The Rabid Readers Review – Return to Arms by E.A. Wickland

Evander McCray is the commander of a space ship and has just fought a war against aliens in which he distinguished himself so greatly that the aliens themselves ask for him to be present at the signing of the final peace. McCray is out of his depth being a naval officer not a diplomat, but he does his best and in the process makes an enemy who will haunt his career to come…

This is a very short read which stands well on its own feet or as a superb introduction to the books that follow. We get to meet McCray and learn a lot about the universe he lives and works in whilst following an exciting sequence of events which lead up to his being given the opportunity of a life time.

Some ‘series prequel’ stories have the feel of being manufactured to fit the role, this feels like a story that needed to be told in its own right.

Get it, read it – it is worth it for the space battle alone, the author is master of writing them. But if you love sci-fi with a military feel you will love this.

E.M. Swift-Hook

This is a quick fun read which I gobbled up in fifteen minutes. It’s a proper boy’s own adventure in which our hero gallops from disaster to disaster with properly heroic success. However it’s leavened by a good deal of snarky humour and a hero with a knack of putting both feet in it.

The other outstanding feature of the book, aside from it being tremendous fun, is that it takes the lid off the idea that people can be made to believe the most idiotic of figureheads are heroes – if said heroes aren’t bothered who they step on. An idea that has a particular resonance for the here and now…

Five shiny stars and a huge recommendation.

Jane Jago

Most of the benches in the park bore little plaques, In Loving Memory Of… but Helga’s favourite bench had no sponsor and even the oldest of those who worked in the park couldn’t recall a time it hadn’t been there.

It had been Helga’s favourite bench since, as a child, it had become a magical sailing ship, a place she would dream of other worlds. Now in her nineties, it was where she sat, watched the world or dreamed a little in the sun.

They never did discover who removed the old bench the very same day Helga went missing…

E.M. Swift-Hook

Built upon an asteroid, these mighty habitation towers are the final stronghold of humanity in a star system ravaged by a long-ago war. Now, centuries after the apocalyptic conflict, the city thrives — a utopia for the rich who live at the top, built on the labours of the poor stuck below…

After the others had gone, Joah sat with Zarshay in the closed and silent booth, wondering if she had made a good choice. It was a dangerous game to play and one where all Joah and her crew could call upon boiled down to smoke and mirrors — illusions. And, she was very aware, they would be no defence if things went wrong. Upsetting the president or thwarting him in his plans would be an interesting, but certain, way to commit professional suicide. Indeed, if rumour spoke true, it might not just be professional.
Zarshay squeezed her hand, bringing her back to the moment. She saw the look of concern on the other woman’s face and managed a rueful smile.
“We are doing the right thing,” she said, careful not to make it a question.
Zarshay nodded. “Yup. Do you think the others are going to manage their part?”
“Oh, Heila will. I think she’s seen where this is going and that it’s in her self-interest to keep with us. For now at least. And no one can doubt her acting ability to pull it off.”
“And Dog?”
Joah pulled a face.
“Hengast is not the material of which conspirators are made, we both know that. But he’s loyal and he can act — and I think this cause is one even he might be willing to set aside his integrity and lie for.”
Zarshay squeezed her hand again and smiled. “Then we don’t need to worry about it, do we?” She released Joah’s hand and stood up. “I’ll go see how Wilf is getting on and let you get on with making some techno-magic.”
Dropping a kiss on Joah’s cheek in passing, she left the booth.
Joah sat there for a few more moments stifling the doubts, before leaving herself.

The magic had to begin in post-production, and the perfect excuse was provided by the alien attack. A week later, Joah was fairly confident she had the right way to do it and she was smiling at the screen as she pulled in a few more of those ideas. Although they could be powerful tools, Joah was not a fan of subliminals, but here she could work some in with the very reasonable excuse of heightening audience anxiety about the Kyruku. She had kept the aliens offscreen so far, quite deliberately. It was to be a huge reveal at the end of the season. They were now undergoing a slight redesign…
A small beep alerted her to the time, and she turned her seat to watch the live coverage of the big event. There was President Toros Strand in front of a huge projection of The Golden Strand, and he was flanked on one side by the glamorously uniformed Captain Gervain and the towering figure of the half-masked Sub-Commander Stude.
The announcement ended to applause, and just as Heila stepped forward to speak, Zarshay joined Joah in the booth.
“So you were not tempted to go along as Xexe?”
“I was not invited to go as Xexe,” Zarshay said, her eyes on the ceremony. “I was invited to go as me and I refused on the grounds of ill health.”
Joah shot her a look.
“Ill health?”
“Yes. On the grounds that spending any amount of time in the company of Toros Strand would make me vomit. Oh look, isn’t that sweet.”
Joah looked back to the events unfolding above and saw the president take Heila’s hand and kiss it.
“I see your point about ill health,” she murmured, and Zarshay grinned.
“I came to tell you, Wilf had a good time out with his ex-colleagues from Undergrove, swapping stories.”
Joah caught the sparkle of pure mischief in Zarshay’s eyes and found herself grinning too. She looked back to the screen just in time to see the elegant Heila sashaying from the front of the platform and tripping to sprawl full-length. The commotion was brief and ended with Dog helping her back to her feet and, although they were not being broadcast, Joah could see her mouth the words, her face looking as if fear was just a breath behind the composure she had regained.
“You don’t think this is going to overplay the—?”
Zarshay was shaking her head.
“No way. My worry is we are not playing it up enough; this is all too subtle. We may need to do something more obvious. But I have an idea, if it comes to it.”
Pulling her close for a quick hug, Joah sighed.
“It’s early days. I better get some work done. I’ll need the three of you tomorrow. And if Wilf’s ready…” She let her voice trail off.
“Show time,” Zarshay finished for her and slipped from the booth, pausing only to blow a kiss from the door before she left.

Star Dust by E.M. Swift-Hook, originally appeared in The Last City, a shared-universe anthology. This version is the ‘Author’s Cut’ and differs, very slightly, from that original. Next week – Episode 1001

They landed on the phone wire
Perched, like feathered fruit
On the slender branch
Of a man-made tree.

A hundred tiny voices
Calling to the sky
A raucous caucus
Vibrating the air.

Sudden silence, like nightfall.
Stillness on the wire
Waiting for a sign
Hushed breath in each breast.

Abrupt – the flutter, fluster,
Flap and fly up high
Shape the swoop above
Vanish over the horizon of rooftops.

E.M. Swift-Hook

The door slammed shut behind him and the solid sound of bolts shooting home followed, reinforcing the sense of finality. The room was a depressing dull grey from ceiling to floor. It was square with two beds, bunks, running the full length of one sidewall and essential facilities in the far corner. Zero privacy from either his cellmate or, through the door hatch, from the custodius. Above the door a vent the size of his fist was vibrating with an annoying humming-whine as it reluctantly circulated fresh air.
“Llewellyn? What did they drag you in here for? Sticking your nose too deep in someone else’s business?”
The voice was vaguely familiar, though Dai was slow to place it as the shaven head of the man sprawled on the lower bunk was not. His puzzlement must have shown because the man swung his legs over the side of the bunk and sat up.
“I don’t suppose you remember me. It was some months ago and I’m sure you’ve been a busy Submagistratus since then.”
“I’m sorry, but I really don’t…”
The other man laughed, which turned into a cough part way before he was able to speak again. “Gods! Politeness. Not heard a word of that since they locked me in here.” He pushed himself to his feet and straightened the green tunic, before offering a formal greeting. “Tertius Cloelius Rufus. It is an honour to share my captivity with you. A pleasure. You may recall we met in Viriconium before these unfortunate events.”
Dai found himself shaking the outheld hand as if they were at a social event or meeting, as his memory searched desperately for the name and face. When it came, he snatched his hand away and stepped back involuntarily.
“You were the cunnus of a medicus involved with a group holding vicious sex parties that led to the death of young streetgirls.”
“No need to use titles here,” the older man said brightly and then smiled at his own joke. “You can call me Rufus. It’ll make a change from seven-eight-one-one-two-six. It’s those little things you get to miss the most in this place. By the way, I hope you’re not hungry, you missed the evening meal. Nothing til tomorrow now.”
Dai felt a curl of cold revulsion in his guts.
“You disgust me.“
“Really?” Cloelius sounded unconcerned. “At least I’m not a traitor like you. That tends to evoke more outrage in our society at every level than any sexual adventures a man might embark on.”
“The difference is,” Dai snarled, unable to keep the contempt from his voice. “I am not guilty of the faked-up charges against me, but I know for a fact you are guilty as charged. I caught you red-handed, literally. And the blood of a good Vigiles was shed that night too.”
Cloelius sighed and sat back on his bunk. “Appearances can be very deceptive Llewellyn, and like it or not your guilt or innocence will be decided in a court of law not by whatever you might choose to say or believe.” He lay back as if reclining on a lectus. “You might discover that I am in fact the innocent one and you turn out to be guilty. Now that would be an interesting outcome, don’t you think?”
The chilling realisation that the corrupt medicus spoke the truth staggered Dai. The words leeched all strength from his muscles and he sank down to sit with his back against the cold grey wall.
“Why are you still here?” he demanded, when the moment of weakness had passed.
“What a strange question. It’s not as if I can just stroll along to the atrium or visit the baths, is it?”
Dai lifted a hand in protest. “You know what I mean. You must have been here for months. Yours was an open and shut case. I signed off all the evidence myself back in Martius. It only needed a hearing before an independent Magistratus to…”
“Sentence me to death?” Cloelius gave a rasping laugh. “You show yourself the true Briton, Llewellyn. There are people I’ve met who have been held here for the last ten years.”
Dia bridled at that.
“But it’s against the law. No Citizen can be deprived of his or her freedom. They are tried and if found guilty, sentenced either to death or whatever fine is due.”
“Ah, British logic,” Cloelius said, his tone shifting to that of a teacher explaining simple facts to a schoolboy. “Those I speak of are Citizens who stand accused of capital offenses and are awaiting their day in court. They all have powerful friends in Rome using every legal wrangle there is to keep them from coming to trial. Some of the crimes have to be prosecuted within a certain time limit, so if they can delay that day long enough they can walk free. Others are commuted by prolonged negotiation from death to a fine. Everyday is a barter day. But you worked here in Londinium as a Vigiles so you really should know that.”
It was true that he had heard the rumours so it was not really a surprise. But his day-to-day clientele at that time had been almost exclusively non-Citizen criminals.
“You have powerful friends?”
Cloelius hunched one shoulder in an exaggerated shrug. “Perhaps I do. Or powerful enough to keep me from trial so far. Don’t you? I am assuming you must do to have secured both Citizenship and a plum administrative appointment.” He leaned forward as if offering a confidence. “At the very least they might be able to have your Citizenship rescinded which would give you the chance of commuting your sentence to hard labour instead of the arena.”
That was something that had not occurred to Dai as a possibility before. It was true that committing any serious crime could lead to an application for the revocation of an awarded Citizenship – something given could be taken away. An option not open to those born with Citizenship status. But the kind of hard labour criminals were condemned to was brutalising.
“I don’t see that would be much better,” he said, hearing the bitterness in his own tone. “Just a slower way to die.”
“Perhaps. But at least, my British friend, you have options. Who knows? We may even grow old together in this cell.”

From Dying to be Innocent by by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook. You can listen to this on YouTube.

Down in the valley where the greensward hides us
Not even your smartphone can find us
Between the the green and bosomy hills
We hid away. For good or ill
Down among the whispering trees
We found an hour for you and me
Down in the valley with a solemn sky above
We remembered how it feels to be lost in love

©️jane jago

The Working Title crew bring you the exclusive opportunity to enjoy again the mysteriously enigmatic Madam Pendulica…

Aries 

This sign is a sucker for furry and cuddly, but not too keen on walkies. Aries has an affinity with long-haired cats and King Charles Spaniels.

Note: Do not ever take an Aries to an animal shelter. They will adopt the lot

Taurus

Perhaps surprisingly, given the lumbering nature of the sign, the ideal animal companion is something small and intensely portable. Give a bull a gerbil and they will be ecstatic.

Note: Do not expect a Taurus to put itself out for a pet that requires a lot of care and/or exercise.

Gemini

This sign swings both ways petwise. A Gemini will be happy with either a tarantula or a kitten. Nothing in between.

Note: The two-faced twins will deeply confuse dogs and are inimical to horses.

Cancer

The crab enjoys canine company of the large and drooling sort. Or goldfish.

Note: Good at dressage, especially all the going sideways bits.

Leo

What could the king of the jungle require as a pet? A Siamese cat? An elegant elkhound? An Arab steed? No. None of these. Leo gravitates towards beekeeping.

Note: Should your Leo require an indoor pet, stick insects are usefully easy to care for.

Virgo

Buy a Virgo a bunny rabbit and they will be happy forever. Or if they want a walking companion, the stars suggest a yellow Labrador – for preference one with attitude.

Note: Do not expect Virgo to deal with animal sexuality. They don’t.

Libra

The balanced nature of the Libran is made complete by pets that can be kept as pairs. Lovebirds are an obvious choice.

Note: Do not buy your Libra lover a tortoise. They will forget them during hibernation.

Scorpio

The snarkily poisonous nature of this sign is uniquely suited to the keeping of snakes, or parrots with a vocabulary of obscenities.

Note: Don’t buy a Scorpio a puppy, they will encourage it to bite people.

Sagittarius

The half-horse Sagittarius really bonds with horses, ponies, or hamsters.

Note: If a dog is needed, the Irish Wolfhound is nearly as big as a small pony.

Capricorn

Surprisingly, Capricorn does not get on with goats. They are best suited to being owned by scruffy terriers that fart a lot.

Note: Capricorn and cats is a combustible combination. There has not been a Capricorn born that won’t irritate cats enough to get their face ripped off.

Aquarius

Aquarians like fish. Both to eat and to look at. Feed them battered cod and buy then an indoor aquarium wherein they can watch brightly coloured swimmers.

Note: Aquarius will not tolerate any pet that wants to sleep with them. 

Pisces

Pisceans do not get on with fish. They are, on the other hand, deeply enamoured of guineapigs and whippets.

Note: Do not buy a Piscean a bunny rabbit. They will eat it.

Madame Pendulica predicts she will return…

It was an alchemist’s dream come true. But this was no philosopher’s stone, transmuting base to pure, nor trade of precious lead for more precious gold, this was the simple distillation of matter into any form that was needed or desired.
All at the touch of a button.
It was a shame the discovery was made by a mind that had more focus on greed than on humanity, but eventually, even she discovered that you can have too much of a good thing and the richer in gold she became, the more common it was, the less she was worth.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Their mountain guide landed at head of the column. He was a green dragon of elegance and purpose and his rider was young woman dressed in skintight leather. She carried a sword whose scabbard rode across her back. The dragon-head hilt that showed over her left shoulder gleamed with gold and precious gems – although Adam was willing to bet that the blade would be razor sharp steel with a blood channel running from hilt to tip. It came to his mind that the stark plainness of his own short sword with its gleaming blade and leather-wrapped hilt threw the difference in their status into sharp relief  – even if his armament, along with his utilitarian leather breastplate, greaves and vambraces, should have told anyone with eyes to see that he was a fighting sort of soldier. 
The dragon rider stepped lightly to the ground and Adam saluted. The woman grinned tautly.
“How many?”
“Twenty-five, madonna.”
“You got them all here in one piece then. Well done sergeant. Do they know what happens now?”
“No ma’am. Which is one of the reasons I got them all this far.”
The dragon rider’s grin grew positively vicious. “This could be where we get our first dropouts then.” She turned a pair of eyes as green as her dragon on the preening acolytes. “Right then. This is where we stop pussyfooting around. Here’s the deal. Brightstar and I are here to guide you through the mountains. But…” She managed the dramatic pause so well that Adam thought it practised. “But. There will be tests along the way. Starting right now. Dismount.” The last word had quite the cutting edge of a sword and all but one of the acolytes scrambled to obey. The dragon rider curled her lip.
“Is there something wrong with your hearing?”
“Give me one reason why I should obey a mere woman.”
She sighed, and her dragon stretched his neck so that his blunt, saurian head was close to the face of the arrogant priestling.
“Dissssmount,” he hissed, “my rider sssspeaksss for me.”
The acolyte fainted. One of his peers poked him with a toe.
“He’s down now.” 
But nobody laughed.
The dragon rider carried on as if there had been no interruption. “From here on you walk. Anything you need, you carry.” She took something from the back of the dragon and walked among the staring young men dropping a backpack at the feet of each. “You have five minutes to pack. Starting now.”
After a second of stunned immobility there was an undignified scramble.

From’Dragon Riders’ by Jane Jago just one of over twenty Game Lit stories by as many authors in Rise and Rescue – Volume One.  All profits from the Rise and Rescue anthologies go to support wildlife devastated by the Australian wildfires. 

A selection of rhymes by Jane Jago, made age appropriate for those for whom their second childhood is just around the corner…

Monday’s Child

Monday’s child is rubbish at math
Tuesday’s child has a wobbly ass
Wednesday’s child wants to be artistic
Thursday’s kid’s a tad sadistic
Friday’s child is full of crap
And Saturday’s child just needs a slap
But the child that was born on a Sunday morn
Is the offspring of Satan right down to the horns.

You can find this, and other whimsical takes of life in On The Throne? a little book of contemplation from Jane Jago.