Because life happens…

If you start from your own garden gate
Then run for a hundred days straight
At ten kay a day
You’ll be quite far away
And for dinner you’re gonna be late

Jane Jago

Dense morning fog cloaked the vast mountains that flanked Madelyn Lawrence’s wooden hut. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and drew a long breath of the Peruvian air she had grown to love. In her eleven years as a cultural anthropologist, she had never known a more peaceful place than the Ashaninka village.
Moving to the edge of her hut, where one facing was open to the world, she looked out upon the landscape. From her location on the outskirts of the village, she could see the dozens of huts similar to her own that spackled the lush valley she had called home for the last two years. A profound sense of contentment made her smile. Early morning was her favorite time of day. Nothing but nature’s rhythmic song to accompany her thoughts. Would she ever be willing to leave this place once her research was completed? It wasn’t altogether uncommon for someone in her profession to remain living amongst the people they studied. Many cultural anthropologists had done so from the earliest days of the discipline.
A shrill dinging sound ended her musings. She glanced over at the tablet she kept on a stand next to her bed. The screen flashed once, then went dark. Madelyn frowned—the one piece of modern technology she had brought with her; it was as foreign here as her hut would have been back in Seattle. A small blue light near the top of the tablet blinked on and off in short intervals, leading her thoughts down a difficult path.
Moments ago, she had contemplated staying here with the Ashaninka people, completely disregarding the promise she had made to finish the work she needed for her ethnography and return to her fiancée, Jonathan, within three years. What would he say if he knew? Guilt constricted her throat. He had been nothing but supportive of her taking the trip that would steal three years of their relationship.
Sure, they had realtime chats at least once a day, but that wasn’t the same.
She made her way over to the tablet.
“Check messages.”
“You have one message from Jonathan.”
“Play message.”
The hologram of a well-built man projected from the screen. “Hey, Maddie, I know you don’t really want me to bother you about calls you get while you’re in the field, but I think the message I got last night might be really important. It was from some guy named Mathew Hodgson with the International Space Federation. He said he’s been trying to reach you via email for weeks. He didn’t say what he wanted, but it sounds like the Federation is really interested in contacting you for whatever reason. You might want to inquire. Love you.”
The message ended and Madelyn stood still, her eyes fixed on the tablet. Someone from the International Space Federation was trying to contact her? Why on Earth would they want to contact a cultural anthropologist? She played the message again, more to buy herself time to think than anything. After it ended, she decided to research the man.
“Search Mathew Hodgson of the International Space Federation.”
“Mathew Hodgson is an aerospace engineer and physicist who is best known for his work on the ground-breaking efforts that sent the first satellites into interstellar space in 2174. He is also known for his—“
“Dismiss.”
A famous engineer and physicist was trying to contact her? It had to be a mistake. She put the thought out of her mind and busied herself with fixing breakfast.
Sitting down to a plate of sliced fruit and mixed nuts, she noticed there was still a blinking light on her tablet. Had she somehow managed to miss her realtime with Jonathan? She checked the time. It had only just turned 8:00 a.m. He was two hours behind her time zone, so it was only 6:00 a.m. there. He wouldn’t take lunch for another three hours. It wasn’t like him to contact her while he was on the job.
Curious, and a little concerned, she said, “Check message.”
“You have one message from unknown contact.”
“Play message.”
The hologram of a man she didn’t recognize materialized above the screen. “Hello, Miss Lawrence, my name is Mathew Hodgson. I apologize for this intrusion, but I feared I would not reach you in time if drastic measures weren’t taken. I have been trying to contact you for several weeks now. Please respond to this message as soon as you can. I would love to offer you a brief amount of information about my motive for contacting you, but the information is sensitive, and I would much prefer to relay it to you on a private stream. I hope to hear from you soon.” He finished by giving his private stream code.
The projection retreated into the screen, and Madelyn was staring at the place the man’s image had been. Had she even blinked? What the hell was going on? Words like ‘reach you in time’ and ‘the information is sensitive’ made her uneasy.
How had Hodgson gotten her stream code? She’d given it to Jonathan and her best friend Ashley, no one else. She could hardly fathom the idea that either of them had given out the code.
Mind still churning, she made a small fire under her clay burner so she could brew a cup of tea with the hopes of easing her anxious thoughts, but that did little to help.
It wasn’t long before she gave in to the inevitable.
“Contact Hodgson on the number he left me.”
A holographic loading symbol appeared. “Contacting—Mathew Hodgson.”

From Contact (Instinct Theory #1) by Ian Bristow

Listen to Granny because Granny always knows best!

Queuing in the sunshine for an ice cream. The place has about forty flavours and a strict queuing system. Today’s flavours are displayed on a blackboard. Beside this there is a notice saying.
‘Please choose your flavour before entering so that other people aren’t kept waiting any longer than necessary.’
There’s also a little girl popping up and down the queue asking people to please choose their flavour from the blackboard.
I know the two women in front of me are too busy blethering.
In they go.
“What flavours have you got?”, one says brightly.
Read the fucking notice, assholes.

They had set out for Alfor many days later than the last of the other caravans that had wintered in the city, guarded by a scant force of children and old men, with a woman caravansi and no trade goods aside from the caravan’s own. It was not surprising that the good citizens of Ratzal were laughing behind their shutters as the caravan passed by on its way through the gates.
In the eight days that followed, only one thing had occurred to lift Alexa’s spirits and that was the discovery that Caer, for all his youth and apparent inexperience, was superb at his job and kept the caravan in better order with his ill-assorted, under-strength company, than her father’s captain had managed with a full complement of experienced Zoukai. Indeed, they had already made up over a day of lost time in distance on the road.
At least that had been the only thing to lift Alexa’s spirits, until last night when she had heard the roar of thunder overhead and seen the dark bulk of the spaceship come to rest on the mithan plateau only to explode soon after.
If the samples Caer had brought back were anything to go by, the plunder they could scavenge from the wreck would be worth at least five times as much as the entire caravan – all its goods, wagons and livestock and her own personal possessions included. With such wealth she could afford to pay rates that were she a woman, a man or a talking pony, she could still attract the best Zoukai. And then she could afford to ignore the bigoted merchants and expand the caravan to carry more and more of her own trade goods. It would make her self-sufficient and as rich as the wealthiest caravansi on the roads. Then let them laugh behind the shutters if they dared.
All she had to do was to collect the treasure and deliver it safely to the Alfor Fair.
Except, of course, it would not be as simple as that.
Quite apart from the bands of brigands and outlaws which were the scourge of the wastelands, other caravans would also have seen the explosion and sent their own Zoukai scouts to investigate. For such a prize she did not doubt that almost any caravansi would think nothing of attacking – and Caer’s small troop of Zoukai would be a poor defence against them.
Then there was Caer himself. Although the Zoukai brethren were renowned for holding to a high code of honour, such wealth could easily turn the head of one as precocious as her young captain – and that was something Alexa was not prepared to allow. The brigands and other caravans were an unavoidable hazard, but with Caer, she could be more certain.
The two girls had finished their work and she sent them to find her favourite robe, whilst she anointed herself with a rich, musky perfume. Her eyes narrowed critically as she examined her face in the polished metal hand mirror, and then she smiled. Caer would think her beautiful, of that there was no doubt and for herself, the thought of Caer was not unpleasant. He was unbearably arrogant, but young, healthy, strong and if not exactly her ideal of good-looking, he was very far from unsightly. At need, Alexa could make a virtue of necessity, but in this case, necessity linked hands, pleasantly, with her own inclinations.
The girls brought the robe and helped her to dress. It was of fine gauzy crimson stuff, almost transparent, woven with threads of gold and belted with a tasselled girdle. Alexa added the finishing touches to her make-up and shook her hair, letting it cascade unchecked down her back. One of the girls brought her jewellery box and she selected a gem-studded comb for her hair, several costly rings and a necklace of precious stones.
Satisfied at last Alexa assumed her place on the couch and allowed the flimsy robe to fall open around her legs to reveal the luxuriant inner curve of one thigh. The two slave girls stood staring at her, their eyes wide. She scowled at them in annoyance.
“By the lost gods,” she snapped. “Stop gaping like imbeciles the pair of you. Mari, fetch wine and two goblets. Rissa, go and find the Zoukai captain and tell him to come to my pavilion.”
The two girls scurried to obey their mistress and Alexa’s scowl turned itself into a secret smile. Her mind was looking forward to seeing the expression on Caer’s face as he came into the pavilion – and her body was looking forward to what would follow.

From The Fated Sky part one of Fortune’s Fools Transgressor Trilogy by E.M. Swift-Hook

Because life happens…

A challenge to use the word swaining
Requires some significant braining
As there’s so little chance
Of me writing romance
Then poor taste is the one thing remaining

Jane Jago

The Cursed Titans is the second book in the Tempest Blade series by Ricardo Victoria. 

The triennial Chivalry Games have returned!
After helping to destroy the Withered King, Alex and the rest of the group find out that saving the world has consequences. While he is secretly battling with depression and with the Alliance on the verge of collapse, a diplomatic summit and the Chivalry Games—to be held in the far off Kuni Empire—may give everyone the opportunity to turn things around. Alex builds a team to represent the Foundation in the Games, facing off against the best fighters in the world. When an ancient being tries to raise legendary nightmares known as Titans using the peace talks as a trap, Alex has to find a way to save everyone before it is too late. Alex must learn that he is not truly alone to save the world from the chaos of the Titans. In a world where magic and science intermingle, anything is possible.

Alex jumped from the third floor of the parking lot, using the Gift to slow the fall, and landed on top of the van, leaving a large dent. The noise startled the robbers, who stopped what they were doing, dropping the stolen boxes from the comic book shop.
“Who are you?” one of the robbers asked, startled.
“A hero who rises to beat the crap out of criminals like you,” Alex stood up, pointing at the man.
“Is this guy for real?” a second robber asked the first.
“A movie by Silver Harvest,” Alex continued narrating. “Soon in theatres.”
“Where did you came from?” a third robber asked.
“I can tell you, it wasn’t from that sewer,” Alex looked at his opponents, four grown, burly men in ski masks. One was carrying a bat. He smiled. There was no need for him to draw Yaha or even his bow. He wanted to win, but in a fair fight. And he didn’t want to kill them, just hurt them some.
“Since you don’t seem to be carrying heat, I will go easy on you.”
Alex jumped from the van’s rooftop with a double kick, hitting the two closest robbers in the face. He landed with ease, standing in a combat guard position, left hand and leg in front, leading, right hand and leg back. Both hands in a fist. A third robber ran towards Alex, trying to hit him with the bat. Alex pivoted slightly and caught the bat with his left hand. He took a moment to see the brand and the signature on the bat.
“A Pepe Cansino bat? Tell me you didn’t pay money for this,” Alex broke the bat with ease and punched the robber in the face with his right hand. “No, I’m pretty sure you stole it because no one would pay money for this shit.”
Alex then threw the broken half of the bat he was holding into the head of one of the robbers he had kicked, knocking him down once more. The three remaining robbers attacked all at once. Alex blocked the attacks to his left and right with both forearms, and then jumped to kick the one in the middle in the face, breaking his nose. The robber to his right charged once more at Alex, who received him with a strong kick to the stomach. The impact made the man throw up. Alex then proceeded to punch the robber to his left with a right hook straight into the union between the jaw and the skull. A crunching noise was heard.
“Sorry ‘bout that. I guess you will have to eat through a straw the next few months,” Alex said as he stood in the middle of four large adults knocked out cold, lying on the ground.
A few whimpers echoed in the parking lot. He heard a click and he sensed a small explosion of energy. Alex barely had time to dodge the bullet, leaning to his right. The projectile impacted on the van behind him. A fifth robber, who had come out from the back door of the shop looked startled, and his shaking hand pressed the trigger three more times.
Alex tried something very, very stupid and risky. Focusing the Gift, he reached with his mind to the electromagnetic field that emanated from his body when he was ‘on’. The same energy that fed his vest. Extending his hands, he directed the electromagnetic field to make it stronger in front of him. It felt like trying to push water. The more he pushed, the more resistance the field offered. But the small amount Alex managed to nudge it was more than enough, as it deflected the bullets away from him.

A Bite of… Ricardo Victoria

What have you most enjoyed about revisiting the world of Tempest Blades?

It was awesome. It was like making a trip to a new place with an old friend. It allowed me to work through some personal issues while having a new adventure. As well it allowed me to explore and expand upon the world of Theia and share more of it with the readers. There is so much to share and not everything made it into the book. I hope I can keep revisiting and exploring every corner of it. Also, seeing how the character have changed after their first adventure together, adding new members to the group made it feel like watching someone growing up.

Why does the anime style of fantasy hold such appeal for you?

I grew up watching cartoons and anime, so I like the idea of freedom it allows by mixing different, sometimes apparently contradictory concepts and make it work. The story becomes more about the characters and less about a rigid group of tropes. Anything can happen and that’s liberating as writer. I also enjoy the action packed, cinematic feeling it has, which contrasts nicely with the more heartfelt or dramatic scenes.

If you could give one piece of advice to your younger self as a writer, what would it be? 

Be patient, write for the fun of it and don’t let writing absorb you so much that you forget about taking care of other aspects of your personal life. For you writing is therapy, not a job.

A glimpse into the mind of eccentric, toy addicted genius Ricardo Victoria…

Born in the previously frozen landscape of Toluca, Mexico, Ricardo dreamed of being a writer. But needing a job that could pay the rent while writing, he studied Industrial Design and later obtained a PhD in Sustainable Design, while living in the United Kingdom. There, he did a few things besides burning the midnight oil to get his degree:
-Trained in archery near Nottingham
-Worked in a comic book store to pay for his board game & toy addiction
He is back now in Toluca, living with his wife and his three dogs where he works as an academic at the local university. has short stories featured in anthologies by Inklings Press and Rivenstone Press. He was nominated for a Sidewise Award 2016 for the short story Twilight of the Mesozoic Moon, co-written with his arch-nemesis, Brent A. Harris. You can reach Ricardo on Twitter or on his own website/blog or via email: scifantastique@gmail.com

Listen to Granny because Granny always knows best!

The young and foolish may well expound a good deal of time and energy in search of the perfect sexual partner. The one whose touch turns your nether regions to a molten volcano, and whose manly appendage is capable of appendage-ing for a very, very long time.

Which may be enthralling when you are twenty, and even interesting when you are thirty. But, should mister pinky continue to be this athletic  when you are forty or fifty it becomes a valid reason for divorce.

To be brutally honest, a man who performs quickly and falls asleep promptly will be far easier to live with… and he probably won’t even notice when you can’t be bothered to fake orgasm.

Because life can be interesting when you are a character in a video game…

Milla thought of all the stories she had heard from the Visitors who had been to those distant lands in the Barren Steppes on the other side of the same Silent Sea which washed the beaches here.
“I’d heard the Lamia trapped unwary Visitors in their caverns and they had to pay a fine or perform many tasks to be allowed to leave.”
“And I have a bad feeling that might be exactly what’s happened,” Pew said miserably. “Only somehow it’s really happened. Like really really happened.”
Milla blinked a bit and tried to think what could be done. The Lamia were powerful people and she doubted they would be swayed by a bottle of fruit tea and a plate of flyberry cookies.
“I can’t even tell anyone,” Pew said, crest drooping in hopeless defeat. “They wouldn’t believe me. Anymore than they believe about you. And the Lamia are in an end-game zone so it’s not like I can just stroll in there and get him out. I’d need a group. Or a tank and heals at least.”
“A tank? That’s someone good at fighting?”
“Yes. Well, no. More good at keeping the mobs focused on them and tough enough to keep being hit without taking too much damage.”
Milla nodded not really taking in the details, an idea forming in her mind.
“Well I might be able to find one of those and One Eye has some healing potions for sale.”
Pew was staring at her as if she was speaking Elvish.
“I don’t think…”
“No. You don’t. That’s always a big part of the problem,” Milla agreed. “But I do. Fortunately. And I think we need to go on a venture and rescue String.”
Ruffkin leapt up and barked excitedly.
“But you’re an NPC – a quest giver. You can’t just travel around wherever in game. You have to stay here in Wrathburnt Sands. It won’t work.”
Milla got to her feet and started packing. She still had the backpack One Eye had given her and everything she needed to take slid into it. Then she turned back to Pew who was still sitting at the table, despondently munching on the last flyberry cookie.
“Why don’t you let me worry about that. Now you take Ruffkin to One Eye Rye and ask him to look after the little thing while we’re gone. You can pick up any supplies you need for the venture while you are there.”
Snout wrinkling a little doubtfully, Pew got up. Ruffkin seemed to know he was going to be left behind because his tail and ears were down.
“I can’t take you with us,” Milla explained stooping to give him a hug. “It’s too far and too dangerous for a little dog. Besides, One Eye will give you extra treats – he always does when we drop by his shop.”
Looking a little mollified, the dog trotted out after Pew. Milla gave her home a final glance, hoping she’d not be too long away, then closed the door firmly, linked her arm in Pew’s and took the path to the village. She left the two of them at the turn off to the pyramid, brushing aside Pew’s protests.
“Last time you spoke to the drakkonettes it was to shout names and charge at them,” Milla explained reasonably. “I think I’ll do better on my own.”
“Yelling ‘Leroy Jenkins’ isn’t shouting names.”
“They sound like two names to me.”
Pew had opened his mouth to argue again so she silenced him with a quick kiss and left him gaping after her for altogether different reasons from before. In Milla’s view they had been sort of boyfriend and girlfriend for several months now, so a kiss seemed in order.

We will return to Wrathburnt Sands by E.M. Swift-Hook next Sunday.

Return to Wrathburnt Sands was first published in Rise and Rescue Volume 2: Protect and Recover.

August for the children is a small eternity
The time when school goes out to play
And weeks so seem to stretch away
And endless dreaming fills each day
And summer’s path’s a golden way.

August for the farmer is the time to gather in
To combine harvest wheat and rye
To cut them down and pile them high
To stack the bales and let them dry
Until the the last has been set by.

August for the worker is the time to holiday
To pack the bags and pack the car
To make a journey near or far
To see new sights, drink in new bars
And kiss beneath the twinkling stars.

August is the season that closes summer’s book
It takes the flowers and doth them press
Between the pages, to impress
The memories of summer’s dress
As autumn’s change her hands caress.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Defeat was always a bitter cup from which to have to swallow, but Kahina Sarava determined from the first that it should not define her.
True, she now had to endure exile in the grand house she liked the least of all she owned. It was a sprawling, over-ornate residence built in the heart of great natural beauty and originally intended as a place where she could entertain and impress the powers of Central. It suited her political enemies to have her there, isolated and cut off from any place of influence. But, it was not entirely without benefit. Freed from the endless need to joust for political advantage, she had considerably more time for some of the other things that mattered. Such as pursuing her lifetime’s work: Future Data.
So she stood, back straight, defying her age as the fussily dressed man climbed from his vehicle and walked the short distance to where she waited in front of the main door to her house. The security people who flanked her on either side, guards set to both protect and contain her, stiffened visibly as her visitor approached.
“Garn, what a delight to see you.” She had been expecting him. Though when the brief message informing her of a visitor had come through earlier that day, his name had not been mentioned. “I think this must be the first time we’ve had a get together since you arrested me. What would bring you all the way from Central to visit me in person? I am sure you could gloat quite adequately over link.”
He was a big man in many uses of the word, and it amused her to make him feel uncomfortable. There was little enough by way of human entertainment for her here and no small responsibility for her incarceration rested on his shoulders.
“Right,” he said, and she could see he was sweating despite the temperature being pleasantly cool. “Maybe we could go in and talk somewhere a little more private.”
“I can offer you anything here, except privacy.” She made an elegant gesture with her hands, unfolding them to indicate the attentive security detail. “I am not permitted that even when I sleep. My link connections are watched and my conversations monitored.”
Garn Jecks seemed unperturbed, but then his mind was not very flexible. If he had arrived with a fixed idea of some objective he wished to achieve, that would be both the full extent and narrow focus of his thinking. Laser like — if a laser were some solid substance and not fluid photons. Such inability to embrace the broadest view whilst still keeping the details in sight irritated Kahina. Her own mind suffered no such limitations, and she tolerated it poorly in others.
“I will make the necessary arrangements,” he told her. Matching actions to words, he turned to issue brief orders to the security detail, then added more by link to the invisible watchers who controlled the remote monitoring of her residence. They all moved quickly to obey, but then he was their supreme commander, the man in charge of the Coalition Security Force.
A short time later, Kahina found herself sitting in her favourite room, ambianced to remind her of her mother’s study with shelves of books and curios, heavy looping curtains at the windows and the antique wooden desk. She had chosen not to occupy the desk, Jecks wasn’t someone who would be in the slightest bit intimidated by her doing so. Instead, she sat in one of the comfortable, deep-cushioned chairs set either side of a beautifully carved and inlaid table. Jecks sat opposite her having just dismissed the last of his entourage. He was visibly discomfited. Kahina played the perfect hostess.
“Can I offer you any refreshments? It’s not the shortest of hops here from Central.”
“Right. It’s not. But thank you, no. I’m a bit pressed for time.”
She couldn’t resist another dig.
“I am fully accessible by link, you know.”
Jecks didn’t trouble to answer that. His preoccupation was blinding him and Kahina wondered if the poor man was even aware how much that showed.
“There has been a — a development.”
“A development?”
He almost squirmed.
“I have just received some information which has brought into question our previous conclusions regarding the Future Data project.”
Kahina considered feigning surprise.
“Oh?”
Jecks looked as if he had swallowed something that settled ill in his stomach. For a moment, he glared at her.
“So you already knew.”
She didn’t trouble to reply, instead allowing her expression to reflect the untroubled confidence she was feeling. Jecks muttered something under his breath then started pulling up a remote screen of what appeared to be some security surveillance. Not the best quality and from a static camera, but when he zoomed the image and froze it, the result was perfectly clear.
“Oh dear,” Kahina said gently. “How very embarrassing for you. I wonder what you plan to do about that?”
Jecks pulled at his neckline as if it were too close about his throat.
“It’s not what you…”
“Oh, but I rather think it is.” The first taste of victory after such a bitter defeat and three years of exile was so sweet. She leaned forward, unable to suppress her delight and not caring that it showed. “I rather think you need me again.”
Jecks physically recoiled from her.
“Kahina, I — “
“Var Sarava,” she corrected him. He looked as though she had slapped him hard across the face and Kahina smiled. “You are of course quite right. I knew already. Or should I be more accurate and say that Future Data informed me of there being a high probability that those two would resurface in this timeframe.”
“Then you know why I came.” Jecks sounded defeated now, resigned to some inevitable and inescapable fate. Which, Kahina supposed, was not too far from the truth of things.
“Of course I don’t know,” she snapped. “I’m not a mind reader. Future Data may inform me what is likely to occur, but it’s not yet capable of attributing motive to the behaviours it predicts. Why did you come?”
“It wasn’t my first choice, but Ilke Dray suggested…” Jecks stopped himself and took a breath instead. Wise man. Kahina could feel the pressure of her fingers closing into tight claws.
“How is dear Ilke these days?” Then she lifted a forbidding hand, forcing the fingers to uncurl, as Jecks opened his mouth to tell her. “No. I really don’t want to know. I’m sure she will be going about her busy little life in her busy little way. And of course you don’t need to tell me why you are here, that much is obvious. What I want to know is what do you have to offer me in exchange for my assistance at this time?”
Jecks wore the look of a man being asked to sell his mother.
“Var Sarava, you can’t seriously intend to turn the security of the Coalition into an auction?”
“Why not? I have what you need, and you can procure it nowhere else. That would seem to me the basis of a price negotiation. I am sure you have authorisation to offer me something or you wouldn’t have come.”
“I can’t reverse the decision of the courts. I can’t turn back the clock and restore your good name. I can’t undo what has happened.” He sounded quite upset about it too.
Kahina got to her feet as gracefully as her age allowed and crossed the room to the antique desk. She loved the smooth feel of the polished wood as she slid her hand beneath it to release a secret catch. It was a wonderfully archaic hiding place. She slipped the data stick into her hand and turned back to Jecks, holding it up for him to see.
“This is everything you need to know to deal with them — if you are willing to pay the price I ask.”
“I’m not authorised to offer you anything.” He sounded in pain.
“Then it’s good that I’m not asking you for any ‘thing’. I have only one demand to make.”
“The head of Ilke Dray?” Jecks suggested, his voice slightly strangled. And, for a moment, Kahina had to wonder if he was being serious. Perhaps he was.
“I have no idea what I might do with such a completely vacuous item,” she told him. “No. I couldn’t care less about Ilke. And the price I’m going to ask isn’t unduly expensive. I merely need to know you will pay it when the time comes.”
“What is it?”
“I want Durban Chola.”
She wasn’t sure if it was relief or appalled amusement that motivated his response. “Chola? What the…? I mean, why?”
“I really rather think that’s my business, don’t you?”
Jecks looked as though he was being forced to swallow a large, irregularly shaped solid object.
“Right. Yes. Of course. I think we can do that.”
It was that easy.
Crossing back to the chairs, she settled herself comfortably again before holding out the data stick to Jecks. He took it as if it were a sacred relic, then busied himself with his links for a few moments as he prepared it to read. She could tell when he had done so. His expression shifted. Hardened.
“This contains nothing. Just two names.”
“That is more than enough for now, I assure you. If you were intelligent enough it would be all you needed, but I am quite aware you will be returning to ask me for further guidance.” It was why she felt so confident that he would pay her price in the end.
Jecks was frowning as if trying to read some deeper meaning into what he had been given.
“One is someone I know quite well and I can see the sense in it, they’ve worked on this before — but who in the name of all sanity is Halkom Dugsdall?”
Kahina, her objective achieved, sat back serenely and smiled.

From Iconoclast: Mistrust and Treason a Fortune’s Fools book by E.M. Swift-Hook