Now Available: Syn-En: Pillar World on sale for 99cents for a limited time

Admiral Beijing York and his cyborgs are losing the war. With the Founders conquering world after world, desperate measures are called for. Preparing to make the ultimate sacrifice, he and his wife, Nell Stafford, set out on a mission that could turn the tide of battle.

Instead they are captured by the Meek, a race of tremendous power and ability, willing to join their cause. Is this new ally an answered prayer or a deal with the Devil?

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A New Me

Okay, I’m not really new. I still have those odd aches and pains that I had yesterday, but I always like to do something different before I begin a new book.

Usually I download music. Thursday, I cut my hair. Short. Shorter than I’ve had it in a while. It used to hang almost to the middle of my back. Now this:



But it’s all good, except that the cold weather came in.

And I even have bangs.

Now, I have to go and finish my research.

It’s funny how small changes can reenergize me.

But, I might still download a few new songs. Or old ones.

I keep hearing Shooting Star on the radio. My husband says it’s depressing. I find it brilliant, even if Johnny overdoses at the end. The Music is dead, long live the Music.

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Syn-En Pillar World, Chapter 6

PillarWorldChapter 6

Nell stretched on top of the mattress. Her toes skimmed the soft cotton blankets before emerging from underneath them. No warm furry body guarded the bottom of her bed. No downy feathers danced on the currents from the vents. Alone at last. Relaxing, she smoothed Bei’s side of the bed.


Okay, so the moment wasn’t as perfect as she wanted. She squeezed her eyes closed. Although her husband should have checked on her once Doc tattled. Her fingers dug into the synthetic fibers of Bei’s pillow. Dragging it close, she curled her body around it. The spicy scent of his soap drifted through her senses. Maybe she should connect to the WA and call him.

With her luck, half the Syn-En aboard would come calling.

Mastering private communication in cyberspace wasn’t as easy as in the last century. But this era did have a six foot, blue eyed, black haired benefit.  Rubbing her itchy nose, she opened first her left eye then her right.

Across the bed, their closet doors were open. Bei’s uniforms hung neatly in a row with his boots lined up underneath. One of her tunics sagged half-on, half-off its metal rod and her boots tumbled carelessly over his. A white feather clung to her bra on the deck.

Iggy and Elvis’s cubs had a fondness for her clothing.

Bei preferred they keep their puppy teeth to themselves, especially since they practiced hunting with him as prey. He didn’t appreciate being chomped on by invisible Amarooks.

Giggling, she rolled onto her back. Not that he’d ever hurt a puppy.  He always held them by their scruffs and calmly explained why he wasn’t edible. Then he recommended they try chewing on Apollie and the other Skaperian EmpShields.

Nell’s chuckles swirled around the small room. Sensing her movement, the lights slowly brightened and the television screen embedded in the wall over the corner desk clicked on. Captain Pennig, the father figure of most of the Syn-Ens and her husband in particular, spoke calmly from the screen. He switched fluidly from one language to another without pause. Information was relayed to the refugees about where to find food, water, and clothing. Next, he explained how to search for loved ones and where to find their quarters, if they’d been assigned any.

The screen flickered then Nell stared at herself. She chucked her pillow at the image. If she’d known making public service announcements were part of her job description, she’d never have run for office. Heck, she hadn’t run. She’d been drafted.

An alarm blared, silencing her welcome message. Red ticker tape scrolled across the bottom of the screen: Alliance Debriefing. One hour, twenty-seven minutes overdue.

“What! Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” Nell sprang from the bed. Fermites swarmed her feet, fitting her with socks and shoes as she walked. The double doors leading to the hall snicked open at her approach. Snatching a protein bar from the desk, she strolled out.

Low pile carpet muffled her footfalls, thudding hollowly down the empty corridor. Her skin itched, and she glanced over her shoulder. No one watched her. Still, horror movies started this way. The solitary heroine. Hallways of closed doors. All that was missing was the creepy musical score. “Snap out of it. This isn’t a movie.”

Heck, hardly anyone had even heard of Hollywood. Her footstep slowed at the tee. A quick glance left, then right. Nobody. Nada. Zip. “‘Cuz they’re already at the meeting. Where you’re supposed to be.”

She bit the corner of the foil wrapper and ripped it. Hunks of nuts and fruits bubbled under the coating of chocolate. Her stomach rumbled. She tore off a bite and chewed. Sugary sweetness chased aside the salty nuts. Man cannot live by chocolate alone.

Thank God, she was a woman with a chocolate survival gene.

At the next intersection, she turned left. Her chewing slowed. No one guarded the elevators. A Syn-En always stood sentry. This level housed all the leaders of the Neo-Sentient Alliance and their families. Access was strictly controlled and enforced. If someone took out this floor, the alliance was over.

And so was the war.

She swallowed her mouthful then allowed the biometric reader embedded next to the elevator door to scan her fingerprints and retinas.

The elevator acknowledged her command with a chime.

The skin between her shoulder blades tingled. Shifting to the right, she eyed the corridor behind her in the reflection of the stainless steel panel. Nobody. Perhaps she should stop watching horror movies for a while.  A decade or two at the most. Her leg bounced with impatience. Okay, she could watch the occasional zombie movie.

Zombies weren’t real.

She didn’t think zombies were behind her. So what was watching her? Crickets chirped inside her head. Angling her body, she propped a shoulder against the panel and kept the hall in her peripheral vision. “Ghosts. I won’t watch any more movies with ghosts.”

Not that her vow helped now. Was that a black mass near the third door on the right? Had it just moved? Sweat slicked her palms. Her heart rate increased. “What’s taking so long?”

She pushed the call button again. A sliver of light grew from the top of the elevator and extended to the floor. The bell chimed again, and the doors slid open.

Six Syn-En stared back at her. The grim set of their mouths softened and the darkness left their eyes. As one they raised their right arms. Green diagnostic beams shot out of their wrists, washing over her.

Blond haired cadet London broke first. She tossed her slim arms around Nell. “You are here.”

“Yes, I’m here. I rested just like Doc said.” Where else would she be? Nell patted the young Syn-En’s back. Once released, she stepped inside, presenting them with her back. “And I ate.” She added knowing every word would be reported to Bei. “Now, I’m late for the meeting. Put bunny ears and a cotton tail on me and call me the White Rabbit.”

Bald Cartagena joined London placing themselves in front of her before the doors closed.

Nell shifted back and stepped onto Lieutenant Ecuador’s toe. “Sorry.”

The soldiers formed a close circle around her, like petals on a bud.

Uh-oh. They wouldn’t be so protective unless… Her mouth dried. “Has something happened? Is Bei alright?”

“The Admiral is unharmed.” London’s blond ponytail brushed her collar. “He wishes us to escort you to him. He doesn’t want you getting lost again.”

“Again?” Okay, maybe Nell had gotten turned around two or ten times. But that was at least a week ago. And to be fair, rooms and dead ends now stood where there had been throughways before. It was a very big ship, getting divided into small pieces to make room for all the refugees.

“Lost. Again.” London nodded. She stared straight ahead, red tinged her cheeks. “The admiral asks me to tell you that the next time you find yourself lost, to check in with the nearest station and ask for directions.”

Nell’s jaw swung open. “It’s a pretty straight shot from my cabin to the briefing room.” One she’d walked nearly every day for the last six months. “I hardly think I was in danger of losing my way.”

Although if Nell had known getting lost was a free pass on a meeting or two she might have used it before.

“But you—” London winced.

Cartagena hissed through his teeth and shook his bald head.

Nell’s nape prickled. Bei must have pinged his men, ordered them to be silent.  She clasped her hands in front and unlocked her mental door to the WA. A wall of steel blocked her path. That was new. She tapped on it. The sound echoed hollowly around her. Why had he shut her out? What could possibly be so bad that… Her musing screeched to a halt. No. No way. London had said Bei was unharmed. Syn-En didn’t lie.

Did they?

The elevator coasted to a stop. After a heartbeat, the doors slid open. More Syn-En lined the hallways. All nodded to her as she passed but none uttered a sound.

Nell’s fingernails bit into her palms. Her legs twitched with the need to run. “Why are they lined up?”

The soldiers only put on such a display for enemy delegations and funerals.

Her legs wobbled. Oh, God. She hadn’t asked about Iggy, Shang’hai, or Rome. Could one of them have been seriously injured or wounded? Why hadn’t anyone called her? She would never forgive herself if she slept while one of them needed her. Silver streaked her hands and disappeared up her sleeves.

Without a word, London and Cartagena marched forward in lock step.

The other four soldiers waited a heartbeat then moved in formation, sweeping Nell along.

She shook out her hands, dispelling the tension. Bei was alright. The others were alright. Davena Cabo would have fixed them. She was on shift in sick bay. She… A memory niggled at the edges of Nell’s awareness. There was something about Davena… Something…

London and Cartagena side-stepped. The double doors opened to the conference room.

“I do not think we can continue to destroy one ship for every successful raid.” Delegate Guenoc’s voice boomed off of the shell-shaped ceiling and ricocheted around the amphitheater. With his elephantine ears and gray skin, the Plenipotan was a cross between an elephant and a Human. A seven foot tall Human. “While we appreciate—”

Nell stepped into the room and walked down the aisle toward her husband and the Syn-En team sitting on the raised dais at the front of the conference hall.

Facing the delegates, Bei rose from his chair. Wreckage filled the screens behind him.

Doc leapt to his feet and raised his arm.

Bei cleared his throat and shook his head once.

Doc didn’t scan her. He clamped his mouth shut and stood at attention.

Standing beside him, Rome winked at her.

Shang’hai grinned from her position at the far end of the table. Her pink dreadlocks cascaded over her right shoulder.

Heads turned. Murmurs rippled through the audience. A few pointed at her.

Nell squared her shoulders. She’d always had that reoccurring nightmare where she arrived late to take a test. This was just as bad. She glanced down. At least, she wasn’t naked.

One by one, the delegates rose as she passed.

She nodded to the aquatic Horix, bubbling in their tanks. Shook the tentacles of the spidery-limbed Thraxic. Waved to the four-finger humanoid Haracts.

Bei pulled out the free chair on his left. The motion was fluid. His features relaxed.

But she smelled the singed edges of his anger. It was an order. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Of all the days to sleep through the alarm, she’d picked the one where Bei needed her most. She eyed the wreckage as she climbed the two steps onto the dais.

Fabric rustled. Chair legs squeaked. The delegates were resuming their seats.

“Sorry.” Nell bit her bottom lip. “I overslept.”

Rome snorted.

Doc’s black eyes narrowed.

Great, they were playing good Syn-En, bad Syn-En.

Bei pointed to the chair.

Nell rounded the polished stone table. Leave it to her husband to add irate Syn-En to the volatile mix. She hooked her pinky through his.

He stiffened.

Wow! Okay. She’d let him be mad for a little while. Straightening her pinky, she began to lower onto her chair.

Bei caught her about the waist with one arm and flattened his free hand on her belly. His eyes darkened. “You’re pregnant!”

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Friday Funny—There’s No Place Like Home

Why No One Retires to the NorthEast

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Enough is Enough Already

Last weekend I did something I didn’t want to do. I bought a car. I was 5 payments away from paying the last one off.
But we’d been having problems with the vehicle almost from the day we rolled it off the lot. And by that I mean the battery went within 24hrs. 6 months ago, the transmission went. And we had a check engine light that kept coming on for nearly 3 years (the dealership said it was our gasoline that we were using and they’d turn it off for a while) But the last straw was a 5 year old vehicle failing emissions for a computer problem.
Put a fork in it, cuz it was done. I was breathing steam when I got home and told my husband the issues in a very loud voice.
Then, we had to decide if we wanted a new car with the extended payments or pay gobs of money to fix the unfixable. My husband very subtlety let me know he wanted a new one.
Since both of us knew we couldn’t count on Putin keeping gas prices down indefinitely, we went with a hybrid.
We had considered a Ford, but the last Ford we owned kept trying to kill us (which kinda turned us off for life on the brand). While I love my GMC truck, the last two Chevy’s we had were lemons. Giant lemons.
So had to pick between a Honda and Toyota. My folks have a Honda, and my friend plus a sister-in-law have a Toyota. We stopped at the Honda dealer first because it was on the right side of the road. 5 hours later we walked out with a Honda Civic hybrid and another 5 years of car payments.
My husband keeps singing the Jeffersons theme song and feels like he’s in a luxury vehicle. And it is nice.
I just hope it isn’t a lemon.

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Syn-En Pillar World, Chapter 5

Chapter 5

“So the little Syn-En have teeth after all.”

Aricose Groat, Commander of the Fleet of the Founding Five Armies, dropped onto the captain’s chair of the Dreadnaught Lunaria. A puff of white shot from the pulverized cushion. His claw appendages thudded neatly into the groves six decades of Commanders had created. His Scraptor flesh itched under his polished red armor. Last year’s model. Yet, he was still paying on the upgrade he’d received six months ago.

Armor the Syn-En had destroyed.

He had yet to make the Human soldiers pay.

“Tiny teeth. Not even Scraptor baby teeth. But teeth.” Groat’s Second in Command, Tridit  flipped and twisted knobs on the tactical station to the right of the captain’s chair. Arm-thick cables snaked across the dented deck and disappeared into the console. Tridit’s silver armor glinted in the pulsing emergency lights.

Good thing Tridit was Groat’s best friend. No subordinate should have armor an upgrade higher than his superior. Groat flipped open the side compartment and removed a bottle of oil. He opened the top and squirted a stream onto his upper arms. His stomach bucked at the sickly sweet smell. He didn’t like this new formula.

After admiring himself in his shiny armor, Tridit shoved a panel toward the ceiling of the circular bridge. The dented metal snapped off its hinge and skidded across the buckled deck. “I was afraid this war would end in another month.”

“As was I.” Groat massaged away the itchiness under his armor. Gumdrop lights glowed from the boxy tactical station. The other four stations were dark. They’d been dark since he’d boarded six months ago. Few things on the ship actually worked. His fingers dented his armor. He doubted the Syn-En had to deal with such stinginess. Saliva pooled in his mouth at their technology—cloaking devices, mechanized drones, and bubble-engines.

The Founders had believed such things were impossible.

Groat doubted the scientists had even tried to make them work. The Decripi believed in finding answers to prop up their fragile bodies and nonexistent immune systems. The Accumla cared only about items they could market to increase their revenue. The Unadul were happy to spend money on battle songs and commission portraits of the heroic victories, with their many-limbed selves leading the Scraptor Army. As for the Municians…

Groat hated the pointy-earred, stinky politicians. Especially the one he had aboard. The very one who had tried to blame Groat for starting this war. He rubbed his wrists, feeling the cold bite of manacles from his hours of imprisonment.

Mopus Argent would pay.

Groat just needed an opportunity. And fewer witnesses. His right eyestalk swiveled toward the camera dangling from an open ceiling panel. The red light at the bottom was off. But he didn’t trust that the thing didn’t work.

He’d underestimated Mopus once.

Groat would not do so again.

The double doors behind the captain’s chair squealed as someone turned the wheel to open them. Arcs of electricity danced along the bulkheads.

Groat’s nostrils twitched. A pungent musky smell invaded his bridge.

Tridit dropped onto the seat in front of the tactical station and fiddled with the knobs. The wreckage on the view screen faded out of sight.

“Can’t you hurry up?” Mopus’s deep baritone knocked a few extra ceiling tiles loose. The clatter of metal didn’t disguise the clomp of his hard-soled shoes.

Groat sealed his mandibles and counted to ten, then a hundred. He stopped at one hundred thirty—the number of ways he’d dreamed of killing the stinky politico.

In a swirl of gold-embroidered silk robes, Mopus stomped onto the bridge.

The Munician hadn’t even asked for permission to enter, standard procedure during times of war. Groat’s claws clacked restlessly at the sides of the chair. Many of his daydreams had featured him clipping the lime-green politico’s head off. In pieces.

“Why are you smiling?” Mopus’s skin deepened to emerald.

Groat settled his mandibles over his teeth. “I have confirmed that Beijing York is still in charge of the Human and Skaperian fleet.”

Mopus’s slanted eyes narrowed. “Is? As in present tense?”

“Yes.” When he leaned back in his seat, Groat’s armor creaked.

Spittle clung to Mopus’s worm-thin lips. “You let him live after he attacked the flagship of the Fleet of the Founding Five?”

Groat would pin metal on the Syn-En’s chest for destroying this heap of garbage. Lots of metal. Preferably molten metal. After the Human’s ability to neutralize pain was disabled. Groat cracked his knuckles. The emergency lights flickered off then on. “I didn’t let him do anything. You know that those abominations intercepted our fleet’s schematics on Surlat. I told the Commerce Board we needed to upgrade our systems, but they wouldn’t allocate the funds.”

Not one blessed credit.

Anger was a live wire under Groat’s armor. His muscles twitched. He would love to smash something. Preferably something green, fleshy, and smelling of pheromones.

Pursing his lips, Mopus adjusted his embroidered cuffs. “I have stood behind you, despite your numerous mistakes, but if it ever comes out that you deliberately endangered this ship, I will have to submit a vote of no confidence to Commerce Board about your leadership.”

Fear soured Groat’s mouth and ice formed a skin under his armor. He shook it off. Only five Scraptors knew of his plans. None of them would have betrayed him. They all wanted glory for the Scraptors, and an equal say in the running of the Board. Taking a deep breath, he rose from the chair.

He couldn’t lie to a Munician. The stinky politicos could smell a falsehood. Groat hated that about them. Hell, he hated everything about the smarmy, pointy-earred race. Raising his eyestalks to their full height, he stared at Mopus. “You never supported my nomination. So who would be surprised by the vote of no confidence?”

Mopus blinked. His skin faded from emerald to snot green. “But of course I supported you. That’s why I made certain you were present when the war started. The Commerce Board saw these new Humans as a threat. In a few years, they could dominate the universe, our universe. We arranged for them to stumble upon those crystals, so a war would start on our time table.”

Tridit covered a swear word with a cough.

Groat’s flesh crawled under his armor. It was too ridiculous to believe. And yet… The tactic had been used before. Against other races. “Commander Obko would have mentioned it in his briefs when he stepped down as leader of the Fleet.”

Mopus threw back his head. Laughter tinkled out of his slender throat. “Why would we leave a record of such a thing? If it ever leaked to the Board, we would all lose our heads.”

Groat’s claws trembled. The bastard had implicated him by relaying the conspiracy. “You did not support my nomination, Mopus. You had me locked up after the battle at Surlat.”

“That’s because you did not follow the plan. Thankfully, it worked, but it was a close thing.” Mopus shook a tapered finger.

Groat clicked a claw next to it.

Mopus jerked his finger away. “After that Skaperian vessel chased us through the wormhole, I made certain you had the opportunity to redeem yourself and prove yourself worthy to the Commerce Board. And you did.”

By running and hiding and ultimately scuttling his ship. Mopus’s answer made no sense, but political machinations rarely did. Groat’s eyestalk twitched. He preferred war, torture, and dismemberment. Straight-forward actions that yielded a direct result. His bridge stunk of lies. Lies he couldn’t prove.

But he could prove something.

He caught Tridit’s gaze. “Status of my ship.”

Not that he didn’t already know.

“All systems are offline.” Tridit straightened. His fingers hovered over the switch that would power the forward view screen.

Groat twitched his right mandible. He didn’t want his gambit revealed just yet.

“We have minimal life support.” Tridit’s hand relaxed on the panel but his pinschers clacked. “I hailed the Dreadnaught Sirius. She’ll be able to pick us up with an hour of oxygen to spare.”

Good. Their situation was dire. The flagship had been destroyed. Groat would put forward his request for the new ship’s design.

“What!” Mopus twitched like water on a hot branding iron. “You let them destroy our ship?”

“They invaded our systems. Their ship managed to slip past our outer shields.” The glitch had been timed so perfectly, Groat doubted even Beijing York had noticed it. Groat scratched his chin. It was a delicate line he tread—the enemy must appear strong, while he remained a match for them. “We managed to restore the inner shields but our systems didn’t recognize their intrusion and they overloaded our own weapons.”

Or at least that was his story until he and the Scraptors could figure out the new weapons the puny alliance had created.

Mopus’s nose twitched.

Groat locked his armor.  Not so much as a twinge betrayed the lie under the truth. He just had to reel the stinky politico in a little more…

Mopus edged closer. A golden thread unraveled from his cuff. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“As political officer aboard, I—”

“Cut the crap, Groat.” Mopus  sniffed through his aquiline nose. “You and I will either rise or fall together. You know it. I know it. Now tell me what you are hiding so I can begin to cover our collective asses.”

Ahhh, so that’s how it went. If Groat failed Mopus would pay the same price. He’d heard the rumors. The temptation to fail was almost too sweet to resist. Almost, but not quite. “The Commerce Board’s thrift is responsible for the losses.”

Mopus twirled about. His robes fluttered like tattered pennants behind him. “There was no reason to increase your budget.” An odd light blazed from his eyes, and he thumped his chest with his fist. “We are winning. We have taken hundreds of worlds. Hundreds, just waiting to be exploited.”

Groat snorted. Could he know something the politico didn’t? Excepting the most recent occurrence, of course. “Those worlds were abandoned. The Founders had plundered their natural resources centuries ago. They left them to the natives, believing they would become extinct within two generations.”

But they had survived. And those species had registered as sentient. Groat’s gut twinged. Was there a lesson to be learned? No, those inferiors hadn’t challenged the might of the Founding Five. But this new breed of Human might, especially when paired with the Skaperians. That threat assessment had come directly from the Scraptors.

And they had kept it to themselves.

Or had they?

“Groat.” Mopus snapped his fingers and tapped his polished shoe in impatience. “Aside from a slight rise in prices to finance bringing the new worlds up to snuff, we live as luxuriously as we always have. As we are entitled to.”

“Prices rose to cover the cost of purchasing pirated goods. Convoys of it.” Groat nodded to Tridit. “The Fleet stretched thin to cover our new territory and subdue the local population. We can’t cover every merchant’s pursuit of profit.”

Especially when it didn’t suit the Scraptors’ purpose.

Tridit flipped a toggle switch on his console. The forward viewer blinked awake. A few ships glowed like coals on a debris cloud of ash. The officer zeroed in on the emblem on one of the private yachts.

The Argent family crest filled the screen.

Mopus inhaled sharply. Covering his mouth with one hand, he raised the other as if to pluck the destroyed vessel from space.

Groat bit the tips of his mandibles to keep from grinning. He’d waited months to stage this. It had to be just the right convoy. Thankfully, his contact in the alliance had passed on the intelligence slip.

Mopus’s fingers curled into fists. “Overload the rest of the weapons batteries. Make it look like the Syn-En destroyed your ship, and I will personally see to it that you get an armada.”

“And I will personally see to it that Beijing York is brought to you.”

“No.” Mopus flicked his fingers. “You keep him. I want his wife. I will make certain Nell Stafford pays for a very, very long time.”

Groat shuddered. There was no honor in what the Municians did. He almost pitied the Human female.

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Friday Funny—You’ll know you’re in TEXAS…when you see these!

These are from my friend in… you guessed it—Texas.




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