on Uzo, making him the target of occasional ridicule ever since.

“We don’t know what happened to it, Doctor Kuona,” Norimi said. “And it isn’t relevant right now. We have its last known coordinates. If we find it while we’re here, we’ll figure it out.”

Kuona’s smirk faded as her gaze shifted to the hologram.

“As I was saying,” Jurahn continued. “The seismic data Sonda sent back shows that this lava tube is sixty-three meters in diameter and runs for ninety-four kilometers, making it a strong candidate for a subsurface habitat. It’s seven hundred and eight meters down and runs directly beneath the two calderas we saw from orbit, Prythian and Erimaal, about ten kilometers apart. Near the base of each are caves, some of which connect with the lava tube.

“There are also several conduits that branch off from the tube. Some appear to end in caverns, others lead to dolines, or sinkholes, that are open to the surface. We’ll explore as many as we can. Based on the coin toss aboard ship yesterday, Kuona and Reizig will head northwest to Prythian, while Norimi and I go southeast to Erimaal. We’ll collect soil and rock samples, assess structural stability, and get a closer lay of the land while Oren monitors everything from here. Any questions?”

No one stirred.

“Excellent.” Jurahn tapped the screen and the hologram vanished. “Let’s go spelunking.”

***

Although four hundred times dimmer here than on their homeworld, the sun’s light was sufficient for navigating Uzo’s craggy terrain. In the driver’s seat of Crawler One, Norimi craned her neck to peer up at the towering rim of Erimaal, beyond which lay the largest caldera in the Naxdin Belt of planetoids. What had been a breathtaking view from orbit became humbling—and intimidating—at close range.

In the passenger seat, her father recorded their journey on the crawler’s exterior cameras, controlled by the dashboard’s touch screen. “We’ve been driving for twenty minutes and you haven’t uttered a word. When my daughter gives me the silent treatment, I know she has something on her mind.” He leaned toward her. “She gets that from her mother.”

“And if mom were still with us, she’d smack you upside the head for the way you treat Oren.” Norimi tore her gaze away from Erimaal and glared at her father. “I’ve held my tongue until now because we’re both still grieving, but I expected better from you.”

“As the leader of this team, I don’t have time to coddle anyone, Rimi. That includes your lesser half.”

“I’m not asking you to coddle him. I’m asking you to show him some respect for a change, as a colleague. You constantly belittle him because he’s not a scientist, yet Oren developed almost all of the tech we’re using on this mission.”

“Well, let’s hope it holds up better than his Sonda rover.”

“Why do I waste my breath?” As they drove into Erimaal’s shadow, Norimi slapped the dashboard touch screen. The headlights flashed on and glinted off the frame of a small vehicle parked beside the cave entrance. “Who the hell could that be?”

Her father tapped his dashboard screen. “Team One to Basecamp. We just arrived at the foot of Erimaal, and it looks like we have company.”

To continue reading “In the Span of a Heartbeat,” and many other fantastic stories, check out Black Cat Weekly #176.

Ironton, New Jersey police detective Frank Nagler has his hands full as the lead investigator when a decapitated woman is discovered in a swamp known as the Old Iron Bog. To make matters, one of the most brutal storms in recent history has flooded the town, causing millions of dollars of property damage. Nagler’s search for the unidentified woman’s killer dredges up bad memories, suspicious finances at City Hall, and scandalous activity by local politicians. The Swamps of Jersey is a fine example of contemporary detective noir by author and award-winning journalist Michael Stephen Daigle.