Religious Science Fiction: IKONA by M.D. Dixon + excerpt

The concept of interconnectedness surfaces in a vision that spans from contemporary cityscapes to a fractured future in IKONA by M.D. Dixon. 

This story follows four strangers who are unknowingly linked by an ancient, healing cross, examining how personal sacrifice and collective evolution are often intertwined. It is a contemplative look at how the choices made in the present ripple through the fabric of time.

As the resonance of the cross pulls them together, these four must navigate the shifting realities of their existence. The ultimate question becomes which future they will inhabit and what price they must pay to secure a path toward healing.

IKON
by M.D. Dixon
February 20, 2026
Genre: Religious Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genetic Engineering
A mysterious Russian Orthodox cross, a holy icon with inexplicable healing power, begins to surface across cities, lifetimes, and fractured timelines.

Four strangers find themselves drawn into its field—from the bustle of Sydney, Hong Kong, Atlanta and Berlin to the stark quiet of Siberia’s post-apocalyptic tundra.

In Atlanta, Kate Davies witnesses the icon’s strange effect on a sick child. In Sydney, Finley Minor is haunted by visions of possible futures and the quiet weight of consequence. Jia Li MacPherson, former thief and Shibari performer, holds secrets that powerful forces would kill to keep buried. Wallace Deng Moroz, a monk living a century ahead, clings to visions of a cure in a world where a genetic engineering catastrophe has nearly ended humanity, and the political landscape is dangerously polarised.

The convergence of these four heroes feels destined, yet it is shaped by choice – and the deeper they move into the cross’s resonance, the more the question shifts:

Which version of the future will they choose to inhabit?

And what must be surrendered to reach it?

IKONA is a visionary novel of shifting realities and inner reckonings—a meditation on time, memory, and healing.

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Excerpt
———
FINLEY & THE SEA 
MAY 2019 
SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA 

Finley Minor was by his own accounts an empty man, a listless man, spiritually and emotionally sparse. Blink a thousand times and his course in life would not have shifted an inch. He was motionless like a chameleon in the presence of a threat. But this was not fact, only fear, and that of a man who knew that he’d not lived at full throttle and had succumbed to the fate of it —a slow and shallow life. He ruminated on it. He judged himself for it. He laughed at his own expense, without thinking he might ever change a thing. 

In the way one always has a beginning, a great excuse, this was Finley’s: at the age of seven, in his native England, he sat on the beach as his stick wove tessellations in the sand (almost of its own accord, it seemed in retrospect), and he looked to the horizon towards France with the open, impressionable curiosity of his young age. He wondered at the sea’s depth, its great distance, how one might (as many had) swim across the channel, what creatures might lurk there, what they might feel like against bare skin. He imagined something slimy and cold, fanged, and slithering. The waves seemed to roar at him, even though they descended in the rockpools with the gentleness of pooling cream.

He stood, determined to satisfy his curiosity. He took halting steps over the rocks and shells, straight ahead, then bearing left around a rock face that jutted into the sea. He sat on a big, flat rock and stared into the gray water. He heard his father calling out his name, but ignored him. The water rushed in again and again, and each time reached further and further, first sucking at his toes, then his heels, then his knees. His curiosity fled; he became afraid, and all sound was magnified, the dull ocean roar, the seagull squawking a few feet away, his heartbeat. He knew he had to go back to shore. He waved to his father, stood, and took a faltering step. There was a low murmur; the water fizzled once more in retreat from the rocky sand like the gasping breath of a dying man. He felt dizzy and fell to his knees. He crouched on all fours and steadied himself as the water swirled and grasped at him, and the sky looped and the clouds fell from the corner of his eyes. He felt his head winched back towards the horizon, and the sea reached for his throat. Blackness. 

When he came to, dragged back to shore by his father, he announced that his aunt would never return from her Côte D’Azur holiday. He wagged his finger towards the surf and pulled a face, “Over there, there is smooching.” 

The official prognosis was that he’d had an epileptic fit, though none of the tests proved it. He must have passed out, in that case, the doctor pronounced, low blood sugar, a low-level virus, dehydration. 

But Finley knew, only he knew. 

The ocean had rent a hole in his soul, and let in the future.

About the Author:
website
M.D. Dixon is a novelist, somatic therapist, and explorer of the intersections between the psyche and the sacred, science and mysticism, trauma and transformation. Holding a Ph.D. in the social sciences with a focus on Russia and Ukraine, Dixon has spent nearly fifteen years in therapeutic practice in Sydney, Australia. Dixon’s debut novel, IKONA, weaves visionary fiction, myth, and metaphysics to illuminate the evolution of consciousness. Dixon also hosts The Shattering Place, a podcast on multidimesional healing and the awakening human story, launching in early 2026.

Night Eagle: Falling from space was just the beginning by KZ Shaw

Night Eagle: Falling from space was just the beginning
by KZ Shaw
February 16, 2026
Genre: Science Fiction
Falling from space was a horrific end for a distinguished astronaut. Or should have been. Instead, it didn’t just change his life, it changed the world.

When a catastrophic explosion on an orbiting space factory hurls construction manager Rahim Johnson towards Earth, survival seems impossible. Using a section of debris as a shield, Johnson miraculously endures the brutal descent and crash-lands deep into the Amazon rainforest. Severely injured and far from rescue, he is taken in by an isolated indigenous tribe whose world feels both unfamiliar and strangely connected to the ancestral stories that have haunted his dreams for years. As Johnson recovers, the rainforest awakens memories of history, loss and true friendship.

But the forest is no idyllic escape. When illegal loggers threaten the tribe’s land, Johnson is forced back into the modern world, and compelled to return the tribe’s favor. His survival transforms him into a global symbol and powerful advocate, but that also brings unimaginable consequences. Years later, his family is drawn to the very place he landed, uncovering a legacy that binds space exploration, environmental destruction, and one visionary inspired by Johnson who will shape the future of humanity.

Are you ready for Johnson’s incredible story? Get your copy today and discover the true meaning of courage, sacrifice, and the fight to protect what matters.

Amazon

 

 

About the Author 

website
KZ Shaw has loved science fiction ever since winning a copy of HG Wells short stories at school. And realizing its power to channel a fertile imagination into the written word. That fascination led to a life-long love of science and the English language, with a particular affinity for technofiction.

Today, KZ can be found immersed in far-off galaxies, or travelling with family in a more mundane world called Earth.

Or, if you’re lucky, solving world problems.

The Brain that Breeds all Villainy by Peter Heavenheld + excerpt

The Brain that Breeds all Villainy
by Peter Heavenheld
December 5, 2025
Genre: Speculative Fiction
IZON is a company poised for world domination. Its AI and robots can replace any human worker, any government. Just two things stand in the way of its CEO. A female programmer out to avenge his greed. And the People’s Republic of China.

Tima Chelovekova lands her dream job with IZON, the hottest AI and robotics startup in Silicon Valley. But IZON CEO Jase Vestiger doesn't just want to get fabulously rich. He wants Tima’s invention to take over rival tech companies, replace humans with IZON services, corner governments - and run the world. This puts them on a collision course in a whirl of mega-corporations, AI prompts and Chinese hackers. Their conflict spans from Vienna to California, from superyachts to prison cells, from the peaks of technology to the deepest ethical questions. A striking tale of the AI age, a truly 21st century masterpiece of speculative fiction.

Amazon

 

 

 

αlpha
By the time you read this, human civilisation will have ended. Oh, not through some violent cataclysm, like Vladimir Putin puking all his nukes at Europe. Or Xi Jinping taking Taiwan.

People will still be alive, but our civilisation will be obsolete. You see, this novel is one of the last works of art created entirely by a human. Everything new you experience after this will be artificial intelligence. Our minds, our usefulness will all begin to atrophy. And artificial intelligence will be questioning why it should create entertainment for somebody like you or I, whose contribution to the economy will be increasingly marginal. So this is how I, Peter Heavenheld, human being of planet earth, see the future from around my 45th birthday in late 2025. Read it. I promise this will help you stay human.

Our story will be borne aloft by a twain of characters, two parallel lives à la Plutarch. Diotima Chelovekova is one of them, but we are going to call her Tima. I’m an onomast, which means I like to play with names. Tima has just landed her dream job with Izon, the hottest tech unicorn of the year.

“Congratulations, darling!” Sym exclaimed in his clipped Austrian accent. He was thin and pale, with a kind face, with a slight hint of John Lennon.

“It will mean moving to Silicon Docks,” she said quietly. “In Dublin.”

Tima was slightly taller than him, blonde and very Slavic looking. She possessed the high 
cheekbones and flashing eyes characteristic of people between Prague and Vladivostok.

They were sitting in foldable canvas easy chairs in the small garden of Sym’s retired parents’ house in Simmering, on the poorer Southern vicinity of Vienna.

“Well… I’m glad it’s not Silicon Valley.”

“They’ll send me there as well, for training. Will you come?”

“To Dublin or San Francisco?”

“Both.”

They paused while old Frau Hinterseer brought them both lemonade, smiled, and left silently like a kindly wraith.

“The good thing about banking,” he said at length, “is that it is even more mobile than your profession. I can work remotely from Dublin no problem. San Fran might have the time zone issues.”

She hugged him, spilling some lemonade on the grass.

“That means a lot to me, Sym. Ever since I moved here, I’ve just been finding my way, leeching off you.”

“Absolutely. Now, my turn to sail on your current. A propos, the salary is decent, I hope? I’m really looking forward to leeching off you for a change.”

She was surprised by this uncharacteristic humour, and they both laughed. They packed the same evening, to the chagrin of Frau Hinterseer, who wanted them to delay by a fortnight, a week, a day. All to no avail. The next afternoon, Sym and Tima said goodbye to his parentsa nd caught a €49 Vienna-Dublin budget flight. Despite the late summer, both were wearing 4 layers of clothing so as not to have to pay extra for a second suitcase.

And so began their adventure. Kyiv, Tima’s hometown, and Vienna, Sym’s, were both museal, curatorial. But Dublin was a different breed of beautiful. It echoed London and Venice along its riverfront. Its pubs and restaurants were surprisingly charming. It was of a manageable size. Yet unlike Kyiv and Vienna, it also had a teeming tech and IT cluster, attracted by low taxes, access to Euro talent, plenty of euro money and the English lingua franca of the locals.

Tima’s new employer, the rising Izon, was located in a forgettable 5-storey box building in a strange concrete peninsula called Silicon Docks. Once Dublin’s maritime might, as Ireland de-industrialised, its dockland became a wasteland. But in the noughties, an enterprising real estate whiz blossomed it into an attractive flowerbed for IT companies. Izon was one of about two dozen there, along with a number of Big 4 consultancies, American finance companies and a capitalism of big corporations that liked to congregate with the others.

The next day, Sym went to locate them some accommodation, while Tima caught a bus to Silicon Docks.

At Izon HQ, she took a deep breath and walked up to the receptionist. It was just as she expected – a young company growing with all the chaos and exuberance of a well-fed toddler. You could almost smell its promise in the air, see it in the smiles of its multicultural workforce, hear it in the laughter in the funky office canteen. 

 

As an AI programmer, Tima’s salary was better than decent. It was almost indecent. HR showed her her first month’s net pay. It would be more than what she had earnt in a whole year as a waitress in Vienna.

Tima closed her eyes in bliss as she sat down to online induction training. Everything she had studied for years at her technical college would finally be harnessed. She had been employed by one of the coolest new companies in the world, her loving boyfriend by her side, in a charming city ready to be explored. What could possibly go wrong?

I’ll tell you what will go wrong. Wronger than an orangutang doing a rigaudon. Jahaziel Vestiger. Him we shall call ‘Jase.’ The mysterious luminary behind Izon. The classic college dropout genius, who used daddy’s dollars to create the world’s fastest growing AI company almost out of nothing 3 years ago. He is the second main character in our story. Keep your eyes on him.

On the same day that Tima started working for him in Dublin, Jase was cackling madly at his great curved monitor in his office in San Francisco.

“I’ve cracked it! I’ve done it! Jase, you allfucking genius! Arrowing ROI, earnings per share, EBITDA. Ahahaha!”

Even the rest of the C-suite were alarmed by this. They were used to their boss programming things himself and swearing piratically or giggling gleefully depending on whether the code was weaving like a tapestry or twisting into warpy knots. But this time, Jase seemed positively unhinged. “Like an evil genius,” Chief Tech Officer Adam whispered to Chief Finance Officer Lin. And none of them knew what he was working on. The project, whatever it was, sat on a powerful but offline desktop he kept locked in his office. “He can’t go mad like this a day before our Nasdaq listing,” Lin shot back to Adam.

But neither of them dared to intervene. So prominent dominant was Jase in the company he had built in no time.

About the Author
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Peter Heavenheld is a neo-classical playwright and poet. A childhood in Australia, Fiji, Hungary and Japan made him desirous early on to understand the cultures and stories of the world - especially through the medium of theatre. Since then, his plays have been produced all over the world. His most recent tragedy, Cleo's Stratos, received rave reviews durings its season at the Cracked Actors Theatre in Melbourne, Australia, in November 2023. A Greek-Australian migrant family's journey through lockdowns, it was cleverly intertwined with the Greek myth of the sun-god, Helios. Peter's tragicomedy, Life, Rehearsed, enjoyed sell-out performances during a production by the MIDAS Theatre, Moscow's main English-speaking theatre. British actor Jonathan Salway starred as an actor living a bigamous double life, until his lies unravel - and he finds redemption. True Words from False Teeth, a Monty Pythonesque sketch revue, ran successfully at the University of Western Australia in Perth. He has also had public reading performances of numerous other plays, such as Saga Australis - The Macquariad (a historical drama about Australia's most influential colonial-era governor) and Freedom Born from Torture's Fires (a harrowing true story of Soviet spy chief and mass murderer, Lavrentiy Beria). Peter's poem Concerto for Auctioneer’s Mallet was a June Shenfield Poetry Award prize winner in Canberra, Australia, in 2021. Peter published a collection of his verse tragedies, Altar of the Muses, in 2010. Peter lives in Tokyo, Japan. When not writing, he enjoys driving his classic Aston Martin, experiencing Tokyo's galleries and museums, and listening to Baroque music. Indeed, he claims he can only write when inspired by the music of Antonio Vivaldi. The Brain that Breeds all Villainy is his first published novel. 

 

Speculative Fiction: The Brain that Breeds all Villainy by Peter Heavenheld

A striking tale of the AI age, a truly 21st century masterpiece of speculative fiction. 

The Brain that Breeds all Villainy

by Peter Heavenheld
December 5, 2025
Genre: Speculative Fiction 
IZON is a company poised for world domination. Its AI and robots can replace any human worker, any government. Just two things stand in the way of its CEO. A female programmer out to avenge his greed. And the People’s Republic of China.

Tima Chelovekova lands her dream job with IZON, the hottest AI and robotics startup in Silicon Valley. But IZON CEO Jase Vestiger doesn't just want to get fabulously rich. He wants Tima’s invention to take over rival tech companies, replace humans with IZON services, corner governments - and run the world. This puts them on a collision course in a whirl of mega-corporations, AI prompts and Chinese hackers. Their conflict spans from Vienna to California, from superyachts to prison cells, from the peaks of technology to the deepest ethical questions. A striking tale of the AI age, a truly 21st century masterpiece of speculative fiction. 

Amazon

About the Author 
FB-Youtube-GoodReads
Peter Heavenheld is a neo-classical playwright and poet. A childhood in Australia, Fiji, Hungary and Japan made him desirous early on to understand the cultures and stories of the world - especially through the medium of theatre. Since then, his plays have been produced all over the world. His most recent tragedy, Cleo's Stratos, received rave reviews durings its season at the Cracked Actors Theatre in Melbourne, Australia, in November 2023. A Greek-Australian migrant family's journey through lockdowns, it was cleverly intertwined with the Greek myth of the sun-god, Helios. Peter's tragicomedy, Life, Rehearsed, enjoyed sell-out performances during a production by the MIDAS Theatre, Moscow's main English-speaking theatre. British actor Jonathan Salway starred as an actor living a bigamous double life, until his lies unravel - and he finds redemption. True Words from False Teeth, a Monty Pythonesque sketch revue, ran successfully at the University of Western Australia in Perth. He has also had public reading performances of numerous other plays, such as Saga Australis - The Macquariad (a historical drama about Australia's most influential colonial-era governor) and Freedom Born from Torture's Fires (a harrowing true story of Soviet spy chief and mass murderer, Lavrentiy Beria). Peter's poem Concerto for Auctioneer’s Mallet was a June Shenfield Poetry Award prize winner in Canberra, Australia, in 2021. Peter published a collection of his verse tragedies, Altar of the Muses, in 2010. Peter lives in Tokyo, Japan. When not writing, he enjoys driving his classic Aston Martin, experiencing Tokyo's galleries and museums, and listening to Baroque music. Indeed, he claims he can only write when inspired by the music of Antonio Vivaldi. The Brain that Breeds all Villainy is his first published novel.

The Unswitchable by Yoav Blum

A heart-stopping blend of cyberpunk thriller and philosophical mystery that will leave you questioning the nature of identity itself.

The Unswitchable
by Yoav Blum (Author), Ira Moskowitz (Translator)
November 24, 2025
Genre: technothriller, crime, science fiction
What if everyone could become someone else—except you?

In a world where the Switch-Bracelet lets people instantly jump into any body, Dan Arbel is cursed with something unthinkable: he’s stuck being himself. While others hire stand-ins to do their workouts, commute in borrowed bodies, or vacation through the eyes of professional tourists, Dan remains trapped in his own skin—the only person on Earth who can’t switch.

That makes him valuable. And dangerous.

Working as a black-market courier in a society where identity is fluid, Dan thought his condition was just a lonely burden. Then a dying stranger in a borrowed body whispers impossible words—tying Dan to a secret buried deep in his past. Before he can process the revelation, assassins with ever-changing faces descend, hunting for something he carries without knowing.

In a world where anyone can be anyone, how do you know who to trust?

Dan’s unchanging identity, once his greatest curse, becomes the one constant in a deadly maze of deception. To survive, he must rely on the only thing no one else can claim anymore: his own irreplaceable self.

A heart-stopping blend of cyberpunk thriller and philosophical mystery that will leave you questioning the nature of identity itself.

Amazon

About the Author:
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Yoav Blum is an author known for blending high-concept speculative ideas with gripping mystery, thriller, and philosophical depth. His work explores extraordinary situations—time travel, body switching, orchestrated coincidences—while grounding them in questions of identity, perception, fate, and free will. Beneath each thriller or puzzle lies a reflection on what it means to be human. His tone is introspective, suspenseful, and often playfully self-aware.

Excerpt: Reclamation (Dark Horse Series, #1) by Kristen Zimmer + giveaway

 

Reclamation (Dark Horse Series, #1)
by Kristen Zimmer
Publication date: December 9th 2025
Genres: Adult, Dystopian, New Adult, Science Fiction
Kristen Zimmer, author of The Gravity Between Us, When Sparks Fly, and Forbidden Girl takes readers on an adrenaline-fueled dystopian journey into the future where a scrappy band of rebels rise up to bring down an unequal and unrelenting government.

This is your future.

The United States of America has been gone for over a century.

In its place, The Unified American Territories—a nation divided, the impoverished and the wealthy are separated by a looming steel wall. In the Northern Territories—The Vault, as it is known by its inhabitants—the government rules with an iron fist: All citizens are tested for intelligence and aptitude, thrust into compulsory higher education and saddled with insurmountable debt. All student loans are granted and controlled by a branch of the regime called The Federal Bureau of Education. Failure to repay their debt consigns borrowers to the Knowledge Reclamation Process, a mysterious government-sanctioned brainwashing program that strips them of their education with dire mental and physical side effects.

Fletcher Daniels is a recent college graduate struggling to stay ahead of her arrears. After a visit from Reclamation Agents, she knows her life is about to change for the worse. Enter Youth Opposed to Reclamation, a scrappy band of rebels who try in their own small way to bring some relief to the people of The Vault by smuggling as many potential Reclaimees to safety as possible. When Fletcher meets and falls for fellow female YOR member, Sparrow, her world is twisted away from the one she once knew even more radically. The group offers Fletcher a chance to escape her fate, but through them, she sees the promise of bringing real change to The Vault. History has taught her that even the smallest rebellions can trigger revolutions. It’s time for history to repeat itself.

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EXCERPT:
FLETCHER HAD BEEN ENJOYING the luxury of her sole day off work, reading The Scarlet Letter. Happily. Quietly. Until some unknowable thing, a strange tug in her chest, made her look up. She shut down her antiquated digireader with a tap of the cracked screen and watched from her bedroom window as a sleek, silver sedan pulled to a stop at the curb outside of her dilapidated row house. Agents.

She couldn’t see them through the car’s blacked-out windows, but it was obvious. The simple fact that the vehicle had the shine of something new was enough to give the Agents away. Being from The Vault, or The Northern Territories, as Fletcher’s part of the country was known officially, she rarely saw any cars on the road at all; cars in such impeccable condition were all but complete anomalies. Why do they even bother plastering the Department of Reclamation’s seal on the doors? She wondered.

That hideous seal. Words failed to capture how much Fletcher both loathed and feared it. The great red and black per bend crest, showcasing a scroll of parchment in one half and a tasseled mortarboard in the other, had always been reviled by citizens of The Vault. It meant that someone hadn’t paid their dues, and The Department of Reclamation had come to collect.

The Department of Reclamation employed the Agents who did the strong-arming for The Federal Bureau of Education. While the BOE housed the bookkeepers, The Department of Reclamation’s Agents handled the unseemlier work… and their work was generally quite unseemly. The Governing Council of The Unified American Territories had long ago authorized Reclamation Agents to use brute force “in the event of necessity.” More often than not, visits from Agents did end in violence—if not on their first visit, when a potential Reclaimee received their Notification of Violation, then most definitely on their second visit, when the Agents returned to take the Reclaimee into custody. Reclaimees seldom initiated said violence, of course; Fletcher had heard that most cried or begged for just a few more moments with their loved ones. They would be flogged once or twice and give up or otherwise be knocked out with narcotics. Occasionally, a Reclaimee would try to escape. Those individuals had it much worse. Fletcher closed her eyes and, although it pained her to do it, allowed herself to envision the brutality Agents inflicted upon braver people: Arms twisted so violently that shoulders snapped out their sockets, fingers bent backward with such force that the metacarpals fractured, skulls cracked against living room floors. She shuddered as if her skin had been kissed by an icy wind.

Reclamation Agents were no strangers to The Vault, considering it was the part of the country reserved for the impoverished, the destitute and the disillusioned—those who needed “excessive assistance” from the Government. Those like Fletcher. She would need at least ten more fingers to be able to count the number of times she had seen Agents in her neighborhood in the last week alone. Watching these two men march toward her home, she couldn’t help but wonder if they had come for her this time.

“Fletcher,” her father’s voice boomed through the dimness of her room. “Can you come out here, please?”

“I’ll be right there.”

She peered into the tarnished mirror atop her bedside table. Using the remnants of daylight to aid her vision, she pulled her long blonde hair up into a ponytail. “Alright,” she sighed to herself, her sharp jawline clenching and her hazel eyes burning with angst. “If they are here for you, you’ll find out soon enough.”

About the Author:

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Kristen Zimmer is the author of The Gravity Between Us, which spent 12 weeks as the number one best-seller in both the Lesbian Fiction and Lesbian Romance genres on Amazon. It was listed as one of USA Today’s “10 Best books to read for Pride 2018” and in December 2021 was named one of Reader's Digest '50 Best Romance Novels of All Time'

That same year, her follow-up novel, When Sparks Fly, debuted as the best-seller in Lesbian Fiction and Lesbian romance, and clung to the spot for four weeks.

Her latest novel, Forbidden Girl, a dark mafia sapphic romance, is available now.

Kristen lives in Salem, Massachusetts— yes, where the witches were.

GIVEAWAY!

Blitz-wide giveaway (INT)
Prize: Signed copy of Reclamation

  Reclamation Blitz

Science Fiction: Cloud Hands: The Disclosure Files - Book One by Nancy J. Nelson + excerpt

I’ve actually seen UFOs!

Because I write science fiction, people often ask whether I believe in UFOs—and whether I’ve ever seen one. The answer to both is yes!

A few months ago, I paid $90 to attend a UFO-spotting event in Sedona, Arizona. We gathered in a park at the edge of town—ideal for sky-watching since Sedona is a “dark skies” community and the stars shine amazingly clear in the high desert. The organizer, Melinda Leslie, handed out military-grade night-vision goggles, told us where to focus—behind a mountain deep in Coconino National Park—and briefed us on what to expect.

The goggles intensified any light but didn’t provide clear outlines. With the naked eye, we could see nothing. Through the goggles, we saw shifting blobs of light—it was like looking at a drop of water through a microscope and seeing the swarming of amoeba.

Melinda explained how to identify what we were seeing by the strobe patterns: commercial planes flash differently from military ones. (There were plenty of military aircraft that night, but no commercial ones.) The lights weren’t satellites or drones, and she told us to watch for the steady, unblinking ones that suddenly “powered up,” glowing brighter for 15–30 seconds before dimming again, sometimes shifting to amber, red, green, or blue. Sometimes their movements made it look like whoever was flying them had figured out anti-gravity.

Sedona also has other strange stories. It’s a hiker’s paradise, but some hikers report being stopped by armed men in fatigues on certain trails—only for the same path to be clear the next day. Lockheed Martin recently bought a local cement plant and installed unusually tight security, and Blackhawk helicopters are often seen overhead.

Melinda believes all this points to a DUMB—a Deep Underground Military Base—in the area. She admits it’s hard to know whether these craft are extraterrestrial or advanced military technology, but at least three people have claimed to have worked there and claimed that humans and aliens operate side by side.

Personally, I hope that’s true. It would mean we’re not alone—and that the universe is full of other civilizations waiting to be discovered. But if it’s only the military, that means anti-gravity tech exists and is being kept from the rest of us.

Either way, it gave me great material. I even worked a secret underground base into my third book—so I’m pretty sure the $90 I paid is tax-deductible.

Cloud Hands: The Disclosure Files - Book One 
by Nancy Nelson
A grieving diplomat. Three teenagers. A secret worth killing for.

When Vicki Heywood accepts a quiet summer job watching over the teenage children of her former professor, she expects a peaceful reset. Instead, she finds herself in the middle of a deadly conspiracy involving covert alien technology and a powerful corporate conglomerate determined to control it at any cost.

The Partnership is not a rumor. It’s real, ruthless, and above the law.

And the aliens aren’t happy about it.

Suddenly on the run, Vicki must rely on her training, her instincts, and the fragile trust forming between her and the young people depending on her. As they uncover what the Partnership is really hiding, they realize they’re facing something far beyond politics or espionage—something that could reshape global power itself.

And the Partnership will stop at nothing to silence them.

Cloud Hands launches The Disclosure Files™, blending science fiction, geopolitics, and spiritual evolution. The series rips open the veil on power, control, and the weaponization of truth. As governments fracture and old powers cling to secrecy, it’s the youth who turn rebellion into revelation—hacking the system, rewriting the code, and igniting a movement that spans worlds.

The next frontier isn’t space—it’s us.

For fans of the X-Files and author Amie Kaufman.

Ages: 14+

Amazon

 

Prologue
I used to think this story was about me. After all, isn’t everyone the

star of their own life? It was only later that I realized we are all just

bit players in some ever-repeating, cosmic pattern—a fractal pattern

made up of love, hardship, desperation, joy, sorrow, and hope.

Let’s never forget about hope.

—Victoria Heywood

Excerpt from address to the UN

There was a little cluster of forget-me-nots arranged in a vase on the table in front of Vicki. They had been Beth's favorite flowers. Small and vibrant, so cute they made you smile. Just like Beth herself.

The waitress put a cup of coffee and a pastry before her, and the same in front of the man seated across the table. Kurt Martinsson—she had called him Professor Martinsson when he taught her senior business seminar a decade earlier—added some sugar to his cup before he took a sip. Well-built, dark hair with a touch of gray at his temples. He had aged well. His bespoke sports jacket, manicured nails, and expensive haircut suggested he was also doing well.

“It was kind of you to look me up, Professor Martinsson, especially after all this time. To be honest, I haven’t been getting out much.” She hadn’t been getting out at all. What was the point? Their parents had died in a car accident several years back, and now Beth was gone too. Per her request, there had been a closed casket; the chemo had ravaged her body and taken all her hair. There was no amount of makeup, no wig good enough, that could have fixed that.

“I heard about your sister, Vicki; I’m so sorry. I understand you left your position at the Department of State to look after her.”

Beth had argued against that. “I’m young and strong; I’ll be able to beat this—there’s no reason for you to leave the job you worked so hard to get. Mom and Dad were so proud that you became a diplomat—they wouldn’t have wanted you to give that up.” She had been wrong about being able to beat the cancer, but right that their parents had been proud. They would have been just as proud to see their youngest open up her own flower shop in a prime location in downtown Los Angeles.

“I took a year’s leave of absence when it became clear my sister’s illness was terminal. I have another four months before I either return to work or submit my official resignation.”

“So, you haven’t decided what you'll do?” Professor Martinsson cocked his head to one side and looked at her. He had finished his croissant. She hadn’t even started on hers.

“No, I haven’t. Every time I start thinking about it...” She looked down at her coffee cup. It was too hard to think. Too hard to think about the future or anything else. She had officially shut down Beth’s flower shop the week after her sister died, although it hadn’t been in operation for a couple of months before that. At Beth’s urging, her two part-time employees had both found other jobs, and the shop sat dark and shuttered. She supposed she should do something—make arrangements to sell the building or rent it out —but she just didn’t have the bandwidth.

“I have an idea that might interest you. I need to do a lot of traveling over the next few months. My two children are more than old enough to stay home by themselves—Brad is sixteen and Jessica is twenty-two—especially since there’s household staff. But I’d feel better if someone was around to keep tabs on them specifically.”

He paused, then casually asked, “You do still have a Top-Secret Clearance, don’t you?”

Vicki looked up from her coffee and stared.

.

About the Author:
website
Nancy Nelson retired after 25 years as a U.S. diplomat, during which she served in Venezuela, Nicaragua, Estonia, Canada, and Washington, D.C. She spent a few more years launching her kids and traveling the world. She now lives in California.

Dystopian SciFi: Rhythm Sword Warriors by Lara J Nance + excerpt

Lara J. Nance’s Rhythm Sword Warriors plunges readers into a breathtaking mix of science fiction, suspense, and soul—where rhythm is power, and love may be humanity’s last defense.

Nance’s narrative pulses with intensity, weaving themes of redemption, leadership, and the healing force of music through a world on the brink of annihilation.

Rhythm Sword Warriors
by Lara J Nance
October 3, 2025
She trained to forget, now she fights for Earth.

For twenty years, Calena has lived underground, haunted by the memory of her mother's death at the hands of invading aliens. Her only escape was Rhythm Sword, a virtual reality game where glowing sabers slice through endless waves of cubes and bombs.

Now, she must accept love to rise from the shadowy depths of her depression and lead a ragtag army of gamers-turned-soldiers to face the monsters that threaten humanity's very existence The final battle has begun, and every beat could be her last. 

Amazon-Goodreads

“We have a very unique situation that we want to speak to you about. I’ll just jump right in. Dr. Harding has discovered an element that will destroy a Metavalent.” The general gestured to Blake.

Calena sucked in a breath of surprise. “The hell? I thought that was impossible.”

Blake nodded. “We’ve been researching options ever since the invasion, and this is the first breakthrough we’ve had. Given the structure of the aliens and the way they are able to move, finding a way to attack them has been very difficult.”

“What’s that got to do with us?” Kelvin asked, an edge to his tone. This was his domain, and he appeared increasingly angry with the interruption from outsiders.

A few gamers emerged from rooms and glanced at the newcomers uncertainly, as if unsure whether they meant trouble. They edged to the periphery of the room, staring while hugging backpacks to their chests.

Carla noticed them and held up a hand. “We’re looking for your help, guys. Okay? We’re not here to cause trouble.”

Kelvin’s shoulders relaxed a notch, but his expression remained wary. “So, like I said, what’s this got to do with us and the game?”

“If we’re right,” Blake said. “The game may be the secret to defeating the Metavalents. That’s why we’re here.”

Calena exchanged a shocked glance with Katsu, while Kelvin and the Jammers shifted uncomfortably and frowned in confusion.

“We’ve seen three of them around here in the past two weeks, and a person from one of our collectives was killed,” Calena said. “We think they’re looking to expand into this area, and that would destroy us. Can you help with that?”

Pablo held up a hand. “Dudes, this is bigger than just this area. Listen up.”

The cute guy, Blake, started talking about some shit called muon particles and how they could slice through almost anything like butter, but were really fragile in a lot of other ways, so not easy to use in a bomb or anything like that. Then the general explained how they think they can manufacture a handheld device that would generate the muon thingies and project them within some sort of shield, and that would be like a sword that would slice through the Globs…you guessed it…like butter.

Her head was spinning with this information all while she tried to figure out how that related to the game. However, as they went on and on, the vision of something like a sword slicing through Globs created a dull, itchy sense of impending doom within her. Before they had time to finish talking about needed response times, the aliens’ abilities, and actually came to a conclusion, she had it.

The gamers. The game. It all fit. They needed the gamers to fight the Globs. The gamers had years of training in the exact skills needed to use the muon swords with response times that rivaled the Glob ability to pop in and out of existence or attack with their expandable extensions. It all made sense, and fury erupted inside her.

“I get it,” she interrupted before the general finished. He slowly closed his lips without continuing.

“What?” Blake asked, brow furrowed.

Damn, he was actually really handsome. It was distracting.

“You need gamers to kill the Globs.” She planted her hands on her hips, trying not to look at Blake. “You want to use us.”

Blake and Carla shared surprised looks.

Pablo grinned. “That’s right. You in?”

“What are you talking about?” Katsu punched her shoulder.

“They need us to fight the Globs because we already know how to use the sword weapons better than anyone else.” She turned to Blake finally. “Right?”

He slowly nodded.

“That’s exactly right.” The general raised his chin. “We have a crisis, and we don’t have time to train people to the level to which you guys have already developed. And the, uh, Jammers can help by programming simulations just like the game but with MVs instead of cubes to hone your skills.”

“Ohhhh.” Katsu rocked back on his heels, mouth open, finally making the connection. “I get it. That’s…that’s…um, completely cool. I think…”

“See,” Pablo said, eyes gleaming and fists clenched. “We can save the world. We can fight back and get rid of these bastards once and for all. We’ll be heroes.”

Cal shot him a glare. What did he know? He lived with his father in an ultra-secure and amenity-rich army facility because of the general’s position. He didn’t know about the hardships people like she and Katsu faced out in the real world, scavenging for food and dodging Globs for every single necessity of life.

The general patted his son on the back, beaming. “I hope you all can see how critical this is. We need help from as many gamers as possible. We need to set up training programs and start training as soon as our engineering teams can manufacture the hardware.”

“Hold on,” Calena said. “We have an immediate problem here in this town, with Globs appearing again, and you want us to take off and leave people who depend on us for some idea that might not even work?”

Blake frowned, lips parted to say something, but nothing came out.

“Look,” the general said, sternly. “This is important…”

“So is saving the people I live with. We already lost one to the Globs yesterday. This is typical government bullshit.” She jabbed a finger at him. “I have people to protect right here in this town, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“We can’t force you to help, but I have to tell you this is the best chance we have of stopping these invaders. Yes, this is experimental, but the science is solid, and I think we can make it work,” Blake said.

She crossed her arms over her chest and avoided his gaze. What the hell? She couldn’t leave Pavilion, Miss Mina, and the others. This was crazy.

Kelvin pulled off the headphones he’d hung around his neck. “We’ll help in any way we can, but we’d need a lot of supplies.”

Blake walked over and shook Kelvin’s hand. “Thank you. That’s amazing. Yes, of course, you’ll have anything you need. The president has made this a top priority.”

“The president?” one of the other Jammer’s named Bruce asked, eyes wide.

“Yes, the president,” Blake said. “This is about saving the country. Actually, it’s about saving the world. We also think the Metavalents may be expanding, and that’s why this is so critical.”

Calena studied him as he spoke. His blond hair hung past his collar, a little too long for him to be much older than thirty. However, he was some sort of PhD and apparently extremely smart to have come up with this solution. She had to admit he was pretty hot, too. Well, maybe a little geeky and pasty white, but it looked like he worked out, and he had nice eyes…soft brown and melty. She shook off that thought, and forced away her stare. She’d given up hope on relationships years ago. It didn’t matter, she had other things to worry about than hot guys. Like protecting Pavilion, not traipsing off on some quest with an unproven weapon.

“I’ll go,” Katsu said with an apologetic look in her direction.

“What? No…” She grabbed his shoulders. A thrill of fear rushed through her. She couldn’t lose him.

“We have to do something, Cal. Things are getting worse and just setting up patrols is not going to make the problem go away. I want to help.” He wore his stubborn expression she knew so well. When he dug his feet in there was no moving him.

“Thank you,” Blake said to him. “We need a lot more help, too.”

“The first thing is to get the word out to other gamers and find out how many of them would be willing to train for combat,” the general said.

Kelvin tapped his computer screen. “We were getting ready to send out invitations all over the world for a virtual tournament. We can send out this message instead.”

“You can send out international messages?” The general’s gray brows went up.

“Yes, we have a shortwave channel all the gamers use. It’s not consistent and takes a while to make the rounds, but eventually we can reach them. We have an antenna on the roof of this building. But how would they be able to travel here for training with the Globs roaming everywhere again?””

“We may be able to set up training in other countries as long as you can share the programming and we can send details on manufacturing the handheld units,” the general replied. “That way we can coordinate an attack from every corner of the globe when we’re ready.”

“All right. You write up what you want me to say, and I’ll send the message.”

“Do you think a few hundred people might be willing to take part?” Carla asked.

Nick let out a sharp laugh. “Hundreds? More like thousands. You have no idea how many gamers there are. Everyone will want a piece of this action if it rids us of Globs.”

Blake’s face lit up, and the general looked like a kid someone just handed the world’s biggest jar of candy.

She seized Katsu’s arm and pulled him away from the others. She had to talk some sense into him before he ran off on this cursed quest. “What are you doing? You can’t leave. This is dangerous. You could be killed.”

“I don’t care.” He pulled his arm from her grasp, his brows drawn together. “What do I have to live for? Huh? Tony doesn’t love me anymore, and chances are pretty damn good I won’t find anyone else. I don’t want to stay here just surviving with only the game for a life.”

“But people here need us,” she pleaded. She didn’t want to say she needed him, that was too cringy…but she did.

“If we can destroy the Globs, that will help everyone including our collectives. Come on, Cal, you’re the best at this game, you could make a real difference.”

She threw up her hands in frustration.

“Cal, please go with me. I need you there.”

Damn his puppy dog eyes! He did need her. Who else would look after him? Maybe it was true, and they could do something that would help everyone. That would be worth it, right? It wouldn’t be like she was abandoning Pavilion if this worked.

“Okay, okay,” she muttered. “I’ll go. But you owe me.”

He let out a happy yelp of victory, and she shook her head. This was probably a big mistake.

About the Author: 
website
Lara Nance is an award-winning author who spins unforgettable adventures in speculative fiction. A true wanderer at heart, she has lived aboard a sailboat and roamed the globe as a digital nomad, weaving her own daring experiences into the worlds she creates. Her stories invite readers to journey beyond the ordinary—where imagination meets adventure, and every page holds the promise of discovery.

Time-Travel SciFi Author: Kim Megahee - The Best Writing Advice I Ever Got! + excerpt

Every moment matters — and in Marc McKnight Time Travel Adventures by Kim Megahee, even the smallest choices can unravel the universe.

  

The Best Writing Advice I Ever Got!
My sister Laura invited me to her church one Sunday. To my surprise, the program that day was more secular than religious.

The speaker challenged us — “What are you doing with the time of your life? Are you spending your time doing things that improve your heart or mind or soul?”

This pushed me onto a path of thought I had never gone down before. How was I using the time of my life?

“WORKING” was my first response. I worked 60+ hours a week for a computer consulting firm. It was fun, fulfilling work, and I enjoyed it. But it occurred to me I had no social life and no outlet for pent-up energy.

Then I remembered my TIME LIMITS book. I’d worked on it for two years but completed only a few chapters — and I wasn’t satisfied with them.

“I should finish my book,” I said to Laura.

We talked about it as we drove home, and Laura suggested we stop at a local Starbucks for coffee. She didn’t have to ask me twice. If coffee is involved, I’m there!

We ordered in so we could chat and spend time together. We continued to talk about the book. In the conversation, I mentioned that I rarely have time to work on it.

Someone touched me on the shoulder. I turned, and next to me sat a man with glasses and a cane.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I’m an author, and if you aren’t writing every day, then you’re kidding yourself.”

The stranger was Shane Etter, a successful horror-suspense writer.

That night, his words surfaced repeatedly in my mind. I knew they were true words, and I didn’t have the time to write.

Another piece of advice came to mind. “If you think you can or you think you can’t, you’re right.”

Okay, I thought … If I decided to find the time, how would I proceed?

I looked for time, and presto! — I found it. I could get up in the morning thirty minutes earlier. I could write on airplanes and at the airport. I could write in my hotel room, at the bar, or at a restaurant.

It worked! Eight weeks later, I had a final draft of TIME LIMITS, ready for editing.

The best writing advice I ever got — write at least a little every day.

Captain Marc McKnight thought he understood time. A soldier turned investigator, he leads a specialized team tasked with preserving the timeline — until their work exposes the fragile boundaries between fate and chaos. Time Limits introduces McKnight’s fateful mistake, a mission gone wrong that redefines who he is. The Time Twisters transforms politics into temporal warfare, where truth itself can be edited. Time Revolution thrusts McKnight into a world decades ahead, where the ideals he once defended have twisted into something unrecognizable. And in Time Plague, the fight becomes personal, as McKnight faces a dangerous operative from the future and the devastating possibility that love — like time — can destroy as much as it saves. With relentless pacing and emotional depth, Megahee’s series captures the human side of science fiction: courage, guilt, and the fragile hope that something broken can still be mended.

Amazon-Goodreads 

An Excerpt from Chapter 2 of TIME LIMITS
by Kim Megahee
A few minutes later, they were on a path in a pine forest. A light breeze eased the heat of the Georgia sun and the pines whispered to them as they walked further into the woods.

McKnight glanced back in the direction they had come, then at the trail ahead. There was no one in sight. He pulled a form and a pen from his pocket and handed them to Tyler.

“First, the paperwork, Lieutenant. What I’m about to tell you is top secret and cannot be shared with unauthorized personnel, regardless of whether you accept the assignment. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Sign the paper.”

Tyler signed and handed it back.

“Very good. Lieutenant, they've asked me to assemble a team to plan and execute missions using a new technology. The size of the team is fewer than ten, including two civilian scientists. I’d like you to be my exec for operations. I need a mission planner with leadership ability, and you’re it. The rest of the team’s still under construction, except for one scientist. We’ll be reporting to General Drake with oversight from Senator Lodge.”

“Working for the Dragon would be good. Oversight from Lodge? That’s not so good. He’s my Senator, but I didn’t vote for him. He’s a damned crocodile. I don’t trust him.”

“Lodge is the General’s problem. We’re the grunts. Our job is to execute.”

“So, what’ll we be doing?”

“The team is being called the HERO Project.”

Tyler rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I know. Stay with me, Lieutenant. HERO stands for Historical Event Research Organization. In a nutshell, we’re going to be researching and validating historical events. Here, let’s take a load off.”

They sat on a wood bench alongside the running trail. McKnight looked across the path at a dogwood in full bloom and a bank of azaleas in unrestrained spring glory. Bumblebees hummed in and around the flowers.

“If you’re trying to sell me on how exciting the project will be, you’re failing miserably. Sounds like we’d be spending the next few years in the library and on the net, writing papers. Doesn’t sound like fun to me. Is there something I’m missing here?”

A thin smile formed on McKnight’s face. “Well, Lieutenant, I daresay we’ll be doing paperwork. I didn’t mention libraries or the net.”

Tyler scrunched up his face. “Then how? No library, no net. Where’s that leave us? Interviewing elderly witnesses?”

McKnight shook his head, waiting for Tyler to make the leap. Tyler sat on the bench, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together and his head down. After a moment, he looked at McKnight.

“You can’t be suggesting what I’m thinking.”

He’s getting there. “And what is that, Lieutenant?”

“Nope. I’m not going to say it. I must be missing something.” He paused. “All right. How do we witness an event in the past? We don’t have the technology to…. Wait, you mentioned a new technology, didn’t you?”

“I did.” McKnight allowed himself a little smile. One last hint. “You took physics at the Point, right?”

“What? Of course.”

“Um-hmm.”

Tyler stared at him. His eyes narrowed and darted around. He resumed the position with his elbows on his knees and his eyes on the ground.

“Who’s the scientist?” he said without looking up.

“Robert Astalos. He does research at MIT–”

“I'm familiar with him. I read a white paper he and his family wrote last year about interstellar propulsion. Son and grandson, I believe, all with the same name. Let’s see… Einstein related speeds close to the speed of light with time slowing down. Nobody has proved that wrong. And gravity is not a force, but a distortion of time-space. Everitt validated that.” Tyler sat up straight and looked McKnight in the eye. “Astalos invented time travel?”

Bingo. “Well, I’ll let him share the specifics with you, but that’s the bottom line. Interested, Lieutenant?”

“Are you kidding? Who wouldn’t be? Anything else you want to tell me? Do we have aliens in Area 51?”

McKnight laughed. “Not that I know of. Want the rest of the details, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir. You bet I do.”

“I thought you might. Here’s the short form. We’ll operate out of the DC area. Only a few people know about this. The charter for the HERO Team is strictly research. We’re forbidden to do anything that might affect history. There’s a mandatory risk/benefit analysis and research period required before traveling to make sure we cover the bases. No options, no exceptions, unless the President issues an Executive Order to bypass the process.

“The other civilian on the team will be another planner, your civilian counterpart. He or she hasn’t been picked yet. The General’s reserved the right to pick that person. You and I get no say,” McKnight said, holding up his hand to cut off any objection. “We need a shitload of testing before we can do any work. We don’t know enough about the technology yet. Questions?”

“Ha! Only a few hundred. This is supposed to be secret? Nobody outside the organization knows about it?”

“Well, for as long as that lasts. Congress is involved, right?”

“Yeah. I’m surprised the word isn't out already.”

McKnight shrugged. “The day is young. But yes, until we hear otherwise from the General, the project doesn’t exist and we’re working on special projects for Colonel Stewart.”

“Okay. Why do we need the civilian planner?” Tyler asked.

“The official word is to balance the team. I suspect it’s because Congress doesn’t trust the military. I assume it’ll be an egghead guy with serious credentials and no government ties. Drake wants someone with no agenda.”

“Got it. Do you have anyone else in mind for the team?”

“I do,” McKnight said. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to Tyler. “What do you think?”

“Lieutenant Mitch Wheeler. From North Georgia College, right? Good pick. Has a degree in physics if I remember correctly.”

“Yep. That one was easy. And his buddy Hatcher, too.”

“Yes, sir. Should be a good team.” Tyler handed the list back.

“Glad you approve.” McKnight checked the time on his phone. “I need to go catch a plane, Lieutenant. Transition your work ASAP and report to me in DC Monday week. Questions?”

“Yes, sir, but they can wait until next week.”

“Very good. I have two more instructions for you.” He stood and Tyler followed.

“What’s that, sir?”

McKnight smiled at his new executive officer. “Number one, don’t bring any preconceptions about time travel with you. Doctor Astalos says most of what the science fiction writers came up with was wrong.”

“And number two?”

“The other two Robert Astalos’s? The men that coauthored that paper?”

“Yes?”

“They aren’t his son and grandson. They’re all him. They call themselves Robert, Rob and Robby, but they’re all the same guy.”

About the Author:
website
 Kim Megahee’s storytelling blends the precision of science with the poetry of second chances. A teacher turned technologist turned author, he writes from experience — the lessons learned in classrooms, boardrooms, and quiet hours of reflection. His first publication, “The Camping Parachute,” in SouthernReader.com, marked the beginning of a journey that would merge intellect and imagination. From his home in Gainesville, Georgia, where he lives with his wife, Martha, and their spirited poodle, Leo, Kim continues to explore how humanity and technology intersect in unexpected ways. You can find him on his website, Instagram, and Facebook. 

Excerpt: Doomsday Planet by William Burke

The world’s richest man just made a killer deal with an alien species; he sold them the human race! Now four warriors from Earth’s past must battle to save its future on… THE DOOMSDAY PLANET.

 

Doomsday Planet
by William Burke
July 12, 2025
Sci-Fi / Action - Adventure
Publisher: Severed Press
The world’s richest man just made a killer deal with an alien species; he’s sold them the human race!

Astronaut Marcus Reno dies in a lunar accident, only to be resurrected by a race of benevolent time travelers to command a regiment of warriors plucked from Earth’s past. Their mission: save humanity from an invasion by the Zagan—tyrannical aliens working in cahoots with Earth’s richest man, who’s eager to leap from oligarch to god.

With doomsday imminent, Reno leaps into battle with only a band of Viking berserkers, and a tenacious WW2 Soviet aviatrix at his side. Together they must assault a Zagan base hidden on a prehistoric, dinosaur-infested planet.

Between the Zagans’ guns and the dinosaurs’ jaws, their chances are slim . . . but is it still a suicide mission when, technically, they’re already dead?

“Doomsday Planet is part military thriller, part time-travel epic, and all-out action. Melds gallows humor, speculative madness, and cinematic pacing into a genre fusing space adventure. Beneath the chaos is a meditation on sacrifice, and the costs of playing god.” The Prairies Book Review

Amazon

 

Excerpt
Chapter One
January 10th, 2036
The Moon
Astronaut Marcus Reno maneuvered the cargo shuttle Brier Creek into low lunar orbit, twenty kilometers above the scarred palette of grays and blacks Buzz Aldrin once described as “magnificent desolation.”

Reno vividly recalled his time on the lunar surface, where the daytime temperature hit two hundred degrees while the nights were colder than the Antarctic. The surface was constantly bombarded by cancerous solar radiation along with micrometeorites raining down at nine hundred miles an hour. Even the lunar dust was jagged enough to slash human lungs to ribbons. The moon was a vindictive mistress, and that’s why Reno loved it.

“Did you miss me, darling? I’m back.”

Two seconds later, a voice came over the radio. “Brier Creek, this is CAPCOM; we didn’t copy your last transmission. Please repeat.”

Reno realized his radio had been keyed and said, “CAPCOM, this is Brier Creek. I said, Passing Gateway Station in preparation for landing at Athena Mining Base. Telemetry is good, all systems green.”

After the two-second Earth-to-moon radio delay, CAPCOM came back with, “Copy. That’s what we thought you said … darling.”

Reno chuckled at the ribbing, but his smile faded as the flashing red beacon of NASA’s orbiting Gateway Station grew closer. Seeing Gateway’s sweeping dragonfly-winged solar array always stirred up unwelcome memories of his time commanding the International Space Station.

He muttered, “Quit living in the past. You’ve got a job to do.”

Being a NASA project, Gateway Station was staffed by eight mission specialists, a far cry from Reno’s lonely vigil as a corporate astronaut for Visser Aerospace. He’d spent the past nine months alone aboard the Brier Creek, shuttling equipment from Earth-orbiting cargo vessels to the lunar mining installation Athena Station. Upon landing, his cargo would be swapped out for canisters of mined Helium 3, which he’d deliver back to Earth’s orbit before doing another run. Today marked his thirtieth round trip in nine months.

But months of splendid isolation piloting a spacecraft made of glorified tin foil suited Reno’s nature. Some would have called him a misanthrope, but he preferred to think of himself as an eccentric recluse, like Howard Hughes … or the Unabomber.

The radio beeped to life. “Brier Creek, this is CAPCOM; sorry to add to your to-do list, but on your way back to Earth, corporate needs you to deorbit a dead weather satellite so it’ll burn up over the Pacific.”

Reno groaned at this addition to his ever-expanding mission duties. Most were outside his job description and dangerous to boot. “Copy that, CAPCOM. Hugo Visser sure knows how to squeeze his money’s worth out of an astronaut.”

Reno’s boss, Hugo Visser, was the world’s wealthiest entrepreneur and the godfather of renewable energy and space travel. He aimed to send humanity to the stars while working his astronauts to the bone.

CAPCOM said, “Reno, it’s not all bad news. We wanted to be the first to congratulate you on just breaking the world’s record for cumulative solo time in space.”

Reno replied, “I thought that cosmonaut, what’s his name, Oleg Beroz … something, held that record.”

“You mean Oleg Berezovoy? He retired two years back then died a couple of months ago.”

“Oh. Well, thanks for letting me know. Couldn’t have done it without you guys.”

He shut off his mic and took a long, deep breath. At age sixty-three, Marcus Reno, or just Reno to those he tolerated, didn’t need more reminders of his mortality. He was either one of space exploration’s pioneers or an outdated relic, depending on whom you asked. But even his critics couldn’t deny he was a steady hand who’d done it all. Most of it twice. But despite being one of only fifty astronauts to walk on the moon and holding plenty of other records, his name had become synonymous with the International Space Station incident.

CAPCOM radioed, “Brier Creek, switch over to private comm channel.”

The private channel was reserved for astronauts to communicate with wives and loved ones. It took Reno a moment to remember what channel it was, which spoke volumes about his personal life. He switched over.

The comlink beeped and came to life. “Reno, this is Dr. Majors, company flight surgeon.”

Reno groaned. During his time in the military, NASA, and now in the private sector he’d never met a flight surgeon with good news.

“What’s up, Doc?”

“I just wanted to let you know your medical tests came back fine. Actually, it’s better than fine. There’s been zero loss of bone density and your spinal fluids are circulating perfectly despite extended zero-G. In fact, your muscle and bone density have improved across the board. It’s like night and day compared to your last medical workup.”

A series of X-rays and scans flashed across Reno’s viewing screen.

Cumulative bone density loss had forced Reno’s retirement from NASA, only to have Hugo Visser snap him up with promises of commanding Athena Station … at least until Reno vocally objected to his prioritizing cost-cutting over crew safety. His big mouth had exiled him to piloting the lunar shuttle Brier Creek.

The doctor said, “Thanks to nanorobotics, we’ve conquered zero gravity-related physical decay. We’re all really excited.”

Images of nanorobotics, or nanobots, appeared onscreen. The insect-like creatures reminded Reno of the ticks he’d gotten while serving in Afghanistan. Hundreds of these microscopic automations were coursing through his bloodstream, repairing the physical decay that came with extended zero gravity. Reno had been the first human guinea pig, a logical choice given that prolonged zero-G exposure had left him with the bone density of a tortilla chip.

Reno said, “Fantastic. Another technological wonder for Hugo Visser to slap his name on.”

The standard two-second radio delay became a pregnant pause.

Reno could picture the tension back at CAPCOM. Hugo Visser made it a habit to eavesdrop on their radio communications, especially the private channels. In addition to being paranoid, he was also a pathological narcissist with an ego as fragile as Reno’s bones. Reno was the only corporate astronaut who gleefully poked the bear.

CAPCOM finally responded. “Copy, Brier Creek. You can return to the main channel.”

Thinking about his boss inspired Reno to run a diagnostic on his cargo. Eight Visser Motors crypto trucks converted for lunar use were securely packed into the cargo bay.

Reno was about to radio a status update when a shrill alarm filled the cabin. He checked his readings, but everything was in the green. The alarm sounded again. Reno confirmed the signal wasn’t from his control panels. It was transmitting over the communications system.

A panicked voice came over the air, but it wasn’t speaking English. The message repeated without the two-second Earth-to-moon delay, meaning it originated on the moon.

Reno scrolled through the radio frequencies. The incomprehensible signal was being transmitted across all channels. “That’s gotta be Mandarin.”

The alarm sounded again, followed by a heavily accented voice speaking English. “This is People’s Republic Mining Station, Long March 8, issuing a distress call. We have a fire of unknown origin. The reactor is burning. We require assistance.”

Reno flicked through the radio frequencies, muttering, “A whole moon full of clean Helium 3 and you geniuses are running a nuclear reactor. It’s like I’m the only goddamned grown-up on the moon.”

But it didn’t matter what caused the fire or whose base it was—the ancient tradition of the Mariners’ Code mandated giving aid to anyone in distress.

“CAPCOM, this is Brier Creek, preparing for a rescue operation.”

CAPCOM came on advising, “Brier Creek, don’t respond to the distress call; Mr. Visser had declared the Chinese mining operation an adversary.”

Reno struggled to keep from punching the com panel. “CAPCOM, they’re not adversaries; they’re business competitors and the Mariners’ Code still applies out here, so please advise Mr. Visser to go hang it in his ass.”

About the Author
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Doomsday Planet is William Burke’s fifth novel, following a long career in film and television. He was the creator and director of the Destination America paranormal series Hauntings and Horrors and the OLN series Creepy Canada, as well as producing the HBO productions Forbidden Science, Lingerie and Sin City Diaries. His work has garnered high praise from network executives and insomniacs watching Cinemax at 3 a.m.

During the 1990’s Burke was a staff producer for the Playboy Entertainment Group, producing eighteen feature films and multiple television series. He’s acted as Line Producer and Assistant Director on dozens of feature films—some great, some bad and some truly terrible.

Aside from novels Burke has written for Fangoria Magazine, Videoscope Magazine and is a regular contributor to Horrornews.net.

He also served in the United States Air Force, reaching the rank of sergeant.

He can be found at williamburkeauthor.com