Two Women and Some Books
They were the giants, whose shoulders lift us high,
And we, the living, cast our patronising smiles
In weighing deeds of those whose grandeur we decry.
We judge them from the giddy heights of gifted breath,
Belittling those whose words have filled our breast-milk tomes,
So forgetting soon shall we join them in death
And then will others come and rifle through our bones,
To pick the choicest flesh from them – and discard the rest.
Then laugh at all our fears and our misapprehended woes
Themselves to glorify, to think the wisest and the best.
“You have no idea what you are letting yourself in for. How can you?”
Commodore Vane shook his head as he spoke, it was beyond understatement and beyond belief. The soldier’s green eyes were fixed on a point some distance behind the Commodore’s left shoulder. Their colour, so brilliant, Vane suspected genetic enhancement and their focus had been unwavering since he entered the room.
“I think I do, sir.”
He stood in a formal parade-ground stance, as ordered by the scowling Legionary Sergeant who had escorted him in and now lurked by the door. Vane had made a conscious choice not to relax him from the rigid posture. He never did with the conscripts. Vane glanced back at the remote screen he had called up, its contents invisible to anyone else. “Amnesia,” he read the word aloud and looked back at the soldier. “Total amnesia?”
“Total retrograde amnesia, sir,”
The Sergeant, a big, broad-shouldered man called Hynas, stood almost a head taller than his charge who was not much more than average height, and the ever-present scowl changed to a sneer at the words. Vane ignored him.
“And do you know why?”
“Due to an unknown trauma immediately prior to my arrest, sir.”
“Prior to, not during?” The way most of his men were brought in to begin their military career in his Legion it would not have surprised him in the slightest to find the injury had been inflicted at that point.
“Yes, sir.”
“I see.” Vane wondered if he truly did, the implications here were so disturbing. “You have no knowledge or memory of anything before your arrest?”
“None, sir.”
“And that means you have no direct knowledge or experience of what life is like outside the Legion?”
“No, sir. I do not.”
“Then how can you know you want to leave us, soldier?”
He noticed a slight hesitation then.
“I have no direct personal knowledge, sir, but I have researched a great deal about it.”
Which, he supposed, explained the hesitation. But the idea of researching the complexities of everyday life with zero experience of it, stretched his credulity. Vane tried to keep that disbelief from his voice. “Researched it?”
“Yes, sir. I have talked to other people in my unit and accessed information through the Lattice.”
Everyday life as filtered through the minds of violent criminals and a military tactical data provider. The Commodore shook his head…
Trust A Few is FREE to download 4-8 September. The sequel ‘Edge of Doom’ is released on 9 September and is available for pre-order.
You’re Never Alone with a Badger
“I am your spirit guide,” the badger said to me. “I will be with you as long as you need me.” I did not expect a badger to speak with RP, but then I suppose spirit guides undergo training to ensure they can be properly understood.
“Can everyone hear you?” I asked.
“Only you can hear me, because I am your spirit guide,” the badger sounded slightly exasperated, it was official, I could even exasperate a badger.
“Are you going to show me a path to enlightenment and my true self?” I asked. I vaguely remembered reading something about Native American Spirit Animals, but couldn’t really remember what they did, and with no internet there was no way for me to find out.
“Probably not,” the badger said contemplatively. “But I’ll help you out wherever I can, and tell you when you’re being stupid, and where possible how not to be stupid.”
“Wow, where have you been all my life?”
“Hiding behind rush hour traffic and double espressos. In modern life there is no room for spirit badgers.”
“You know, Badger.” I had never been terribly original with names, it’s probably a good thing I had never had children. “I think the apocalypse may have been the best thing to happen to me.”
“I think it has helped you realise some things, and now you are open to me I can help you realise a lot more things. But right now I think you should wake up.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you simultaneously drool and snore whilst you’re asleep, and it’s not attractive, trust me, just wake up. Kerry…”
“Kerry?” the voice changed. “Kerry? Wake up Kerry.”
I opened my eyes and it was Sam.
“Oh my god!” I threw my arms around her before remembering that I’d been asleep and my mouth tasted like the badger had actually been asleep in it, so I pulled away. “You’re back.” I said slightly awkwardly.
“Yes, nice badger,” she looked at my spirit guide, who was watching her curiously.
“He’s my spirit guide.” I said rather proudly.
“Nice, wish I had one.” She sat down next to me and offered me a bottle of something. I took a large swig to get rid of my badger breath, only to realise that it was vodka.
“Wow! Where’d you find that?” I coughed.
“Tyrone’s not the only one who can forage,” she smiled at me.
“So, um, did you complete your mission?”
“Oh bloody hell,” the badger interrupted. “Why don’t you say what you really want to? There’s been an apocalypse and you’re playing it cool?”
“Quiet Badger! You’re as bad as Tyrone!” The creature looked at me with its head cocked to one side.
“Kerry?” Sam took the bottle away from me and looked me right in the eye. “Did the badger say something to you then?”
“What? No! Of course not, badgers don’t talk. I was… tell me about your mission, did you find your son?”
“And shag your ex husband?” the badger added in. I shot it a look but didn’t say anything else.
“Yes, we found Peter. He’d been holed up in a boarding school with some other boys. It seemed quite safe, so we decided to set up base there. I came back for you. You and Tyrone.”
“Yeah right,” the badger muttered. “Good old third wheel Tyrone. Don’t forget him.”
“You came back for us?” I looked at her.
“Of course I did. Look, Kerry, I’m sorry about the way I left things with you. It’s not how I would have liked it, I would have stayed and fixed things, but my son was in danger and you were in no position to travel, I mean, you fell out of a tree.”
“She’s right, you did fall out of a tree. You are quite ungainly with bad breath. On second thought you should play it cool for now, at least until you can do something cool and sexy to impress her…” the badger was thinking aloud, but only I could hear it.
Skype: the.grumpy.badger
Twitter @BadgersTweetToo
Facebook @CHClepitt
Today we have managed to pin down C. H. Clepitt for a WorkingTitle grilling…
Q1. I Wore Heels to the Apocalypse is a unique concept. Can you tell us what brought about such an inspired piece of lunacy?
I was doing an interview with the fabulous Aline from ChaChaRocks, and she asked me what my ideal outfit would be. I told her I didn’t want to be the stupid woman who wore heels to the apocalypse, and thus the concept was born. It was a big deal for me, as Heels was the first full length book I’d written since The Book of Abisan in 2013, and I was really nervous about how it would be perceived. I have been utterly overwhelmed by the amazingly positive response, and it even inspired me to write the sequel!
Q2. If we accept that The Badger is your alter ego, what words of advice would he have for us run-of-the-mill humans?
Always be kind. It’s easy to forget that kindness costs nothing, especially when those in power across the planet are needlessly cruel. But kindnesses aren’t what will keep you awake at night, and something that means very little to you might make someone’s day.
Q3. What is your secret vice?
Ooo! I don’t know, maybe shoes… I have a bit of a shoe problem, I am working on it!
Hold the front page…
Today sees the release of the long-awaited sequel to I Wore Heels to The Apocalypse. For more about Everything is Better with a Cape see
Dear Reader Who Writes,
By now one’s profile is such that one scarcely needs to trouble oneself with an introduction. The trademark quill? The eloquent and sophisticated writing style? It could be none other than Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV – acclaimed and admired author of “Fatswhistle and Buchtooth” whose fantastical and fortuitous adventures through the megaplex-multiverse have been steady in the Amazon charts as Bestseller One – in a – Million for over a year.
Mummy tells one that as a consequence of one’s talent and application one can now claim millionaire status as an author – and as such, one’s advice, dear Reader Who Writes (henceforth for brevity, my RWW), should be deemed as of a value beyond that of any lesser star in the literary firmament.
Today, we shall consider decor. For how shall a man write words of beauty if surrounded by ugliness… Let your writing environment be as the oyster shell that contains the pearl of your wisdom in its nacreous depths. Let all be of characteristic colour and lustrous texture. Let even the floor upon which you rest your prognathous toes be a thing of surpassing beauty.
For oneself, one has chosen a monochrome background against which the vibrant colours of one’s imagination can flower like the tenderest of cymbalom orchids. Against the purity of nero and blanco, one may await the prognostications of Euterpe and Calliope in perfect symbiosis with one’s environment. Oh, how one’s soul sings for sheer beauty, as one takes up the metaphorical pen with which one dispenses the finest flowers of one’s intellect and one’s experience to both enlighten the minds and titivate the jaded palates of the proletariat behind their electronic reading devices.
And this, gentle RWR, is the prescription for perfection in the decor of your own little writing hovel. Let your decoration be tasteful and rich, playful and precocious, seductive and austere, lightsome and weighty. Let it be all these things, but above all let it be the perfect backdrop for the blossoms that are seeded in your mind by the gentle Muses as they blow the breath of inspiration into your hearts and souls. Oh, and don’t forget cushions. One can never have too many cushions.
The next time I speak to you we will consider the vital importance of writing rituals.
Until next then, my faithful students you RWW. Bon ecrit!
The start of ‘Cherry Pickers’ by Bonnie Milani.
Grimm’s was gone. I flung my go-to-Committee shoes out of my bunk box and stared at the empty bottom. Nothing. I ran an eyeball inventory of my bedroom as if the one and only real book on this whole planet might somehow have embedded itself in the gently vibrating walls. No luck, which was no surprise. Sisyphus’ early morning sun lit up the silk weave of our house dome like smoky glass and turned the fine web strands of my window to shimmering glory. My bunk sat flat on the flooring, so there was no place to check under there. That left only Sam’s nest. Rising, I angled around to put the gray silk bulb hanging limp and empty from the ceiling between the window and me. If my romance-crazed adopted brother had stashed Grimm’s in there again, the book’s shadow would show through the weave. Nothing.
Damn! I slammed the lid of the box down and gave it a kick for being there. I needed that book! I’d spent the whole night working out plans for some crew member of the merchanters ship that had made planet fall last night. There were men in that crew, and one of them was going to help me make Mah acknowledge me as a woman, even though he didn’t know it yet. That probably wouldn’t have been such a challenge on any other planet in the Commonwealth. Only Sisyphus Penal Colony Number One was a woman-only colony. I’d never even seen a man except for the fat old captains who signed off on Mah’s shipping invoices, and those didn’t count. So I was counting on a re-read of Grimm’s to give me pointers in how to handle one of them. I really needed to find that book!
Except my Grimm’s was gone. Frustrated, I scooped my day boots out of the corner I’d thrown them in. Habit made me smack them upside down on the floor to make sure no nosher seeds had managed to take root in the last few minims. On Sisyphus, it pays to be paranoid; the whole damn planet really is out to get you.
Don scowled. “Fine!” he snapped. “I’m sick and tired of being restricted because of who I am. I’m tired of having a father whose position gets me stepping into shit piles everywhere I go. I’ve worked too hard to get here, just to sit in the belly of a ship, grounded because my Cobra might get shot down. God forbid we ever get into a real fight. Lauden might have to tuck me away in a pod and jettison me from the Morning Star, lest she take damage!”
“Well, shoo, General! It’s no good letting all that negativity build up. You go crazy like that. We all angry, but you don’t see Xena and me keeping it in.”
“Xena?”
Syke grinned wickedly. “That’s Ki’s codename. She don’t like it much, so she forbid us using it.”
“She forbid you?”
“Yup, she hates it.”
“But you don’t obey anyone.”
Syke smirked. “Yeah, well, she good in a fight. It’s why I trust her to back me up.”
Don’s jaw dropped. “You’re actually afraid of her, aren’t you?”
Syke guffawed but didn’t answer.
“You are!” Don laughed and kept laughing as Syke scowled in response.
“What’s up with him?” Lana asked from somewhere behind Don.
One look at her perplexed expression was all it took to send Don into another round of uncontrolled laughter.
“Not a clue,” Syke snapped. “Probably gone stir crazy.”
Lana frowned. “I ain’t flying with no crazy man.”
Syke patted her shoulder sympathetically as he stood. “It’s okay. He’ll be better in a few days.”
“Not gonna cut it,” she answered. “Yo-Yo finally landed us a mission.”
The words were hardly out of her mouth when Don sobered. He jumped up to face her.
“When?”
“Briefing in ten.”
Syke and Don whooped and ran from the mess hall, leaving Lana to grab their trays and dispose of them.
Probably being a pilot in the Space Jumpers. It’s not a glorious job. It’s hard and dangerous, and my mother is against it, but it’s life changing. I can make a difference in a way I never had a chance to on our colony. I can send my kid sister to the university on my salary and that is something. That is an achievement I am proud of.
We don’t really talk about the future much in my wing. Syke thinks it’s a jinx, but he’s like that. I think, when the war is over, or when I get out, I’d like to one day own a shipping business. Growing up on a space colony showed me there’s a market out there for hauling cargo, but with pirates and the war, not a lot of captains want to go out to the colonies on the edges. I think I could be good at that.
If I can find a partner, I enjoy perfecting my Krav Maga. It can be hard to train when deployed, but I try to make it work where I can, even if that means training my wingman. I’ve found that keeping my training up is worth the trouble. People tend to stop messing with you after the second or third time you put them on the ground.
Lana is from The Young Soldier: Pursuing Dreams available to buy on Kindle and on KU for free.
