This is the place.
Here.
Once it was full.
Life.
People warmed, working.
Here.

This was the place.
There.
Empty and bleak.
Dead.
No one left, useless.
There.

E.M. Swift-Hook

She awoke with the idea in her head that she had been asleep for a very long time. 

Sitting up gingerly she found herself in darkness. But movement must have alerted someone, because a dim light came on. Showing her a long room full of beds, like a hospital ward.

There seemed to be a window about halfway down and she forced wobbly-feeling legs to take her there.

Her suddenly nervous fingers fumbled with the blind, until she could look out. Onto a landscape of black rocks, red ‘plants’ and white sky.

She screamed until her voice ran dry.

©jane jago

Welcome to the Hotseat of Truth, a device in which your protagonist is trapped. The only way to escape is to answer five searching questions completely honestly or the Hotseat will consume them to ashes! Today’s victim is displaced mage, Raven, from Catalyst by Stephanie Barr

Raven is a powerful mage (half-dragon) who was left in the mundane realm after he helped tear the magical realm from the mundane one. He’s waiting for the Catalyst to show up so she can pull them back together. He and his familiar, Gypsy, have reincarnated innumerable times but they keep their memory and, while still magical, are generally stymied by the lack of magic manna in the mundane world. 

Question one: Has waiting taught you patience?

I thought it had until I met Chloe. I guess there’s more to this patience thing that waiting powerlessly. I guess sometimes it means not being in charge. That I hadn’t expected.

Question two: How does  powerful magic wielder cope with being trapped in a world where the magic is so weak?

I had to learn other skills. I tend to like working with my hands, so I usually take on craftsman-type jobs, learning new skills each life to keep it from getting boring.  And I can do little things, some telekinesis and sensing things, but I’ll tell you, getting back to where I really have my powers back is something I’ve more than dreamed of. I can’t wait. Well, I can, but I don’t like it.

Question three: What is the first thing you will do when you can return to your own world?

Well, we’re not really returning to my own world, more like, thanks to the Catalyst, the world is coming back to us, so we’ll all be one world where magic is as normal as gravity. But, yeah, I have plans. Probably check my hoard—it has been twelve thousand years—and then show Chloe what a naturally-born mage can do when he’s not dependent on her power to do magic. What spell will that be? I don’t know. After some of the stuff she’s managed, she’s not easy to impress. But I’ll come up with something.

Question four: Does reincarnation hurt?

Yes and no. Reincarnation isn’t inherently painful but death can be. My last death was pretty miserable dying from an overabundance of shock treatments. But it is inconvenient. You never know where you’ll end up and some families are pretty miserable to grow up in like this one was with an abusive father and a mother who was grateful he had another target. It’s also kind of tough to go through school since I have literally heard it all before, but there’s usually something new and exciting to liven each life up. I feel like I learn something every life when I live long enough to do so. I do get to make new mistakes since I have the chance to learn from my old ones. Hmm. You’d think I’d make less of them…

Question five: Is Gypsy a friend as well as a familiar?

Why would you have a familiar that wasn’t a friend? I mean, I can’t even remember when she wasn’t a big part of my life. She knows me better than anyone and she still sticks with me. We wouldn’t keep seeking each other out, life after life, if we didn’t care about each other deeply. Not that keeps her from telling it like it is. In fact, that’s the best part of our friendship. We can tell each other the honest truth without worrying about it destroying what we have.

“There has to be a formula.” Dianora glared at her brother. “There has to be an algorithm for writing a bestseller.”
“Ain’t” he grunted stubbornly. “It’s one of them wossnames.”
“Which wossnames precisely?” she placed her words as carefully as blades, but to no avail.
“The wossname that means there ain’t no rhyme nor reason, stupid.”
Dianora seriously considered physically attacking Adamo, but was deterred by the knowledge that he wasn’t a gentleman, was around twice her size, and perfectly capable of attacking her back.  
“So what do we do?”
“You just carry on writing the stuff that pays, and I keep on going to work five days a week. That’s what real life is all about.”
She got up and stomped around the room waving her arms in the air.
“And stop doing that or you’ll hit the wall and bruise your fist.”
Dianora laughed reluctantly. “Okay. I give in. Let’s eat.”

However, the idea of an algorithm had taken root in her head and whenever she had a spare few moments she input as much information as possible slowly, slowly building a picture of what would constitute the ‘perfect’ novel. She added character names, descriptions, traits, and sexuality. She carefully dissected storylines. She even read as much erotica as she could lay her hands on sourcing both terminology and description. Then she just looked at her work for a very long time, unsure if she dare press the combination of keys that would set her brainchild in motion.

It was a wet, cold Friday evening. Adamo was tired and frustrated after a particularly scratchy week, and he came in from work to find his sister clutching a bulky printout. It looked a bit on the thick side for one of the young adult novels that paid the rent, but he took it from her hands and dropped it on his desk.
“Any hurry for this one?”
“No, in your own time.”
He thought Dianora’s voice sounded a bit peculiar, but he was too tired to try and puzzle out the behaviour of someone who was, in his opinion, erratic at the best of times, and downright impossible when in a mood.

It wasn’t, therefore, until Sunday morning that he picked up the typescript and started to read. 
Three hours later he stomped into the kitchen and threw the pages down on the table with a bang.
“That,” he enunciated with careful clarity, “is absolute dross”.
Dianora turned from the pot she had been stirring on the stove and grinned widely.
“It is. But you couldn’t put it down, could you?”
“No. However did you manage to write something so horribly tacky and so completely compelling at the same time?”
“Oh,” she said airily, “I didn’t write it.”
“Well who did?” 
Adamo was getting snappy, which seemed to amuse Dianora greatly. She turned up the cover page and pointed.
‘Darkness of the Soul’ a dystopian love story from the pen of Arabella Churchwarden.
“Yeah, but that’s just your pet name for your computer…”
Then the penny dropped and he stared at her with his mouth agape.
“Yes,” she said proudly. “I wrote the bestseller algorithm.”

©️jj 2019

The life of an elderly delinquent in limericks – with free optional snark…

I am old, and my body attests
To a life full of action and zest
I won’t Botox away
The way I’ve lived my days
And I won’t shave the hairs on my chest

© jane jago

Gleb looked at the creature on his finger for a long time, amazed and heartened by the warm glowing gold of its tiny body. He knew it didn’t belong down here in the icy depths, and as soon as he had finished looking he would help it back towards the sunlit lands he heard about in his dreams.
Gleb heard Winter stirring, and felt the icy blast of her breath. Smiling gently, he took the fire bee to a place from which it could fly home.
That golden warmth would be something to think about in the cold of everlasting night.

©jane jago

We had humans here once. When they arrived, they were weak and lost and in need of our help and protection. The trouble was the humans couldn’t commune. They used odd sounds from their mouths to communicate with each other and when any iv’n’bos tried to commune with one, it would clutch its head and scream as if in agony.
Maybe it was. Maybe humans couldn’t commune.
So what to do with them?
In the Dark Season when nothing grew, they would all have died had not some iv’n’bo taken pity and left them food. But the gifts made no difference. The humans simply built an altar to some god and offered thanks there for the food gifts. As if they could not even conceive of the iv’n’bo offering help.
Some said they should be left to starve come the next Dark Season, but that would be against the Plan. The Plan spoke always of compassion for any sentient being and the iv’n’bo all believed and followed the Plan.
But the humans did not.
They had no compassion.
Despite the food gifts being plentiful, despite the bounty of the land and the trees being given freely to feed them if they reached out their hands to take it or stirred themselves to nurture the seeds in the soil. Despite all that, they armed themselves and went out slaughtering sentient creatures, laying them on their vile alter and devouring the burned flesh.
Then they forged blades.
They declared war on the iv’n’bo.
They left us no choice.
We had humans here – once.

E.M. Swift-Hook

From the eighth Fortune’s Fools book Iconoclast: Not To Be by E.M Swift-Hook which is now available for pre-order.

“I know Grim, he wasn’t lying. I also know he’s not a murderer. If he killed, he did so for a reason.”
“Every murderer has a reason,” Durban said gently.
For the first time, he caught a flash of anger in Panvia’s eyes. “Grim,” she repeated firmly, “is a man of principle. He’s got a rep for never using lethal force unless he’s backed into it. Ask anyone. Is not just me saying that ‘cos he’s family. If he killed, it would’ve been because he had no choice. Had no way not to do so.” She fixed Durban with her stare as if willing him to believe her. “You need to understand that.”
Durban nodded. “I hear you loud and clear.”
Standing up, Panvia drained her mug to the dregs then set it on the table. “I hope you do,” she said. “Now I need to go try help Ebon. You know where to find me.”
Rising too, Durban gripped her arm. “Thank you. Thank you for passing the message on.”
“Don’t thank me for it. I nearly didn’t, you know?” She looked sick as she spoke. “I nearly broke my word to my own brother.”
Durban released her arm, suddenly uncertain he had read things correctly. Before he could ask, Gernie spoke across him.
“Tell Ebon we’ve got his back on those repairs, will you?”
Panvia gave him a thumbs up and left the room, closing the door behind her. Durban sank back in his seat again.
“I don’t get..?”
Shaking his head, Gernie took a drink of the cooling mulled wine before he responded. “She loves her brother. Grim gave her a second chance and talked his twin into doing so too. Most of the people in her life before, well, before she wound up here, they didn’t. Even her other sister didn’t and still won’t.”
“I get that. What I don’t get is why that would make her reluctant to pass his message on to me.”
Gernie gave a brief laugh.
“Man! You know for someone who can read people the way most read texts, you can be slow on the uptake sometimes.”
Durban smiled at that. “So what am I missing?”
“Panvia knows you, Durban. She knows what you’ve done, the kind of people you hang out with, what they are capable of. And she knows how good they are at it. Right now, she thinks telling you that message has probably just signed her baby brother’s death warrant.”

E.M Swift-Hook

You can snag your copy of  Iconoclast: Not To Be on preorder now!

The life of an elderly delinquent in limericks – with free optional snark…

Being old means I’m quite without shame
I can swear, belch and f**t without blame
I can drink till I’m squiffy
Make jokes that are iffy
And call all my neighbours rude names

© jane jago

The Huralon Incident (Springbok Chronicles Book 1) in the series opener and debut science ficrion novel from E.A. Wicklund

“We’re still running for it?” murmured Zahn as he stood next to McCray.
McCray consulted the tank. “We’re thirty minutes from the heliopause. He can only target us with one of his two lasers while chasing us. We’ll make it into hyperspace before he gets a good hit on us.” 
One of the first things anyone learned about space combat was that the vast majority of laser shots missed. Because of the enormous distances involved, the information on a ship’s location could be many seconds out of date. In that time a ship could have moved thousands of kilometers from the last-known position, and it could be anywhere in a large volume of space. McCray felt that laser fire amounted to a crap shoot—a guess at where the target would be.
“Inbound signal,” said Ando, looking anxious, but then it was his first combat “Liu’s demanding we shut down our paddles and heave to.”
“Tell him to to piss off,” snarled McCray.
“Sir?”
“You heard me.”
Another red blast streaked past on the tactical displays, closer this time.
“Fourteen seconds between shots,” said Warwick. “A fast cycling time, but not for the smaller FireDragon lasers.”
“Copy that, Eyes,” acknowledged McCray. “Liu can shoot all he likes. he’s never going to hit us hard from that range. His laser will attenuate too much to do anything serious.”
“Twenty minutes to the heliopause,” said Zahn. 
“We’re slipping away,” said Warwick, and McCray glanced her way as her fingers dancing across her screens. She looked tense—lines forming on her otherwise smooth features—yet still focused on the job. “He’s five light-seconds behind and we’re opening the range.”
“You see, people?” McCray was grinning. Many of them had never seen combat before. They needed to know he had the situation well in hand. “We’re too fast. He’ll never catch us.” 
The ship shuddered suddenly. Red lights flared across their displays. DC1 Xiang,  the tall, pale-skinned damage control specialist suddenly appeared beside Warwick.
“Hit on Number Two Hyperengine,” Xiang reported “About sixty tons of armor blown off. Cosmetic damage only.”
“A lucky shot,” grated McCray. 
“Standby,” said Xiang, looking worried. “More data coming in. Critical hits on the hyper control runs. Secondaries are down too.” She looked up, the shock plain on her face. “Captain, we cannot enter hyperspace!”
“That’s not possible,” growled McCray, feeling the same shock. He gestured in the air and a screen opened with the harried face of Chief Engineer, Commander Guillermo Parsamayan. “Gui, what the hell happened?”
Gui looked frustrated. “A one-in-a-million shot, sir. Shrapnel from the strike slipped through a gap in the armor and hit both the hyperdrive control runs. This is supposed to be impossible.”
“How long to fix it?”
“I need a couple days at least.”
McCray felt his face sag. “Two days? You gotta be joking.”
Gui shook his head. “No way around it, sir. I got the nanoprinters making parts now, but hypercontrol junctions are complicated pieces of kit. Hyper capability is down for now.”
“Keep me informed, Commander.” McCray ground his teeth in frustration. How could a piddling little pirate do this to his ship and from such a long range? What would those assholes in the admiralty say to this? Whatever the reason, the choices on action had become far simpler now. “Helm! Roll ship and come port to 2-8-5.” 
The maneuver neatly unmasked three of Springbok’s lasers. She had four lasers to the Brazil’s two, but while Brazil could only fire one laser in a stern chase, Springbok’s cleverly designed geometry meant she could return fire with three in the same stern chase. At the helm, Raj replied to his order as McCray turned to Lieutenant-Commander Piper. “Guns, you have a targeting solution?”
Piper grinned ferally. “Locked and ready, sir.”
“Fire!”

A bite of… E.A. Wicklund

Q.01 What do you think drew you to writing Science fiction?

From an early age I studied military history, particularly aircraft during WW2. Technology proceeded at an incredible rate during the conflict. I found myself researching not only the technological developments, but the stories of how pilots used them. What were the advantages/disadvantages of the plane? How did pilots use them to effect or compensate for a flaw? To me, this naturally flows into Science Fiction. No matter what, or how much, technology is in a story, the stories are always about people. So the question becomes: if this story has some incredible technology, how do people use it, and how do they compensate for its flaws? Same questions, really. So progressing into a fascination for science fiction, and science & technology in general, was perfectly rational progression in my view.

Q.02 What were the best and worst things about writing the book?

The best thing was letting my imagination run free. I have written over one thousand pieces of flash fiction, and I love it, but the short form is very restrictive. While writing “The Huralon Incident,” I could suddenly say what I wanted and length (well more so than before anyway). I could finally write about concepts and ideas that had been bouncing around in my head for years, but could never fully express. The worst thing was, “killing your babies.” It’s important to keep the narrative moving at all times and that meant many of the little asides and tangents that I loved had to be removed. My book easily only represents one third or less of all the writing that went into it. It hurts sometimes but then again, no pain, no gain, right? I think the book is better for it.

Q.03 What fast food is your favourite and why?

I love this question! My favorite fast-food, easily findable anywhere in the US, is Arby’s. It’s best with a little pickle and onion and dripping with Arby’s sauce. But here in Austin, the fast food I crave the most comes from Hummus Cuisine. It’s a food trailer. In Austin, some of the most imaginative, progressive food ideas come from food trucks (we’re weird here in Austin and proud of it). Hummus Cuisine is run by a Lebanese couple, and they treat me like family every time I go there. Their gyros plate is absolutely to die for. Their tabouli and hummus is all hand-made and it’s wonderful. There’s no other flavor palette quite like it, and I adore it. Shawarma, which is also available there, even features in The Huralon Incident.

E.A. Wicklund served in the US Navy, as an Operations Specialist aboard several surface warships and is now an IT Consultant living in Austin, Texas with his beautiful wife, Shey, and daughter Hannah. He got hooked on books at a very early age and by twelve had read every Jack London book he could find. His father, a military officer working in Naval Intelligence introduced him to military history books and he swiftly worked his way through the entire collection. When other kids were reading Spiderman comics, he read about the Battle of Leyte Gulf and the greatest naval clash in military history. But when it comes to fiction, Science Fiction is his first love.

You can find him on Goodreads or his humorous flash fiction blog.