Chapter 1

The final book of the Milleran Cluster series begins on the planet of Pa'Zawhu, one of the last planets of the cluster not under the control of the Kevutian Conglomerate. The Kevutians are in the midst of invading and have brought three Crolat mercenaries with them to speed up the process but the Crolats soon discover that something is amiss.

Excerpt:

The thin and frail man felt long hard thumbs dig into the center of his throat and cut off the air supply to his lungs. He gagged and flailed as he tried anything to get his next breath of air but it wasn’t coming. His mind went from simple terror to outright full-scale panic. All he knew was that he was going to die and there was nothing he could do about it. His last hope was to look into the eyes of the one holding his neck in a vice grip. It was an image of contrasts held in time by two strong and opposing desires. Hyson du-lo-Jogu, the emaciated Zawhan, wanted himself to live; the big muscular man in front of him did not.

“I asked you a question,” said the voice of the man holding Hyson in his deadly grip.

Hyson couldn’t have answered even if he wanted. His throat was being closed off. Speech was impossible but he made a coughing gurgling noise to make it seem as if he was trying to give a worthwhile response. Maybe then the monstrous creature before him would let him go. The problem was that he had no idea what was being asked of him. He just knew he needed to appear as if he was trying to cooperate.

“Where...is...your...command..center?” the big man said. He punctuated each word by shaking Hyson’s head. Hyson gurgled some more as the motion allowed small bits of air to get into his lungs but now his eyes felt like they might be squeezed right out of his head.

The big man brought his face in closer to his victim. “Why don’t you answer me?”

The thin and disheveled Zawhan hanging from the tightening fists of the big Crolat was turning colors. The veins in his face were visibly pulsing as if they were trying to come and see for themselves who was bringing his life to a sudden end.

“Because he doesn’t know what you’re saying,” came a heavy voice from behind the big man.

The big man tilted his head just a little in the direction of the voice coming from behind him but kept his focus on the man in his solid grasp.

“Huh?” grunted the big man.

The voice behind him continued: “You could squeeze him like a gorfruit and he still wouldn’t answer you. He doesn’t speak Kevutian.”

The big man released his grip and let the scraggly Zarwhan fall to the floor like a folded paper doll.

“What do you mean he doesn’t speak Kevutian?” said the big man as he turned to face the person behind him. The beaded belt and neckband and the strands of beads attached to each ?? clicked together as he turned. “Everyone speaks Kevutian.”

“Everyone in the Conglomerate speaks Kevutian, Vorky” came the response. “We’re not in the Conglomerate. We’re on Pa’Zawhu.” The man continued by bringing up his left hand in front of him as if he was about to present a gift. “Pa’Zawhu!” he said, then brought up his other hand barely avoiding the coilgun clipped at his side. “Conglomerate!” He set his hands down. “That’s why we’re here, you fool. We’re being paid to help the Kevutians invade this planet so that it can be brought into the Conglomerate.

Book 4

Work has begun on the final book - book 4.

The preliminary book cover design:

A Review

Here are some comments about Book Three (now officially titled The Suicide Fire) from a professional beta reader:

I absolutely loved the opening to this book. It grabbed my attention and made me want to read more... I actually loved all the characters. I usually have an issue when an author has several POVs because sometimes it can all be overwhelming. But that was not the case for this novel. I felt like each character had a very distinctive voice... Ony'a was my favorite character and her voice was written so well that I really wish I had more chapters told from her POV...I loved the plot of this book. I thought it was very unique. There were many twists and turns and I was surprised at the deaths in this book. They were completely unexpected... I thought the writing style was very impressive. It was descriptive and vivid and I was able to picture every scene clearly in my head... Overall, I loved this story. It was a unique plot with well-developed characters and an interesting setting.

Beta readers

The first draft of book 3 will be ready soon and I will be looking for beta or first readers to offer comments and find all the things I missed. I am offering a $20 Starbucks gift card for anyone willing to give the manuscript a quick read and offer comments within thirty days upon receiving it. Anyone willing to help me out?

Prologue

I usually do the Prologue and Epilogue last since they are often critical parts to the whole story. Those are now complete. The inspiration for the Prologue came from an actual historical event. In 1939, George Elser, a carpenter and a communist, schemed to destroy Hitler as he was to make a speech at Munich's beer hall. His plan was to set a bomb in the podium timed to go off 144 hours later–when Hitler would be in the middle of his speech. The plan failed when Hitler decided to move up his speech to an earlier time and he left before the bomb went off.

The Prologue to Book III:

Pa’Kevutu: Yakrutich, Kevutu, The Tower of the Supreme Magnate

Seloreger 6 “Selo” set his work bag on the floor and knelt down behind the great wood podium situated at the far side of the room. He was nearly finished. The cabinet door was open so he could access the wiring and hardware inside. Coated wires of various thickness and colors twisted and turned from the bottom of the platform through a variety of boxes and circuits before they made their way up through the top and into a collection of microphones. He was not interested in any of those. His attention was focused on the device he carefully put into place in a section of the podium he had carved out.

This was the culmination of many sperons of planning and preparation. He managed to get himself hired on the preparation team and convinced them he was the one who should do the final work on the speaker’s podium. It wasn’t a hard sell. He had a long resume that described him as a competent worker throughout the city of Yakrutich. That, too, had been part of the plan. He was carefully placed with high-end citrans of the city sympathetic to his cause. His reputation was carefully and painstakingly groomed. By the time he applied for the job, he was perfect for it.

Selo removed a hidden cover inside the podium, The cavity behind it was exactly suited to his needs. Careful planning again. Each time he came here to do work on the wiring, he took some extra time to carve out this space in the wood and cover it with a panel that matched the interior. He pulled his bag closer to himself and dug through some tools and wires. He pulled a hidden handle and the tools all came up and out of the bag. He reached inside and carefully pulled out an odd-looking item. It was a simple yet effective device made of three clear cylinders, a solar-charged battery, and several wires and knobs. He turned the device so that two of the cylinders were lined up vertically next to a taller cylinder. Reaching within his bag he pulled out two containers. From one container he poured distilled water into the top of the vertically aligned tube until it was full, added a metal float and attached a wire to it, then sealed the whole thing with a specially designed cap that allowed the connected wire to move. He attached a second wire to the metal plate situated at the bottom of the second cylinder and carefully added the liquid from the other cylinder into the longer tube and sealed it. He took a deep breath and then, with meticulous care, he set the whole device into the pre-formed cavity. With a light touch he turned a valve situated between the two smaller tubes and watched as water dripped. The final step was to arm the device, which he did by connecting the wires to the solar charged battery. The whole mechanism was covered over by the fake panel.

All of this was done while scores of people walked around the large and elegant room. They couldn’t tell what he was doing inside the wooden rostrum though they had seen the long bushy haired man working with the speaker’s equipment many times before, so they paid little attention to him. The abundant hair, both on his face and his head, was nothing more than a disguise. After it was all over, witnesses would say they say a shaggy unshaven older man near the stand, but that man would never be seen again. Selo was looking forward to the time when he could finally lose all this itchy hair and be himself again.

Selo leant back and admired his handiwork. There was no visual hint whatsoever that just behind that panel was a simple yet potent mechanism designed to go off in about eight horons: just as the scheduled speaker would take the stand. The design was elementary, really. When the water in the top tube dripped out, the two plates would touch and complete a circuit sending an electrical signal to the explosive mixture in the long tube. The target speaking at the podium would be eliminated. Mission accomplished.

Selo closed the cabinet under the podium and put his tools away. He grabbed his bag and walked away from the podium in the way he thought an old unkept maintenance worker should move. It was hard not to bounce along with a light step; it was hard not to reveal a wide smile. So much planning, so much work, so much risk went into executing this one moment and now it was done. All he had to do was walk away and wait.

Chapter 35

Ony'a arrives to observe her brother's tribunal. Lagos describes all the reasons why he should be found innocent and why it is the invaders of his planet who should be found guilty. His words move the members of the tribunal except for the Maceoran Rin who decides to take justice into her own hands before others have a chance to rule on his innocence or guilt.

An excerpt:

Lagos took a deep breath and held himself as high as his exhausted body would let him. “Of the charge of treason I say I am not guilty, for treason is betrayal against one’s own state. I stand before you a Myshkan, not a Kevutian. I was not born on Kevutu nor do I owe any allegiance to that land. You may occupy my planet, take my property, enslave my children, and fill me with your philosophies but, as long as I live, you cannot take my heart. My heart belongs to Myshka, to Rishivon–its true name. There is nothing you can do to change that. Taking my life will only assure that my devotion can never be altered. Therefore, as a child of the Mother Rishivon, I cannot be guilty of treason against a foreign government. At worst, you can brand me a Myshkan loyalist.

“Of the charge of trespassing I also say I am not guilty. How can one be accused of trespassing on one’s own property? The chantry of the Masters was built long before Kevutu ever took to flight, long before you even knew we existed. It was built before even most of the provinces had been built. It was the first building of our people and it held the great Masters who taught us how to construct our provinces, build our homes, survive. A home is where a person finds his or her strength and refuge because hard work and a lifetime of struggles and triumphs have gone into it. Invading and stealing the home of another does not make it your own. Like a precious memory, a home cannot be inhabited by another and retain the same meaning. It can be occupied but the purpose of its being, so constructed and initiated by its original builders, can never be fulfilled and realized merely by filling its space. Therefore, I cannot be guilty of trespassing for I have gone nowhere but on the lands of my own people.

“Of the charge of sedition I say, once more, that I am not guilty. I did not cause, through word or deed, the people to rebel. You, yourself, did that by erecting large politically charged banners along the columns of our most sacred and precious building. The symbol of the Double Y is more potent, more calamitous than any long diatribe calling for disobedience could possibly be. In a single symbol is all that reminds us of being occupied by those never invited to our lands. It reminds us of those who are here to take our history, our work, our lands, and our possessions. It reminds us that we are not in control of our own destiny–an inherent and basic right of any free people. It reminds us that we are under the control of a people unlike ourselves. The symbol itself, not me, is the sedition. I am innocent of the very thing you have brought on yourself.

“Finally, on the charge of insurrection, I must admit my guilt, but I also claim that I cannot be held accountable for this crime because the authority that you claim is invalid. You have obtained it through fear and power–forces that are anathema to the heart and destructive to life. More than that, they are the very things that are poisonous to your own image of perfection.

“Fear: the fear of death, the fear of pain. This is how domination begins. Fear causes one to seek protection and safety and many are willing to give up their own freedom for that security. Fear is what allows power to flourish and power can only be exerted through control. By its own definition, power curtails freedom, curiosity, and expression. Power requires separation and hierarchy. Everything becomes focused on maintaining that hierarchy at all costs. Any expression of freedom must be sacrificed at the altar of maintaining control. Every person becomes trapped inside their role as the dominator or the dominated. The end product of both these roles is misery, for even the controller is locked into patterns of alienation and antagonism. Misery cannot be the focus of a good life nor can it be the main ingredient of perfection.

“Yes, perfection! I know of your religion. It is no longer just your own. When you come to a place you bring all the things that are part of you as well: your ideas, your philosophies, your obsessions, your prejudices. No matter where you land you will always step on your own footprint. You have been taught all your lives that perfection is the goal of every worthy citizen and that such perfection is best sought through the wisdom and guidance of your corporations. They told you that perfection will lead you to happiness and that a life lived in perfect happiness will lead to an afterlife with more of the same. They told you that the pursuit of perfection will lead to contentment with the order of things and joy will come in acting your part within that order. But, I have just demonstrated to you that the very act of forcibly exercising power over others leads to the misery of all. The very act of invading the home of another and violently enforcing your own will over those who do not share your own values makes any pursuit of perfection impossible. Your imposition creates great suffering and that agony is returned to you in the very act of trying to enforce it. You deny for yourselves any chance for achieving your greatest goal. You deny yourselves your own opportunities to seek perfection.

“Therefore I proclaim innocence to your charges and I do not recognize the authority from which they stem.”