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Home: Interstellar 2nd Edition out May 16, 2017 on Amazon

Drum roll, please!

The 2nd Edition will be posted to Amazon on May 16.

I've taken all the reviews of H:I fromAmazon, Goodreads, and elsewhere and tried to address all the comments that might impact the readability of the story. New readers should be pleased, but wait until May 16 if you want the new edition!

It's still the same prize winning story -- history doesn’t change, though how we speak of it might. There is only a little new content. So, if you've already read the 1st Edition, you may be disappointed. Amazon tells me that if you’ve already downloaded the eBook, you can refresh for free, but you’ll lose the bookmarks.

Enjoy
… Ray

Glossary for Earthers

I included the glossary to the pages to the right because they may not make it into the 2nd edition. I included them in the 1st edition because many readers of suspense are not avid SciFi readers and need an orientation to the anomalies of FTL travel and interstellar time.

The idea of a 'Cruiser,' the Mark IX Cила Грузчик, or Power Loader for cargo handling, also needs some explanation but sounds boring when written into the story.

Meriel's Ten Stages of a Spacers Party

I thought I'd offer these in case they are removed in the 2nd Edition. These are typical for any nerd who visits a space station's Blue-Zone bars (or Chicago's Rush Street) after a long tour of duty. If I remember correctly, Stage 8 follows Stage 7 after a few nano-seconds.


uncomfortably shy and distant; polite or coy;friendly and engaging conversation; double entendre, puns, and sexual innuendo; loud and bawdy; out of control, partial undress, drinking with your worst enemy; looking for trouble; finding trouble, confrontation/altercation; for large parties, rioting;nursing wounds; and Soberall(TM), sleep, or rehab.

New cover for H:I-1

New cover for Home: Interstellar - Merchant Princess. Nice job for cheap via Fiverr.

Grace

I added the deMerlner essay Grace to the permanent sidebar. I posted it last year, but I like it.

"...It is beyond mere mortals made of heart and flesh to forgive the callous murder of the innocent. And it is beyond us to forgive ourselves for those deepest of sins, those acts of knowing cruelty that warp the bones of our adulthood with guilt. But God can forgive if only you ask. That is why it is called God’s grace, and why it is a miracle.
"And granted that miracle we may live our lives again and benefit others, not to seek forgiveness, but because we’ve been blessed."


That and many others will be published separately in de Merlner's diary.

Also, updated schedule for 2nd Edition is in late March. Stay tuned.

Delay on new edition of H:I Merchant Princess

Looks like I was optimistic about a December release of H:I Lost Hope.

For those interested in what the plotting process looks like sometimes, I've attached a flow chart with  a small portion of the story. Sometimes it's hard to get all the forces at play to interact in the right way at the right time. (Note: major spoilers, but it's not the final draft.)

New Edition of HI: Merchant Princess

Just an update ...

I'm working on a new edition of the 1st book in the series: Merchant Princess. This update is to remove some annoyances for readers. It's really the same story, so I'd advise not buying the new version.

I expect it to be live by Christmas. The 2nd book in the series, Lost Hope, should be out about then and I'd like to make sure the two books are at the same level.

... Ray

Nice words from BookLife ...

"...a satisfyingly meaty merchant-ship based universe and a heroine you can root for make this a compelling read for space opera addicts." -- The BookLife Prize in Fiction

Part 1 - 1.3 Swallowtail

1.3.1 Discovery of the Horde

Astrid pushed her empty plate from her. She had come homefor a late dinner after a day of exploring the Spine and began another argumentwith her mother.
“Please, mother.”
“Not alone.”
“But hunting is poor. Only for one night.”
“You’re fifteen, hon, and it’s too dangerous outside thevalley to be by yourself.”
“I’ve been over every inch of the mountains, mom. It’ll giveme a better start tomorrow morning. Please, mom. Little Wing will be there toprotect me.”
“No. Not unless you bring Selina or another female Rider.”
“But they’re on duty. Mom, please.”
“No.”
Astrid pursed her lips and turned. “We’ll see,” she mumbledand slammed the door of their little cottage. Just outside waited her dragon andwithout so much as a hello, she mounted and took off.
Little Wing carried her along the volcanic core of theSpine, the impassable mountain range which divided North from South. The latespring meant poor hunting: the deer stayed under shelter and the smaller gamelike rabbit and fox remained too exhausting to track. The clouds to the westwarned that a hard rain would come tomorrow, so she planned to use the windowof good weather to explore. But her mother would not let her venture so faralone. Instead, they joined the dragons on the highest peaks to watch thesunset and make their plans.
The clans called them Swallowtail when Astrid and her dragonflew together; partners but not Riders. Every Rider had a part to play in villagelife as hunters or couriers to neighboring valleys. But they did not invite herand she did not expect them to: Riders thought her too independent, and shethought them too arrogant and condescending to the dragons. Except for heroldest friends, Selina and Finn, she rarely crossed paths with Riders.
She was happy as long as she remained free and not constrainedwithin the high cliffs surrounding Inverness, and each day found her furtherfrom home. But now a day’s ride presented the same barrier to her explorationsas the valley walls once did. The constraint produced another fight with her motherand another reason to run away.
To give herself time to think, Swallowtail joined thedragons to enjoy the dramatic sunset signaled by the oncoming storm clouds. Twogentle kicks from her heel told Little Wing to roll over and dive a thousandfeet to a high ridge with a clear view west. They landed and jostled the othersfor position.
As the sun approached the horizon, an older dragon flewerratically before the group, and then dashed away to the northeast. Astrid andthe dragons watched but did not follow. The old dragon came back and squawked forattention, and this time all but Little Wing took off and pursued him. When theold one came back a third time, it was clear what he wanted, and Swallowtailfollowed.
The old one sped to the northeast, high above the BloisRiver. This is where she wanted to go but was told not to, and never overnight.Even if she turned back now she would still be late and needed an explanationfor her mother. But I had to, mother, she thought. The old oneclearly wanted us to follow him. Someone may have been injured or required help.Mother will understand. She pursed her lips. And if she doesn’t, well...
One-by-one the other dragons returned home or landed to enjoythe setting sun until Swallowtail followed alone. At sunset they neared thenorthern edge of the mountain range where the Blois spilled over the falls intothe foothills of Cherryth. There were no true borders here, only ragged lineson the maps indicating where passage south was dangerous for all but trainedclimbers.
Little Wing carried Astrid past the hills and over regularrows of conical tents and flickering orange campfires. Beyond the fires, they glidedover a plain where men slept in the open. In the dim light of Fures, thesmallest moon, they glided toward a dark funnel that meandered across the field.But her dragon pulled up short when they hit a wall of flies which choked themboth and left them unable to see. Her dragon fluttered to a landing and snortedto clear his nose.
Astrid dismounted and recognized the funnel as a tornado ofcrows with vultures circling higher overhead. She walked toward it and steppedon something soft. A gust of wind swept past and the stench of rotting meatstruck her like a blow, and she realized where she stood. This was a field ofbattle where the fallen men and horses lay unburied. Unable to control herrevulsion, she retched.
A few meters away red eyes lifted from their work tearing atthe bodies below them and moved slowly toward her with low growls. Wild dogs,she thought and remembered the warnings that dogs were not shy of humans likewolves. Terrified, she ran to Little Wing and mounted. As he took off, hisclaws raked the wild beasts that jumped to bite his legs.
Little Wing settled on a hillock near the old dragon. Afterretching what little remained in her stomach, she crawled to the edge of thecliff to observe. She could not discern the dark shapes moving in the gloom shesat and waited for another moon to rise.
When moonlight from Lon flooded the scene below, Astrid gasped.Thousands of armed men wove their way through the foothills and up the Blois RiverValley, the same river which passed through Inverness many miles to the south.Huge machines crowded the narrow mountain trails: engines of war known onlyfrom stories, projectile weapons that could loft stones the length of threehundred men.
Astrid turned to the old dragon. Why the urgency? shewondered. She would certainly tell the Inverness Council of the battlefield andthe invaders, but they were still many leagues from home. Why would the oldone bring me here? She had no answer for him and prepared to mount LittleWing and return home when a piercing shriek sent chills up her spine—the cry ofa dragon. Immediately she put her hand on Little Wing’s muzzle to stop him fromcrying out in response. 
After Elen, the third and brightest moon, rose above thehorizon Astrid recognized a frail and sickly dragon struggling against theheavy chains which bound him. The old one that had brought them looked at herand cocked his head as if expecting her to explain this horror or stop it.
Astrid shook her head. “There’s nothing I can do.”
The old dragon took off, and she mounted Little Wing tofollow.
A single wingbeat aloft the chained beast wail again, and herdragon replied before she could stop him. Soon after she felt something hit hersaddle and her dragon screeched. She reached back to find a crossbow boltembedded in the thick leather behind her leg, pulled it out, and stuck it inher boot.

Book 2- Lost Hope; Etna Station, ET 2149

Marge stopped and took her husband’s arm. “Wait, dear. Let me check your tie, dear.
Eduard stopped to let his wife fuss with his tuxedo, the first he had warn since their wedding a decade ago. He took the handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his forehead.
She took the handkerchief, folded it, and returned it to his breast pocket. “Don’t worry, dear. They want to reward you for you scholarship.”
“No one else has.”
“You know your research is too controversial. The ArchTrope is very influential on Calliope. But here they are free and respect your scientific rigor. Did they tell you of the projects they have assigned to you?”
Eduard frowned. “Not yet. The Chairman said we would review it before the party.”
“The stipend and salary are phenomenal.”
“It’s for both of us, Marge. Now we’ll be able to send the boys back to university on Sirius if they qualify. Even Earth.”
A beautiful woman dressed in a floor length powder blue evening gown split up the leg to the hip walked up to them on the arm of a man wearing an impeccable dinner jacket. “Ah, there you are Mr. and Mrs. Tsoget,” she said. “Let me introduce you to Chairman Julian Yutousov.”
The Chairman extended his hand. “Jules, please. No need for formality among friends. I hope your reception is to your liking?”
Eduard shook his hand. “Of course. I’ve reviewed articles written by your guests tonight, all distinguished in their fields.”
“As are you, Eduard. May I call you Eduard?” he asked but continued without waiting for a reply.  “And they speak very highly of you. Do you have time for a private word before dinner?”
“Of course, Jules. Please give me a moment to check on our children first.”
“Certainly. Miss Blanchette will guide you. If you will excuse me until then.” He bowed and left.
While Miss Blanchette waited, Eduard and Marge found an alcove behind a catalpa tree and called their hotel.
“Timogen, come to the phone, please,” she said. “Is everything OK?”
A hologram of her older son displayed from the communications link on her bracelet. “Ulie is being a butt and Sansin won’t stop crying.”
Eduard rolled his eyes. “Are they safe?”
“Sure, pop. Say when are we gonna get—”
“Just checking in, dear,” Marge said. “We need to run now.”
“But mom—”
“See you after the party.” She turned to Eduard with a smile. “Now for that offer. Miss Blanchette. We’re ready now.”
The assistant led them into an office beyond the plane tree.
“Is this about the stipend?” Marge asked.
Miss Blanchette said with a stunning smile. “In a way, Mrs. Tsoget. Mr. Yutousov, the Tsogets are here.”
The Chairman rose from behind a clear desk that held only a small lamp. “Excellent.” Putting a hand on Eduard’s shoulder, he waved his hands towards two chairs. “Sit, please. Can I offer you wine? It is exquisite. No? Water perhaps?” They nodded. “Yes, excellent. Miss Blanchette if you please.”
His assistant left, returned quickly with two glasses of water, and closed the door behind her.
Yutousov sat and waved a few fingers at a wall and technical diagrams and graphs appeared. “Now a bit more on your research.”
“Well, I’m sure you read my paper,” Eduard said.
“It is quite dense, Eduard. Summarize for me.”
Eduard leaned forward in the chair and smiled. “Well, it started as an academic question into how much could be deduced from mitochondrial DNA signatures in a population. For a hundred years we’ve used the standard Tokana method, but the chromosome lines became too complex. It was simply an experiment to establish baselines and topology thresholds for bloodlines within…”
Yutousov flipped a finger and a footnote appeared. “What is this incidental comment about the ArchTrope?”
“Well, we took one base samples from Genghis Khan. That produced an anomalous result that there is less of the Khan’s DNA in the ArchTrope than in the background of the population. It is so absent that he might have been from Sirius, rather than Earth.”
“Where did the DNA profile come from?”
“Birth records for his mother. She was sainted and her life is very well documented.”
“Then the sample could miss his father’s genome.”
“No, it’s from the footprint on the birth record,” Eduard said.
“So, in essence, your analysis implies that spiritual leader for hundreds of millions of followers is not descended from Genghis Kahn as he claims.”
Eduard squirmed in his chair. “Ah, well, that’s an unfortunate inference, but it’s just an academic study. As I said it was an outlier, the exception that identified the three-sigma limit to the method.”
“So it was done as an exercise, without controls?”
“Oh, no, sir. The strictest protocols—”
Yutousov nodded but waved his hand. “I’m sure, Ed, but we will need you to disavow your research, before we can proceed with your appointment. Your work is a bit too contentious, even for us here at the institute.”
“It’s a technique, not a—”
“Someone might repeat it.”
Eduard’s brow furrowed. “Well... yes. The methodology is valid.”
“I’m sorry, Ed, but I think you missed the point. Surely you did not think that the ArchTrope would let this go. Decendence from all the great prophets and warlords is a pillar of his legitimacy.”
Eduard’s mood cratered. This was the familiar conversation he heard ever since publication of his research paper. He had to publish: if he didn’t he would forfeit a grant he had already spent and his family would end up on a labor asteroid. No one questioned the protocols but rather congratulated him on his work and complimented him on his brilliant insights. However, every interview ended with the same concern: the ArchTrope’s pedigree. What was only intended to be an example implementation became instead the focus of all the peer reviews.
“But…wait. This is simply an academic issue. I was assured that—”
“You only need to repudiate the efficacy of your methodology.”
“Scientific integrity demands that I defend…” Eduard began but his voice trailed off when a video projected from Yutousov’s desk displayed their three children with strange men in black uniforms behind them.
“My request is straight-forward and—”
“You can’t,” Marge said.
“Of course we can. And if you comply, your stipend and salary will be put in escrow. It is guaranteed. The both of you.”
The Tsogets looked at each other. Marge nodded.
Yutousov glanced at his link. “We have only a minute for your decision.  I assure you that you will see your children tonight.”
Eduard sighed and with a tissue sample from his thumb, officially lied: he authenticated the document that appeared on the desk; a form which stipulated that the DNA profile from the ArchTrope was taken from a lab technician and not the birth records. That approval also covered legal consents and powers of attorney that Eduard and Marge did not see.
 “Ah, very good,” Yutousov said. “This is all for the best. Now Miss Blanchette will escort you to your reception and I hope that you have a wonderful evening.”
His assistant entered the room and before the Tsogets could rise, she touched them both in the neck with her finger. Eduard struggled to get up but cringed and slumped back into the chair.
The Chairman leaned with his elbows on the desk.  “Marge, Ed, please don’t struggle. It’s a catatonic and only uncomfortable if you resist. I’m sorry I mislead you, but you must stay with us for a short while. The addiction is quite rapid and withdrawal extremely painful. You understand, this is just business.”
Eduard stared at the display where his kids were being hustled out of the room. He grimaced but could not scream.
“Don’t fret, Ed. They will live. The ArchTrope needs brilliant young men as I am sure your sons will grow to be.” Yutousov Chairman turned to the display. “Now, now, boys your parents will be home soon. Go with these men and be patient a while longer, please.” He swapped the image to another with charts and manifests, and looked between them. “Normally I don’t get involved in this end of the business anymore, but, ah well.” He turned to Miss Blanchette. “I don’t think we will be able to wait on this. Calliope is short kidneys and pituitaries with her tissue match.”
Unable to turn her head, Marge Tsoget’s brow furrowed and eyes darted to her husband and Yutousov as the technicians carried her to a cart and took her to the organ donation clinic on Etna Station. It would be only a few more months in the drug dens before Eduard’s organs followed her.