A Disillusioned Soldier
Hector Dukelsky, an upper-class career officer, yearns to fight a righteous war instead of defending corporate interests on Banff, an isolated mining moon. That dream seems dead when his entire command is slaughtered while he’s away, leaving him alone in smouldering rubble with no chance to survive, let alone strike back at the enemy.
A Pilot with a Chip on Her Shoulder
Catt Sayer, a working-class fugitive from the law, earns a meagre income carrying supplies on a decrepit airship, but her hard-won life vanishes when invaders capture Banff. While searching for survivors, she rescues Hector and flies him to safety. But he doesn’t want safety. He wants her to risk her life on a hopeless journey to attack the enemy headquarters.
A Dying Moon
Catt is sure Banff will kill them long before the enemy can … yet she agree s to Hector’s scheme, certain he’ll quit after experiencing one of the moon’s eruptions or ferocious storms. But he doesn’t quit, and slowly his noble dream—and his love—conquer her heart. She pits her life and love against Banff’s lethal environment, even though the only reward for success will be the opportunity to face ten thousand enemy warriors.
|Series||Repelling the Invasion|
|Release||April 19, 2016|
|Tags||science fiction romance, science fiction adventure, science fiction, romance, SF romance, SF adventure, sci-fi, sci-fi romance, underdog, futuristic, futuristic romance, African Queen|
The outer door opened. Catt took a deep breath of stale, canned air, and stepped out. “Keep moving,” she said to herself. “Don’t be an easy target.”
She hesitated to leave the airship’s comforting shadow until she realized Escapee made an easier target than she did, and if it blew up, she’d go with it. After a longing backward glance at her ship’s beloved, bloated shape, she trotted across the tarmac. She didn’t slow as she passed the twisted wreckage of the crawler, but she did detour around a huge, auburn stain. Someone’s blood? If it was Proxie blood, she’d be tempted to open her helmet to spit on it. But it might be—probably was—the blood of someone she knew.
Catt’s feet crunched over charred, broken debris. Her heart accelerated. She wished she had a gun.
At each of the ruined domes, she checked for survivors. She saw no one. No bodies, either, which sent a chill of apprehension and hope coursing down her back.
Bracing herself, she reached the opaque, mottled grey plas-foam of the temporary igloo. It was similar to the backpacking tents back home, although this monstrosity—triple-walled, airtight, and twelve-feet in diameter—would never fit in a rucksack. Who was inside? Survivors from the fort? Dead men who’d spent their last energies inflating the dome? Enemy soldiers, eager to rape and torture?
Clenching her fists and wishing again for a gun, she switched her suit’s radio to broadcast on all emergency frequencies.
“Captain Sayer of Escapee, calling Castle Mountain Fortress. Request permission to enter your igloo.”
Opening the airlock of a military dome required a password, which she didn’t have. Could she cut her way inside? Probably not; igloos possessed tough skins. Should she knock? That seemed stupid…unless the men inside didn’t have a radio.
As she raised her hand to pound, a green light winked atop the air-lock, which was a low tube extending out from the dome. Someone was inviting her in. Who?
She went to hands and knees and nudged the door with the top of her head. When the door opened, she hurried into the lock’s vestibule. The tube was as claustrophobic as a coffin, so it wouldn’t take long to fill with breathable air. When the inner door’s green light blinked, she paused, nervous about what she might find. Rotting corpses. Feverish casualties. Enemy soldiers, pointing guns between her eyes.
She nudged the far door with her forehead to open it.
No dead men. No feverish casualties. No enemy soldiers. No guns pointed at her eyeballs.
Just Captain A-Hole, wearing a dress blue uniform buttoned up to his neck, sitting at a portable mess table stained by a thousand careless soldiers, typing as though nothing at all had happened. He didn’t lift his head. Didn’t even glance at her.
“Be with you in a moment,” he said.