Chapter 2

In chapter 2 (402) we encounter from Book 3. Since his escape from the devastation of Pa'Myshka and his flight to the mysterious world known as Ardis, Erut was finally granted his wish to return home only to find himself carted off to a prison work farm in Kwanchu. There he works up a plan to escape and uses the things he has learned on Ardis to create some interesting diversions and opportunities for himself.

An excerpt:

He crouched at the edge of the building known as the processing plant with its smells of human waste and charred wood. It was one of many places where the recently discovered concoction known as “blast dust” was being produced for the military. Making it was a degrading and dangerous enterprise best left for prisoners and work slaves–like himself. Next to the processing plant was a walkway then came a long garden with a variety of flowers and plants. The dichotomy was stark and intentional. Those who listened well and followed the demands of the guards worked in the garden. Those who did not were left figuratively and literally in it up to their knees. Of the two places, he was more familiar with the latter. He was not one to be cooperative. He had seen and known too much in his time to just take the guards and their Kevutian masters by their word. He wanted out of this prison camp and the day had come.

He heard footsteps moving soft and slow. His heart skipped a beat and he tried not to panic. Running now would only expose him to greater danger and lay waste to his careful planning. He needed to stay focused. Besides, the steps were too light to be those of someone suited in an armored tunican. It must be another prisoner. And it was.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” said the other male prisoner in a soft voice as he approached him.

“Yes. It’s all I think about. I’ve been planning this for nearly a full acadon now. It has to be now or I will just fade away like one of those maksons over there.” He pointed to a large orange flower in the garden that was hunched over and falling away. The other man glanced at the flower beside them.

Erutvumot 8 or “Erut” turned to his friend and took him affectionately by the shoulders. “It’s not too late. You could come with me. You could all come with me.”

Erut’s friend looked into his eyes. Erut could tell that the idea of getting away from this place was inviting to him. It was all any man in this place could think about but the fire of passion that lit momentarily in the man’s eyes died out almost as quick as it came.

“No,” his friend said, bowing his head.

Erut knew his friend felt shame in his cowardice but said nothing about it. The feeling was understandable. Any attempts at escape or signs that something was amiss about the camp could lead to severe punishments. He patted the shoulder of his friend.

“It’s OK,” Erut said. “You needn’t say any more. It’s enough that you’re willing to help me.”

The man raised his head as if it were heavier than the mountains that loomed down upon them just outside the camp. He seemed barely able to maintain his gaze. He peered into Erut’s eyes as if it were the last time he would see him–alive, at least. “Good luck,” he whispered.

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.