He was killed for who his grandfather was. To the old men in their castles, the death of a seventeen-year-old boy meant nothing except one more move in the eons-old feud between two powerful houses. 

Those who ordered his death thought nothing about she who bore him and loved him, and whose bitter tears watered his grave. They didn’t even know her name until it was too late. The creatures that besieged their castles were as pitiless as winter and as unstoppable.

He was killed for who his grandfather was. But avenged by what his mother was. 

©️jj 2019

I’d rather be a hayseed
I’d rather your contempt
I’d rather not fit in your box
To my own detriment
I’d rather be the wrong-shaped peg
To fill your right-shaped hole
I’d rather bear your harsh contempt
Than give to you my soul
I’d rather be a reprobate
Beneath consideration
Than pretend to give a f**k
For your appreciation

©️ jane jago 2019

Challenge Accepted is an anthology of speculative fiction, featuring people with disabilities who rise to the challenge. You can enjoy the opening of The Invisible Event, which is a Fortune's Fools story by E.M. Swift-Hook.

There were two of them.
They walked into my office looking as if they’d just come in on a low-end freetrader’s scrapheap and hadn’t found time to freshen up since. I’d not known they were coming and that suggested something urgent, which meant something dangerous.
The good news was I knew one of them. Halkom Dugsdall—taller than most who were tall, dark red-brown hair that always stuck out as if he’d not combed it in days, and eyes like the business end of an energy snub.
His work brought him out here two, maybe three times a year, sometimes more and we’d shared stakeouts and bar tabs enough that we’d got to know each other pretty well. Him, me and Commander Burgas who headed up the local police here until his retirement three cycles back. We’d made a formidable team.
The last time I’d seen Dugsdall must have been at Burgas’ formal retirement event. He’d missed the private party after because of work commitments. But then he was the Coalition Security Force’s ‘go-to’ operative for hunting the very worst criminal scum. His frequent visits were down to the fact that my patch attracted a lot of them. It was at the sharp end of a frontier sector on the Periphery. After you left it, there was a mess of wildcard prospecting and mining concerns, a few low-tech Protectorates and a cluster of thinly populated Independent worlds which the Coalition couldn’t be bothered to stretch its hand out to grasp. The butt end of the galaxy and all my very own.
Even though I’d already figured that this visit was far from being a social call, I mustered a warm smile.
“Good to see you again, Grim. Who’s your friend?”
She reacted with blank surprise to my use of that name. Alright. Not a friend. She was tall too, but where Grim was leanly muscled, she was just skinny. Shiny black hair with a metallic lustre and cheekbones that seemed keen to get out ahead of her nose. A challenge, as her nose was pretty prominent itself. Cold eyes scoured me from above it. Seemed she didn’t like me already. Or maybe she didn’t like the voice I’d chosen from the handful I kept on my favourites menu.
“Good to see you too, Saj.” Grim gestured between me and the woman. “Sajmar Dyep—Tak Tanka.”
We nodded to each other and, introductions out the way, I let them sort themselves out to sit down and reached over to the synth to serve up a tray of mild stimulant drinks. They looked like they needed that.
“Thanks,” Grim said, helping himself to one from the tray and passing another to his companion as he carried on talking. “Sorry to descend on you like this, but it’s one of those fast action things. You know what I do, and Var Tanka here is a specialist in matters relating to the Legacy.”
Var Tanka? So formal. Definitely not friends then. Or maybe she was just so senior, us regular street-level operatives weren’t going to make it onto her link-list of contacts.
“We don’t get much trouble with the Legacy here,” I told her. “They tried once, but those terrorist fanatics could never make any ground with the sort living on my patch. People here are all about how they would like more Coalition involvement, not less.”
“I find the facts are more valuable than speculation, Dyep. But your opinion is noted.”
Oh my! Underling know your place…
Grim cleared his throat.
“Sajmar has some expertise on the Legacy herself, Var Tanka. She worked undercover in a Legacy cell before she took on the local CSF office here.”
“Oh? Really?” The cold eyes flicked away from mine. “That must have been some years ago then. There’s been a lot of change in the Legacy’s approach recently.” She wasn’t going to give me any ground.
Grim met my gaze and held it just long enough whilst the other woman was busy pulling up screens and pinning them over my desk.
“This is who we are here for.” She stabbed a finger towards one of the screens and my heart sank. “Ozrin Walorn. He has a history of low-level smuggling, but evidence links him with a recent incident of piracy in the Varn Sector and”—she impaled another screen with her nail—“his name’s occurred in relation to a Legacy-backed attack on a planet called Kesser. We think he helped supply the rebels there, resisting Coalition integration against the local government forces.”
Oh Ozzy! What have you been getting involved with now?
“We have reason to believe Walorn is registered as a resident in your area,” Grim added.
What could I do? I moved my head forward the small amount allowed by the couple of fused vertebrae of my neck. It approximated a nod.
“He is someone who’s crossed my screens before,” I admitted. “If he’s at home, I can find him for you. Where’re you staying?”
“We didn’t get that far yet,” Grim said.
Tak Tanka waved me away. “I don’t intend to be here long. This is a courtesy call. We could have linked you for the information, in fact, instead of wasting—”
Grim cut in.
“In fact, we realised that your local knowledge would be of immense value in locating our target, which is why we are here. And as that might take a short time, we’ll take rooms in the spaceport stopover.”
Maybe she’d more sense than I’d thought, because Var Tanka snapped her mouth shut as Grim spoke across her.
“I’ll be in touch later today,” I promised him. “Let me see you out.”
Tak Tanka had already risen from her seat and was stalking to the door, her entire body from her stiff, erect spine to the set of her shoulders screaming disapproval. As I moved around the desk to be polite and escort Grim, I glanced up and caught his eye again. He was a hard man to read, his face more a mask for his emotions than a mirror of them, but I was pretty sure I could see the dislike there.
I stopped at the door and Tak Tanka turned, didn’t notice me for a moment, then looked down and her mouth opened slightly. Pity or horror? I always made a private bet on which it would be. But this time it was surprise followed by the same dismissive coldness as before.
“I’ll be in touch,” I said and opened the door to free her from having to reply. Grim gripped my shoulder briefly and followed her out.

You can continue reading this story in Challenge Accepted which is now available to purchase.

The first Abbie heard of them was seven-year-old Porter.

“New neighbours got a Range Rover, Mum.”

“Can’t have.”

“Do.”

“Okay.”

By the time Barry came home from work two Range Rovers were blocking the communal driveway, and that was just the start.

Things were building to a head on the night they heard hysterical screaming. Abbie and Barry ran, to find Mister Neighbour collapsed facedown. He wasn’t breathing, so Abbie started CPR while Barry called triple nine. 

Mister recovered, but he never spoke to Abbie or Barry again. It was easier to sell up than say thank you.

©️jj 2019

Once upon a time, the world was covered in water, and the overlord sat on a smooth rock overlooking his domain. All was well and he smiled into the blueness of the sky. The merpeople sang and the fishes swam, and every creature lived in its appointed place. But then a strange thing began to happen, dry green pieces could be seen poking out of the oceans, and creatures that should have been swimming began crawling in the greensward and flying in the clouded blue. The overlord looked up towards the heavens and cried to the creators for help, but no help came. 

Those  who made the blue planet had turned their attentions elsewhere and the green and the brown slowly took over the blue and the silver.

Once upon a time, man crawled out of the water and set his foot on duty land, thinking himself master of all he surveyed. But the world took against him as he plundered and purloined her treasure. The waters started to rise and man cried to the creators for help. But no help came.

The blue and silver slowly took over the brown and green and the overlord’s rocky throne slowly rose from the waves. The merpeople sang and the fishes swam, and once again every creature lived in its appointed place…

©️Jane Jago

From the second he saw her, his teeth itched for her long, white throat. He smiled and went about obtaining his desire. He obtained the mortgages on her family home and all her father’s personal debts. He called in those debts. The ruined man shot himself.

That night they brought her to his bed dressed in a robe of deepest red velvet and with her hair loose about her.

“Do I have no say?” 

He laughed in her face.

“None.”

He didn’t see her withdraw the oak stake from her sleeve. Nor did he feel it pierce his black heart.

©️jj 2019

Multi Genre Readers  is everything you want a newsletter to be – entertaining, informative and full of fascinating ideas. It covers a range of interesting topics and explores many genres.

The first issue includes, amongst other diverse topics, articles on magical weaponry, book piracy, food and drink in the 1700s, 3D printing buildings – and a review from  Cindy Tomamichel – the woman coordinating this project – of ‘Out of the Soylent Planet‘ by Robert Kroese.

Other pieces include:

You can imagine the scene as the area around the domed spaceport in on a newly settled world is dug out by automated earth shifters and quickly filled with a solid foundation material. Then streets are laid out in a regular grid by the construction gantries, leaving a cross-hatch lattice on the landscape. Finally, those giant gantries straddling the roads, make their stately progress, 3D printing layer after layer to create an entire building before moving on a pre-programmed distance to print another. Rinse repeat and you have an entire city in a very short time.

From ‘The Science Fact Behind The Science Fiction – Printing Houses’ by E.M. Swift-Hook.

An immense amount of research goes into the writing of an historical novel, be it romance or otherwise. Quite often, a lot of the most fascinating minutia never make it into the novel. While I was writing Three Star Island, a time travel romance set on the coast of the Carolina colony during 1721, I became captivated with the complex nature of trade between the English colonies stretching from parts of Georgia and northward, and the Spanish colonies to the south. What interested me the most was the impact piracy had on the exchange of goods between nations.
Especially food.
Rum, tea, and spices – the lifeblood of the colonies and the stock in trade for a pirate.

From ‘Old Time Food’ by Kat Caulberg

Tempted? Subscribe and try. It's completely free and delivered directly to your in-box. The first issue will be out in early April.

The end of war should have been joyful, but Shannon’s husband, Albert, returned from the trenches a grim-faced humourless shadow of himself. She shouldered his sorrow along with her other burdens and got along as best she could.

But when her old pony died the desolation was almost too much to bear. She had nobody left to lean on and she felt as if the next strong wind would blow her away.

The men went to market as usual, returning late and cold. They gently herded her out to the barn where a little brown pony whickered a welcome…

©️jj 2019

“So what was it like, in the Specials? I mean I’ve done military, but that has to be different.”
Vitos hesitated imperceptibly, food partway to his mouth, just long enough for Charis to wonder if she had been wise to have asked. Then, as he continued to eat he was watching her with his disconcerting, penetrating green eyes.
“I can’t compare it to regular military,” he said when he had finished the mouthful. “I have never done that.”
“Well, it doesn’t mean you can’t say what it was like, surely? I was just thinking it would at least have a bit in common with regular military.”
“You mean like obeying orders and doing dangerous things?” He sounded sarcastic. But Vitos never did sarcasm. Charis gave a shrug.
“Kind of thing. I guess.”
Vitos didn’t say more right away and continued eating. Charis wondered if she had pushed too much on a sore spot.
“It is very hard,” he said, just as she was convinced he was not going to answer, “to describe something to someone who has not got the same – or similar – terms of reference.” He gave her a slight smile. “Believe you me I know, I’ve been on the receiving end of that often enough.”
“Would you be willing to try? It’s alright if you don’t want to, I can see why you might not. It must be difficult to talk about it.”
He considered a moment then gave a small nod.
“What do you want to know?”
“I was on a military stop-over once. There was this – this compound of Specials. Someone told me they were killing each other. I mean, that they were being allowed to. Which made no sense. Was it really like that? Or was I being laughed at?”
The green eyes seemed to weigh what she was asking, then they dropped away from her gaze as if he couldn’t bear to look at her.
“Yes.”
“You mean ‘yes’ I was being laughed at or…?” She let it hang.
“Yes. The Specials kill each other. It’s part of how we were made to bond into units. Then the survivors were beaten down and formed up depending on how they behaved. Usually it was done with by the time you got anyone through training, but sometimes – something might flare up. Someone pushing for something, or someone others thought to be a weak link. But it was most always fought out one on one. We had to be careful. If it looked like turning too general we’d be stopped.”
He broke off and carried on eating. Perhaps he had seen noticed her reaction, although she had tried to hide it. Tried, because she wanted to know. So she asked more, to show she did.
“How – how could they stop it?”
“We were all on the Lattice with no way to shut it off. You can flood someone with so much data they can’t do anything, get paralysed – literally, physically. Or you can just drop the link and put everyone on a countdown. Amazing how fast that will work.”
“A countdown?”
“Drop off the Lattice and you have a count triggered. It hits zero and all the stuff they pack into your scalp port will fry out in your brain and kill you. Not very quickly, because it is not very big. But it will kill you.”
Charis was silent. Robbed of words.
Vitos watched her, his green eyes assessing. Then he said: “Maybe it’s not it’s so difficult for me to talk about as difficult for others to hear.”

From Trust A Few a Fortune's Fools book by E.M. Swift-Hook and the first volume in the Haruspex trilogy.

He expected the great oak door to open to his hand, but the woman in the carved chair was something beyond his experience. She was beauty personified, delicately drawn in pastel hues – save for  eyes of obsidian blackness.

Her smile smote his heart like a blade of the finest Toledo steel and he reeled.

“Sir Edmund Coldheart, Dragonslayer Royal. At your service.”

She drew him to her with one slender white hand.

“My lord,” she breathed.

And he knew he had found his heart’s desire.

His infatuation was a sorrow to the slender dragon queen, but she ate him anyway.

©️jj 2019