Christopher G. Nuttall's Blog, page 5

Snippet – Elliot’s Tale

A novella, set more or less directly after Queenmaker, which may become a novel. Comments?

Prologue

The higher you rise, as the saying goes, the further you fall.

I grew up in one of the poorest parts of America, a poor boy from a poor family. The army was my salvation, teaching me discipline and skills and everything I needed to build a life and a career for myself. I fought in the wars, climbed in the ranks, married and had two sons who would never know the deprivation of my childhood. Everything seemed rosy, until I came home and discovered my wife in bed with another man. I drove away …

And found myself in another world.

It was bizarre, a land of magic and newborn science … a land touched, I came to discover, by an earlier traveller from another world. I landed on my feet, finding myself a role in teaching modern soldiering and military tactics, first to a city-state and then in service to Princess Helen, heir to a land dominated by ravenous warlords. I found myself a great lord, with vast lands of my own, and a position that seemed secure. I even fell in love again, with Fallon – a young woman who had a magical talent of her own. I defeated a coup, put the princess on the throne, and led my new armies against the warlords. Everything seemed rosy. When I learnt that Fallon was pregnant, I couldn’t wait to be a father again.

The warlords knew they couldn’t defeat us in battle, so they chose trickery. They lured us into a trap and tried to kill us. They did manage to kill Fallon. I saw red and went mad, leading my army in a brutal assault on their positions, smashing their troops under the sheer force of my anger. The warlords broke, and tried to surrender. After Fallon’s death, and that of our unborn child, I was in no mood to be merciful. I killed them.

Helen told me I had to go into exile. It sounded ungrateful, but I understood. Her throne would not remain secure, not for long, if she kept me around after I’d ignored her orders and executed the warlords. She was secretly pleased, I was sure, but she couldn’t say it out loud. How could she? She was the final authority in the land, thanks to me, and she couldn’t afford to allow anyone to throw that into doubt. Even me. We struck a deal. She would ensure my supporters and subordinates would retain their power and positions, if I went into exile quietly. A handful chose to come with me. The remainder stayed to serve her, and to enjoy the fruits of their victory.

And that, my readers, is how I found myself, and a small group of friends, heading into the unknown.

Now read on.

Chapter One

The less said about the traveller’s inn, the better.

The beer should have been poured back in the horse. The bed rooms should have been washed with soap and water, the bedding taken outside and burnt; the less said about the kitchens, and the dinner tables, the better. The air stank of tobacco, which was bad enough, and a bunch of other fumes I suspected were intended to hide the stench of a poorly-cleaned room. The handful of other buildings in the tiny crossroads hamlet weren’t much better, from a small cluster of shops to a barracks that had been abandoned long ago and a brothel that made me itch just looking at the sign outside. I had no idea if the whores had enough custom to keep them alive, although I wouldn’t have cared to bet against it. There were a surprising number of convoys passing through, in the wake of the last two wars. The only surprise was that the travellers didn’t sleep under the stars instead.

I tried not to show my frustration too obviously as I sat outside the inn and stared at the distant mountains. The kingdom bordered Tarsier and we had been careful not to take a direct route through the kingdom, certainly not passing anywhere near the capital or anywhere else the local monarch might find threatening. The idea I might pose a threat, either in myself or Helen’s representative, was absurd, but the people on this world were larger than life, speaking of their heroes and villains as if they did their deeds on their own. There was never any sense they’d had an army behind them. I might have bested the warlords, but not alone. If I tried to walk into their fortress on my own, I would have been quickly killed. That sort of crap only worked in the movies.

The landscape was vast, endless in a manner that chilled me despite the warm evening heat. The kingdom was relatively small, compared to the USA or Russia, but on a human scale it might as well be endless. There were a handful of cities and towns, surrounded by farms and an endless forest that hid everything from bandits to supernatural creatures; the locals, from what I’d seen, rarely had any real sense of belonging to a bigger country. Few travelled beyond the handful of villages surrounding their hometown, let alone crossed the border and headed into the next kingdom. There had been some hints of development as we passed – I’d seen a railway line being build, and a cluster of factories – but this kingdom was definitely behind the times. It boded ill for their future. The kingdoms that refused to innovate would be crushed by those that embraced the future, or be overthrown by rebels dreaming of a better world. The days of treating warfare as a game played between aristocrats, in which no one got hurt – at least, no one who mattered – were over. I had seen to that, although it would be a long time before the effects were felt everywhere.

Violet cleared her throat. “Where are we going?”

I glanced at her. She was still too skinny for her age, her blonde hair cut short and hidden under a cap to give her a distinctly mannish appearance. She’d never liked feminine outfits and who could blame her, after growing up on the streets? I had taught her how to read and write, and put her skills to a better use than a life of crime, but there was a part of her that would always be the girl on the streets, one who regarded a stroke of good fortune as inherently suspicious. I didn’t really blame her. Too many girls like her were lured into a life of prostitution, by pimps and whoremongers who promised them the world, only to discover – too late – that it had all been a lie. She had chosen to stay with me, when I left, even though she’d been covered by my agreement with Helen too. I didn’t blame her for that either. She had no reason to trust anyone would give much of a damn about a street-girl.

“Good question,” I said, tiredly. The truth was, I didn’t know. My reputation was a burden as well as an asset, leaving me unsure if there was anywhere we could go. The prospect of travelling all the way to Heart’s Eye, and meeting the mysterious Emily, was temping, but getting there would be tricky. We’d have to travel thousands of miles on horseback, through countries that bore no love for me, or Helen, or travellers in general. “We need to put some distance between ourselves and Helen first.”

Violet looked unconvinced. She’d always been very good at reading people, something that had kept her alive on the unforgiving streets, and she had no trouble telling that I honestly didn’t know where we could go. She wasn’t the only one. The others felt the same way too. I had a feeling it was just a matter of time before my small band grew even smaller, as my companions asked permission to leave – or just left. I had nothing to keep them with me, except words and words weren’t enough.

The door opened. Hamish stepped out, followed by a hard-faced man in hard-worn clothing. My instincts tingled, warning me of a potential threat. The newcomer carried no visible weapons, but that was meaningless. He was muscular, moving with a vigour that suggested he knew full well how to fight with his bare fists. His exposed skin bore the signs of a farming life, scars and injuries that had never quite healed. Medicine was a joke in this world, unless you used healing magic. And most peasants simply couldn’t afford it.

“Captain,” Hamish said. I wasn’t clear how many of my titles I still had, after going into exile, and I’d insisted on them using Captain if they felt the need to use honorifics. I’d earned that rank and it was common enough that anyone who heard it wouldn’t automatically think of me. “This is Ivan. He wants to talk to you.”

I studied Ivan thoughtfully, all too aware he was doing the same to me. He had the gruff no-nonsense poise I recalled from the farmers on my lands, the farmers who had been utterly uninterested in me until I’d redistributed the land and set them up for life. Farming was like soldiering in at least one respect, you could never afford to lose track of what was important or your life would come to an end very quickly. Farmers were conservative by nature, unwilling to risk getting entangled in newfangled ways until they were sure they wouldn’t be a colossal and lethal waste of time. I wondered, idly, if the farmers I’d left behind had kept their lands. I’d done what I could to safeguard the land redistribution program, but there were limits.

“Word has spread of your exploits,” Ivan said. His voice was oddly accented, in a manner that reminded me of Russia, but I could understand him. There was only one language on the continent, I’d been told, although there were quite a few regional dialects that were difficult to understand at first. “Why did you give away so many patches of land?”

I kept my face under tight control. He hadn’t doubted I had redistributed the land, which was interesting. I’d heard the farmers shared information, and most communities along the border didn’t bother to pretend to believe it actually existed, but still … it wasn’t uncommon for tales to grow in the telling, until the seed of truth was buried under a mountain of bullshit. I hadn’t fought a dragon, or befriended one by pulling a thorn out of its paw, and I certainly hadn’t been Helen’s lover. I’d nearly murdered the bard who’d written a song insisting I had. If that rumour got traction, Helen would be in some trouble.

“The farmers worked the land,” I said, finally. “They deserved to own it.”

It wasn’t that simple. My predecessor hadn’t just owned the land, he’d owned the farmers too. The only real difference between serfdom, and the slavery my ancestors had endured, was the spelling. The bastard had treated the farmers as his property, forcing them to work and defiling their wives and daughters; they’d responded by doing the bare minimum, never bothering to develop the land to the point they could turn it into the kingdom’s breadbasket. They’d known how, but why bother when they wouldn’t be allowed to keep or sell their produce? There was no profit in working hard when someone else would reap the rewards.

“I see,” Ivan said. His eyes met mine, judging me. I looked back at him. “You have no friends in this kingdom, do you not?”

“No,” I said. That wasn’t a secret, although I was mildly surprised he knew it. Perhaps he was more than just a farmer. It wasn’t uncommon for younger sons to set out on their own, if they couldn’t find a wife in a neighbouring village, and some did rise in the world. There was a small network of merchants moving around the kingdom and they might well have heard of me. “What can I do for you?”

Ivan hesitated, visibly. I had a sudden flashback to life in the Sunni Triangle, when Sunni leaders had found themselves unsure if they should reach out to us or continue to put up with Al Qaida, who had thoroughly outworn their welcome. Their thinking had been all too clear. If they trusted us, and we let them down, they’d be brutally slaughtered by Al Qaida. I hadn’t understood it at the time, until a cultural liaison officer had pointed out the brutal reality of life in post-Saddam’s Iraq. We could go home at the end of our tours. The Iraqis were struck. If they made the wrong choice, or the right choice at the wrong time, they’d be dead. Or worse.

“My community would like to hire you,” Ivan said. “We need allies.”

I blinked. Mercenaries were incredibly unpopular in this world. I’d been called a mercenary more than once, the warlords trying to smear me as we geared up for the war, but I’d never actually been one. I doubted they wanted a mercenary, either. The locals regarded mercenaries as little better than child molesters, and feared them more than regular troops. I understood, all too well. A regular soldier in an army would be commanded by someone who had a vested interest in keeping the kingdom intact, but mercenaries rarely cared about a future few would live to see and had no qualms about looting, raping, or any other atrocities that would make most soldiers blanch.

Ivan took a rock out of his pocket and dropped it on the table. “Gold.”

I picked it up, turning it over and over in my hand. Gold? It wasn’t impossible, although unlikely. Was it really gold? Or fool’s gold? The weight was about right, but that was meaningless. I was no alchemist, with the spells they used here to determine the true content of a gold-seeming coin. If it wasn’t real gold, did Ivan know? Or was he trying to con me? He had a very honest face, but that was meaningless too. Most con artists cultivated an air of honesty. No one would buy a timeshare in a condo west of California if the seller looked about as trustworthy as a rickety bridge over a roaring gorge.

“We found gold, a few months ago,” Ivan said. “If we report it to our overlords, they’ll take it. They’re already pressing against us and now …”

I could fill in the blanks. The aristocracy had been forced to grant the freemen some rights, but like most people too foolish to think in the long term they tended to push back, eroding those rights as much as possible while daring the freemen to do something about it. I had no doubt they’d come up with a bunch of arguments that would impress Big Brother’s Party, verbose opinions that would be fundamentally wrong and yet incredibly difficult to refute. If they knew the freemen had struck gold, they’d invoke some half-forgotten law to lay claim to the mine or simply walk in and take over, without bothering with the legalities. It wouldn’t be easy in Tarsier – I’d gone to some trouble to ensure all the old laws were purged, to make sure the lands I’d redistributed couldn’t be reclaimed through legal trickery – but here it would be simplicity itself.

One sniff of the gold and they’ll turn into Mr Burns, when Springfield Elementary struck oil, I reflected. The whole idea of the school owning an oil well was just horrific to him …

I supposed it explained why they’d approached me. They needed someone to teach them how to fight, someone who wouldn’t betray them. I’d given away land and wealth when I could easily have kept it, and besides – as he’d said – I had no friends in this kingdom. If I betrayed them, I’d wind up getting betrayed myself afterwards. And they probably considered me preferable to a genuine mercenary. They would betray their masters the moment the cause seemed hopeless or someone made them a better offer. I honestly didn’t know why anyone trusted them.

“I’ll give the matter some thought,” I said, finally. “Let me ask you …”

I bounced a handful of questions off him, satisfying myself it wasn’t some elaborate and largely pointless trap. Ivan talked and acted like the person he was, a village dignity who was one step away from the headman’s post. I hadn’t met many headmen who were dictators, not amongst the poor farmers and villagers, and most decisions were made by consensus. It wasn’t that surprising. Any headman who threw his weight around could expect to suffer an unfortunate accident that was nothing of the sort, if he got too big for his boots. Ivan definitely had the right mentality, the bitter resentment of his overlords mingled with the grim awareness that outright revolt could easily end badly. I hoped that was a good sign. Properly channelled, resentment could be very useful.

“If you can help us, we’ll give you a share in the gold,” Ivan said. “If not …”

I had to admit his composure. He’d been open and honest and yet he’d been careful not to reveal his true hometown. Ivan was a very common name, and I had a feeling that trying to track him down afterwards would be worse than useless. The odds were good he was a master woodsman – I’d met some who could give stealth lessons to Navy SEALS – and he would know if we were trying to follow him, if he went through the forest. It impressed me. If you think people who grow up in the country are ignorant idiots, it is clear proof that you are an ignorant idiot.

“I have to speak to my friends,” I said. “Can you give us a few moments?”

Ivan nodded and left, leaving the rock on the table. I wasn’t sure what to make of that as Hamish fetched the rest of my team, the few who wanted to stay with me or had nowhere else to go. I couldn’t help thinking of us as a team of adventurers, not exactly uncommon in this world, although the idea of going from place to place, righting wrongs and chasing lovers, no longer appealed to me. I was too old not to want someplace to call my own, somewhere I could lay my head. Perhaps this could produce a base, or get us all killed. I had no way to know.

“The gold appears to be real,” Stuart said. He was a semi-alchemist, someone who had studied under a genuine alchemist and then become a gunsmith when the New Learning had swept across the world. I wasn’t sure why he’d stuck with me. He could have made one hell of a life for himself, as he devised better and better guns. “If they’re really sitting on top of a gold mine, odds are there’ll be a lot of other rare ores too.”

“If they can keep it,” Fitz pointed out. His father had been an aristocrat, his mother a serving maid; his upbringing had been harsh, his stepmother coming very close to murdering him in cold blood. He’d been one of my earliest supporters, once it became clear I promoted by merit rather than bloodline. “The moment word gets out, there’ll be a rush.”

“We can help them,” Leonard said. “If they listen.”

I nodded. The hell of it was that we could make the village a far tougher target, if they listened to us. It didn’t take months to master modern firearms – or what passed for modern in this world – and a child with a pistol could easily kill a knight in shining armour. The crossbows we could show them how to make would be just as dangerous, if fired in vast numbers. And yet, would they listen? Most bullies are cowards at heart, and most aristocrats are bullies, but the trick is to hit them hard enough to tear away the veneer of invincibility and reveal the coward beneath.

“He was telling the truth,” Violet said, quietly.

“Or what he thought to be truth,” Hamish pointed out. “If he’s wrong …”

“It’s genuine gold,” Stuart said. “It could set us up for life.”

I tried not to wince. I’d been wealthy and powerful and I’d made the choice to let it all go, putting avenging my partner and child ahead of keeping the lands and titles I’d earned. It wasn’t that easy for the others, particularly Fitz. Or Violet. And besides, I had no love for the aristocracy. They needed to be slapped down hard.

“I intend to go,” I said. In truth, I’d decided to go the moment I heard the story. “If any of you want to leave, now is your chance.”

“No, Captain,” Hamish said. “You don’t get rid of us that easily.”

Snippet – Sufficiently Analysed Magic

This story probably requires some explanation.

Back in 2013, I wrote a novel entitled Sufficiently Advanced Technology (see link below) that was published by Elsewhen Press. For various reasons, I wrote the novel to be relatively self-contained, and while I planned to write a sequel fairly quickly one thing led to another and it never actually got done. It was not particularly successful at first, to be honest, but in the years since then it has actually done very well and I got a great many questions at the Glasgow WorldCon about just when the sequel was going to come out. After much discussion with the publisher, I agreed to write a second volume.

The basic concept of Sufficiently Advanced Technology was that the Confederation, a hyper-advanced human civilisation, trying desperately to figure out how to become transcendent beings, discovered, much to their surprise, a world in which magic appeared to be very real. Their mission to Darius revealed the existence of a device that basically warped reality, a device that was linked to the so-called sorcerers and granted them their powers. The device was destroyed, but in the aftermath they discovered a number of children – the Darius Children – had been born with strange powers of their own. The Confederation resolved to study the children in hopes they could discover how humanity could to evolve to become a transcendent race.

That was sixteen years ago, in universe.

Now read on.

If you are interested in providing comments, I am happy to send you a copy of the original novel. You can also download it from the sites listed below:

Sufficiently Advanced Technology

Prologue

Pandora dreams.

She doesn’t know how she knows she is dreaming, but she is.

It is odd, for one such as her to dream. The Darius Children sleep together, their minds touching gently as they relax, lulling each other into a deep relaxing slumber that leaves them rested when they open their eyes once again. Pandora knows it is rare for humans to communicate on such a deep and primal level, almost impossible without crossing hardwired ethical lines, and yet she accepts her life as normal. It is all she knows.

And yet, she dreams.

Her mind explodes out of her body, out of the mental nest, and out into the universe. She finds herself drifting high above the galaxy, watching the stars as they circle the Great Attractor at the heart of the Milky Way. She sees life in all its many and manifest forms, from aliens practically akin to humanity to creatures so strange that communication is almost impossible; she sees life flowering across the universe, flowing out of rocky worlds and gas giants; she sees civilisations rise and fall, coming into existence briefly and then fading away, as if they had never been. She knows that some destroy themselves, or are destroyed by others, or stagnate … or go on …

As if the thought changes everything, the universe seems to dissolve around her. Her thoughts are pulled onwards, deeper into the reality of the cosmic all: she sees ancient entries flittering in the darkness between the stars, or peeking out of dimensions that exist at right angles to her own; she senses, more than sees, giant eyes peering down at the universe, watching and waiting for something to happen. The universe shifts, growing darker. Some civilisations are wondrous beacons of light, others are stagnant … still others, she realises numbly, are cancers, poisoning the reality around them. She feels unwell as she stares down, her stomach queasy. It bothers her at a very primal level, ancient instincts warning her she needs to run. It is the first time she has ever felt unwell.

The universe shifts again, pulling her mind towards the Great Attractor. The immense black hole at the centre of the galaxy reaches for her, yanking her into a darkness that seems endless. She falls into the singularity and sees … light. Light everywhere. Her mind’s eye is almost blinded by the sheer brightness, at the heart of the black hole. It shouldn’t be there … she shouldn’t be there. This is not a human place. Powerful waves of pure thought buffet her, battering at her mind. She grits her teeth and tries to force her mind to accept, closing her eyes briefly to impose some kind of order on the reality around her. She understands, now, what it feels like to be a fly, buzzing through the human world. Here, she is the fly. The minds around her are so big, so immense, that all she can see is just the tip of the iceberg. It really is not a human place.

She opens her eyes and sees … gods. Humans … no, entities that look human and yet are so much more. They are almost caricatures of humans, from men so old and wise their wisdom shifts around them like a shroud to muscle-bound brutes and women so beautiful it is hard to look them in the eye. They are huge, towering above her … she feels her mind try to expand, try to understand what she is really seeing, but recoils helplessly the moment she catches a glimpse of what lies beneath. They are not human. They are … gods.

What you are seeing isn’t real, a voice whispers. It is quiet, so quiet she cannot tell if it is real or just a figment of her imagination. It is merely a way to visualise the world in a manner you can comprehend.

Pandora swallows, hard. She is drifting in the centre of a towering chamber, a council chamber … a chamber built for entities that exist in multiple dimensions, an chamber so strange that trying to look around makes her head hurt. The gods pay her no heed. They do not seem aware of her presence, or perhaps they simply don’t care. She is little more than a fly on their scale, perhaps even less. She cannot touch them. She cannot talk to them. The deafening racket around her drowns out anything she might say, or think …

An entity walks into the light, passing through her as if her body – her mind – simply doesn’t exist. And yet, she has the brief impression of a wink before he walks on … she stares, trying to comprehend the entity’s true nature. It is impossible. She sees aspects of the whole, but not the whole itself.

“The Children of Darius are nearing adulthood,” a voice says. The speaker is an old man, wearing a tattered black cloak and a wide-brimmed hat that conceals his eyes. Two ravens rest on his shoulder, their eyes seeming to peer into Pandora’s very soul. “They pose a threat to the Cosmic All.”

The voice buffets Pandora, battering her like a gust of wind. She feels her mind threatening to snap and grits her teeth once again, trying to keep her awareness from spreading too far. The words are simple and yet, she is almost painfully aware of undercurrents she cannot even begin to comprehend. The gods are whispering … no, they are having multiple conversations at once, the words spinning around the chamber in hopes of consensus.

“The Confederation does not know what to make of them,” the newcomer says. His voice is smaller than the rest … she doesn’t know why. “It will be many years before they are ready to make the jump into the light.”

Loki, a voice whispers. He is Loki. Watch him.

The conversation hums around the chamber. “The Confederation cannot be allowed to make full use of the Children,” someone – many someones – says. Pandora realises, to her horror, that they are talking about her, her and the rest of her family. “They must not become a …”

Pandora shudders as something crashes into her head. A word … no, a concept. A meme. The gods speak in riddles … no, it is something so dark and disgusting and dangerous that she cannot force herself to look long enough to understand it. The gods themselves recoil, waves of horror rushing through the chamber and buffeting against her mind. Pandora feels sick, her stomach twisting painfully even though it is in another world. The gods are disgusted … they are scared. Their fear is a physical force … Pandora stares at the entities, so powerful that she cannot even begin to grasp the true scope of their power, and wonders what could scare them so. And what it has to do with her.

“They will not,” Loki says. His voice lacks the undercurrents, the whispers of contextualisation that aid comprehension, she hears from the others. She doesn’t know why. It crosses her mind to wonder if he is lying to the gods, or if he is merely trying to prove his sincerity to his peers. “The matter is well in hand.”

“The” – the meme flashed across the chamber again, battering her mind – “must not be allowed to come into existence,” the gods said. Pandora couldn’t tell which one was speaking. They all seemed to be talking, their words blending together into a perfect – and terrifying – harmony. “You will ensure it doesn’t.”

Loki bowed. Loki didn’t.

Pandora feels her head twist again, the reality spins around her as her awareness opens up to encompass the godly realm. It is huge beyond comprehension, the laws of reality shattered beyond all hope of repair, held in place only by the purest thought … sheer terror shoots through her as she realises they know she is there, and they don’t care. She isn’t alone, either. There are smaller entities all around her, creatures that brush against her awareness and push her back into the darkness …

She sits up in bed, drenched in her own sweat. The bedchamber feels … wrong. She reaches out with her mind, her awareness brushing against the other minds. They jerk awake too, snapping out of their nest. It strikes her that she is the only one who has had the dream. The others were sleeping peacefully, until she woke them.

“Pandora?” Henri’s voice is quiet, trying to be considerate of his peers. “What happened?”

Pandora shakes her head. The dream is already fading, the memories falling into the abyss. She can no longer recall what she saw, save for the sense of overwhelming dread. Something bad is going to happen. She knows it in her bones. Henri crawls over and wraps his arms around her, holding her gently; she feels his thoughts brushing against her, lulling her back to sleep.

And yet, when she opens her eyes a second time, she recalls little of the dread too.

Chapter One

Pandora stood on the platform and looked down at the world below.

She floated miles above the ground, high enough to take in the planet’s curve. It was a remarkable sight, a reminder that the Confederation could produce planet-encompassing Rings and star-encompassing Dyson Spheres and Ringworlds and yet, no matter how advanced humanity had become over the years, they couldn’t match the work of mother nature. Clarke had never produced an intelligence race of its own, nor had it been discovered until well after the Confederation had mastered the art of living permanently in space. The surface was almost completely natural, the small town surrounding the research station the only place where the landscape was marred by technology. The blue-green orb was utterly enchanting. She had wondered, as a child, why some folk remained on planetary surfaces, but she got it now. The landscapes her family took for granted simply didn’t exist in space, even on the largest Dyson Spheres.

Her eyes drifted upwards. She couldn’t see the network of automated defence platforms overhead, or the entry station, but she knew they were there, pressing against her awareness like deadly thorns. The Darius Children weren’t precisely prisoners, she had been assured, yet they weren’t exactly free to go either. It had been understandable when they had been children, when the two hundred babies had been brought to the isolated research station, but now … she was torn between wanting to explore the Confederation, claiming her legacy as a child of the greatest civilisation that had ever existed, and remaining in the nest, where she was loved. And safe. She found it hard to comprehend the nervousness outsiders felt, when they encountered the Children, but she couldn’t deny its existence. Who knew how they would be treated, when they finally left the research station behind?

She looked back down. “On my command, drop the outer shield.”

The air rustled beside her, a solid-light hologram fluttering into existence. “I hope you’re not planning what I think you’re planning.”

Pandora grinned at the avatar, a direct link to the AI overseeing the settlement, even though she found it a little disconcerting. She could feel her peers – and the researchers – in her mind, and she knew they were real, but it was impossible to be sure with the AI. There were times when she was sure it was an intelligent being, its thoughts brushing against hers, and times when it was nothing more than a machine – or a hologram. She didn’t pretend to understand it. It veered between giving the settlers whatever they wanted, the fabbers churning out everything from food and drink to extreme sports gear, and putting seemingly arbitrary limits on what it was prepared to give them. The one consistency was its refusal to produce a genuine spacecraft.

“You make it sound like a bad thing,” she said. “Don’t you trust me?”

“You children are extremely honest,” the avatar said. It had chosen to manifest as a bird, something that sent a shiver down her spine. She wasn’t sure why. “But we do worry about your safety.”

“There’s no danger,” Pandora said. “Deactivate the force shield.”

The bird seemed to hesitate, a rustle of lightning-quick thought brushing against her mind before the force shield snapped out of existence. Pandora smiled, stepped up to the edge and jumped, the gravity field wavering slightly before the planet’s greater mass took control and yanked her downwards. She threw out her arms and whooped as she fell faster, the blue-green blur slowly giving way to mountains and rivers and the tiny settlement, resting on the edge of a tropical beach. She felt a rush of warmth and gratitude for the researchers, who had worked so hard to craft a wonderful place to grow up. She had never had a day of illness, or deprivation, or poverty, in her entire life. It was hard to believe, sometimes, that previous civilisations had lacked the Confederation’s post-scarcity economy, the technology they needed to satisfy the needs and demands of their entire population. It seemed impossible to accept that anyone would willingly live that way.

Her mind expanded rapidly, brushing against a handful of her peers on the beach below. Francis was on the water, surfing on a board that appeared marvellously flimsy; Joanne was lying on her back, the warm sunlight lulling her to sleep; Andrew and Janet were playing a game of chess, a difficult task when each player was very aware of the other’s feelings, perhaps even their thoughts. And several others were brushing against each other, exploring their bodies in a manner that would have shocked even the most sybarite pre-space society. Pandora gave silent thanks to her ancestors, for developing the technology they needed to overcome the limits of their bodies and the demands of their society. There was no risk now in sexual contact, no reason not to share bodies as well as thoughts. It truly was a paradise. It lacked only one thing.

The freedom to leave, she thought.

She pushed the idea aside as the beach grew below her, then shaped a thought and stopped her fall, bare millimetres above the sand. There was no shock, just an instant halt. She hovered in the air for a long moment, then lowered herself the rest of the way. The sand was hot against her bare feet, the air warm and welcoming without being too hot. The first researchers really had done a good job, she reflected. It was a shame they hadn’t stayed around. But outsiders really did find the Children disconcerting.

“Hey,” Henri said. He was sitting on the beach, wearing a pair of trunks and nothing else. “Nice landing.”

Pandora smiled. The researchers didn’t pretend to understand quite how she could stop herself with the power of her mind, or any of the other strange abilities she and her peers had inherited from their parents. The Confederation could build planet-sized starships, and hurl them across the galaxy at speeds beyond her comprehension, and yet it was completely mystified by the Children. It was galling, in so many ways. The Confederation had developed the technology to break laws of physics her ancestors had regarded as immutable, yet they couldn’t understand how the Children did what they did. It was almost as strange as their parents, back on Darius. No one had understood them either.

“It was fun,” she said, finally. “How was your meeting with the researchers?”

Henri frowned, his emotion colouring the mindscape. “It went poorly. She had trouble even looking at me.”

Pandora winced. There were few secrets amongst the children. It was very hard, almost impossible, for any to lie to their peers, when their emotions and most of their thoughts were open books. There was simply no way to maintain the lie without the awareness that they were lying shading their thoughts, betraying the truth. She had no concept of privacy because she had none, nor did her peers. Henri wasn’t even trying to hide his concern and bitterness, and fear. If the researchers had never managed to get used to the Children, despite working alongside them for nearly eighteen years, how would the rest of the Confederation cope?

She felt a wash of pure sympathy for the outsiders. They would never know the sheer joy of sharing thoughts and emotions. They would never understand it wasn’t something to be feared. The Children had no bullies, no dictators; there was no way for any of them to use fear or force to keep the others in line, not when they could all feel each other’s emotions. There were no outsiders amongst the Children, no one ostracised by the rest. They were individuals, true, and yet they were also linked together.

And yet …

The Confederation had few taboos, let alone laws. There was little reason to be a criminal in a post-scarcity society, and the few that existed could normally be tracked down very quickly and placed in isolation, if they refused to be treated for their condition. A society as old and mature as the Confederation could overcome almost anything, retaliating criminals and accepting that the young and immature made mistakes, mistakes they could acknowledge, accept, and put firmly in the past. But one taboo remained unbreakable and that was that you did not violate someone’s privacy without a very good reason. You did not go into their minds.

And yet, that was exactly what the Children did.

Pandora felt cold, despite the heat. It was difficult, if not impossible, to keep from reading the researchers’ minds. Every word they spoke brought a wave of emotions with it, every touch opened – however briefly – a channel into their minds. Pandora had seen thoughts and memories from a hundred researchers, learnt their secrets – the little shames that were embarrassing even to those born and raised in the Confederation – and felt their shock and horror as they realised their minds had been read. She thought, sometimes, that the researchers would have been happier if they’d remained on Darius, a world populated by witches and wizards out of a children’s fairy tale. It had been absurd, and no one understood how the Darius Machine had given some people magic powers, but …

Henri leaned forward, his mind brushing against hers. “You want to spy on their meeting?”

Pandora hesitated, then allowed him to lead her off the beach and through a maze of foliage back to the research centre. No expense had been spared to make the centre look as homely as possible, although expense was relative when one realised there was no reason the researchers couldn’t have built themselves a giant castle each and still had plenty of resources for everything from medical labs to defence stations. The buildings looked wooden, blending neatly with the tropical foliage; she smiled, briefly, as they walked around a swimming pool and a small bar before nearing the research centre itself. Her mind reached out, gingerly. There were no Children inside the complex.

“In here,” Henri said.

He opened the door to a small hut, left empty after the last occupant had left two months ago, and led the way inside. The AI’s drones had cleaned the interior from top to bottom in preparation for a researcher who had never actually arrived. It was a curious blend of primitive chic and modern technology, the latter worked carefully into a walls to keep it as concealed as possible. Pandora didn’t know why they bothered. She had studied history. The primitive chic, the pretence the researchers were roughing it, was insulting to her ancestors, the ones who had truly lived in a primitive environment. They had had no choice, back then. Now … sure, there were people who chose to really rough it, to live in habitats where nothing more advanced than a horse and cart was permitted, but they could quit at any moment. Her ancestors hadn’t known it was possible. To them, it hadn’t.

Henri lay on the bed, large enough for three or four full-grown adults. Pandora lay beside him and took his hand, his thoughts flowing into hers. She saw his urge to leave the centre, to explore the universe; she tasted his fear that they would never be allowed to leave, that they’d be nothing more than prisoners for the rest of their lives. She saw herself through his eyes, a beautiful young girl shining with life and love, and tasted his attraction to her, just as he tasted her own attraction to him. The urge to roll over and make love was almost overwhelming, but she resisted as his awareness drifted out of his body and floated across the chamber. She followed, her head twisting oddly as she passed through the walls and out into the open air. The world itself bent around them …

… Something nagged at her mind, gone before Henri could sense it …

… And then they were in the conference room, hovering invisibly over the table.

She felt a flicker of guilt as her mind surveyed the chamber. Professor Exurban, the de facto head of the research team; Professor Aliya, a paraphysical researcher; Professor Alexis, an xenospecialist who studied ancient alien technology; someone she didn’t recognise, a young-seeming man with old eyes, his thoughts calm and intensely disciplined. Colonel Truman, she picked up from Henri’s thoughts. The man had presented a blank face, but the agitation behind his mask had been blindingly obvious. Pandora didn’t know why he’d bothered trying to hide it.

“The blunt truth is that their abilities shouldn’t exist,” Aliya said. She was one of the longest-serving researchers, a brown-haired woman who had spent the last five years on Clarke. “They defy everything we know about how the universe works.”

She spoke with quiet intensity. “Telepathy. Telekinesis. Astral projection … a bunch of other abilities, none of which make much sense. They really shouldn’t be able to do half the things they do, certainly not in the manner they do.”

Truman leaned forward. “In what way?”

“They can communicate telepathically with each other, at least to some degree,” Aliya said. “This communication appears to be instantaneous, faster than hyperwave signals. We put one of the Children on a spacecraft and punched it up to just below the speed of light, yet they were still able to communicate even though the time dilation effect should have rendered it impossible. Their telekinesis is even stranger … frankly, I think the only thing limiting their abilities is their own lack of belief. The more they learn to combine their abilities, the more they’ll be able to do.”

“You have the finest sensors in the Confederation,” Truman said. “Can’t you tell what they’re doing?”

“No,” Exurban said, flatly. Pandora tasted his frustration. “The attempts to monitor their brainwaves have proven futile. We should see some activity when they use their abilities, but … very little. Certainly not enough. The environmental sensors see nothing. We can pick up tractor beams easily, but their telekinesis simply doesn’t register. There are some very faint flickers on the quantum sensors, when they push their abilities to the limit, yet … not enough to determine what they’re actually doing. As far as we can tell, their abilities are not rooted in science.”

Truman’s brief flicker of amusement lit up the mindscape. “Magic?”

Exurban looked irked. “The Darius Machine was not magic. It was nothing more than a piece of highly-advanced technology. We don’t understand how it worked, let alone how to build our own, but given time we will eventually solve the riddle. If we start thinking of it as magic, as something inexplicable, we will effectively be giving up.”

“Our ancestors might comprehend that the tech we use here is not magic,” Truman pointed out, “but it would still take them years to duplicate it for themselves.”

“Yes,” Exurban agreed. “And given time, we will unlock the secrets of their abilities.”

“If we have time,” Truman said. The cool urgency coloured his thoughts. “How long can we keep them here? Should we keep them here?”

“They lack for nothing,” Exurban snapped.

“Except freedom,” Alexis countered. “We call them Children, but the youngest amongst them is seventeen. It is just a matter of time before they attain their majority and demand the right to leave Clarke. What do we do then?”

Truman’s thoughts were cold, hard. “Do they pose any danger? Their powers …”

“Don’t think of them as powers, but abilities.” Exurban sounded very firm. His emotions told a different story. “It’s hard to be sure. Their abilities could be very dangerous, but there’s no reason to think they’re sociopaths. Their empathy is off the scales. Their ability to be aware of how their fellows are feeling makes it very hard for them to jump onto the slippery slope. To be honest, I’d say they were more mentally stable than most teenage humans. Far too many of us need to hit thirty or forty before we stop indulging ourselves and develop the maturity to grow into fully-rounded human beings.”

He paused. “That said, their telepathy is going to cause problems. No one likes having their mind read.”

“And it won’t be long until the first lawsuits get filed,” Alexis put in. “It’ll be an interesting legal case, that’s for sure.”

“Quite,” Truman agreed. “So … what do we do?”

The question hung in the air. Pandora held her breath, tasting the surge of emotions running through the air. What could they do? What would they do? The Confederation couldn’t legally keep them prisoner, but … it would be difficult to leave the planet if starships weren’t permitted to pass through the system. She honestly didn’t understand the problem. But then, she was used to a life without privacy. The researchers weren’t. She could feel their unease at having their minds read, their skin crawling even though they knew the Children weren’t doing it deliberately.

“We keep studying the Children, and helping them to develop their abilities,” Exurban said, finally. “And hopefully we can find a way to teach them control before it is too late.”

“They don’t want to learn,” Aliya said. “To them, their existence is natural. It’s the way things were meant to be. They no more want to shut their telepathy down than the average child wishes to be isolated from the datanet. Or have his eyes poked out. And frankly, I’m not convinced they can learn. There are just too many things about their abilities that don’t make sense.”

Henri’s mind slipped back into his own body. Pandora followed, her awareness flickering back in the blink of an eye. Her chest heaved as she took a breath, suddenly very aware of her own body once again. Henri let go of her hand and sat up.

“They’re never going to let us out, are they?”

“That’s not quite what they said,” Pandora reminded him. She could feel his anger – and desire to be free. Henri wanted to travel the stars, to explore the universe … he wanted the freedoms enjoyed by the rest of the human race. “If we can figure out how to control ourselves …”

“Yeah,” Henri agreed. “If.”

OUT NOW – Tales of the Nameless World, Volume II

Five Schooled in Magic novellas, published together for the first time …

The Nameless World is a place of magic and mystery, of kings and princes and magicians and merchants and rebels, fighting for supremacy or power or even just to carve out a place for themselves in a world of wonders and terrors, a world forever changed by a traveller from our world …

Meet a young man on a desperate quest to avenge his lost lover, only to be dragged into a crisis beyond his imagination that threatens the hard-won peace of his world. Meet a young man without magic, who wishes to be a magician and finds a way to give magic to everyone; meet a young woman who wishes to start a school newspaper, to learn – too late – that muckraking and rumour-mongering comes with a very high price. Travel with a young magician going home again, to a village she outgrew long ago, and find out what really happened when Lady Barb first met Void, over a decade before Emily’s arrival in the Nameless World.

Learn the wonder of magic, and the price of mastery …

Read a , then purchase here – Amazon US, Amazon UK, Amazon Canada, Amazon Austrailia, Books2Read

(NOTE: The Cunning Man’s Tale, The Muckraker’s Tale, and Frieda’s Tale have all been previously published; Cat’s Tale and Lady Barb’s Tale are exclusive to this volume.)

Update – And New Releases

First things first, both Exiled To Glory and Conquistadors have been published.

Conquistadors is currently number one in new releases for alternate history and I hope it will stay that way for quite some time . Exiled to Glory has done very well, so I’m working on finalising the plot for book two (provisional title: Stolen Glory) and I intend to write it in the next 2-3 months. First, however, I have to finish The Fires Of Freedom, the latest A Learning Experience universe novel, and then I intend to write the second inverse shadows novel. Quite a few people asked me, at WorldCon, what happened to the second book, so I guess I have to write it.

WorldCon was pretty good, but also very draining. I sold 58 out of 60 books, but ended up going home early because it was just incredibly draining. My son had fun helping to sell the book too, although I think he got a little bored after a while. I met and briefly exchanged words with Robert Silverberg and Simon R. Green, the latter notable for having written one of the very few science-fiction (more accurately, science-fantasy) novels that beat Star Wars at its own game. The Deathstalker books are very well worth a read.

It also gave me time to think about the future. I am very fond of the Ark Royal and Schooled in Magic universes, but I think the former is largely played itself out and the latter needs to move away from Emily. There is always a drop off in readership and sales as a series advances, as the bigger it gets the harder it becomes to get into the series. I also want to explore new settings and characters, both in a shameless attempt to attract new readers (and therefore earn more money), and also to do things I can’t do in the established universes.

Regarding Schooled in Magic, I’m currently waiting on the first set of edits for The Unnatural Order. This will be followed by Wolf In The Fold, The Hour Of The Wolf, and Heart’s Eye, which I think will be Emily’s last major adventure. (I may do a singleton or two featuring her, but we will see.) I have several ideas for other spin-offs, but I think the most interesting one to explore will be the life of Emily’s son, who will obviously grow up in her shadow and find it difficult to make a name for himself. By that point, the industrial revolution will be impossible to stop, a combination of magic, science, and magic technology changing the world into a steampunk fantasy. How does that sound?

There will also be at least six books in the Morningstar/Exiled To Glory universe, following Leo’s career, and two more Conquistadors. Beyond that, I’m not sure. I do have a vague idea about a alternate history novel set between The Flight Of Werner Von Braun and the Twilight Of The Gods, perhaps set largely in an alternate Iran caught between Nazi Germany and Atlantic US/UK Alliance. However, that still requires a great deal of research.

I would like to take this moment to remind you to subscribe to my mailing list, if you haven’t already. Facebook has a nasty habit of throttling posts, and the mailing list is the only way to guarantee receiving updates. I promise I won’t spam you.

Please let me know what you think, and don’t hesitate to leave a review if you like any or all of my new releases.

Thank you for your time.

Chris

OUT NOW – Conquistadors

The Protectorate – an interdimensional empire that has conquered five timelines so far – has set its sights on ours. Led by a man willing to risk everything for power and conquest, armed with technology a hundred years ahead of ours – technology promising salvation to its allies and doom to its enemies – and drawing on a far deeper military history, the Protectorate Expeditionary Force has arrived to invade and incorporate our world into the greatest empire the multiverse has ever known, or die trying.

And as the war for the future of our timeline begins, and spreads right across the world, we are forced into a fight we cannot win …

…. And yet dare not lose.

Read a FREE SAMPLE, then download from the links here: Amazon US, UK, CAN, AUS, Books2Read (still going up – check back if it isn’t in your favourite store.)

PRE-ORDER NOW – Conquistadors!

The Protectorate – an interdimensional empire that has conquered five timelines so far – has set its sights on ours. Led by a man willing to risk everything for power and conquest, armed with technology a hundred years ahead of ours – technology promising salvation to its allies and doom to its enemies – and drawing on a far deeper military history, the Protectorate Expeditionary Force has arrived to invade and incorporate our world into the greatest empire the multiverse has ever known, or die trying.

And as the war for the future of our timeline begins, and spreads right across the world, we are forced into a fight we cannot win …

…. And yet dare not lose.

(I’m trying to get a release day bump, so please pre-order now. We go live on the 29/09/2024. I can’t put up a sample yet, but you can see the first snippet here.)

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Amazon CAN

Amazon AUS

Snippet – The Fires of Freedom

Prologue I

From: Covert Operations of the Solar Union, Baen Historical Press, 101SY.

As we have seen in previous volumes, the desperate need to crack the secrets of GalTech forced the Solar Union to risk deploying a covert operations team, the Firelighters, to Belos, a world that had been effortlessly conquered by the Tichck hundreds of years ago and turned into a nightmare that would make Adolf Hitler, Josef Stalin and Jefferson Davis blanch. The team had orders to capture one or more GalCores – the keys to GalTech – and smuggle them back home, a mission they rapidly discovered would be very hard to carry out. Indeed, their first attempt at stealing the GalCores was an abject failure. They had to flee into the hinterland and hide, while preparing for a second attempt against an alerted foe.

Luck was with them, and they made contact with the planet’s underground resistance movement. The natives – the Belosi – wanted to be free of alien domination, although the sheer gap between the natives and their overlords was almost impossible to comprehend, let alone surmount. The Belosi were little better than slaves, at best, and they were kept ignorant of the outside universe and the rights they could, in theory, claim under Galactic Law. There were few powers even aware of the resistance, let alone willing to help. The Firelighters, by contrast, were more than happy to enlist the Belosi as allies, providing weapons and equipment that gave them a fighting chance against their oppressors. It was a considerable stretch, and the Covert Operations Oversight Committee argued that the Firelighters had exceeded their authority, but it paid off for them. As the Belosi rose against their enemies, the team was able to make a second attempt to secure the GalCores and ship them out of the system. That attempt proved successful, giving humanity the keys to the universe. It is no exaggeration to say the Solar Union would not have survived without the mission, nor that humanity owed a great debt to the Belosi.

Realising there was no way the Tichck would allow the Belosi to remain independent, the Firelighters encouraged the underground to steal as many FTL-capable starships as possible and flee the planet, heading into the trackless wilderness of interstellar space. It would be impossible to track the fleeing ships, they reasoned, and the Belosi would have years, or decades, to build up their forces in preparation for a return to their homeworld. There was a considerable split within the ranks at that point, with a number of resistance fighters choosing to remain and fight for their freedom, but a sizable number – nearly a million – Belosi were uplifted before the hammer came down and the Tichck regained control of the high orbitals. Precisely what happened on Belos after that remains uncertain, as the Tichck imposed a complete information blackout, but it is clear the resistance was defeated. The Tichck, embarrassed in front of their peers, were unlikely to be gentle. They went so far as to deploy a genetically engineered bioweapon to keep the remaining Belosi under control. Any native who escaped into the hinterland, and was therefore no longer being fed on the plantations, would die in short order. The resistance died out shortly afterwards. Literally.

The Solar Union had an additional stroke of luck. The Tichck knew the Belosi had been incited by off-world elements, but they had no idea who had tried to bury a knife in their back. Indeed, they were unaware of the real purpose of the mission; the GalCores were reported destroyed in the confusion, and – of course – an advanced race would have no difficulty either bringing along a GalCore of their own or simply duplicating their abilities through less spectacular means. The Tichck blamed a number of their rivals, most notably the Vesparians, and though the Tokomak were able to pour cold water on the confrontation before it turned violent the Tichck never lost their belief the Vesparians had been behind the world affair. This was incredibly fortunate for the human race. The Solar Navy of that era could not have stopped the Tichck if they had chosen to attack Sol, nor would the Tokomak have lifted a finger to stop them.

The Belosi Exiles spent the next few decades mastering GalTech, building up their population and preparing for a return to their homeworld. The Solar Union kept them at arm’s lengths, fearing they would jump the gun and attack ahead of time, exposing them to a near-certain defeat that might expose human involvement too, but a number of human advisors – including the remaining Firelighters – were deployed to assist them. On paper, these advisors were mercenaries, deniable elements that had no ties to the Solar Union; in practice, they were and remain agents of the Solar Union. It was difficult, at times, to keep the Belosi from launching a mission to their homeworld, even a single probe, and they were chaffing at the bit during the opening moves of the Human-Tokomak War. The only thing that kept them from attacking, and throwing the galaxy into even greater chaos, was the promise of human support in recovering their homeworld after the Tokomak were defeated. And when the war ended in a decisive human victory, the time came to keep that promise.

That was not an easy task. The Solar Navy was spread out over thousands of light years. The task of maintaining garrisons and patrols over occupied space, demilitarising large numbers of enemy starships and keeping the gravity points open for interstellar trade meant that there were few starships that could be spared to support the Belosi. Worse, the defeat of the Tokomak had encouraged a number of other Galactics to assert themselves, in a bid to either succeed the Tokomak as unquestioned masters of the known universe or simply to asset their independence from all other powers. There was a very real risk of a number of Galactics banding together to challenge the human race, and many of those powers were nowhere near as hidebound and ultra-conservative as their former masters. The Solar Union needed to keep its promise, true, but it also needed to keep prospective rivals off-balance as long as possible.

A task force, under the command of Commodore Elton Yasser, was put together as quickly as possible. It was carefully designed to make it tricky for any watching eyes to work out who had actually dispatched the fleet, using ship designs that had been largely finalised before the rise of the first human civilisations and weapons that could have come from anywhere, instead of the advanced missiles and other technologies the human race had used to win its war. The presence of humans amongst the landing force was not, in itself, indicative of anything; a sizable number of humans had served the various alien superpowers as mercenaries for centuries, and there was no reason to tie their presence back to the Solar Union. Indeed, every attempt was made to convince the Tichck that their local rivals were backing the Belosi. It was a lie the Tichck were disposed to believe.

Commodore Yasser had additional orders. If the Tichck reacted quickly, and there was a very good chance the entire task force would be destroyed, he was to cut his losses and withdraw as quickly as possible. The Solar Union could not afford heavy losses, even if they escaped blame for the entire disaster. Those orders would cause considerable friction further down the line.

The task force linked up with the Belosi and stormed the Belos System, securing the gravity points and the high orbitals before landing troops on the planetary surface. It rapidly became clear the Tichck on the ground had no intention of surrendering, and bombarding the megacities from orbit would result in massive civilian casualties. The Tichck had worked hard to turn Belos into an industrial centre, inviting investment from hundreds of interstellar corporations, and – intentionally or not – those off-worlders served as de facto living shields. The troops would have to take the megacities on the ground, forcing them into an uneasy stalemate while the task force brought pressure to bear against the Tichck elsewhere.

Already in the middle of a plan to assert control of the local sector, and the stars surrounding their sphere of influence, the Tichck reacted quickly. They dispatched a fleet up the gravity point chain towards Belos, forcing the task force into a series of running battles, and another though starships and gravity points that were technically supposed to be neutral. This fleet broke back into Belos, threatening to trap the task force against the planet and destroy it. Precisely what happened at that point remains debatable, as Yasser’s orders to withdraw were clearly not heeded, but it is clear they chose to make a stand. The combination of Belosi and Solar Union warships met the Tichck, and bested them. The planet was secure …

And there was a window of opportunity, a very short one, to win the war once and for all.

Prologue II

A human who saw the innermost conflict chamber would have described it as unbearably gauche.

The Tichck disagreed. There was no point in being amongst the wealthiest and most powerful races in the galaxy, they reasoned, if you couldn’t show off a little. Or a lot. The walls were lined with expensive paintings from a hundred different systems, the shelves and cases covered with artworks that were rare, if not unique, and worth more money than the vast majority of sentient beings would ever see in their lives. It was not enough to have made it, to have climbed to the top through fair means or foul; it was the cold desire to prove their success, to remind anyone who visited that they were nothing more than supplicants, prostrating themselves before their superiors even as they bided their time, hoping to reach the top themselves. The Tichck had never heard of the human observation that the rear one kicked on the way up might wind up being the one you had to kiss on the way down, but if they had they wouldn’t have taken it for the warning it was meant to be. It was the way things worked. If you won, you deserved it by right; if you lost, you deserved everything you got.

Chairperson Harpeth sat on his chair – a human would have thought of it as a throne, and rightly so – and watched the servants fussing about, their faces carefully blank as they handed out the food and endured abuse from their masters. The Tichck prided themselves on being hard and ruthless, willing to do anything in search of power and profit, and the ones who reached the very top were the hardest and most ruthless of all, unwilling to let even a moment go by without reminding their inferiors that they were inferior. Competition was baked into their society, even in scientific research and technical development. Harpeth had seen enough of other societies to understand the downsides, but he had no intention of trying to convince his people to take a different path. The Tokomak had tried to freeze the entire galaxy in stasis and look how that had worked out for them! No, competition was the way forward, and the Tichck were well-placed to win.

He waited for the last of the servants to leave, then tapped the console beside his throne. The GalCore ran through a series of security checks, ensuring the chamber was as secure as GalTech could made it, then displayed a holographic starchart in front of the committee. A low hiss ran through the chamber as the councillors stared at the display, a handful of stars surrounded by tactical icons that cautioned them the data was dangerously out of date. The Tichck had expended a great deal of money building up a communications network that was second to none, but the vagaries of the gravity points and the limits of FTL travel ensured it took weeks, if not months, for reliable data to flow from the edge of their sphere of influence to the homeworld, and by the time the homeworld replied to any messages the situation had already moved on. It was hard to be sure of what was happening a mere ten light years away, let alone on the other side of their sphere of influence, but one thing was clear. Belos remained in enemy hands.

“The report is vague to the point of uselessness,” he said. He didn’t bother with any preliminaries. They were for lesser races. “The operation to recapture Belos and regain control of the gravity points has failed.”

Another hiss ran through the chamber. The Tichck had expended billions of credits in expanding their network of influence, buying politicians and hiring influencers who might – openly or covertly – steer their planets into becoming de facto client states. Some were well known, others were so well hidden that no one, as far as they knew, would realise they were actually working for the Tichck. It had taken dozens of such deniable assets to convince the various governments to allow the task force to pass through their systems and gravity points, turning the concept of their neutrality into a joke. Harpeth knew it would have been dangerously revealing even if the operation had succeeded, as local reporters and analysts started asking hard questions about just why so many politicians and military leaders had bent over backwards to please the Tichck. The networks would be uncovered, and that meant …

“Impossible,” Chairman Tomah said. “How could we lose?”

“The Belosi have backers,” Harpeth pointed out. “And they are clearly a very powerful race.”

He felt his canines slip into a snarl. The Belosi had been primitives, too stupid to even come up with fire, when they’d been discovered, and very little had changed in the hundreds of years they’d spent under Tichck domination. They were fit only for brute labour, their minds too small to comprehend what they were doing or their ultimate role within the Tichck Consortium. No, they could not have come up with the idea of revolting against a vastly superior race on their own, not when they had no comprehension of the greater galaxy or the towering civilisation surrounding them. The whole idea of allowing other races to set up shop on Belos had been, in hindsight, a mistake. Someone had gotten greedy, someone had decided to make a play for the entire system …

But who?

The analysts had drawn a blank. The enemy starships were designs that dated back hundreds of years, hulls in service with a hundred different races … the design so old, he reflected grimly, that the ships they were facing might have passed though several separate sets of owners before being deployed against the Tichck Navy. They had been modernised, according to the analysts, but again there was nothing that pointed to their true owners. Everything from their jump drives to their missiles were almost disturbingly common, products of fabricators that could be found on almost any truly developed world. The Tichck had put feelers out, trying to determine who might have hired a few thousand mercenaries, but results had been inconclusive. Everyone was hiring mercenaries at the moment, from races with ambitions of conquest to others who feared their neighbours were planning to invade. The intelligence staff had admitted, reluctantly, they had been unable to identify their culprit. They’d covered their tracks in a manner that would have been admirable, if it hadn’t been aimed at him.

“We cannot afford to let this pass,” he said, quietly. “It makes us look weak.”

“It does weaken us,” Chairman Tomah pointed out, dryly. “We’re not collecting any revenue from the gravity points.”

Harpeth couldn’t disagree. The Belos System had always been prime real estate, as far as the Galactics were concerned, because of the three gravity points. They’d been able to charge transit fees to anyone who wanted to pass through, and there had never been any shortage of people willing to pay. But now, the Belosi – and their new masters – were in control of the system. The Tichck had declared the gravity points off-limits, yet he knew better than to think anyone would actually listen. The galaxy cared nothing for words, when action was all that counted. And he couldn’t keep starships from transiting the gravity points.

“It’s the Vesparians,” Chairman Domoh said. “Who else can it be?”

“You say that because they’re pressing against your territory,” Chairman Tomah countered. “It could be the …”

The discussion dissolved into chaos, the chairmen arguing loudly over just who was the prime suspect. Harpeth kept his mouth shut and listened, without committing himself. The Vesparians were probable suspects, and they had an excellent motive for seizing control of Belos and the nearby systems … a better one, perhaps, than they knew. If the plan to take covert control of many surrounding systems worked, the Vesparians would find themselves surrounded and restricted on all sides. They might well have chosen to act in a covert manner, leaving themselves with enough plausible deniability to back off if the operation failed. But they weren’t the only suspects. Harpeth was all too aware his people had enemies. Their competitive approach to galactic power made them feared, rather than loved. He didn’t care if his race was hated as long as their enemies were too scared to lift a hand against them. But if that fear died away …

“We need to act fast,” he said. “And that means launching another fleet as quickly as possible.”

“We can’t spare many ships from our other commitments,” Chairman Domoh pointed out. “And even if we can muster a fleet, can we send them through neutral space again?”

“We have enough firepower to force the gravity points, if they refuse to let us pass peacefully,” Chairman Tomah snapped. “If they wish to be our enemies, we can treat them as such.”

“We already have enough enemies,” Chairman Domoh countered. “Do we really need more?”

Chairwoman Maris leaned forward. Harpeth tensed. Maris had an absolute gift for looking foolish, right up to the moment she buried her knife in someone’s back. She had an odd view of the universe that, he had to admit, had somehow worked out for her. No one who had climbed to the top could be taken lightly, but Chairwoman Maris was easily the most eccentric of the councillors. And perhaps the one most likely to think outside the box.

“We could try to come to terms with the Belosi,” she said. “If we can separate them from their allies …”

“Treason,” Chairman Domoh howled. “They cannot be trusted!”

“And they are primitives,” Chairman Tomah added. “Why should we work with them?”

“Because we cannot afford a long drawn-out conflict,” Chairwoman Maris snapped. “Let us make a deal, and expose their allies. We can always deal with them later.”

Harpeth considered it, briefly. On paper, Maris had a point. There was no way the Belosi, primitive in name and nature, could understand the subtle tricks their masters would use against them, let alone realise how they were being isolated and prepared for the slaughter. Making concessions now might save them a war, and expose their mystery backers. But in practice, it would make the Tichck look weak. Other races would demand concessions, and that would be the end of their power. The galaxy was a lawless jungle, now the Tokomak were no longer enforcing the rules. If the Tichck slipped, they would fall a very long way.

The argument went on for hours, the Subdo servants bringing food and drink and then withdrawing as silently as they’d come. Harpeth paid them no mind. They were a servitor race and their opinions were irrelevant, in the great scheme of things. He kept his mind focused on the debate, although he already knew the outcome. It was unlikely the council would heed Maris, not when everything was at stake. The vote, hours after the meeting had opened, was a mere formality.

There would be war.

Chapter One

The enemy fleet looked as if it had been through the wars.

Commodore Elton Yasser stood in the observation blister, his hands clasped behind his back, and studied the remnants of the alien fleet thoughtfully. The Tichck had always believed that size mattered, and they’d taken the original battleship designs and crammed hundreds of modern weapons into their hulls, but it hadn’t been enough to save them. Their ships had been lured into a trap, forced to fight a duel at point-blank range with an enemy who didn’t care if they lived or died, as long as they hurt their tormentors, and then finally mouse-trapped by a superior alien fleet. Elton knew, with a hint of shame, just how close he had come to conceding defeat and fleeing the system; he had no illusions, not really, about just what his superiors would say when they found out what had happened. He had gambled, and won, and yet … he could easily have lost. The Solar Union could not afford to lose more than a handful of ships, not now. It could cost them all the gains of the last war.

Light glimmered in the distance as shuttles made their way to and from the airlocks, conveying the alien prisoners to temporary holding cells, and repair drones patched up the damage as best as possible. The enemy CO had been bullied into surrendering without destroying the fleet’s datacores, ensuring the ships could be put back into action relatively quickly, but it didn’t mean the ships were fit for anything more than soaking up missiles. The human prize crews would have very real difficulty flying and fighting them, if only because the Tichck had designed their ships to be as specific to their species as possible. A great many systems would have to be reconfigured for human or Belosi use, before the ships could be taken into battle, and the Tichck – in defiance of Galactic Law – had made that surprisingly hard. Elton had no idea if it was a security precaution, or simple laziness, but he couldn’t deny it had worked in their favour. It would be weeks before the ships could be pointed at their former masters, at best. And that might be dangerously optimistic.

The communicator pinged. He glanced at it, torn between relief and a certain kind of apprehension as the update appeared in front of him. The reinforcements had arrived … such as they were. The Solar Navy had been able to detach old and outdated vessels that had been surrendered, in the wake of the last war, but there would be no modern weapons and very few crew. Elton understood the logic – the moment the fleet deployed Hammers or LinkShips, the Tichck would know precisely who they were fighting – yet it still gnawed at him. The war could have been shortened, quite sharply, if he’d been able to use the most advanced weapons in the known galaxy.

No, he corrected himself. The most advanced weapons you know to exist.

He scowled. He didn’t need to bring up a political starchart of the explored galaxy to understand the dilemma facing the Solar Union. The Tokomak had been beaten, but their defeat had freed a considerable number of major powers from their straightjacket of alien control, powers that could face the human race on equal terms and were no less capable of innovating for themselves. Elton had been a diplomat as much as a military commander – he knew without false modesty he was a better diplomat than a commodore – and he knew the Galactics were very far from stupid. The Tokomak had tried to keep a lid on technological development, but now they were gone. It was just a matter of time before the human race was challenged, probably on multiple fronts.

We’re like Alexander the Great, he reflected. We beat the Persians. But now we have to somehow integrate their empire into ours, while also dealing with threats as far afraid as Rome, Carthage and India. And if we try to keep it all, we won’t be able to keep any.

The thought didn’t please him. Military victories were easy, compared to keeping and ruling one’s gains. Just ask Napoleon, or Hitler. The Solar Union controlled an unimaginably vast region of space now, let its control was very light and there were doubtless places where it wasn’t felt at all. The Galactics might be shocked by the fall of Tokomak Prime, and the defeat of the once-invincible Tokomak, but that wouldn’t last. It was just a matter of time before they banded together to face the human race, or started warring amongst themselves. There were already at least a dozen minor wars underway, if the reports were accurate. It was hard to be sure. They were already several weeks out of date.

His communicator pinged, again. “Commodore, nine transports just arrived from the exile colony,” Captain Lana Mendlesohn said. “They’re bringing additional trained crewman.”

Belosi crewmen, Elton thought. The Belosi had done remarkably well, for a race that had been effectively slaves seventy years ago, but he feared the gaps in their knowledge. Humanity had started from a far more advanced point, when the first FTL ship had been captured by Steve Stuart and the rest of the Founding Fathers, yet it had taken years to evaluate GalTech and work out how to improve upon it. Are they up to the task before them?

He took a breath. “Get them through the biofilters, then on to their new ships,” he ordered, finally. It would be tricky, but they’d have to cope. “Make sure they know not to head to the surface. We’re still working on genetic scrubbers.”

“Yes, sir,” Lana said. Her voice darkened. “They won’t take that well.”

Elton grimaced. He was old enough to remember the days mankind had thought itself alone in the universe, old enough to remember when a young man could have a fairly good – and safe – life on Earth, before it had turned into hell. He had little inclination to return to what remained of his hometown, and he was fairly sure it would be unsafe, but he understood the impulse. He, at least, had left willingly. The Belosi exiles had fled Belos, all too aware that if they stayed they’d be slaughtered. Elton couldn’t blame them for wanting to set foot, once again, on the eerie yellow-green hills of their homeworld. But it would put the exiles in immense danger.

He ground his teeth in silent frustration. The Tichck had crushed the rebels, and slaughtered vast numbers of natives to make their point, and then – just to make sure further revolts were impossible – they’d infected the survivors with a genetically-engineered bioweapon, altering their biological makeup so they couldn’t survive without regularly ingesting a very specific compound that was carefully added to their plantation rations. Any Belosi who fled, on the assumption he could live off the land, was going to die in short order, ensuring the natives could no longer assemble outside Tichck control. It was a neat and simple solution to the problem, Elton reflected, and yet no one had anticipated it until the bioweapon had been discovered during the invasion. And now, any exile who went down to the surface would rapidly become infected himself.

“They’ll just have to cope,” Elton said. He recalled hearing stories of people who’d been evacuated from Chernobyl, after the disaster, and then tried to sneak their way back into the district. They had wanted to go home, if he recalled correctly, and didn’t care about the risk … even if they understood it. “We don’t have enough medical support to tend to all the victims.”

He cursed the Tichck under his breath. Human medical science was superior to anything the Tichck could boast, but isolating the bioweapon and scrubbing it out permanently was a nightmarishly difficult task. They simply didn’t have the resources to do it on the required scale, and the medical supplies they’d captured on Belos – the planet itself was now completely in their hands – were designed more to keep the bioweapon appeased rather than remove it completely. They’d been lucky the Tichck hadn’t thought to destroy the facilities. It would have led, rapidly and inevitably, to the death of most of the slave population. He wondered, idly, why they hadn’t. Perhaps they’d thought they could retake the world. It wasn’t as if they gave a shit about public option.

“Yes, sir,” Lana said.

The connection closed. Elton rubbed his forehead, feeling a wave of tiredness threatening to overcome him. The task force had won a battle, but the enemy was still out there. They had at least one squadron of their own on the far side of Gravity Point One – Elton wanted to believe his missile barrage had damaged or destroyed the enemy fleet; decades of naval service had taught him the dangers of wishful thinking – and they would have reinforcements on the way. His analysts had predicted the enemy homeworld already knew what had happened … Elton didn’t want to believe it, but he couldn’t deny the logic. The smart money was still on a Tichck victory. The smaller powers orbiting their sphere of influence wouldn’t change sides unless they thought the outcome was in doubt. The hell of it was that they might be right. If the Tichck brought their entire fleet to bear against Belos, the Belosi would lose.

He turned his head, staring into the starfield. The Tichck had turned the system into a major industrial node, and most of the fabricators had fallen into their hands when they’d invaded. Given time, the Belosi would have a chance to build up a fleet of their own … but would they have that time? The Tichck had to be planning trouble. And God alone knew what the rest of the Galactics were thinking.

They invested a shitload of money into the system, he reflected, as he opened the hatch and left the blister. And they’ll want their investment back as quickly as possible.

Elton put the thought aside as he walked through the ship, the naval crewmen saluting him as they hurried about their duties. MacArthur hadn’t taken heavy damage in the final engagement, thankfully, but there was never any shortage of work for her much-reduced crew. Assigning half her complement to repair duties on other ships was a risk – there might not be enough time to get them home if the shooting started without warning – yet there was no other way to get the ships ready for action before it was too late. Elton had seen the computer models, watched the hundreds of possible enemy actions get slimmed down to a handful of possibilities. They might be attacked within two weeks, perhaps less if enemy reinforcements were already on the way. They had won a great victory, but their gains were fragile. They could still lose.

He sighed, inwardly, as he stepped into the CIC. The big displays were throbbing with activity, from warships and support vessels holding station near the gravity points and the planet itself to mining and industrial ships making their way from the asteroids to the fabricators and back again. It was an impressive sight, representing more industrial might than the United States at the height of its power and sophistication, yet he knew it was tiny compared to the enemy’s core worlds. They were churning out missiles and mines already, and they were well on their way to producing starship components and sensors, but the enemy could outproduce them by several orders of magnitude. He wanted – he needed – a silver bullet, one that could render the enemy’s fleet little more than scrap metal. It was galling, to say the least, to know that the Solar Navy had one. He just wasn’t allowed to use it.

And that policy won’t change, he reflected, as he took his seat and scanned the reports. We’ll just have to grin and bear it, and hope we can get ready before the storm finally arrives.

***

Sarah Wilde wondered, not for the first time, how actors like Michael Dorn or René Auberjonois managed to survive their careers, wearing rubber masks and costumes that made them look almost completely alien. The guise she wore was lighter than those, made from modern materials that were designed with her comfort in mind, yet they were still hot and sticky and left her feeling weirdly exposed even though she was heavily disguised. She would have preferred to wear a heavy battlesuit, although they were bulky and everyone knew they made easy targets for alert enemies. They didn’t leave her feeling as though she was trapped in a rubbery slimy nightmare.

She kept the thought to herself as she stood and watched the alien prisoners being escorted out of the shuttles and into the makeshift POW camp. No one was quite sure what would happen to the alien prisoners – Tichck, Subdo, a bunch of others from races that were important or considered themselves to be – but it went against the grain to mistreat them, or allow others to mistreat them. There would be a demand for an accounting, sooner or later, and that could easily lead to trouble if a race was looking for an excuse to start a fight … not, she supposed, that it would matter even if there wasn’t such a race. The Solar Union had very clear rules on the proper treatment of prisoners, and mistreating POWs who were behaving themselves was asking for a court martial and a long prison sentence. She didn’t want to find out the hard way what would happen if she allowed the Belosi to mistreat them. She understood the impulse – she had seen the plantations – but it could not be allowed.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched the POWs sorting themselves out. The officers and corporate suits had been taken to another complex, where they’d be interrogated before they were traded back to the enemy, and it looked as if the POWs were segregating themselves. The Tichck were refusing to share barracks with Subdo, while the other races were separating themselves still further … she didn’t care, as long as it didn’t turn into a fight. They had warned the POWs not to fight each other, or try to escape, but Sarah had little expectation they’d do as they were told. She’d been through the dreaded Conduct After Capture course herself, and she knew she had a duty to resist, and to attempt to escape, to the best of her ability. There was no reason the enemy wouldn’t have their own version of the course, and their own orders to escape …

Her lips quirked as she turned away. Any who tried would find it difficult. The island had been abandoned years ago, the native population either transferred elsewhere or simply left to die when the bioweapon swept over the planet. They could make a raft if they wanted, and set sail for the mainland, but they’d have to cross nearly two hundred miles of water, teeming with dangerous sea creatures, and then somehow survive the Belosi on the far side. Sarah doubted any would last long enough to reach a megacity, and even if they did it would be impossible to get offworld. She hoped they’d listened, when the staff had pointed it out. They had no friends on the planet, just enemies who were less hostile than others. And nothing could keep the Belosi on the mainland from slaughtering every Tichck they caught.

“We should be able to keep them fed and watered, for the moment,” Lieutenant Patty O’Rourke said. She looked like a parody of a Vesperian, although Sarah had the advantage of knowing it was a rubber suit. “The food will be bland, but there won’t be any problems with compatibility.”

“Let us hope so,” Sarah said. One Galactic’s favourite food was another’s poison. Literally. The Galactics had had centuries to devise ways to feed multiple races at the same time, but the food tended to be tasteless at best and foul at worst. Her body had been genetically modified to consume almost anything, yet there had been times when she’d had to force herself to choke down the slop. “Let them talk, if they will. Some may know something useful.”

“Of course,” Patty said. “But I doubt it.”

Sarah couldn’t disagree. The Solar Navy cross-trained its personal and a very high percentage of the officer ranks were mustangs, officers who had been crewmen and then transferred to officer training. Solarians were expected to think about what they were doing, and initiative was keenly encouraged. The Galactics, by contrast, rarely trained their crewmen in anything that didn’t touch on their role, and never told them anything more than they needed to know at any one time. She hoped it would impose limits on their naval expansion programs, but it was hard to tell for sure. The Tokomak had believed quantity had a quality all of its own and they’d written the tactical manuals the other races had read, then copied.

Her communicator bleeped. “Sarah, report back to the shuttle,” Captain Riley Richardson said, curtly. “We’re invited to a conference on the flagship.”

“Got it.” Sarah let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. They’d won one battle, and secured the planet, but the war was still to be won. Or lost. “I’m on my way.”

She closed the connection, then took one last look at the alien POWs. They looked listless and worn, something that could easily be an act. No POW in their right mind wanted to look dangerous, for fear they’d be knocked down – or worse – by the guards. For them, the war was over. Or was it? The enemy might regain the high orbitals and the POWs would suddenly find themselves called back to duty. And that would be the end of any hope of freedom for a sorely troubled and abused world.

Not if we have anything to say about it, she told herself. And we do.

OUT NOW – Exiled to Glory (Morningstar I)

After a cataclysmic interstellar war that came very close to exterminating humanity, the Daybreak Republic has risen from the ashes and embarked upon a mission to unite hundreds of human colony worlds under its banner, in hopes of preventing a second and final conflict that will complete the destruction of the human race. But not everyone agrees that the empire’s ends justify the means.

Leo Morningstar, a young naval cadet, had a bright and shining career ahead of him, until he was caught in a compromising position that could have severely embarrassed his superiors if it had become public. Unable to cashier him, his superiors chose instead to promote him – and send him into de facto exile as commander of a broken down ship, in a sector that has only just been incorporated into the empire and remains infested with pirates, rebels, and corrupt local politicians more interested in feathering their nests then improving the lives of their people. And for a man as ambitious as Leo, there are opportunities aplenty to make a name for himself.

They thought they were sending him into exile. But they might have exiled him to glory instead.

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(And I have a short story in this collection here!)

Snippet – Barb’s Tale (Schooled in Magic)

This takes place roughly 15 years prior to SIM

Prologue

It is not easy for me to recount the events of twenty years past, even when it is important that you – that everyone – should beware of one idealistic man, with enough power to make his dreams a reality and an unwillingness to hesitate, any longer, now the time has come for him to reshape the world. There is no oath binding me, no curse freezing my hands or tongue; nothing, but my own unwillingness to discuss my own past, and admit to my flaws and how near they came to getting me killed. I played with fire, and I wound up getting burnt.

There is little in my early life you don’t already know. My father was a remittance man, an aristocratic sorcerer who had been granted lands and an income, as long as he didn’t return to his family mansion. It is hard for me to imagine any reason why he might have been sent into de facto exile, nothing to explain a mystery that occasionally bothered me. He was no rake, no traitor, no coward who had disgraced the family name. He refused to speak of it, and told me that I was not to discuss it with my paternal relatives. I honoured his wish until his dying day. The relatives I spoke to, afterwards, were as much in the dark as I.

My mother, by contrast, was a Diddakoi Traveller, a young woman whose entire life was spent on the road. She was what we call a hedge witch, although the Diddakoi themselves do not use that term, and very much a wild spirit. Precisely how she met and tumbled my father was something else I was never told, nor too was I told why she chose to take the risk of pregnancy out of wedlock. The Diddakoi women had far more freedom than most, but there were and remain limits. If my mother hadn’t been such an accomplished witch, they might have kicked her out of the community. I wondered, later in life, if they’d threatened her to ensure she sent me to my father. As far as I know, they had no real relationship after the single tryst.

I spent my early years with the Diddakoi, then with my father; my mother came in and out of my life, always telling me she loved me and yet, for reasons she was unwilling to explain, refusing to take me back on the road for more than a month or two every year. My father was a little surprised, I think, to discover that he had a daughter, but he coped admirably. He taught me the basics of rational high magic, even as my mother opened my eyes to the wonders and shadows lurking in the natural world. I was as well prepared as anyone ever was when I came into my power.

In hindsight, it is clear that I was a headstrong young girl. There was little that scared me, in those days, and I roamed the world freely. My father’s name and power gave me a little protection; my mother’s influence, I believed, shielded me from the strange things lurking in the corner of our eyes. I played with my friends, youngsters from my father’s estate, and rode our horses over hills and dales, my hair blowing back in the wind. My first year of magic was no different, even though my parents were clearly unsure if I should study with a wise woman or go to school. They eventually compromised, and let me do both. It was the making of me.

I took Whitehall by storm. They said I was one of the most promising students to pass through the doors, my name whispered as a worthy successor to a hundred other students who had gone on to accomplish great things. My father had taught me well, and I soon rocketed ahead of my peers in terms of raw magical ability. Is it any surprise I grew conceited, as well as reckless? I had a high opinion of myself, to my eternal shame, because I was a very good student. I had no trouble with my exams, or securing a place in fifth year, or even warding off my father’s family when they tried to lay claim to me. The scholarship was enough to live on, after his death, and I was sure a brilliant apprenticeship awaited me.

I couldn’t say just when I first heard the name Void. It was a whisper, a rumour everyone knew was rooted in solid truth. The most powerful magician of the age, some said: the greatest hero of our world. There was little hard data, nothing to suggest his true name or his origins; his family, unlike mine, seemed reluctant to reach out and draw him into their orbit. It didn’t bother me as much as it should have done, perhaps. My father’s family and my mother’s clan had both been reluctant to acknowledge me, at least until I proved my power. It never occurred to me to wonder if Void’s lack of a family was a warning sign, or if it should worry me. There were few willing to talk about him, certainly not to a young student … no matter how promising she looked to be. It only whetted my appetite. If half the stories were true, an apprenticeship with him would be the key to true greatness.

I wrote to him.

It was a gamble, but there was no real risk. The worst he could do, according to tradition, was turn me down. He might be rude, if he felt I’d overstepped, but he wouldn’t hurt me. The greatest sorcerers are constantly bombarded with requests for apprenticeships, far more prospective students than they could ever accept, and in that I was sure he was no different. Even if I had been worried, I wouldn’t have hesitated to send the letter. The prize was worth any amount of risk.

It was not until I completed my final exams that he wrote back, offering to test me. I accepted at once, without hesitation. In hindsight, that was merely the first mistake I made in those strange and terrible days. But I was ambitious, and driven, and determined, and I would have crawled over broken glass for the opportunity to study under him.

And so that was how I found myself in the Great Hall, two weeks after the exams, waiting.

Chapter One

“You would have been wiser to ask for advice,” the Grandmaster said, coolly. “The staff would have provided advice, if you asked.”

I forced myself to stay calm. Grandmaster Hasdrubal was powerful, powerful and restrained. I had never heard him raise his voice, even when lecturing students on the dangers of magical horseplay or expelling a particularly foolish student for meddling with forbidden magics. He was very much the kind of person I wanted to be, a respected magician whose views were always heeded, a worthy end to a career of demonstrating my magical brilliance to all and sundry. And yet, I didn’t understand why he’d gone into teaching in the first place, explaining basic magics to inexperienced students when he could have been taking a string of apprentices who would spread his fame far and wide. It was a puzzle, and one I resented being unable to understand.

We stood together in the Great Hall, every second feeling like an hour as we waited for him to arrive. The Grandmaster had said little, when I’d revealed that I had written directly to Void, but I had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t too pleased. My advisor had told me that I should have checked with the staff, so they could make the first approach, but I wanted – I needed – to demonstrate the sort of initiative that would make me look a good candidate for an apprenticeship, rather than let them take the lead. Besides, I knew from my father that academic staff were often unaware of the real world, and their attempts to help their students often counterproductive. The rules for schooling and apprenticeships were different, and woe betide the student who forgot it. Or who paid the price for their advisor’s failings.

I clasped my hands behind my back, trying to project an image of calm. I knew I made a striking figure, with long blonde hair falling down my back and a sharp, almost patrician face, but he was unlikely to be impressed by anything other than my magic. I’d spent hours trying to decide what should wear, asking myself if it would be presumptuous to wear apprentice robes or if doing so would show I was confident I would be accepted, before settling on a simple tunic that marked me as a graduated magician, although not one who had been through an apprenticeship. Yet. My friends had teased me, wondering who I was setting my cap at, but I hadn’t told them. I’d explored my sexuality, like just about every other student, yet this was different. I was going to be an apprentice, and then a great magician.

“If you feel yourself in trouble, or you need advice, you may contact me at any moment,” the Grandmaster said. His sightless eyes, covered with a simple cloth, turned to look at me. I had the feeling he could see in some way, although I had no idea how well. Whatever had happened to take his sight couldn’t be a simple blinding hex, or it would have been removed and the damage healed a long time ago. “I will be here.”

I felt a hot flash of irritation. I was twenty-one years old and a graduated magician, an adult in both the magical and mundane worlds. I was no longer the foolish child who could be excused for her mistakes, or the teenager who would be permitted a certain degree of wild behaviour; I was an adult in every sense of the word, and I no longer needed to listen to someone – anyone – else. Even if my parents had survived, their power over me would have been very limited. And I had made it clear to my father’s family that they were not to consider me one of them, certainly not a young girl who could be married off to a stranger if the family demanded it. They shouldn’t have kicked out my father if they hadn’t wanted to be rid of him, and his bloodline, for the rest of time.

The doors opened suddenly, smoothly. I felt a perverse flash of disappointment Void hadn’t crashed his way into the Great Hall, like so many other magicians who wanted to make a strong first impression, but it was a good sign. Void didn’t feel the need to showcase his power, certainly not when there were only two witnesses. I straightened up instinctively, as if I was back in Martial Magic, and tried not to stare too openly as Void walked into the chamber. His power was tightly restrained, a coiling snake of raw magic that could lash out at any moment, and do so with staggering force. He wasn’t masking at all … no, he was. It wasn’t so much that he was hiding his power, as he was making a subtle statement without making it obvious.

“Void,” the Grandmaster said. His voice was stiff, but I detected undertones I couldn’t understand. “It is good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Void said.

I found myself staring, and nearly dropped my eyes before catching myself. Void was a walking mass of contradictions: his face young and strong, yet topped with grey hair that spilled down to his shoulders; his outfit sorcerer’s black, cut to show off his muscles while ensuring he could move freely; a single golden medallion hanging around his neck, a protective charm that lacked any real power of its own. His eyes looked back at me, seeming to bore deep into my very soul. I couldn’t help thinking he had very old eyes.

And he was carrying a sword. I felt a tingle of contempt. Few magicians carried swords, even combat sorcerers. It was a sign of weak magic, or a lack of faith in one’s own power, or … I told myself not to be silly. I could feel his power, all the stronger for being so restrained. The sword was an affection, nothing more.

He lifted a hand. “Catch.”

I barely had a second to realise what was happening before a tangled mass of spellware erupted out of nowhere and darted towards me, so quickly it practically materialised around me. It was hardly the first time I had been attacked, and threatened with a horrible fate, but the sheer power of the curse he’d hurled at me was staggering. I gritted my teeth as I felt my protections melt away, tendrils of something horrible reaching out to brush against my skin; I swallowed a curse as my first attempt to ward it off failed spectacularly, like a little girl trying to fight a grown man who just happened to be the best fighter in recorded history. Dispair threatened to overwhelm me, my legs buckling as the spell tried to drive me to my knees; I bit my lip, hard, as I realised the despair was part of the spell. It wasn’t just trying to beat down my resistance; it was trying to convince me that resistance was futile, destroying all faith I could stand up for myself. I’d thought I was a capable fighter, but this …

My magic flared, lashing out at the spellware surrounding me. There was no point in trying to be subtle; the spell was designed to feed off me trying to be clever. The surge of raw power tore the curse apart, the remnants fragmenting into tiny flickers of magic that faded into nothingness a second later. I forced myself to stand up and look Void in the eye, trying to show I wasn’t intimidated. It was a lie. He’d shown me just how far I had to go. And yet, he had also whetted my appetite. I wanted more.

“Satisfied?” The Grandmaster sounded cold, disapproving. “She is a very capable student.”

“And one who sees her magic as part of herself,” Void agreed. “Good.”

I blinked, not understanding what he was saying. Magic had always been part of me, from the potential power that had lurked inside me from birth to the first spells I’d cast, after coming into my magic. I’d spent eight years honing my skills, developing the ability to master nearly any field of magic. And yet, he thought I saw the magic as something separate from myself? It made no sense. I might as well pretend my legs weren’t part of my body.

Void looked at me. “Do you wish to continue?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir.”

The Grandmaster shifted beside me. “I wish you the very best of luck,” he said. I wasn’t sure which of us he was talking to. “And be careful.”

“I always am,” Void said. I couldn’t tell if he was pleased I’d passed his little test, or irked. I had known teachers who’d cheered good results, and others who had cautioned us that passing the first exams meant we’d go on to the second. He nodded politely to me. “Shall we go?”

I nodded back. I had one small bag, containing a couple of pencil-portraits of my parents, a handful of coins and a change of clothes. I wouldn’t need anything else, not when it was a master’s duty to ensure his apprentice had everything she needed. Some masters decked their apprentices out in finery, others in sackcloth and ashes. I wondered just what he would want me to wear, then told myself it didn’t matter. Whatever it was, I would have to put it on.

Whitehall seemed to hum around me as we stepped out of the doors and walked down to the low wall that marked the edge of the wards. I felt torn between regret at leaving and a certain delight at finally being free to forge my own destiny, to make my own choices – reaping the rewards and suffering the consequences – without reference to anyone else. My time at Whitehall had been immensely rewarding, but the school wasn’t my home and never would be. I hated the idea of being tied down, of being a teacher or a court wizard or something else that would keep me in one place forever. Perhaps it was my mother’s influence, but I wanted the open road and the chance to live a life of freedom, never mind that her people had been incredibly lax in some ways and impossibly strict in others.

“Take my hand,” Void said.

I reached for his hand and took it, feeling his magic enveloping us. I squeezed my eyes shut as the ground shuddered, then opened them to see we were somewhere else. It wasn’t the first time I’d teleported, but it was far less disturbing. My hand went to my chest automatically, my mind catching up a second later and realising I wasn’t retching, my stomach threatening to expel everything I’d ever eaten in a single bitter moment. I stared at Void, feeling a strange mix of emotions. The kind of skill it took to ease the transit … it was impressive and intimidating in a manner that both awed and worried me, even though I knew it was a good sign. Most magicians would make no attempt to shield their charges from the spell.

The Tower loomed up in front of me, a rook-like shape that managed to appear tiny – nothing more than a watchtower a monarch might install along the border – and yet immensely, impossibly, huge. It was hard to grasp the contrast between the dark lichen-covered walls that suggested immense age, and the power I could feel within. The Tower was bigger on the inside, an incredible feat without a nexus point and spells I knew were rarely – if ever – shared outside the academic community. I wondered if Void had built the Tower himself, or if he had found it unoccupied and moved in. It wasn’t impossible. I had no idea where we were – the landscape meant nothing to be – but there was no shortage of buildings that had been constructed in a hurry and then left to the elements. My father had taken one himself.

“You are welcome,” Void said. It had the feel of a ritual statement, rather than a proper greeting; I felt the wards twisting around me as we walked up to the walls. The door wasn’t there until it was, a reminder the building really was more than met the eye. “Leave your bag with me and go through the door, and proceed as you should.”

I nodded, all too aware it was another test. And probably an opportunity for him to search my bag. There were horror stories about apprentices who’d brought something dangerous into their master’s home, something charmed to allow an enemy access or merely something that would land the master in hot water if anyone else ever found out. I didn’t like the idea of him pawing through my bag, but the only alternative was leaving it behind. I didn’t want to do that either.

The Tower seemed to open up around me as I stepped through the door, the interior structure seemingly solid and yet strikingly malleable. I had the impression of something vast and ancient reshuffling itself around me, my eyes seeming to blink of their own accord before opening to reveal a washroom. I stepped forward, feeling a little as if I were walking on ice, or trying to levitate in the middle of a battlefield, all too aware that I’d be dead the second after someone saw me. The washroom was strikingly normal, a simple apprentice tunic waiting for me. I undressed quickly, washed myself and donned the tunic. It felt strange, both tough and flimsy at the same time. The spells woven into the garment adjusted it until it fitted me perfectly.

I tied my hair back into a loose ponytail, then turned and walked through the door. This time, it led into a simple dining room. I stared, trying to grasp the aesthetic of the man who had presumably resigned it to suit himself. The table was polished wood, the chairs stiff-backed and yet comfortable; I frowned as I saw a pair of comfortable armchairs positioned against the far wall. A large portrait hung over them, showing four young men wearing magical robes. It took me a moment to realise what was odd about it, apart from the eyes seeming to follow me around the room. Most portraits were ridiculously formal, when they weren’t painted by crawling sycophants or artists working from descriptions that often bore little resemblance to reality. This one showed four young men having fun, in a manner that struck me as surprisingly heartwarming. It was rare to see anything of the sort, and I wondered who had commissioned it. Void himself? Or his family? For such a famed sorcerer, there was surprisingly little public about his family. I would have expected them to be proud of him, or at least their names to be known. But months of research had turned up nothing.

“Please, sit,” Void said. He stood beside a chair, indicating that I should sit facing him. A large tureen sat on the table between us, a faint hint of steam rising from the lid. “It is tradition that a master feasts his apprentice, on their first day.”

I sat, gingerly. Six years of schooling had taught me to be careful where I sat down. There was always someone willing to hide a hex on your chair, no matter how badly you hexed the last idiot after you caught him. I didn’t believe Void would engage in such puerile jokes, but some masters started by looking for any excuse to scold their apprentice for lack of situational awareness. I told myself, firmly, that I wasn’t going to get caught out that easily.

Void opened the lid, revealing a strange mixture of yellowish rice, sultanas and meat … probably lamb. The aroma of spices wafted up, making my mouth water. It was a reminder of his wealth and power, I noted as he picked up a spoon and ladled food onto my plate. Magicians and aristocrats could obtain ingredients from all over the Allied Lands, and hire cooks to find new ways of combining them together into something different, while the commoners rarely ate anything foreign. Void wouldn’t have any trouble shopping for himself, or hiring someone to do it for him … I blinked as I realised what was missing. There were no servants. It was odd. Even a poor aristocrat could hire a handful of workers, even as they moaned and groaned about only making do with a dozen servants. I knew better than to complain about it myself, certainly not where my mother could hear. There were people out there who couldn’t afford servants, and then there were the servants themselves …

“From tomorrow, I will start testing you,” Void said, once we had satisfied the demands of hunger. The food was very different from anything I’d tasted before, but very good. “We will establish precisely where you are, in your understanding of magic, and then determine precisely how to proceed.”

I nodded, feeling torn between irritation and acceptance. I had been the greatest student of my year, and I’d set several records when I’d graduated, but Void had shown me that I still had a long way to go. Just sitting facing him was like sitting next to the sun, his power pulsing on the air and brushing against my awareness. It was hard to believe there was anything he couldn’t do.

Void ran through a handful of rules, surprisingly few for such an environment, then leaned back in his chair. “Do you have any questions?”

“Yes, Master,” I asked. He hadn’t told me to call him Master, but it was better to be formal. “What are my duties?”

The question hung in the air for a long cold moment. Apprentices weren’t expected to pay for their apprenticeship, but they were expected to work for their master. An alchemist apprentice would help prepare potion ingredients, a charms apprentice would draw out spell circles and perform calculations … I had no idea, in truth, what he would want from me. It was something that had never been mentioned, when I had first written to him. I had no idea, either, what he might want, what I could offer.

“You can assist me in mine,” Void said, in a tone that discouraged further questions. “But first, I have to prepare you.”

He stood. “The Tower will show you to your room, when you are finished,” he said, motioning for me to remain seated. It was a serious breach of aristocrat etiquette for a young woman to remain sitting when the host stood, but I had the feeling he didn’t give a damn. “I suggest you get some rest. Tomorrow will be a very busy day.”

I nodded. I couldn’t wait.

Quick Update

Hi, everyone

This is a fairly minor update, for various reasons.

I have completed the first draft of The Unnatural Order (Schooled In Magic 27) and it is Currently winging its way to the editor. I’m keeping her busy, so I don’t know precisely when it will be up for purchase. But I’m also waiting on the cover, so I suspect it will take at least a month to do the editing and finalise the cover and probably more like six weeks.

My current plan is to write Lady Barb’s Tale, which is a story I have been waiting to tell for some time, that fills in precisely what happened between Lady Barb and Void ten years before Schooled In Magic. There are elements within the story that connect to Schooled In Magic 27, but I hope it will be fairly stand-alone. I intend to combine this story and Cat’s Tale with the more novellas from the fantastic schools collections, and publish it as the second tales of the nameless world. I’m waiting on the cover for that too.

After that, I intend to write The Fires of Freedom, which will be the direct sequel to The Burning World, rather than the King’s Secret. I do have a good plan for the latter, but it will be several months before I can get a cover so I do think my time will be better spent writing something that can be uploaded fairly quickly afterwards.

After that, I have been asked to write the sequel to Sufficiently Advanced Technology, which has been out for quite some time by this point. I did have an idea, but it refused to gell and certain other ideas were not quite as original as I had thought. I do intend to finish drawing out the plot, and then try to write it as a 90K book rather than 120K. We’ll see how it goes. If you think is a terrible idea, please feel free to tell me.

As you know, I went to the Glasgow WorldCon. It was very much a mixed bag. On one hand, I sold 53 books (out of 60) and then leant a few interesting things about which books sold better than others. It was probably a mistake to bring copies of all three Cunning Man books; in hindsight, I should have brought more first books and/or standalones. I sold out completely of Ark Royal, the Empire’s Corps, and Schooled In Magic. On the other, it was very, very, draining and we wound up going home a day early (which led to a silly argument with the staff, who insisted I needed to take the rest of my stuff out the front door (instead of opening a side door that is legally required to be unlocked), and then carry it out instead of using a trolley). It was good to meet a few people I had only known online, and I handed out a number of leaflets for both Point Of Divergence and Fantastic Schools. If you are interested in either, please drop Dale or me an email.

(Dale has also got a new alternate history book out, which helped to shape my thoughts for The Flight of Werner Von Braun (and I wrote the introduction), Hitler Doesn’t Declare War (on America, 1941). It is well worth a read. You can find a list of his other books here.)

I met Simon R. Green – a very popular British science-fantasy and straight fantasy writer, his Deathstalker books are the only ones comparable to Star Wars – and asked him if he would consider doing an introduction for FS, so hopefully something will come of that. I also met Robert Silverberg, and exchanged a few brief remarks. It’s sad to realise just how many of the old pros are no longer participating, and just how much we will miss them once they are gone.

And now the kids are back at school. Woohoo!

As always, let me know what you think. And please review.

Chris