Cora Buhlert's Blog, page 12

Non-Fiction Spotlight: D20 or Die!: Memories of Old School Role-Playing Games from Today’s Grown-Up Kids, edited by Jim Beard

The finalists for the 2023 Hugo Awards still haven’t been announced, though the announcement is expected later this month.

However, after the Hugos is before the next Hugos, so I’m continuing my Non-Fiction Spotlight project, where I interview the authors/editors of SFF-related non-fiction books that come out in 2023 and are eligible for the 2024 Hugo Awards. For more about the Non-Fiction Spotlight project, go here. To check out the spotlights I already posted, go here.

For more recommendations for SFF-related non-fiction, also check out this Facebook group set up by the always excellent Farah Mendlesohn, who is a champion (and author) of SFF-related non-fiction.

I’ve already featured quite a few RPG and gaming related books in the course of the Non-Fiction Spotlight project. Today’s non-fiction spotlight is another RPG related book. However, this time around the focus is less on the development and history of RPGS, but on the experiences and memories of people who played those games as children and teenagers.

So I’m thrilled to welcome Jim Beard, editor of D20 or Die!: Memories of Old School Role-Playing Games from Today’s Grown-Up Kids, to my blog today.

Tell us about your book.

D20 OR DIE! is a collection of essays by writers who grew up with all the classic table-top role-playing games like D&D, Traveller, Call of Cthulhu, Gamma World, etc.

Tell us a little bit about yourself.

I’m a writer, editor, and self-publisher. I have two publishing “houses,” Flinch Books with John C. Bruening, and Becky Books by myself. Becky Books is in honor of my late wife, Becky.

What prompted you to write/edit this book?

It’s the fourth volume in my ongoing “Memories from Today’s Grown-Up Kids” series of childhood recollections and observations. I like to pick tpocs that I know will resonate with pop culture fans, as well as ones that aren’t covered in this way in publishing.

Why should SFF fans in general and Hugo voters in particular read this book?

Because no matter what the theme is, they will see themselves in the personal essays. That’s the beauty of these books, I think, that we all have these shared experiences and we like to see echoes of our own lives in what we read. Beyond that, if you love RPGs and began playing as a kid, you’re going to love this book.

Do you have any cool facts or tidbits that you unearthed during your research, but that did not make it into the final book?

That some of the essayists actually connected with important figures in early gaming, and that the so-called “Satanic Panic” of the 80s impacted people more deeply than I realized.

SFF-related non-fiction is somewhat sidelined by the big genre awards, since the Nebulas have no non-fiction category and the Best Related Work Hugo category has become something of a grab bag of anything that doesn’t fit elsewhere. So why do you think SFF-related non-fiction is important?

Maybe because it gives us that look behind the curtain that many of us love, as well as providing inspiration for burgeoning creators to see what it was like for others at young and impressionable points in their development. I personally really dig knowing how things came together and the sometimes-struggles we never really hear about once things get big and popular.

Are there any other great SFF-related non-fiction works or indeed anything else (books, stories, essays, writers, magazines, films, TV shows, etc…) you’d like to recommend?

Wow! Too many! That said, I’m currently reading the Prequels edition of the STAR WARS ARCHIVES books and enjoying the vintage interviews with George Lucas and his staff while they’re making the films.

Where can people buy your book?

Amazon, Amazon, and Amazon!

Where can people find you?

I’m on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/thebeardjimbeard/, Amazon at http://www.amazon.com/author/jimbeard, and on Twitter @writerjimbeard.

Thank you, Jim, for stopping by and answering my questions. Do check out D20 or Die!: Memories of Old School Role-Playing Games from Today’s Grown-Up Kids, because it’s a great essay collection.

About D20 or Die!: Memories of Old School Role-Playing Games from Today’s Grown-Up Kids:

ROLL FOR INITIATIVE!

A secret society once existed across the land, a roving band of thrill-seekers who defied the conventional pursuits of their elders to take on new personas in strange adventures that would shock the world! In basements, on back porches, and under barn roofs, they rolled the dice to decide their fates, hungry to play the ultimate games of chance!

This titanic tome will transport you back in time to the 1970s and 80s, an era when role-playing games such as Dungeons & Dragons, Champions, and Traveller were new and exciting, attracting kids of all ages to draw fire from dragons, battle baneful bad guys, and surf the spaceways—all from the safety of a common card table.

In D20 or Die! writer-editor Jim Beard acts as a game-playing guru as he expands his “Memories from Today’s Grown-Up Kids” series of pop-culture reminisces to crack the covers of all the classic, old-school, tabletop role-playing games of legend and lore! Just watch those hit points, adventurers!

Cover illustration by M. Mrakota Orsman
Interior design and formatting by Maggie Ryel

About Jim Beard:

Jim Beard pounds out adventure fiction with classic pulp style and flair.

A native Toledoan, he was introduced to comic books at an early age by his father, who passed on to him a love for the medium and the pulp characters who preceded it. After decades of reading, collecting and dissecting comics, Jim became a published writer when he sold a story to DC Comics in 2002. Since that time he’s written official Spider-Man, X-Files, and Planet of the Apes prose fiction, Star Wars and Ghostbusters comic stories, and contributed articles and essays to several volumes of comic book history.

His prose work also includes GOTHAM CITY 14 MILES, a book of essays on the 1966 Batman TV series; SGT. JANUS, SPIRIT-BREAKER, a collection of pulp ghost stories featuring an Edwardian occult detective; MONSTER EARTH, a shared-world giant monster anthology; and CAPTAIN ACTION: RIDDLE OF THE GLOWING MEN, the first pulp prose novel based on the classic 1960s action figure.

Jim is also the co-publisher at Flinch Books, a small-press pulp house.

***

Are you publishing a work of SFF-related longform non-fiction in 2023 and want it featured? Contact me or leave a comment.

First Monday Free Fiction: “Mementos and Memories”

Welcome to the June 2023 edition of First Monday Free Fiction.

To recap, inspired by Kristine Kathryn Rusch who posts a free short story every week on her blog, I’ll post a free story on the first Monday of every month. At the end of the month, I’ll take the story down and post another.

June is Pride Month, so this month’s free story is a sweet gay romance in my In Love and War> space opera series called Mementos and Memories.

So accompany Anjali and Mikhail as they follow the trail of…

Mementos and Memories

The rim world of Sentosa was a planet of oceans and swamps, shrouded in clouds that rarely tore open to let the rays of its sun shine through. Islands were scattered across the world ocean, none of them large enough to qualify as a continent.

The capital Kota Terapung was built on an archipelago, its islands connected by a maze of bridges and causeways. The city was famous for its floating market. Vendors flocked here from all over the planet and beyond to moor their boats along the wooden walkways or dock their spacecraft on the floating platforms. Here — it was said — one could find almost any good, legal or illegal, in the known universe.

A young couple strolled along the wooden walkways of the floating market hand in hand. The man was tall, with pale skin, striking blue eyes and long dark hair that he wore pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He was clad from head to toe in black, boots, utility pants, shirt, topped with a long coat of black synth-leather. On his hip, he wore a blaster, Republican standard military issue. This was Captain Mikhail Alexeievich Grikov, formerly of the Republican Special Commando Forces, now a wanted traitor and deserter.

The woman by his side was a good head shorter, with brown skin, dark eyes and glossy black hair that fell down her back in gentle waves. She was clad in a flowing skirt with a matching top and bejewelled sandals, all in shades of green and maroon. On her waist, she wore a dagger with an ornate crested hilt. A necklace with a striking gold and garnet pendant gleamed at her throat and on her wrist she wore a matching bangle. This was Lieutenant Anjali Patel, formerly of the Imperial Shakyri Expeditionary Corps, now a wanted traitor and deserter.

Anjali allowed herself to lean against Mikhail and soak up the atmosphere. In many ways, the floating market of Kota Terapung reminded her of the markets of her homeworld of Rajipuri. Of course, the markets of Rajipuri — at least those in the Gurung Highlands, where Anjali had grown up — were on firm ground and not a tangle of boats and walkways. But the calls of the vendors, the array of wares on offer, the smells and the whole atmosphere were similar enough to give her a pang of homesickness.

Anjali ruthlessly swallowed it down. After all, she could never go back to Rajipuri. Neither of them could ever go back. At least, Rajipuri was still there, still safe, still like it had always been. That was more than Mikhail could say for his homeworld.

So she decided to focus on the good things instead. For while she wasn’t sure whether the floating market really offered every good in the known universe, she had found some spice and tea merchants whose selection that could match what would be found on a Rajipuri market.

The food sold here was great as well. There was a bewildering variety of rice and noodle dishes, fried in big pans and inevitably tasty. Other stalls offered bits of tofu or fish or — if you wanted to go really luxurious — chicken stuck on skewers, grilled and served with a spicy peanut sauce. And finally, there was the full bounty of Sentosa’s world ocean, offered in the form of steamed spicy clams, crispy fried shrimps and fish, steamed or fried and coated in spicy chili sauce.

But the floating market had more to offer than weapons, spices and food. For Anjali had also come across some fabric vendors who offered an assortment of tantalising print fabrics with beautiful patterns in bright and cheerful colours. Apparently, fabric dyeing, printing and production was a traditional industry on Sentosa, though the gods alone knew where they found enough dry land to build the factories.

The fabrics were gorgeous, though. They’d make nice skirts or kurtas or maybe even a saree. Cause Anjali hadn’t worn a saree in way too long. Not that she had much opportunity, given their line of work and the fact that they were both on the run.

“You don’t need a new saree,” Anjali told herself firmly. Because those beautiful fabrics didn’t come cheap and money was tight, as it always was with them. And there were so many things they needed more urgently than pretty print fabric for a new saree.

A gust of wind blew across the market, tugging on Anjali’s long flowing skirt. The leaves of the trees that grew in the brackish water around the market rustled and the wind shook loose a plethora of pink and white blossoms, causing them to rain down onto the walkway. Anjali caught one in mid-air and sniffed its sweet, intoxicating scent.

“We’d best find shelter,” Mikhail said to her, “There’s a rainstorm coming.”

Anjali didn’t ask him how he could know that. Unlike her, he’d been here before, just as he’d visited many rim worlds in his time as an operative of the Special Commando Forces. Besides, the locals were suddenly in a hurry as well. And so she just trusted Mikhail and followed along as he quickened his step.

A few seconds later, the rain began to fall in thick drops that quickly turned into a downpour. Puddles formed on the walkway and water splashed up at Anjali’s feet and ankles and drenched the hem of her skirt as she ran.

By the time Mikhail pulled her into the shelter of the awning of a market stall, Anjali was drenched from head to toe. Mikhail had fared somewhat better, if only because his long black synth-leather coat offered more protection.

Anjali looked down at herself. Her top and long skirt were plastered to her body, the hem of her skirt was sprinkled with splotches of dirty water and her hair was a wet tangled mess.

“I look like a drowned puppy,” she said, trying and failing to squeeze the water from her hair.

“No, you don’t.” Mikhail flashed her a fond smile. Rainwater was dripping from his ponytail and formed a little puddle at his feet. “You look beautiful.”

Anjali was about to object to Mikhail’s definition of beautiful, but before she could, he closed her mouth with a quick kiss.

“You’ll always be beautiful to me. Even when you’re dripping wet.”

Kota Terapung was near the equator and the climate was hot and tropical. But nonetheless, the cool rain and the wet clothes clinging to her body made Anjali shiver. So Mikhail pulled her close, crushing her to his chest and wrapped his long black coat around both of them.

“Don’t,” Anjali said, though she made no movement to resist. Instead, she allowed herself to rest against his chest, savouring the warmth and strength of his body, “I’ll only get your clothes wet.”

“I already am wet,” Mikhail whispered into her hair.

“Not like me,” Anjali said, though she still did not even try to pull away. Instead, her treacherous body huddled even closer to him, soaking up his warmth to drive the chill from her bones. “I’m completely soaked and you’ll get soaked, too, if you hold me.”

Mikhail smiled down at her. “Then I’ll get soaked.” Gently, he ran his fingers through her wet hair to untangle it. “It doesn’t matter. Clothes dry and those tropical rain showers never last long.”

Anjali enjoyed the feeling of his hands in her hair, of his body crushed against hers.

“My skirt isn’t just wet, it’s ruined,” she said against his chest. For some reason she could not quite fathom, the thought brought her to the edge of tears. It was silly, she knew. After all, it was only a skirt. But it was her nicest skirt, damn it, made from abhla bharat fabric embroidered with mirror shard highlights. You could only get fabric like that on Rajipuri and Rajipuri might as well have been on the other side of the universe, considering she could never go back there.

Mikhail, on the other hand, was completely unbothered. “Then we’ll get you a new skirt,” he whispered, still fuzzing with her hair, “You liked the fabric we saw earlier, didn’t you?”

“It’s too expensive…” Anjali replied, well aware how weak her protest sounded.

“We can afford it,” Mikhail said and planted a kiss onto her forehead, “And you’re worth it.”

“It’s frivolous.”

“Maybe it is. But sometimes, you need to buy frivolous things. Because frivolous things make us happy.”

“We can’t afford…”

Mikhail closed her mouth with a kiss again.

“Of course, we can.” He ran his hands through her wet hair. “There are so many things I want to give you. A stable home, the best weapons, the nicest clothes and jewellery to match every single thing that you wear. I’d give you all that and more, if I could. If I still were an officer of the Special Commando Forces, paid a ridiculously high salary I never used up anyway, because I had no one to spend it on.”

He paused, a hint of frustration entering his voice.

“But I can’t. All that was taken away, just when I had finally found a good use for it. And yes, I know we don’t have much money and I know that living the fugitive life is expensive. But damn it, sometimes I just want to buy something stupid and frivolous to make you happy. Because what sort of man would I be, if I couldn’t even do that.”

“You’re the best man anybody could ask for,” Anjali whispered against his chest, “And I don’t need you to buy me things. Because I’ve already got the greatest gift. I’ve got you.”

“I know I don’t need to give you anything,” Mikhail said, “But I want to.”

He pulled her close and kissed her on the mouth, a long, lingering kiss that stole Anjali’s breath away and made her forget the world around her, made her forget the rain and that she’d ruined her favourite skirt and that they had no money and that half the universe was hunting them. Made her forget everything but Mikhail and that she loved him and always would.

After a while — Anjali didn’t know how long, except that it was still too short — their lips parted, because even with the military grade medical nano agents coursing through both their bloodstreams, they still needed to breathe.

“The rain has stopped,” Mikhail said, as he let go of her, “We’d best get back to the inn, so we can both change into something dry.”

“That makes sense,” Anjali said, though in truth all she wanted to do was kiss him, kiss him until the universe exploded and turned into a cold, chaotic place, even colder and more chaotic than it already was.

Reluctantly, she let go of Mikhail and returned to the real world, still wet, but no longer quite as cold. Water was still dripping from the awning, but the rain itself had stopped.

She realised that the two of them had been pressed against a market stall and that the bemused vendor, a women with greying hair, clad in a sarong kebaya made from the kind of colourful fabric that Anjali had been admiring earlier, had been watching them the entire time. And because Anjali felt a bit guilty about using the awning of the woman’s stall for shelter, even though they didn’t intend to buy anything, she decided to at least take a look at the wares on offer.

The stall was selling jewellery and decorative objects, mostly second hand and all displayed in a wild jumble. Anjali even spotted a Rajipuri made lamp and a few examples of Rajipuri jewellery, mostly the cheap glass and brass stuff. Then she froze. Because there, amid a jumble of cheap pearl necklaces and glass bangles, sat a Shakyri dagger, twin to the one she wore on her waist.

“What’s wrong?” Mikhail asked quietly.

Anjali pointed at the dagger.

“Where did you get that?” she asked the vendor, sharper than she had intended.

The woman promptly launched into her spiel. “Ah, I see you’ve got a keen eye for interesting objects.” She picked up the dagger to which she had no right and it took all of Anjali’s self-control not to knock it from the woman’s hand. “And this is the piece of the highest quality. Imported from the Empire, handmade…”

“…the blade forged from the titanium steel stabiliser coils of decommissioned starships,” Anjali whispered, “Yes, I know.”

“I see you are a true connoisseur, madame,” the vendor continued, “And for a true connoisseur, I’m always willing to make a good price.”

“We’re not looking to buy,” Anjali said and shifted, so the woman could get a good look at the dagger on her waist.

“Oh, I see you already have a companion piece,” the woman said, “In that case, I’m going to make you an extra good price.”

“I don’t want to buy,” Anjali snarled, leaning across the table into the woman’s face, “I just want to know where you got this.”

The vendor was taken aback. “Why so hostile? I promise you, you won’t find another blade of this quality on the entire floating market and you won’t find as good a price anywhere either.”

“No, I won’t find another blade of this quality here,” Anjali repeated, “Because this isn’t supposed to be here. You’re not supposed to have it.”

Mikhail put a calming hand on her shoulder.

“I think this honoured lady might be unaware what exactly this dagger means,” he said smoothly in the Imperial tongue. But then Mikhail had always been the diplomatic one. “For you see, this…” He pointed at the symbol on the hilt. “…is the crest of the Imperial Shakyri Expeditionary Corps. Surely, you’ve heard of them. The Empire’s elite warriors, the fiercest and most fearsome hand-to-hand fighters in the entire galaxy. Sounds hyperbolic, but I assure you it’s all true.”

The woman eyes them warily, suddenly defensive. “As I said, this blade is Imperial made. Of course, they’d use an Imperial crest.”

“It’s not just a crest,” Mikhail continued, perfectly polite, but with a subtle hint of menace in his voice, “These daggers are the signature weapon of the Imperial Shakyri Expeditionary Corps and only Shakyri warriors are authorised to carry them. Furthermore, a Shakyri warrior is never parted from their dagger, not even in death. And so my partner and I are of course curious how you came by such a rare and unusual piece.”

The woman glanced from Mikhail to Anjali to the dagger at her waist. Sweat appeared on her brow and she took a step backwards.

“I didn’t steal it,” she said, her hands raised in defence, “I swear I didn’t. I’m an honest trader. I don’t deal in stolen or forged goods.”

“No one is accusing you of anything,” Mikhail assured her, “We merely want to know where you got this most unusual piece.”

The woman crumpled. “I got it from a man called Wayan Sampono. He… well, he sometimes drops by and sells stuff. I suspect the things he sells are stolen, but…” She lowered her eyes. “…Sampono is not a man you refuse.”

“Where do we find this Sampono?” Anjali demanded.

“He hangs out at the Sundirman Coffee House. White suit, rakishly tilted hat, pretends he’s a vid star. You really can’t miss him.”

“Thank you very much,” Mikhail said with a short bow, “One more thing. About that dagger…”

“Take it.” The woman all but thrust the dagger at them. “If this thing will bring down the wrath of the Empire upon my humble stall, then I don’t want it.”

“Thank you.” Mikhail accepted the dagger and handed it to Anjali. “I assure you that the Empire will not target you over something that you had no knowledge of. And besides, you did do your best to help us in our inquiries. Just one more question: Did this Mr. Sampono sell you anything else together with this dagger?”

The woman scrunched her already wrinkled forehead, trying to remember. “A ring,” she finally said, “Nothing special and not from the Empire either, I bet. Wait a second…” She rummaged through her offerings and produced a ring. “…here it is. You can take this one, too. If it’s stolen I don’t want it.”

Anjali accepted the ring and put it into a pocket of her utility pants along with the dagger.

Meanwhile, Mikhail bowed formally to the woman. “The Empire thanks you for your assistance and offers you this token of our gratitude.” He handed her a bill of the local paper money.

The woman accepted it and shoved it into a hidden pocket in her sarong. “I don’t supposed you have any Imperial thalers,” she grumbled.

Anjali shot her a sharp look. “Don’t push your luck.”

“You really do want a quick trip to the gallows, don’t you?” Anjali hissed as they walked away, hand in hand.

Mikhail shot her a questioning look, so she added, “Impersonating an officer of the Empire is a crime punishable by death.”

Mikhail shrugged. “It got the lady to talk, didn’t it? Sometimes a little friendly persuasion is all that’s needed.”

“It’s still a capital crime.”

“Your people would hang me anyway…” Abruptly, Mikhail paused and pulled her close. “…for stealing the Empire’s greatest treasure.” He planted a quick kiss on her lips. “And no, I’m not sorry. Cause some rewards are worth the risk.”

Anjali shook her head. “You’re crazy.”

Mikhail smiled. “Takes one to know one.”

The found a spot where the walkway widened and paused. Anjali pulled the dagger out of her pocket to examine it.

“We need to return this to its owner,” she said, “Or their family.”

“Is there any way to find out to whom the dagger was issued?” Mikhail asked.

Anjali nodded. “Service number engraved just below the hilt.”

She pulled the dagger out of its sheath just enough to see the number.

“This is old,” she said, “Imperial service numbers are consecutive. Mine is 8947351. This is 7856031.”

“Any chance of matching the service number to a person?”

“If I still had access to the Imperial military database, sure. But they deleted my log-in, when I…” Even after more than a year, Anjali still couldn’t bring herself to say “defected”. “…quit.”

Mikhail shot her a devilish grin.

“Then we’ll use mine. Or rather Brian Mayhew’s. I’m sure he won’t mind. After all, it’s for a good cause.”

They found a public info terminal and Anjali watched Mikhail call up and log into the Imperial military database.

“How does Brian Mayhew of all people have access to our military database anyway?” Anjali wanted to know, scandalised on behalf of an Empire that wanted her dead. For Colonel Brian Mayhew of the Special Commando Forces was Mikhail’s former commanding officer and a nasty piece of work besides.

“The same way your spies get access to ours, I bet,” Mikhail replied, “And don’t worry, this is only the most basic level of access. Looking up service numbers, public service records and the like. Everything confidential requires much more hacking.”

“Did you look up my service record?” Anjali wanted to know. Though even if he had, he wouldn’t have found anything. For everything she’d been, everything she’d done, everything she’d achieved had been erased the day she went rogue.

Mikhail paused and looked at her. “I know who you are. I don’t care who the Empire thinks you are.”

He finished tapping the service number on the dagger into the terminal.

“Uhm, this can’t be right. It says ‘Entry not found’.”

“Maybe you mistyped the number.”

So Mikhail tried again, with the same result.

“Does the Empire purge older records?” he asked.

Anjali shook her head. “The database is maintained all the way back to the very first men, women and non-binaries to serve the Empire.”

“And you’re sure this is the real thing and not a forgery?” Mikhail probed.

“Of course. I know a Shakyri dagger when I see one. And besides, no one would dare to forge a Shakyri dagger. It…”

“…carries a mandatory death sentence,” Mikhail completed, “Yes, I know. So, do you have any idea why the owner of this dagger is not in the database?”

“Maybe,” Anjali admitted, “Though it can’t be.”

“As a wise man from Old Earth once said, ‘If you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth’. So what is your theory?”

“When a Shakyri warrior or any other member of the Imperial Forces is disgraced, their name is stricken from the public register. Those with a higher security clearance can still access the relevant records, of course, but for everybody else it is as that person never existed. If you entered my service number into that database, you wouldn’t find anything either.”

Mikhail reached out and squeezed her shoulder. He knew how painful losing her career still was for her, even more than a year later.

“As a theory, this makes sense though,” he said, “We cannot find the owner of the dagger in the database, because they are disgraced and were erased.”

“But that can’t be,” Anjali said, “No Shakyri warrior has ever left the Corps in disgrace.” She lowered her eyes. “Until I came along.”

“How can you know that?” Mikhail countered, “If the public records are erased, you’d never learn about it, unless you had access to the confidential files.”

“There would be stories, rumours, cautionary tales,” Anjali insisted.

“Not if it was too long enough ago,” Mikhail said, “After all, you said this was an old service number. It’s quite possible that no one currently serving remembers.”

“The great Vijaya Rai lived more than seventy years ago and we still remember her.”

“Yes, but a heroine is good for propaganda purposes. A disgraced warrior not so much. Still, it seems this is not going to help us find the legitimate owner of the dagger.” Mikhail logged out and shut down the terminal. “So, any other ideas?”

“That ring,” Anjali said, “That woman she got it together with the dagger, so it might offer a clue.” She fished in her pocket for the ring, pulled it out and examined it.

The vendor had been right. This ring wasn’t from the Empire. It was too ugly and too shoddily made, a chunky thing of gilded brass with some kind of insignia and a blue synth-stone. There was an inscription, too. “Sworn to uphold liberty and equality”.

“I have no idea what this is,” Anjali said and handed the ring to Mikhail, who suddenly became very still.

“I do,” he said quietly, “Such rings are worn by graduates of the Republican Flight Academy — fighter pilots. Not quite as exclusive as a Shakyri dagger, but not something you’d willingly sell or give away either.”

Anjali wasn’t surprised that the ring was Republican. After all, it was chunky and ugly, like all their designs. However, there was one question that remained.

“How in the universe did a disgraced Shakyri warrior come by the ring of a Republican fighter pilot?”

“Or how did a Republican fighter pilot come by the dagger of a disgraced Shakyri warrior?” Mikhail asked.

“A trophy maybe?” Anjali suggested, “The Shakyri warrior took out the Republican pilot and kept the ring.”

“Or the Republican pilot somehow managed to take out the Shakyri warrior and kept the dagger,” Mikhail said.

“That would never have happened,” Anjali said, “No offence, but you guys have never been good enough to take us down in a fair fight. And besides, this ring belonged to a fighter pilot. Shakyri warriors are hand to hand fighters. It’s unlikely that their paths ever crossed.”

“Or maybe both items belong to a collector of military memorabilia,” Mikhail suggested, “Both have a high sentimental value and are not easy to come by. A challenge for any collector. Still, there’s only one way to find out.”

Anjali nodded. “We must talk to Wayan Sampono at the Sundirman Coffee House.”

***

The Sundirman Coffee House was a floating structure of glass and steel that had been built around the trunk of one of the large mangrove trees that flanked the walkways of the floating market. It was a pleasant, airy place with tables and chairs scattered under a natural roof of leaves and blossoms with clear plastic sheets warding off the rain showers.

They spotted Wayan Sampono at once. He was lounging at a table near the trunk, sipping a cup of flat white. As the woman from the market had said, he was clad in a white suit with a black shirt and a rakishly tilted white hat with a black band. His skin was brown, his hair was black and he had a pencil thin moustache. A golden necklace gleamed at his throat. He couldn’t have looked any more like a gangster, if he’d tried.

Anjali and Mikhail casually strolled over to Wayan Sampono’s table and sat down.

“Excuse me, but this table is occupied,” Sampono began, “Fucking tourists.”

“We’re not tourists,” Anjali said.

“We’re here on business,” Mikhail added.

“No business without appointment,” Sampono snapped, “And certainly not with people I don’t know.”

Mikhail shrugged. “Well, if you don’t want to make money, a lot of money, that’s your choice.” He nodded to Anjali. “Come on.”

“Wait,” Sampono said, “I have a bit of time, so it can’t hurt to listen to what you have to say. But I’m warning you, my next client is arriving in…” He glanced at an ostentatious gold watch. “…ten minutes.”

“We’ll only need five,” Mikhail said.

They were interrupted by a waitress in a brown and cream sarong. “Good afternoon. What may I bring you?”

“A double espresso for me and a cappuccino for my partner,” Mikhail ordered.

“And put it on his tab,” Anjali added and pointed at Sampono who glared at her.

“So about this business?” Sampano asked, once the waitress had left, “And make it quick, cause the clock’s ticking.”

In response, Anjali pulled out the dagger and the ring and placed both on the table.

“You sold these to a woman who runs a stall near the intersection of the Meradang and Talabessy walkways,” she said, “We want to know where you got it.”

“Ah, so Megawati Sumadi sent you,” Sampono said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “Whatever she told you, it’s a lie. Megawati is the biggest fence and the worst scammer on the whole floating market.”

So much for the woman’s “I’m just an honest trader” spiel.

“Did you sell these objects to Megawati Sumadi?” Mikhail asked.

“So what if I did? What’s it to you?”

“Simple,” Anjali said, “These objects were stolen.”

“If Megawati sold them to you? Sure they were. Again, what’s it to you?”

In response, Mikhail leant across the table, making sure that his blaster was visible. “These objects are the property of a citizen of the Empire of Worlds. We’d like to reunite them with their lawful owner. So if you’d just tell us who that is, we’ll be on our way.”

Sampono could have made it easy on himself and just given them a name or an address. But no, he had to be obstinate.

“The Empire has no jurisdiction here.”

Anjali shifted to reveal her own dagger, though she did not draw it, not yet. “In cases of extremely grievous crimes, such as stealing a weapon that only the members of the Imperial Shakyri Expeditionary Corps may carry, the Empire needs no jurisdiction.”

“And the Empire’s justice is swift and deadly,” Mikhail added.

They were interrupted once again by the waitress who brought them their coffee. Anjali took a leisurely sip, savouring the frothy milk foam.

Mikhail took a sip of his espresso, never taking his eyes of Sampono.

“So, if you do not wish to experience the Empire’s justice first hand, I’d suggest you tell us what you want to know now.”

Part of Anjali hoped that Sampono would remain obstinate, if only because that would allow her to get some payback for the theft of a Shakyri dagger. But Sampono, coward that he was, folded.

“All right, all right, I’ll tell you. I got it from some old man in Sebutang. A fisherman, occasionally rents out boats to tourists. The bastard caught me and gave me a thrashing, too. Probably would’ve put me in hospital or worse, if I hadn’t shocked him.”

Mikhail and Anjali exchanged a glance. “I guess we can put ‘assaulting an Imperial citizen’ on the tally as well then,” Anjali said.

Sampono pulled out a white cloth handkerchief and wiped some sweat off his brow.

“No, please, I beg you. I didn’t know he was an Imperial citizen. I thought he was a local, just some old man. And I don’t know where he got those things either, honest. You have to believe me.”

In response, Mikhail and Anjali downed their coffee and got up.

“All right, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Mikhail said, “But be warned, if we find out that you lied…”

“…we’ll be back,” Anjali completed.

“You’ve done it again,” she whispered to Mikhail, as they left the coffee house.

“Done what?”

“Impersonated an officer of the Empire.”

“Which is a capital offence. Yes, I know. But they can’t hang me twice. Or three times, for that matter.”

***

Sebutang was a fishing village an hour’s boat ride from Kota Terapung. The place was idyllic and peaceful, not unlike the holiday resort on Brahimi Prime where Anjali and Mikhail first met more than a year ago.

Houses on stilts, linked by walkways, were set among a cluster of mangrove trees. Like those at the floating market, the trees were in full bloom, raining petals down onto the walkways.

A few questions about an offworlder who fishes and rents out boats to tourists brought Anjali and Mikhail to the door of a pleasant little house with an orange roof and shutters of the same colour. Colourful windchimes with a thousand tiny bells dangled from the porch, filling the air with gentle music.

“Those chimes are from Rajipuri,” Anjali whispered to Mikhail.

“Looks like we’re on the right trail then.”

Hand in hand, Anjali and Mikhail walked up walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

There was no camera spy eye. The door simply opened, revealing an old man with brown skin and silver white hair. A golden band gleamed on his finger and he was clad in the traditional lungi and batik shirt combination favoured by the men of Sentosa, but nonetheless, he was unmistakably a son of Rajipuri.

“Can I help you?” he asked in accented Standard, “If you’re here to rent a boat, I’m afraid that they’re all out.”

“We’re not here to rent a boat,” Anjali replied in the language of Rajipuri, the language of both their ancestors. She reached into her pocket and held out the dagger, hilt first. “We’re here to return your property.”

“Who is it, dear?” a voice called out from within the house.

The old man gave Anjali and Mikhail a strange look, taking in the dagger on Anjali’s waist. “You’re not here to arrest me, are you?” he asked in the language of Rajipuri with the accent of the tropical province of Thimandoo, “Or take me out? Not after all this time.”

Anjali shook her head. “Whatever happened, it is not our business. We just want to return something that should never have been taken from you in the first place.”

“You’d best come in then,” the old man said.

Unbidden, Anjali took off her sandals and stepped inside. Mikhail followed her lead, struggling with his impractical Republican military issue combat boots.

Not long thereafter, Anjali and Mikhail were sitting on a rattan two-seater. The old man bustled in the kitchen and returned, bearing a tray with tea, proper chai masala, and a type of flat round biscuits Anjali did not recognise.

He was followed by another man of a similar age, though this man clearly was no son of Rajipuri. His skin was pale, his hair white, his eyes a watery blue, giving him a washed out look that even his dark blue utility pants with a matching shirt could not dispel.

“I am Sergeant Gautam Dasgupta, formerly of the Imperial Shakyri Expeditionary Corps,” the old man introduced himself, “But I guess you know that already.”

“Not your name,” Anjali said and introduced herself and Mikhail in turn.

“And this…” Gautam Dasgupta seamlessly switched to Standard. “…is my husband, Henk Ten Bos. After more than forty years, he still doesn’t speak the language of the homeworld, so we’ll have to switch to the Republican tongue.”

“And after more than forty years, he still can’t bring himself to call it Standard like the rest of the universe,” Henk Ten Bos added with a fond smile.

Mikhail pulled the ring out of his pocket and placed it on the table. “I suspect this is yours then. Where are you from? Van Houten?”

Henk Ten Bos nodded. “What gave me away? The accent?” He picked up the ring and returned it to his finger above his wedding band.

Mikhail shook his head and pointed at the platter of biscuits. “The stroopwafels. They only make those on Van Houten.” He took one, broke it in two and handed the other half to Anjali.

“And you’re from Jagellowsk, I’d say,” Henk said, “I’m very sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” Mikhail replied.

“Still…” Henk turned to his husband, a twinkle in his eyes. “…I don’t think we have to worry that these two will rat us out, if either the Empire or the Republic even still care. After all, it seems like they’re in the same situation.”

Mikhail smiled. “Indeed, we are. But I don’t think we have to worry that you’ll rat us out either. But if I may ask a question, how…?”

“…did an officer of the Shakyri Corps and a hotshot Republican fighter pilot ever get together?” Henk shot a fond look at his husband. “Do you want to tell them or shall I?”

“I was on a mission in Thayame,” Gautam Dasgupta began, “Alone in hostile territory, when I came across a downed Republican fighter. The pilot was wounded, but still alive, so I decided to take him prisoner for the glory of the Empire.”

“And I promptly proceeded to seduce him into letting me go,” Henk added with a devilish smile, “Never mind that he was very handsome and very dashing.”

“And so were you,” Gautam added, “Anyway, by the time I could rejoin my squad, I couldn’t bring myself to hand him over to my commander. And so I let him go, promising myself that this would be the end of it, that we’d never see each other again.”

“But of course we did see each other again,” Henk continued, “We met in secret on neutral worlds, when we were both on leave.”

“And so it went for two long years,” Gautam added.

“And then you ran off together?” Anjali asked.

“Of course not,” Gautam replied.

“Is that what you did?” Henk asked, “Cause in that case, the Empire and the Republic must be after you like the devil after a doomed soul.”

“It was either defect or die,” Mikhail said, “Not much of a choice really.”

Gautam nodded thoughtfully. “For a Shakyri, it shouldn’t be a choice at all. Or so the propaganda says.”

“So you were unlucky and got caught?” Henk wanted to know.

Anjali shook her head. “I was unlucky and got caught,” she said, “By him.”

Mikhail took a sip of tea. “I was an operative, supposed to seduce and capture a Shakyri warrior for the good of the Republic. So I did. Only to find that I couldn’t hand her over to the Scientific Council, knowing what they’d do to her.”

“And I tried to do my duty to the Empire, tried to make sure that I wouldn’t be taken alive.” Anjali lowered her eyes, part of her still ashamed at her failure. “But he wouldn’t let me…”

She nibbled on her waffle. It tasted of caramel, filled with a layer of toffee-like syrup.

“And since neither of us could ever go back, we decided to make a run for it and head for the rim,” Mikhail finished.

“With both the Empire and the Republic hot on your tails,” Henk said, “I can vividly imagine. In many ways, we were luckier than the two of you, it seems. We were always careful and no one ever suspected anything.”

“We both handed in our resignations and retired to Sentosa, where we got married,” Gautam explained, “We’d picked this world because it was neutral and far away from everything and because reminded me of the coast of Thimandoo.”

“That was… what… forty-three years ago,” Henk added, “We’ve been here ever since. Not that we could ever go back to either Rajipuri or Van Houten, even if we wanted to. Though I don’t miss it. Except for the chocolate and the stroopwafels. And the cheese. No one here can make decent cheese.”

“You have stroopwafels,” Mikhail pointed out.

“Imported, yes, and they’re not bad. But not as good as fresh and homemade.”

“But the Corps must have found out about you eventually,” Anjali said carefully, “We checked your service number…”

“…and got ‘Entry not found’. Yes, I know. My commander disapproved of me anyway, because of who I am and because I retired, though Shakyri are supposed to die gloriously in battle. And when he heard that I’d left the Empire and got married to a Republican man…”

“And I still don’t know which of the two was worse, Republican or man,” Henk piped in.

“…he was furious.”

“He couldn’t do anything about it, of course,” Henk added, “After all, it’s not illegal to emigrate to a neutral rim world, meet someone there and marry them. And no one knew that we’d known each other before.”

“But my commander promised me that he’d have me disgraced and stricken from the records of the Shakyri Corps,” Gautam continued, “Which he did.”

“The Republic doesn’t exactly like me, either,” Henk added, “Again, there’s nothing they can do about it, but marrying an enemy is still frowned upon. And marrying a Shaykri warrior… well, you know that the Scientific Council would just love to capture one alive.”

Anjali and Mikhail nodded, for they knew only too well.

“They sent operatives and bounty hunters after us, but we dealt with them.”

Gautam did not elaborate, but Anjali knew what he meant. He was a Shakyri warrior, after all, and the oceans of Sentosa were deep. Deep enough to hide the bodies.

“Though I think they’ve lost interest by now,” Gautam continued, “At any rate, we haven’t had any trouble with either the Empire or the Republic in more than twenty years. When I caught that bastard breaking in here, I at first thought he was a bounty hunter. But it turns out he was only a common thief.”

“A common thief who managed to get you with a shockstick,” Henk pointed out.

“I’m no longer as young as I was and besides, I gave him a good thrashing first,” Gautam countered.

He turned back to Anjali and Mikhail. “But anyway, we thank you for returning the dagger and the ring. Maybe it’s wrong to be so attached to mementos of a life that’s no longer ours, that hasn’t been ours in a long time now…”

“But they remind you of who you were,” Anjali said.

“And who you fell in love with,” Mikhail added.

Gautam picked up the dagger and fastened it to his waist. “You know, I haven’t even used this in nigh twenty years now. But I still missed it. After all, it’s the only memento I have left of the man I used to be. Though I don’t miss the Shakyri…”

“…or the Republican Fighter Corps,” Henk added.

The two old men reached for each other’s hand.

“Because what we have now is so much better,” they said as one.

The End

***

Author’s Note: Of Floating Markets, Stroopwafels and Jack Reacher

Like several stories in the In Love and War series, Mementos and Memories was born during the July short story challenge, an annual event where the idea is to write a short story per day during the month of July.

The inspiration for Mementos and Memories was somewhat unusual, because it was the blurb for a completely different book, namely the 2017 Jack Reacher novel The Midnight Line by Lee Child. According to the blurb, Reacher sees a West Point class ring on display in the window of a pawn shop. Since no one would willingly sell such a ring, he tries to find the owner of the ring and — being Jack Reacher — promptly lands himself in deep trouble.

When I read that blurb for The Midnight Line in the Bültmann & Gerriets bookshop in Oldenburg, I thought, “Actually, that would make a great inciting event for an In Love and War story.” And since I was doing the July short story challenge at the time, I decided to write it. So I sent Mikhail and Anjali to the floating market and made them come across a stolen Shakyri dagger.

A lot of the settings for the In Love and War stories have been inspired by pieces of concept art, but not Mementos and Memories. Instead, instead the ocean world of Sentosa with its walkways, mangroves and floating market appeared fully formed in front of my mind’s eye. Though Sentosa does bear some similarities to the way the planet Venus was depicted in science fiction stories of the 1930s and 1940s — a lush and tropical world of oceans, swamps and jungles. And I just happened to read several Golden Age science fiction stories set on Venus for the 1944 Retro Hugos at around the same time I was doing the July short story challenge.

The planet of Sentosa was named after an island resort off the coast of Singapore, that briefly found itself at the centre of international attention, when the summit between US-president Donald Trump and North Korean leader Kim Jong-un took place there in 2018, some thirty-five years after I visited the island as a young child. The name of the capital Kota Terapung means “floating city” in Indonesian. And indeed, the names, clothing, culture and food suggest that the original settlers of the planet Sentosa hailed from Indonesia, Malaysia and Singapore.

Food normally plays a big role in the In Love and War stories and indeed, most of the author’s notes for the series involve either food or recipes. By the standards of the series, food features comparatively little in Mementos and Memories. The only food item explicitly named are stroopwafels, the syrup-filled Dutch waffle cookies that Henk ten Bos is so fond of.

Though the blurb for The Midnight Line was the initial inspiration for Mementos and Memories, I haven’t actually read the novel yet, so I have no idea where Lee Child took his story. Mine eventually led to a sweet elderly couple, a tale of forbidden love and the realisation that in an eighty-eight year conflict, Anjali and Mikhail can hardly be the first Republican-Imperial couple to fall in love against all odds.

That said, there are some similarities between the Jack Reacher books and the In Love and War stories in that both follow the same basic pattern of an ex-military protagonist (or two, in the case of Anjali and Mikhail) who travel around the US/the universe to solve other people’s problems. It is a very common pattern. For example, The A-Team and — without the military angle — The Fugitive and the 1970s Incredible Hulk TV-show also have the same basic premise. Furthermore, I suspect that Anjali and Mikhail would get along just swell with Jack Reacher or the A-Team or Dr. Richard Kimble or the Incredible Hulk, should they ever find themselves in the same universe.

***

That’s it for this month’s edition of First Monday Free Fiction. Check back next month, when a new free story will be posted.

Cora’s Adventures at Metropol Con in Berlin, Part 2: The Con

As you probably know, I was at Metropol Con, a new SFF convention in Berlin, last week. For my pre-con wanderings around Berlin, check out this post. And now, let’s get to the con itself.

Day 1: Thursday, May 18, 2023:

Thursday, May 18, 2023, was a public holiday (Ascension Day) in Germany. It was also the first day of Metropol Con. I got up around half past eight and got dressed, including attaching my Hugo pins to my t-shirt. Then I had breakfast at one of the Turkish cafés in the area. There was a great Turkish bakery and café called Simit 24, operated by three generations of Turkish Berlin women (we jokingly called them “the new three ladies of the barbecue” after a popular 1980s German TV show about three generations of Berlin women operating a sausage stand), right across from the con venue.

Turkish breakfast, courtesy of Café Simit 24.

After breakfast, I headed for Metropol Con. It was not a long trip, all I had to do was walk through a public park named after Max Josef Metzger, a Catholic priest executed by the Nazis who was the parish priest of the St. Joseph Church directly opposite the park.

The Catholic St. Joseph Church in the Wedding neighbourhood of Berlin, completed in 1909.

The so-called Ruin Column in Max Josef Metzger Park in the Wedding neighbourhood of Berlin commemorates the rebuilding of Berlin after WWII. The column consist of rubble of bumbed out houses and businesses.

Just in case you missed Metropol Con, someone drew this chalk sign onto the pavement outside the venue.

The con was held at the silent green cultural center in the Wedding neighbourhood of Berlin. Now is probably as good a time as any to talk about the very unique con venue. Cause before it became a cultural center, silent green used to be a crematorium.

Another sign points towards Metropol Con.

There’s a detailed history of the crematorium on the website of the silent green cultural center. The short version is that cremation was considered controversial in Germany for religious reasons well into the 20th century. An atheist group lobbied to build a columbarium and mourning hall next to the Wedding cemetery. The columbarium and mourning hall were completed in 1909 and expanded with a crematorium in 1912. The crematorium was expanded several times since then, the last time in the 1990s, until it was shut down in 2002 and converted into cultural center and events venue. The result is a striking and ever so slightly morbid ensemble of buildings.

But see for yourself:

The former Wedding crematorium, now the silent green cultural center, seen through the entrance archway. Note the stylized flames on the gate.

The domed mourning hall and columbarium of the silent green cultural center with the chimney of the actual crematorium rising behind the building.

A closer look at the mourning hall and courtyard through the gates of the complex.

Griffin gargoyles guard the gate to the mourning and columbarium.

The domed mourning hall of the silent green cultural center.

A female figure in a long robe adorns the entrance to the domed mourning hall of the silent green complex. The figure was kept deliberately neutral and might depict a Christian saint or a pagan goddess or a female mourner.

The mourning hall and columbarium complex is certainly an evocative and fascinating building and made for a great con venue.

Viewed from the walkway of the adjacent building, the silent green columbarium looks almost like a medieval castle.

Since my hotel was only about 350 meters from the con, I arrived fairly early, when the line at registration was only two people ahead of me. I also ran into the first people I knew before I even got the registration desk, which is always a sign that you’ll have a great con.

The Metropol Con banner adorns the former administration building of the crematorium that has now been converted into panel rooms.

Since I’m the first and so far only German person to win a Hugo, I got several in person congratulations. I was also asked to sign things – a laptop, that was later auctioned off, two postcards and a book (not one of mine, but someone had everybody he met sign a book purchased in the dealers room). Of course, people also wanted to see the trophy – which of course was at home, because it weighs 4.5 kilograms – but luckily I had photos on my phone. Though I should probably find a better way to organise them, so I don’t have to scroll through umpteen unrelated photos to get to the Hugo.

My Metropol Con badge with ribbons and a Glasgow 2024 button.

Once I got my badge and wristband, I descended into the bowels of the silent green cultural center – quite literally, since much of the complex is underground, accessed via a ramp wide enough for a truck. It’s very practical and also easy enough to descend… at least until you remember what the ramp was originally for.

The ramp leading down into the bowels of the silent green cultural center.

At the bottom of the ramp, there was an area with notice boards, a freebie table and a giant Playmobil Mr. Spock who greeted con goers. The Mr. Spock figure was later auctioned off to help pay for the con.

At the bottom of the ramp, this giant Playmobil Mr. Spock greets visitors.

Notice boards with information about other upcoming cons. Dave Lally painstakingly set these up.

Another notice board with information about upcoming cons.

Beyond the notice boards and freebie tables, there was a subterranean bar called the “Betonbar” (concrete bar), because this part of the silent green cultural center is very much a concrete bunker. It would probably survive a nuclear strike and would also be an excellent place to hole up during the zombie apocalypse. Yet another level down was a large open space that was once used to store bodies and now served as the dealers room, exhibition space and gaming area.

A look across the gaming and exhibition area at Metropol Con.

The exhibition space hosted a travelling exhibition about literature in East Germany as well as an exhibition dedicated to the late Austrian science fiction writer and computer art pioneer Herbert W. Franke.

“Leseland DDR” (Reading country GDR) is a travelling exhibition about literature in East Germany that was displayed at Metropol Con.

The “Leseland DDR” exhibition had sections on various genres, including an extensive section about science fiction in East Germany.

More of the science fiction section of the exhibition about East German literature at Metropol Con. This exhibition just won the Kurd Laßwitz Preis.

An exhibition dedicated to the pioneering computer artwork by Austrian science fiction writer and artist Herbert W. Franke.

Because it was still fairly early and there wasn’t a lot of programming yet, I took a stroll through the exhibition area and the dealers room. I chatted with people and also purchased yet more books, though once again I womanfully restricted myself to only two books. If you’ve been keeping count, means I had six books to take home now versus two books I’d bought to Metropol Con to donate to the auction.

I also bought a Metropol Con mug, which meant that I also had two mugs to take home now, since I’d bought a souvenir as a present for my Dad.

A look across the vast dealers room at Metropol Con.

Another look at the Metropol Con dealers room

One last look at the Metropol Con dealers room.

Once I emerged from the catacombs of the silent green cultural center, I realised that I was lugging around two books and a mug, so I took them back to the hotel. Then I returned to the con, had a coffee and a chicken banh mi sandwich and attended a panel on science fiction in East Germany.

Now I do have a bit of experience with East German SF as a reader. Because when I was a kid, my Great-Aunt Metel, who lived in East Germany, would send me books and records for my birthday and Christmas, because books and records were fairly easily available in East Germany. Once she figured out I liked “space books”, she sent me science fiction books. Some of them were translated editions of East European authors like Stanislaw Lem and the Strugatsky brothers. Others were SF novels by East German authors. However, I don’t really have any systematic knowledge of East German SF, I just read whatever my aunt (or whoever went book shopping on her behalf, since Aunt Metel hardly ever left the house) could snag at the bookstore.

So in order to learn more about something I only have a cursory knowledge of, I not only bought a non-fiction book about East German science fiction in the dealers room, but also decided to attend a panel on the subject. The panelists were science fiction scholar Hans Frey, science fiction writer, critic and scholar Dietmar Dath, science fiction writer Emma Braslavsky (international readers may know her as the author of the story upon which the movie I’m You Man was based) and science fiction writer Karlheinz Steinmüller, who co-wrote Andymon, voted the best East German science fiction novel of all time in 1989, with his wife Angela Steinmüller. Braslavsky and Steinmüller grew up in East Germany, Dath and Frey in West Germany. Below you can see my photo of the panelists, which isn’t very good. A better photo of the same panel by Roger Murmann is here.

The panel on “Science fiction in East Germany” featuring – from left to right – Karlheinz Steinmüller (half hidden behind someone’s head), Emma Braslavsky, Dietmar Dath (also half-hidden behind someone’s head) and Hans Frey.

The panel was very interesting and went into what distinguished East German science fiction from West German and Western science fiction in general. One of the points made was that since East Germany has an official vision of what the future would look like, namely a Socialist utopia, the questions East German science fiction asked was not so much, “What will the future look like?”, because they already knew, but “How do we get there?” and “How do we do this?” The above-mentioned novel Andymon by Karlheinz and Angela Steinmüller is actually a good example for this, because it’s about some young people landing on a planet they’re supposed to colonise, only that the planet is not as advertised, so they have to figure out how to make it habitable anyway.

Emma Braslavsky pointed out that by the 1980s, when East Germany was visibly declining and falling apart (which tracks with what Aunt Metel told me, namely that East Germany continued improve and progress, albeit slowly, into the 1970s, then it stagnated and gradually fell apart), the Socialist Utopia was more of a promise, much like Christmas. Just sleep one more night and Christmas – Socialism is here and everything will be wonderful. Emma Braslavsky also noted that when she watched things like Star Trek on West German TV (a large part of East Germany could and did watch West German TV), someone muttered some complete nonsense like “Reverse the polarity” and it actually worked.

Even though the panelists grew up in two very different countries and systems, there were some things that united all of them. For example, it was never easy to be a budding SF fan in a small rural village or town, whether in East or West Germany, because library selections were limited and books or comics not always easily available in local shops. Karlheinz Steinmüller talked about what an important influence the Digedags from the Mosaik comics (I wrote a little bit about Mosaik and the Digedags in this Galactic Journey article) were on him and how the comics were often hard to come by, because they were hugely popular (due to being actually good) and quickly sold out. Karlheinz Steinmüller also talked about how he was eager to learn Russian (which was the first foreign language taught in East German schools), so he could read American science fiction writers like Isaac Asimov or Clifford D. Simak in Russian translation! Asimov or Simak were available in German, of course, but the translations were published in West Germany and therefore difficult to access for East Germans.

The panelists also discussed mistaken ideas and assumptions they had picked up from reading science fiction from an early age. One point made by both East and West German panelists was the assumption that religion would cease to matter and that the future would be largely atheist. I found myself nodding along to that point, because that was also very much my assumption. After all, in US science fiction of the so-called Golden and Silver Age, religion is either a scam (Foundation by Isaac Asimov, Gather Darkness by Fritz Leiber) or for aliens or both (The Gods of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs). Or it involves nubile beauties being sacrificed to some tentacled monstrosity. And in East European science fiction, the future was atheist for obvious reasons.

One assumption that I’m surprised no one brought up is that as a teenager I was absolutely certain that this whole Cold War nonsense would eventually stop – provided that the politicians didn’t manage to blow up the world first – because I’d seen Pavel Chekhov on the bridge of the Enterprise and Tamara Jagellowsk on the bridge of the Orion. Meanwhile, East Germans would have seen the American nuclear physicist Harringway Hawling defying the evil capitalists (TM) to travel to Venus aboard the Kosmokrator in The Silent Star. So I at least was totally convinced that this whole Cold War nonsense would eventually cease and we’d all go to space together – after all, I’d seen it happen on TV. And of course, I did see the Cold War end and the Iron Curtain fall as a teenager, only for both East and West to promptly put space exploration on the backburner. Because I had also never believed that the space race was a real thing – I assumed that “The Soviets or respectively Americans will get there before us” was just an excuse used to get funding from politicians who believed in that sort of nonsense and that the true reason to explore space was because space was cool. Yeah, joke’s on me.

After the panel, I hung out some more at the con. Then I returned to my hotel, rested a bit and went out for dinner. For some reason, there were several Korean restaurants within walking distance of the hotel and the con, so I headed for one of them and had a very tasty tofu bibimbap.

Tofu bibimbap

I returned to the hotel and went to bed fairly early by my standards, because my two panels were both on Friday, the first of them at 9:30 AM. And I did want to have a coffee and some breakfast before the panel.

Day 2: Friday, May 19, 2023:

The title of my first panel was “Translation: What is lost and what is gained”. One unexpected thing we lost was two panelists. German writer and translator Bernhard Kempen had a scheduling conflict and Czech writer and translator Julie Nováková fell ill just before the con. So we were down to three panelists, Claudia Rapp, C.D. Covington and myself. Luckily, Julie Nováková recommended a replacement panelist, Czech translator (she translated the first six of Laurell K. Hamilton’s Anita Blake books into Czech) and fantasy writer Lucie Lukačovičová (I hope I managed to persuade WordPress to spell her name correctly, since WordPress hates carons), so we were four panelists after all.

We talked about false friends, translation pitfalls, accuracy versus poetic licence, what to do if there isn’t an equivalent in the target language, how to deal with quotes from religious and other texts and why machine translation can’t replace a human translator and often leads to nonsense such as translating brand names (a lot of webstores use machine translation, since they apparently believe that customers can’t make sense of English and want garbled nonsense) which a human would never do. I also shared my favourite example, the Masters of the Universe character Snout Sprout (who is already pretty silly in general, because he’s a guy with an elephant head) which an overzealous translation program decided to turn into “Schnauzen Auslauf” for a German webstore.

I’ve done a lot of translation panels over the years, because I tend to get put on translation panels, even though I’m not a literary translator. Therefore, I have plenty of experience with translations panels and this was a really good one. The audience seems to have enjoyed it as well. At any rate, several audience members told us afterwards how much they enjoyed the panel. After the panel, the discussion also spilled out of the program room onto the walkway outside, which is always a sign for a good panel. The translation panel was recorded and someone took photos, but I can’t find either the recording or the photos online.

The former administration building of the crematorium has been turned into program rooms connected by a walkway.

The translation panel ended at 10:30 AM and my next panel was at 12:30 PM, so I theoretically had two hours of time between panels. However – as mentioned above – we continued chatting after the translation panel, so the two hours were closer to one. I wanted to have lunch before the panel, so I headed to a Pakistani restaurant next to my hotel, which supposedly opened at 10 AM. Alas, it turned out that the sign on the door was inaccurate and the restaurant only opened at 10 AM on Sundays. On weekdays, it opened at twelve, which was a little tight for my taste. So I had a pogača filled with feta and dill at a Turkish café instead.

My second panel was entitled “SFFH around the globe: developments, themes, trends” and took place in the great domed mourning hall. The other panelists were Metropol Con GoH Mary Robinette Kowal, Peter J. Maurits, a scholar specialising in African, specifically Mozambiquan literature, and Spanish horror writer Jesús Cañadas. The moderator was SFF writer Sabrina Železný. Once again, I hope that WordPress did not butcher Sabrina’s surname. And actually, this would have been a good subject for both the translation and world SFFH panel. Because how can it be that one of the most widely used blogging and content management systems keeps butchering East European names and words containing carons, even if you use the HTML character code workaround? There actually are photos of this panel, though none of them are mine for obvious reasons. You can see a few of them below, credited to the respective photographers.

The global SFFH panel also had a last minute panelist switch, because Ugandan SFF writer Dilman Dila, who was supposed to be on the panel, didn’t get a visa, so Jesús Cañadas took part in the panel instead. Unfortunately, this also led to a panel on world SFF with five white panelists, which is a less than ideal situation.

This isn’t my photo, obviously, but was taken by German science fiction writer Theresa Hannig and shared on Twitter. You can see the weird light in the domed hall, which turned everything and everybody purple. From left to right, we have Jesús Cañadas, Mary Robinette Kowal, Sabrina Zelezný, yours truly and Peter J. Maurits. Also note the gallery and the recesses originally intended for funeral urns, though they’re empty now.

The original tweet by Theresa Hannig is here BTW. Roger Murmann also took some great photos of this panel such as this one, this one or this one. Here’s also a great photo of me by Roger Murmann.

One aspect that we discussed was that SFFH from Africa, Asia, Latin America and the Middle East is a lot more visible now, because e-mail submissions, self-publishing, print on demand, webzines, etc… have made submissions more accessible and also given writers from all over the world the chance to publish their work, though there are still plenty of hurdles. Peter J. Maurits pointed out that African SFF is actually a huge field of different national literatures written in a variety of different languages and that his specialty is actually SFF from Mozambique, which is written in Portuguese. He also plugged Omenana as a free venue to check out English and French language SFF from Africa, while I noted that the anthology Africa Risen, edited by Sheree Renée Thomas, Zelda Knight and Oghenechovwe Donald Ekpeki, was available in the dealers room right there at the con.

Also, as the examples of Dilman Dila or Oghenechovwe Donald Ekpeki or almost every African SFF writer who wanted to attend the Dublin Worldcon in 2019 show, increasingly restrictive and – yes, racist – visa policies make in-person cons very difficult to access for writers from Africa, the Middle East, parts of Latin America and Asia, etc… This is also an issue that the SFF community can’t resolve on its own, because it’s part of the larger political issue of restrictive visa policies and the tendency to view any traveler from certain parts of the world primarily as a potential illegal immigrant or terrorist. Worse, writers, artists and musicians are often denied visa, because they often have no employer, are often young and have no partner or children and don’t fit into visa criteria for e.g. business travelers. Organisers of music festivals, art shows, theatre festivals, SFF conventions and any cultural event have been complaining for years now how difficult it is to get visa even for invited artists. However, less restrictive visa policies aren’t something that wins elections – quite the contrary, sadly, with all the panic about illegal immigrants and refugees – and usually not a political priority and there is little the SFF community can do about it. One thing we can do, however, is make sure that more cons have virtual components, virtual guests of honour, etc… Virtual cons exploded in popularity due to the covid pandemic and even though in person cons are great, we shouldn’t neglect the virtual elements, especially since virtual cons benefit not just people from non-western countries but all people who have problems participating due to disability, family commitments or jobs which make travel difficult, etc…

We also briefly got into the hostile reception that non-western Worldcon bids such as Chengdu or the bid for Jeddah in Saudi Arabia sadly still often get from the western and particularly American SFF community. This was partly in response to a question if Middle Eastern SFF might be the next to become more visible on the global stage. I pointed out that while the Jeddah bid wasn’t viable at the time, the treatment that the people behind that bid – fans like us – received was appalling. Referring the failed Jedi Con bid actually got me into a nice conversation with someone who translates Arabic SFF into English after the panel.

Furthermore, we also talked about the accessibility of writing workshops. Mary Robinette Kowal talked about the Writing Excuses cruises cum workshop and how the participants were still very white and very American, in spite of attempts to make them more accesible to people of colour via grants and to European participants by holding one during a Baltic cruise. However, cruises – and the reason the workshops are held on cruise ships is because the costs are actually lower than a residential workshop like Clarion or Viable Paradise would be, plus cruise ships are accessible for disabled people – have a certain reputation such as that they’re for white people or – particularly in Europe – they’re for old people.

On a more general note, we also discussed how science fiction, fantasy and horror are perceived in various countries – which is often still negatively – and also how that perception has changed over the years. Jesús Cañadas and Sabrina Železný had both been at the Leipzig Book Fair earlier this year, which had a special science fiction, fantasy and horror section… kept safely apart from the main Book Fair. I talked about how SFF was dismissed as “trivial literature” or outright trash literature, when I was a teenager – to lots of nodding in the auditorium, because I suspect every single German person in there probably hates the term “trivial literature” (which was and sometimes still is the official scholarly term for popular fiction in Germany) as much as I do. I also pointed out that things are changing and that e.g. Dietmar Dath (who actually may have been in the audience) actually made the longlist for the German Book Award a few years ago, as have other SFF works (most recently Theresia Enzensberger for At Sea in 2022), but that those books are usually considered to – another hated phrase, as we agreed – “transcend the genre”.

In general, it is notable that if you take a stroll to the dealers room at Metropol Con or check out a bookstore with a good SFF selection such Kulturkaufhaus Dussmann or an SFF specialty shop like Otherland, that there is a lot of German SFF, much of it published by small specialty presses. We also have a lot of younger German SFF authors in their 20s and 30s, including a lot of women, non-binary and LGBTQ authors, though SFF writer Alessandra Reß notes in her Metropol Con report that the membership skewed older, whiter and more male than the current German SFF scene. Nonetheless, the current situation is a far cry from the situation in the 1980s and 1990s, when I started reading and writing SFF and there was very little in the way of German SFF beyond Perry Rhodan, John Sinclair and Professor Zamorra as well as a few established, older male authors in West Germany and some SFF in East Germany. But the vast majority of what was available was British and American SFF in translation, which is also the reason I started to write in English – because there was no market in Germany at the time. And I pointed out that I probably would never have been nominated for, let alone won a Hugo, if I wasn’t writing in English.

I also mentioned German science fiction writer and Perry Rhodan co-creator Walter Ernsting, who had to invent a fictional American science fiction writer named Clark Dalton and pass himself off as the translator of Dalton’s works in order to get his own stories published. Walter Ernsting also came up in the translation panel BTW (he was a very prolific translator of golden and silver age science fiction) as an example of a translated title spoiling the plot of a story by Rosel George Brown.

Jesús Cañadas pointed out that there is a lot of speculative fiction and horror published in Spain and Latin America, but that very little of it is translated. And what is translated – Jesús specifically recommended Mariana Enriquez – is often not really packaged or marketed as science fiction, fantasy or horror. In general, many countries around the world have vibrant, active and fascinating SFF scenes – which are completely invisible to people from other parts of the world due to the translation gap and language barrier. Mary Robinette Kowal pointed out that trying to read a books in a foreign language would be an ethical application for machine translation in the absence of a translated edition, though official translations done by human translators are still preferable.

All in all, it was a great panel and I’m thrilled to have been a part of it. Directly after the World SFF panel, Mary Robinette Kowal held her keynote address about lady astronauts in fiction and reality in the great domed hall.

After the panel, I switched on my phone again to find that my Dad had tried to call me. He tends to call my around noon and the panel was at 12:30. However, a ringing phone on a panel is a distraction, so I switched it off. I talked to my Dad and got some coffee and a chocolate chip cookie.

Mary Robinette Kowal had finished her keynote address by now and we wound up chatting in the line at the Little Mars coffee shop in the former gatehouse of the crematorium and later at one of the tables set up outside the Little Mars. That turned into a rotating group of people chatting about all sorts of topics and actually made me miss the panel I wanted to see in the afternoon. Though I was later told that I didn’t miss much with regard to the panel.

Later that afternoon, I ran into German fan Peter Schmitt, who blogs about sword and sorcery and other topics at Skalpell und Katzenklaue and we wound up chatting for an hour or so, which unfortunately meant that I missed the other event I’d planned to attend that afternoon, too. That said, the conversations with people you just happen to meet are one of the best things about in person cons that hybrid and virtual cons can’t really emulate.

I left the silent green cultural center around 6 PM. By now, I was running a little low on cash, because the dealers room vendors as well as the cafés in the neighbourhood didn’t always accept cards. So I hopped into the subway and headed for Friedrichstraße station, because there is a branch of my bank on Friedrichstraße. Supposedly, there was at least one branch that was closer, but since I knew where the Friedrichstraße branch was, I went there. Since I was already in the neighbourhood, I took a brief detour to Gendarmenmarkt, which is one of Berlin’s most beautiful squares – flanked by two stunning and nigh identical baroque churches, one Lutheran and one for the French Huguenots who’d settled in Prussia escaping persecution in France.

Alas, Gendarmenmarkt is currently in the middle of a massive reconstruction project. The concert hall is hidden behind scaffolding and the entire square has been torn up and is cordoned off, though at least you can still access the German and the French church. I also managed to get a few nice photos.

The German church at the Gendarmenmarkt in the foreground and the French church in the background. Neither church is still active and both of them house museums today.

A look at the French church on Gendarmenmarkt.

The French church on Gendarmenmarkt with a strategically placed con trail behind the dome.

After that little detour to Gendarmenmarkt, I returned to the Wedding neighbourhood to have dinner. Of course, there are plenty of restaurants around Friedrichstraße and Gendarmenmarkt, but they’re also quite pricy, so I decided to have dinner in the Wedding area instead. I went to another Korean restaurant – there are several in the area – and had yet another bowl of bibimbap.

Day 3: Saturday, May 20, 2023:

On Saturday, I woke up fairly early, had breakfast and headed for the con once more. Since I had no panels of my own that day, I checked the schedule and decided to listen to German science fiction author Emma Braslavsky talk about her upcoming novel Erdling (Earthling), because I happen to like her work. International readers will probably know Emma Braslavsky best for writing the story “I’m Your Man” upon which the eponymous 2021 German science fiction movie is based.

Emma Braslavsky waves a phaser around during her presentation at Metropol Con.

Erdling sounds fascinating and I’ll probably get the book, when it comes out in November. However, the presentation also inadvertedly showed another issue of bringing German (or any other language) SFF to a global audience. Because a lot about the book is very German. Will audiences understand why it’s funny that leftist firebrand Sahra Wagenknecht has been abducted by aliens and that the protagonist, washed-up would-be private detective Emma Erdling, is recruited by Wagenknecht’s husband, leftist politician Oskar Lafontaine, to find her and embarks on a romp through time and space, accompanied by German weird fiction author Hanns Heinz Ewers. For a non-German audience, a translator would not only have to explain who Wagenknecht, Lafontaine, Ewers and a host of other characters are, but also the connotations these people have to a German audience. Because almost every German person will immediately have an image in their head, when they hear the names Sahra Wagenknecht or Oskar Lafontaine, and their minds will supply speculations what might happen if one of them were abducted by aliens. Will Sahra Wagenknecht lead the aliens to revolution? Or will she annoy them so much that they return her? A non-German reader simply doesn’t have those associations, unless they have followed German politics extremely closely.

Initially I was planning to attend an interview with Karen Nölle, who has translated Ursula K. Le Guin’s works into German, after the Emma Braslavsky presentation. However, towards the end of the previous program item, I suddenly got very tired. And because falling asleep on a panel is very rude, I decided to skip the Ursula K. Le Guin translation panel and get a coffee and a blueberry muffin instead.

Enjoying a latte macchiato and blueberry muffin at the Little Mars café.

The next panel I attended was about dubbing movies and TV shows and how the process works. Now in Germany, every movie or TV show is dubbed into German. But while dubbing is ubiquitous, though in the age of streaming and DVD you increasingly have the option to watch the original version, with or without subtitles, I found that I know very little about how the process actually works. Therefore, I found this panel incredibly interesting. The presenter was Stefan Kaiser who is a dialogue director responsible for dubbing e.g. Wellington Paranormal or Parasite into German. And in fact, Stefan Kaiser used a scene from Wellington Paranormal as an example for how the dubbing process works.

Once again, the panel spilled out into the café area afterwards, where I realised that my phone showed ten missed calls from my Dad. As I said above, he tends to call me around noon, which was exactly when the panel took place. Though this time, I didn’t switch off my phone, because the dubbing panel took place in the so-called cinema, which was in the concrete reinforced bowels of the silent green complex, where there is no cell phone reception anyway. So I excused myself to talk to my Dad and then returned for a continuing of the dubbing industry.

Around three PM, I took a break from the con to go on an errand. I wanted to buy a comic, which had just come out that week, so I asked in the dealers room where to find a comic shop that carries all the latest US comics in Berlin. I was recommended Black Dog Comics in the Prenzlauer Berg neighbourhood, which turned out to be only two S-Bahn stations away. So I headed to Black Dog Comics, only to find that they didn’t have the comic I wanted, because since the pandemic they get new comics one week later than the US. That said, I still found something to buy and also had a nice chat with the owner. BTW, Black Dog Comics are curently running a 50 percent off sale on all Red Sonja comics to celebrate Red Sonja‘s fiftieth anniversary.

After my little excursion to Prenzlauer Berg, I headed back to the silent green cultural center, where the con was gradually winding down.

Con goers emerge from the domed hall, where various items were auctioned off to support the con.

I bade good-bye to plenty of people, returned to my hotel and then went out for dinner. This time I had Pakistani food, namely vegetable pakora and chicken biryani, because my train home left the following day. I’ll probably do a part three about my post-con odyssey around Berlin on the first hot day of the year, where everything was either closed or overcrowded, while waiting for my train home to go at 4:38 PM, because that’s a different story.

All in all, I had a great time at Metropol Con and I’m glad that I attended. And even though I’m wholly in favour of virtual cons due to their accessibility, in person cons are another matter altogether. The Metropol Con website includes links to several other con reports – mostly in German, though this one by Wenzel Mehnert is in English – as well as videos and photo galleries.

The next Metropol Con is planned for 2026 and I’m looking forward to going, even if it means braving Deutsche Bahn again.

Finally, take a look at my Berlin trip haul, some of it purchased at the con and some in various shops around Berlin. And yes, I’m terrible at getting stuff signed, even if the author is right there in front of me. Largely, my problem was that the author was there in front of me, but the book was back at the hotel.

My Metropol Con haul includes the first three issue of the Masterverse comic mini-series by Tim Seeley, Eddie Nunez and various other artists, The Red Scholar’s Wake by Aliette de Board, The Daughter of Doctor Moreau by Silvia Moreno-Garcia, Ghost Talkers by Mary Robinette Kowal, which I failed to get signed, Doomsday Morning by C.L. Moore, Tales of Nevéryon by Samuel R. Delany, the non-fiction book Vision und Verfall: Science Fiction in der DDR by Hans Frey, which I also failed to get signed, a presenter gift in the form of cute candy and two mugs.

Indie Speculative Fiction of the Month for May 2023

It’s that time of the month again, time for “Indie Speculative Fiction of the Month”.

So what is “Indie Speculative Fiction of the Month”? It’s a round-up of speculative fiction by indie and small press authors newly published this month, though some April books I missed the last time around snuck in as well. The books are arranged in alphabetical order by author. So far, most links only go to Amazon.com, though I may add other retailers for future editions.

Once again, we have new releases covering the whole broad spectrum of speculative fiction. This month, we have epic fantasy, YA fantasy, sword and sorcery, paranormal romance, paranormal mystery, science fiction mystery, science fantasy, space opera, military science fiction, dystopian fiction, weird western, horror, space colonisation, time travel, space fleets, lost colonies, wizards, ghosts, barbarians, temporal fugitives, haunted houses, crime-busting witches and much more.

Don’t forget that Indie Speculative Fiction of the Month is also crossposted to the Speculative Fiction Showcase, a group blog run by Jessica Rydill and myself, which features new release spotlights, guest posts, interviews and link round-ups regarding all things speculative fiction several times per week.

As always, I know the authors at least vaguely, but I haven’t read all of the books, so Caveat emptor.

And now on to the books without further ado:

Into the Void by Jonathan P. Brazee and J.N. Chaney:

The Exile Fleet has been decimated, but the mission must go on.

What other choice do they have? With most of the officers KIA, Sergeant Major Reverent Pelletier has to step up to lead the ground force.

Meanwhile, the remaining ships ply the far reaches on unexplored space to identify potential threats to humanity.

And as the saying goes, if you search for trouble, trouble will often find you.

With peace at home beginning to break down, the Exile Fleet is on its own as it tries to fulfill its mission. . . and not get killed in the process.

Join Rev, Tomiko and the rest as they forge an unprecedented path into the vast unknown.

Legacy of Seven by P.J. Flie:

A world filled with magic, wizards, enchanted beings … and a construction robot?

The mystical world that has risen out of the ashes of science and technology could soon fall.

While the young wizard Ondreeal has her magic safely under control for now, she is plagued with dreams of a nightmarish future that she can’t recall upon waking, dreams that leave her unsettled all the same. A nagging urgency pulls her back to Bastion—a free city of light and a beacon of hope for all peoples.

There, Sir Francis, the wise wizard of the north, will have the answers that she so desperately needs. But if she returns too late, her mentor may fall into the hands of the dark wizard Zairoc, and Ondreeal will forever lose the only one who can unravel the mystery of her past, and help her to become a true wizard of light.

That would also keep robot CD-45 from completing his mission. He carries a dire warning of an ancient threat that looms in orbit above the planet—a message that only Sir Francis can comprehend.

For good or ill, Ondreeal’s fate will be the fate of the world.

Sea of Mist by Rachel Ford:

Knight Protector Portia Daysen and Captain Valia Iceborn may have rescued the legendary black wyvern hatchling from one peril, but the struggle for his freedom – and their lives – is just beginning.

The route to safety lies across the perilous Sea of Mists. But those treacherous waters can only be navigated by moonlight.

With a Northern knight and a Southern inquisitor on their tails, each hellbent on revenge, the pair is running out of time and options.

But there are worse things than their pursuers lurking in the Sea of Mists…

Gunslingers of the Toxic Age by Theodore Gide:

Kristen Black, PI, reluctantly agrees to investigate the murder of a young political activist. Kristen doesn’t want the job — political crimes tend to conceal other, more lethal crimes. The deeper Kristen penetrates into the dark shadows of a broken city during wartime, the more deadly the pushback against her becomes. As Kristen feared, unmasking the killer opens a pandora’s box of violence and she’s on the run from the long arm of Military Security, chemical plants around the world are being bombed and her gun is pointed dead center at the man she loves.

 

Imaginary Friends by Lily Harper Hart:

When it comes to magic, Rowan Gray-Davenport has always been grateful to be part of the club. She never wanted to be the leader of it, though.
All of that is about to change.

When Rowan’s friends Sally and Demarcus arrive on their new purchase, a vintage steamboat they want to refurbish so they can turn it into a floating restaurant and casino, Rowan and her husband Quinn are thrilled to reunite with them. That only lasts until their daughter Lana asks about the invisible children on the boat. It seems there are a lot of them, and they just might be dead.

It appears the new boat is haunted, and the ghosts are looking for vengeance. They seem to have their sights set on Lana as a form of protection. She just doesn’t know it yet.

Lana is a little girl who wants to be seen as special. Unfortunately, she can’t see the danger that’s directly in front of her. Rowan can, however, and it doesn’t take long for her to call on her friends Ivy, Harper, and Maddie to get her through this ordeal.

The children might have been innocent when they died, but they’re out for blood now. It’s going to take the whole gang working together to see this through to the other side.

Lana’s life is hanging in the balance, and this time the magic that’s required to save her will stem from her mother’s love. Rowan had better be up to the challenge, because otherwise her family will be lost.

Her moment is here. She has no choice but to embrace it.

Kwelengsen Swarm by David M. Kelly:

How long can one man keep fighting?

Logan’s dreams of a peaceful life on Kwelengsen have been shattered. A final battle with the Corporate forces seems inevitable and will cost all the settlers’ lives unless he can get them off planet. But with deadly new species appearing all around, the remaining survivors find themselves battling enemies on multiple fronts.

And when the settlers start behaving in strange, inexplicable ways, Logan must fight to uncover the reasons behind their sinister death wish. But with Corporate reinforcements on the way, he’s fast running out of time.

Kwelengsen Swarm–the endgame is survival, but who is the enemy?

Dial W for Witch by Amanda M. Lee:

The Happy Holidays Players—a renowned acting troupe—is coming to town and Hemlock Cove is bursting with excited residents who want parts in the winter festival. That includes the three Winchester matriarchs, who are vying with one another for top billing.

Bay Winchester doesn’t care about the pageant, but she’s more than happy to sit back and watch the shenanigans. That is until her husband Landon Michaels calls with a request for her help. It seems there was a prison break twenty minutes away … and more than a handful of inmates are on the run.

Bay, Landon, and Hemlock Cove Police Chief Terry Davenport make up their own search party. What becomes apparent fairly quickly, however, is that some of the inmates are magically enhanced. By whom, though?

Each subsequent battle results in a tougher takedown, and as Bay delves deeper into the mystery of a guard who may have helped the fleeing inmates, she finds herself entrenched in a fight to the death.

Bay and Landon are looking forward to their first holiday season as a married couple. They’re desperate for some downtime and holiday cheer. To get it, they’re going to have to survive a magical onslaught that seems to be pointed at their family more and more with each passing day.

Bay might be able to call the dead to battle for her, but this is a war between the living … and both sides are going to go down fighting.

Here comes trouble. There’s no going back.

Tempus Fugitive: Mission 1 by J.S. Morin:

The next generation is here, and trouble is in their DNA.

Jessie and Eric Ramsey have a family history of crime. Fighting back against heredity, each tried to make their way in the galaxy by respectable means. Jessie joined Earth Navy; Eric went to college for magic. But fate wasn’t having it. Eric was expelled. Jessie went AWOL. Now, due to a magical mishap that wasn’t entirely anyone’s fault (we swear!), they’re stranded 5 years in the future on a Mars that’s no longer friendly territory.

Caught behind enemy lines in a galactic civil war they didn’t know about, the pair need every trick in their respective books to survive on Mars long enough to escape. Along the way, they’ll meet old friends and make new foes, and if they’re very lucky, manage to figure out where they belong in this new galactic order.

And Mars is only the beginning. Time travel is a one-way trip, and the only way to stop is death. And Ramseys don’t die easy.

Sons of Sorrow by Nazri Noor:

The Tears of the Ocean. The Heart of the Flame.

Lochlann Wilde is preparing for his final challenge: entering the Oriel of Fire, the most dangerous of the elemental dimensions. Acquiring the essence of fire will score him another powerful guardian, as well as complete Aphrodite’s amulet.

But the world outside the oriel has its own challenges. Sylvain has discovered something difficult about his heritage. Aphrodite keeps dropping unsettling hints about Locke’s true nature, too.

Most pressing of all is the mystery of the parchment that cursed Queen Aurelia to begin with, the only clue that may lead to the truth about the Withering. Who is behind it? Why did they engineer the plague?

And how can Locke and Sylvain stop them from infecting the cosmos?

The Headless Boy by Kelli Owen:

A novel similar to suspenseful classics like The Haunting of Hill House, The Woman in Black, and Bag of Bones.

Reeling from the loss of a child, Maggie finds her job at the local daycare unbearable and errands around town impossible. She knows every child, every single parent, and they’re all reminders of what she’s lost. Unable to heal, she sinks further into the grip of grief and depression.

Jake is a good guy, a great husband, and wants only the best for his broken wife. Therapy and medications aren’t helping, and a change of scenery makes perfect sense. A new home. A fresh start. He is nothing but patient, giving Maggie the space and emotional support needed to move on.

But once they’ve settled in, Maggie offers him an alternative. And though Jake doesn’t believe in ghosts, he plays along with the charade in the name of helping his wife. Until he discovers it’s not a game.

They are not alone.

As the subtle activity grows violent, Jakes realizes the thing in their house has chosen Maggie as a surrogate mother, and it does not want a father figure. Jake and Maggie’s fresh start has become a battlefield, and he’s no longer sure which side his wife is on.

Does Jake have the strength to save them both?

The Haunting of Blackstone Mansion by Augustine Pierce:

An abandoned mansion. A restless spirit. A terrible secret…

Seeking to escape a recent tragedy, antiques expert Katherine relocates to Blackstone, Oregon. Her new home lies within reach of the majestic Mt. Hood, and tucked away in the thick forest of those foothills looms the dark, foreboding, and abandoned Blackstone mansion.

 

 

Tales of the Wild by Yazar Quint:

Barbarian life is brutal but full of wonder.

Banished from her tribe, Rexa wanders the world, exploring ancient ruins, discovering great wonders, and facing terrible monsters. She has no home but the wild. No gods to guide her. Brazen and reckless, she carves her path with a sharp tongue and steel in hand, fighting for the right to see another sunrise.

Laws of men have no power beyond the stone walls of cities and castles. In cursed forests, treacherous mountains, and dreadful deserts, bravery thrives and weakness withers. It is a world where reality does not play by its own rules—a world of mystery and sorcery. The wild challenges Rexa’s very understanding of life as she deals with matters of immortality, forgotten kingdoms, incomprehensible magic, monstrous humans, and human monsters.

Though she is a crude outsider by nature, Rexa leaves her mark on many lives across two continents. Queens, witches, and warriors tempt her with guile, magic, and courage. Some succeed, if only for a little while. Rexa’s heart belongs to the wild. She is a barbarian, unbeholden to civilization. While death is ever eager to claim her, she can’t resist the wicked wonders of the world.

Tales of the Wild is a journey of sixteen stories set in a harsh realm of sword and sorcery, where it takes a barbarian to survive—let alone thrive. Dive into Rexa’s world as she suffers curses of time, encounters beings of unfathomable origin, faces the trials of hidden tribes, and delves into the remnants of a dwarven kingdom.

Desire by Morgan Rice:

Mistfalls Wilderness Camp is an awful place, a series of islands in the rainy Northwest, populated by delinquents and outcasts from their families. It is supposed to be a remedial place—but Taylor soon learns something else is happening here. They are training the kids here for something. But what?

These kids are all different, not normal somehow. And as Taylor herself goes through changes she doesn’t understand, she can’t help but wonder: is she different, too?

But when she finds herself having a crush on a mysterious boy, Taylor realizes he is not what he seems—and that her own destiny may be far greater than she imagined.

But will their forbidden love take them both down for good?

The Forgotten Colony by J.B. Ryder:

Zach Croft wants to forget the Prescott colony ever happened.

He wants to forget the crimson sand dunes, violent dust storms, and meteor impacts. He wants to forget the sight of his neighbors bleeding from their eyes as boils ravaged their bodies. He wants to forget the fact that his best friend was left to die. Most of all, he wants to forget that, without Prescott, humanity is doomed.

But when a Prescott dropship plummets from the sky twenty-three years later, he has no choice but to remember.

As Zach embarks on a life-or-death quest for answers about the dropship’s impossible return, he discovers something even more important: there is still hope for humanity’s survival.

With conditions rapidly worsening on Earth, he is in a race against time to return to Mars, finish the work that Prescott started, and save the human race from extinction. To do so, he must face the truth about what really happened in Prescott—a truth that calls into question everything he thinks he knows about who he is, who he trusts, and what he has done.

Blood Adept by Glynn Stewart:

From the genre-blending master Glynn Stewart, author of Starship’s Mage, comes the latest in his thrilling fantasy Western series, set in a new world with a magical twist…

Hard rides and long nights as a cattle hand prepared Teer for the harsh life of a bounty hunter on the Unity’s eastern frontier. His fate now tied to the disguised El-Spehari demigod Kard, his quick eye and steady shooting hand have kept them both alive—even when the bounty hunters decided justice required taking a fugitive beyond the reach of the Unity’s law.

The same law would see Teer himself doomed for the magical powers now awakening within him. He has followed Kard to a strange shaman who promises to train him—but when a monster turns on and slaughters an entire hunting party, Teer and Kard take up the hunt to protect friend and foe alike.

Their hunt follows the monster to the edge of the Unity, where the Spehari lords have sent an entire regiment to bring the monster down. But teeth and claws are the least of the dangers the creature brings to bear—and the monster itself is only one of many dangers Teer and Kard face as they walk among enemies to protect the innocent…

Prodigal by Glynn Stewart:

The star system of Apollo has fallen!
Her fleets are scattered and her enemies victorious.
Apollo’s last hope: an exile mercenary coming home at last!

Ace pilot Kira Demirci fled her home system of Apollo five years ago. Betrayed by her own government and one step ahead of enemy assassins, she smuggled a squadron of star fighters into the Outer Rim and forged a mercenary fleet of old friends and new alike.

Many of the aces of Apollo’s war against Brisingr weren’t as lucky.

Kira has a new home, but a scheme hatched by her enemies has brought her to the edge of her old stomping grounds. This close to Apollo, she’s one of the first to hear the devastating news: Brisingr has achieved its ultimate victory and captured her home. To take a star system should be impossible, but the reality is clear.

With family, friends and old comrades in the hands of the Brisingr Kaiserreich, Kira mobilizes her mercenary fleet to seek out the scattered remains of Apollo’s fleets and allies.

Even if she can manage the merely difficult and bring the broken factions together, the hard truth remains: Brisingr’s victory was impossible. To undo it, Kira will have to duplicate it…

Indie Crime Fiction of the Month for May 2023

Welcome to the latest edition of “Indie Crime Fiction of the Month”.

So what is “Indie Crime Fiction of the Month”? It’s a round-up of crime fiction by indie authors newly published this month, though some April books I missed the last time around snuck in as well. The books are arranged in alphabetical order by author. So far, most links only go to Amazon.com, though I may add other retailers for future editions.

Our new releases cover the broad spectrum of crime fiction. We have hardboiled mysteries, cozy mysteries, small town mysteries, historical mysteries, Victorian mysteries, Jazz Age mysteries, 1940s mysteries, paranormal mysteries, humorous mysteries, crime thrillers, legal thrillers, psychological thrillers, action thrillers, suspense, noir, police officers, FBI agents, private investigators, amateur sleuths, lawyers, serial killers, the Mob, missing persons,  kidnappings, heists, crypto currencies, faked deaths, crime-busting witches, crime-busting socialites, deadly helicopters,  murder and mayhem in London, New York, San Francisco, Florida, Ohio, Yorkshire, the Mediterranean and much more.

Don’t forget that Indie Crime Fiction of the Month is also crossposted to the Indie Crime Scene, a group blog which features new release spotlights, guest posts, interviews and link round-ups regarding all things crime fiction several times per week.

As always, I know the authors at least vaguely, but I haven’t read all of the books, so Caveat emptor.

And now on to the books without further ado:

Death Beyond Forbidding Gates by Blythe Baker:

The long expected death of Victoria Sedgewick’s father-in-law draws Victoria back to the family’s Yorkshire estate one final time. But what should have been a simple funeral turns dangerous as Victoria finds herself the victim of a set of eerie circumstances. Although the locals talk of a ghost that haunts Sedgewick widows, Victoria suspects the true villain is all too human — and is targeting her infant son.

Reuniting with Branwell Keats, can Victoria protect her family through one last adventure that will finally reveal the truth behind the secrets that have cast a shadow for so long?

Call Thee Devil by Beth Byers:

Smith and Bea are back in London, and Smith might well be back to his old ways. Bea’s instincts are screaming, and Smith is disappearing. Something is certainly amiss, and he doesn’t want her meddling.

He really should know better.

 

 

 

Without a Trace by Stacy Claflin:

How many secrets can one gated community hide?

Ariana and Damon have just started to rebuild their lives when more bones are found in their tight-knit neighborhood. These have nothing to do with the remains found earlier.

That means one thing — another killer is roaming free.

The police are investigating, but Ariana’s friend Maya has discovered startling clues that she can’t tell them. But when Ariana’s own family is in crisis, she can’t worry about what might be unraveling all around them… until the mystery proves too much to ignore and the only way to peace is to find answers.

A neighbor is lying about something. Ariana must hurry to get to the bottom of it before another life ends up on the line. And it could be hers.

Gunslingers of the Toxic Age by Theodore Gide:

Kristen Black, PI, reluctantly agrees to investigate the murder of a young political activist. Kristen doesn’t want the job — political crimes tend to conceal other, more lethal crimes. The deeper Kristen penetrates into the dark shadows of a broken city during wartime, the more deadly the pushback against her becomes. As Kristen feared, unmasking the killer opens a pandora’s box of violence and she’s on the run from the long arm of Military Security, chemical plants around the world are being bombed and her gun is pointed dead center at the man she loves.

 

Against the Clock by Mark Allan Gunnells, Shane Nelson and Brandon Ford:

Three suspenseful mystery novellas with a dark edge…

Septic by Mark Allan Gunnells: The year is 1988. When Carl finds himself trapped in a school bathroom with a faulty lock over Christmas break, things seem bad. When the pain in his abdomen increases and he realizes his appendix has burst, things get worse. Can he manage to free himself in time?

Subscription Due by Shane Nelson: Rupert Seville is living an idyllic life. A successful writer married to an amazing woman, everything seems to have fallen into place. But when a strange notice arrives in the mail, Rupert’s idyllic world is turned upside down. It is a “Subscription Due” notice for a magazine to which he’s never subscribed. Beneath the surface, it is far more than that and the arrival of two violent men with murder on their minds only makes it clearer. Rupert doesn’t know it, but the amount he owes is far more than he’s able to pay. The past itself has come due, and Rupert has no idea of the terror about to be unleashed. When the world he thinks he knows begins to unravel and the truth of the past catches up to him, it is up to Rupert Seville to find a way to settle old debts and escape a horror that isn’t of this world.

Pixelated by Brandon Ford: After the passing of his grandfather, Tanner returns to his hometown to clean out the property willed to him. However, what he finds holds the key to an unsolved crime decades-old and shows just how little he knew of his former father figure.

This novella anthology is perfect for fans of mystery and suspense books, thrillers, small town mysteries, unsolved crimes, and a bit of horror.

Proudly represented by Crystal Lake Publishing—Tales from the Darkest Depths.

Imaginary Friends by Lily Harper Hart:

When it comes to magic, Rowan Gray-Davenport has always been grateful to be part of the club. She never wanted to be the leader of it, though.

All of that is about to change.

When Rowan’s friends Sally and Demarcus arrive on their new purchase, a vintage steamboat they want to refurbish so they can turn it into a floating restaurant and casino, Rowan and her husband Quinn are thrilled to reunite with them. That only lasts until their daughter Lana asks about the invisible children on the boat. It seems there are a lot of them, and they just might be dead.

It appears the new boat is haunted, and the ghosts are looking for vengeance. They seem to have their sights set on Lana as a form of protection. She just doesn’t know it yet.

Lana is a little girl who wants to be seen as special. Unfortunately, she can’t see the danger that’s directly in front of her. Rowan can, however, and it doesn’t take long for her to call on her friends Ivy, Harper, and Maddie to get her through this ordeal.

The children might have been innocent when they died, but they’re out for blood now. It’s going to take the whole gang working together to see this through to the other side.

Lana’s life is hanging in the balance, and this time the magic that’s required to save her will stem from her mother’s love. Rowan had better be up to the challenge, because otherwise her family will be lost.

Her moment is here. She has no choice but to embrace it.

Hotshot Shamus by Heather Haven:

THE AD SAID, PERSEPHONE COLE, HOTSHOT
INVESTIGATOR: INVESTIGATE THIS!

A witness says a large redheaded woman wearing a fedora had an argument with the victim. A fedora was found at the scene.

And its owner could be only one person— hotshot P.I. Persephone (Percy) Cole–because it’s 1943 and how many nearly six-foot, red-haired fedora-fancying female P.I.s could possibly prowl the streets of New York? All the cops know Percy.

She’s one of a kind, both in1940s New York, and also in all of crime fiction. For openers, she’s a single mom living with her adored son Oliver and her parents, each of whom is their own kind of hoot. Pantsuits haven’t yet been invented, so Percy wears men’s suits that her mom alters to fit her: “A seam let out, a seam taken in, and they fit the five foot eleven, one hundred- and eighty-two-pound Percy perfectly.”

(Mom’s an inventive cook too— cranberry and ketchup fish stew is one of her specialties.)

Percy finds out about the case when she sees her name in the personals column: “Persephone Cole, Hotshot Investigator. Investigate this: Wilma Markovich, fifty-eight years old, widow.”

She knows right away she’s being set up, and no sooner has she grasped the particulars than another personals ad appears:

“Still think you’re a hotshot detective, Percy Cole? I don’t think so. And soon everyone else will know you’re not. Check out Elizabeth Wallingford, age fifty-seven, Manhattan.”

Okay, this is war! And she acquires a powerful weapon to fight it—she gets hired to find the first victim’s killer and soon notices a pattern– it seems each murder has a disturbing connection to The Cloisters Museum.

Disturbing because so does Percy—her mom’s producing a fashion show there on Mother’s Day, and her whole family will be there.

Dial W for Witch by Amanda M. Lee:

The Happy Holidays Players—a renowned acting troupe—is coming to town and Hemlock Cove is bursting with excited residents who want parts in the winter festival. That includes the three Winchester matriarchs, who are vying with one another for top billing.

Bay Winchester doesn’t care about the pageant, but she’s more than happy to sit back and watch the shenanigans. That is until her husband Landon Michaels calls with a request for her help. It seems there was a prison break twenty minutes away … and more than a handful of inmates are on the run.

Bay, Landon, and Hemlock Cove Police Chief Terry Davenport make up their own search party. What becomes apparent fairly quickly, however, is that some of the inmates are magically enhanced. By whom, though?

Each subsequent battle results in a tougher takedown, and as Bay delves deeper into the mystery of a guard who may have helped the fleeing inmates, she finds herself entrenched in a fight to the death.

Bay and Landon are looking forward to their first holiday season as a married couple. They’re desperate for some downtime and holiday cheer. To get it, they’re going to have to survive a magical onslaught that seems to be pointed at their family more and more with each passing day.

Bay might be able to call the dead to battle for her, but this is a war between the living … and both sides are going to go down fighting.

Here comes trouble. There’s no going back.

Medusa and the Devil by Simon Marlowe:

‘The Devil plays games, that’s all I can tell you.’

Steven Mason is six feet under. The only problem? He’s not dead.

After escaping from the doom and gloom of low-life gangsterism on a rundown Essex housing estate, Steven had hoped to pursue a new life in the Mediterranean. But his former world of corruption and greed is not so easily set aside, and he is drawn into yet another nefarious job.

Now, trapped with no means of escape, he is left to ponder why he keeps being drawn closer and closer to Hell.

Too Pretty To Die by Willow Rose:

Inspired by a true story.

Four women went on a weekend of fun to Miami.
Four best friends who were inseparable.
No one returned.

The story made national headlines, and even after weeks of searching for them, they were never found.
What happened to them?

Are they still alive?

Three years later, the teenage children of those same four women decide to take a trip together, against the wishes of their families. They are followed by a TV crew doing a true crime show. They’re returning to Miami to find out what happened to their mothers.

When they unearth the body of one of their mothers, they know they are in way over their heads, and soon they realize nothing is what it seems, as this vicious killer is getting ready to chase them down.
FBI profiler Eva Rae Thomas is called in to help, bringing her old flame Matt to help.

Soon, she realizes she is hunting down a serial killer unlike any other she has encountered, who will next come after someone she loves.

Fastrope by L.T. and Fiona Ryan:

Hatch closed a major chapter in her life. Drifting between everywhere and nowhere, she seeks to find her new path. Like any pathfinder, Hatch cuts through the pain of her past one step at a time.

A desperate call from an old friend brings her to Florida’s panhandle. Before Hatch can connect, tragedy strikes. A helicopter training accident off the shore of Naval Air Station Pensacola takes the life of her friend and seasoned operator. All she has to go on is the cryptic message, leaving her with more questions than answers.

When the pieces of the puzzle don’t fit, Hatch must satisfy her own curiosity. There are some who don’t want the truth to be exposed and will do everything in their power to stop it from coming to the surface.

As Hatch turns every stone, she slips deeper into dark territory. Surrounded by enemies. Hatch must deploy the skills that have made her legend.

Follow Hatch down the Fastrope and prepare for yourselves for the hell she brings upon those who force her to once again honor the code instilled by her father. Protect those who can’t protect themselves and punish those responsible.

Somewhere in a Dark Wood by Shane Sawyer:

A quiet country road
A desperate search
A missing man
A promise

At an isolated farmhouse, Edie Doyle stumbles upon a gravely injured man. Suddenly she’s neck deep in trouble—again.

When the man begs for help, she can’t refuse, but how can she keep her promise when he disappears before she even learns his name?

The police don’t believe her, the surly farmer doesn’t want her help, and the only witness isn’t talking. Can she find the missing man before it’s too late, and before anyone else gets hurt?

Her search will take her beyond the sun-drenched fields into dark woods—and even darker shadows—but Edie will keep her promise.

Unless someone stops her first.

Dead Coin by Sheldon Siegel:

Deal Coin is dead. So is Tyson Gore — the crypto company’s rockstar CEO.

Homeless addict Reggie Jones stands accused of his murder during a botched robbery in the heart of Salesforce Park.

San Francisco Public Defenders Mike Daley and Rosie Fernandez race against time to uncover the truth.

From gleaming office towers to powerful venture capital firms on Sandhill Road to tawdry strip clubs catering to Silicon Valley’s elite, they follow a trail of betrayal, greed, and corruption.

DEAD COIN is a story of San Francisco. It’s a tale of hope and greed, innovation and speculation, progress and decline. It’s a story that’s still being written.

Murder at Madame Tussaud’s by Lee Strauss:

Murder’s a pain in the neck!

Madame Tussauds, London’s extravagant wax museum, reopens in 1928 to much fanfare. The horrific fire of ’25, which had destroyed the wax figurines of famous and sometimes infamous characters, was news of the past. Ginger Reed and her good friend Haley Higgins are intrigued and eager to visit the museum which promises new and exciting exhibits. Of particular interest is the one on Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

Hailed by some as effective literary horror and by others as unnecessarily frightening, the exhibition about the book attracts all kinds. Haley Higgins, with her forensics knowledge, is the first to notice that something is amiss, and that the beautiful figurine with two bloody holes in her neck isn’t made of wax at all, but is indeed made of flesh and bone!

When a series of women are found dead in the streets of London in a similarly eerie fashion, it’s up to Scotland Yard, with Chief Inspector Basil Reed at the helm, to solve the case. Can Ginger and Haley work behind the scenes to bring this repeat killer to a stop, before one of them becomes the next victim with a deadly bite?

Full-Tilt Boogie by Robb T. White:

Something’s going on in Youngstown, Ohio—and it isn’t pretty. Newly assigned to the field office, Special Agent Jade Hui is stumped by her predecessor’s do-nothing record when there’s every indication something big is going to happen. An Aryan Brotherhood convict tells her a new designer drug from Europe is about to hit the streets of the Midwest and Youngstown will be the launching pad. Next, a female prizefighter winds up dead in a dumpster behind a bar with a shady reputation. That’s only the beginning of what turns out to be, in cop slang, a full-tilt boogie with Youngstown becoming one big crime scene.

Before it’s over, Jade will find herself in combat with some extremely disturbing characters, including a dubious former Hollywood filmmaker, his two thugs—all three employees of the most sinister character of all, one who goes by the name ”the emissary.” This someone is far deadlier than anyone she ever worked a case against in the “Little Odessa” of Brighton Beach in her last posting.

Cora’s Adventures at Metropol Con in Berlin, Part 1: Pre-Con Wanderings

As you probably know, I was at Metropol Con, a new SFF convention in Berlin, last week. And I had a great time overall and met lots of old and new friends, though there were a few hiccups along the way.

I encountered the first hiccup as soon as I was seated in the ICE train from Bremen to Hannover. Because as I was waiting for the train to depart, the public address system announced that there was a powerline failure between Bremen and Hannover and that the train would be delayed by twenty minutes. And because my connection time in Hannover was only about twenty minutes that meant there was a high chance that I might miss my connecting train in Hannover. In the end, I did catch my connecting train to Berlin, because it turned out that the Berlin train was delayed as well, so the delays cancelled each other out.

That said, it was very kind of Deutsche Bahn to remind me why I don’t use them all that much. Because Deutsche Bahn has a lot of issues. The trains are beset by delays and there was a massive fifty hour strike planned for Monday and Tuesday, i.e. the day before I was due to travel to Berlin, which was only cancelled at the last minute, after plenty of people had already changed their travel plans. What is more, I had booked tickets for the ICE high speed train for my trip to Berlin. However, on the Bremen to Hannover route, the super-fast ICE train (the fastest they ever went was 406 kilometres per hour and they go over 300 kilometres per hour on regular journeys) used the same tracks as the regional train and trundled through all the small town stations like Achim, Baden, Verden on Aller, Nienburg, Neustadt am Rübenberge, etc… and traveled at the same speed as the regular regional train would. The only difference was that the ICE didn’t stop at the various small town stations, whereas the regional train would. Still, why did I pay the premium for the ICE again, when it’s not actually any faster than the regional train? And in fact, I had been considering getting a 49 EUR per month Germany-wide public transport ticket to get to Berlin, which is good for public transport and regional trains, but decided to go with the ICE, because it’s faster and requires fewer train changes. And indeed, on the longer Hannover to Berlin route, the ICE actually did go 352 kilometres per hour.

In the end, I arrived in Berlin only a few minutes later than I normally would have, because the train driver apparently made good time on the Hannover to Berlin route. However, the next challenge awaited me once I reached Berlin, because the layout of Berlin’s newish multi-level central station is very confusing and while there were maps for regional train networks, I had a hard time finding either a map or a signage for the city public transport network.

In many ways I was reminded of one of my first visits to Berlin in the spring of 1990, when the Wall was already open, but East Germany still existed as a state. At the time, we decided to walk from the Victory column in (West) Berlin to the Brandenburg Gate. Because the Wall and the Gate were open, we just walked through and had our passports stamped by the friendliest East German border guard I’ve ever seen and just kept walking into East Berlin, walking along famous streets and buildings we knew existed, but had never actually seen, until we reached Alexanderplatz (BTW, I tried to walk that memorable route again from the other side and gave up halfway through, because it’s a very long walk and I’m no longer 16), got tired and decided to take the train back to West Berlin. So we went to Friedrichstraße station and looked at the network plan on the platform, only to find a huge gray hole where West Berlin should be. So I went to a train attendant and told him, “We need to go back to West Berlin to Uhlandstraße station [at any rate, I think it was Uhlandstraße], but West Berlin doesn’t exist on your map, so which train do I need to take?” The East Berlin train attendant apologised for the maps – they hadn’t gotten around to replacing them yet – and told me which train to take.

Friedrichstraße railway station, looking still very much like it did in 1989.

The so-called Palace of Tears, the former transit hall of the Friedrichstraße station border checkpoint. The reason for the name is that a lot of tears were shed here, as people said goodbye to their loved ones from the other part of Germany. Nowadays, it’s a museum.

My difficulties at finding a public transport map or even signage where the public transport trains were led me to grumble, “Thirty-three years later and a brand-new station and you still haven’t put up a bloody public transport map.” I finally did find the public transport platform and had another surprise, because the S-Bahn trains (regional above-ground trains in Berlin and other German cities) still looked very much like they had thirty plus years ago. Friedrichsstraße station, where I had to change from the S-Bahn to a subway train also still looked very much like it did back in 1990 (and probably way before), though the extensive passport control area (Friedrichstraße station was also a border crossing point) has been replaced with shops and fast food restaurants. The station also still didn’t have escalators, so I was extra careful, because I had sprained my ankle lugging a suitcase up and down the many stairs at Friedrichsstraße station during my first visit to Berlin about a month before the fall of the Wall. This time, I did make it into the subway without injury. Now the Berlin subway isn’t nearly as deep as the London tube, but it is still weird that there are comparatively few escalators.

The Kurt Schumacher Haus, headquarters of the Berlin chapter of the Social Democratic Party of Germany. My hotel is the building directly behind the Kurt Schumacher Haus.

My hotel was in the Wedding neighbourhood near the con venue and was hidden behind Kurt Schumacher Hause, the Berlin city office of the Social Democratic Party SPD (built in 1961). The SPD signage was a lot more prominent than the hotel signage, so I almost missed it. Wedding used to be a traditional working class neighbourhood of Berlin and was part of West Berlin from 1945 to 1990. Nowadays it’s an immigrant neighbourhood dominated mainly by people of Turkish and Middle Eastern origin. The hotel itself was okay for a budget hotel and the fact that it was so near to the con venue was definitely a plus.

The view from my hotel room window at a typical Berlin apartment block. On the ground floor of the apartment block is a so-called “Späti”, an all-night shop. In the background, you can see the unemployment office for the Wedding neighbourhood.

Once I got to the hotel, my room wasn’t ready yet, so I dumped off my suitcase and went exploring. I had deliberately planned to arrive on the day before the con, so I would have time to see a bit of Berlin. The first thing I did was – guess what? – hit the bookstores. Well, the interesting ones, that is, because Berlin has a lot of bookshops.

Memorial plaque at the Friedrichstraße railway viaduct. The inscription reads: “Shortly before the end of the criminal Hitler war, two young German soldiers were hanged here by dehumanised SS-bandits.” The plaque is located right next to the entrance of a modern McDonald’s which is extremely incongruous.

So I made my way back to Friedrichstraße station. I made a little detour, because I took the wrong exit and suddenly spotted the distinctive signage atop of the Theater am Schiffbauerdamm, home of Bertolt Brecht and the Berliner Ensemble on the far side of the river Spree. So I walked over the nearest bridge to take some photos.

The Theater am Schiffbauerdamm, home of Bertolt Brecht and the Berliner Ensemble. Plays like The Three-Penny Opera, Mother Courage or The Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny had their premieres here.

The man himself: Statue of Bertolt Brecht in front of the Theater am Schiffbauerdamm

After this little detour, my first stop was Kulturkaufhaus Dussmann (literally “cultural department store Dussmann”), Germany’s biggest book and media store. The store has five floors of books, CDs, DVDs, magazines, stationery, etc… and is located in a prominent location on Friedrichstraße in the city centre. It has an interesting backstory, too, because founder Peter Dussmann was the son of booksellers. He eventually founded a company which offers facility management, cleaning services, security services, etc… and became one of Germany’s wealthiest people. But he never lost his love for bookselling and when his company built a new corporate headquarters in Berlin in 1997, he also added the five floor bookstore.

Five floors of books, CDs and DVDs at Kulturkaufhaus Dussmann.

Kulturkaufhaus Dussmann truly is heaven for book lovers.

Kulturkaufhaus Dussmann is a great store with a huge English language section, which is divided by genre. They even had a table for modern gothic fiction, which I found very prescient, since we seem to be seeing something of a gothic revival going on at the moment. Much as I enjoyed browsing, I womanfully limited myself to buying only two books. Dussmann have even got a sphinx – a real sphinx that dates back to 1495 BC and is on loan from the nearby Egyptian museum.

A genuine sphinx graces the lobby of Kulturkaufhaus Dussmann.

By now it was around noon and I hadn’t eaten anything since a yoghurt at six in the morning, so I had lunch (a salmon poke bowl) in one of the many hipster restaurants around Friedrichstraße. I also caught my only glimpse of Berlin’s newest tourist attraction, the anti-climate-change activists calling themselves the Last Generation, who are mostly notable for the tendency to glue themselves to streets and to pour paint and other liquids on artworks and luxury shops. Now I happen to think that the Last Generation folks are idiots, who are certainly not helping the cause they claim to serve. But based on media coverage, I had expected that you couldn’t take a step in Berlin without stumbling over a Last Generation activist. And apparently they were protesting and blocking roads somewhere in the city, while I was there. However, I only saw a small cluster of activists on Friedrichstraße, holding up a banner. I was a bit confused, because that part of Friedrichstraße is a pedestrian zone, so if you want to block motorised traffic, that’s about the worst place in the city to do it. However, it turned out that the activists were picketing the office of the Deutsche Bank on Friedrichstraße. Which I actually don’t mind, because they weren’t actively stopping anybody from going anywhere, though if you wanted to go into the bank (I didn’t), you had to walk around them and listen to their shouting.

Last Generation actvists picketing the Deutsche Bank branch on Friedrichstraße in Berlin. You can also see how unimpressive the pedestrian portion of Friedrichstraße actually looks.

Regarding the pedestrian zone in part of Friedrichstraße, this is actually a huge battle in Berlin at the moment, big enough that the rest of Germany is aware of it. After actually seeing the pedestrianised part of Friedrichstraße, the whole thing seems like a lot ado about very little. For starts, they only turned a few hundred meters of Friedrichstraße into a pedestrian zone – most of the (pretty long) street is still open to motorised traffic. And while I don’t think turning Friedrichstraße or part of it into a pedestrian zone is a bad idea per se, the execution doesn’t work IMO. Because the pedestrianised part of Friedrichstraße is basically a canyon flanked by mostly post-1990 office and commercial buildings some seven or eight stories tall. Several of those buildings are banks or offices or otherwise not really of great interest to average passer-by. A large part of the street is taken up by a brutalist slab of concrete that houses a Russian cultural center, a legacy of old East Berlin. There are some high-end shops, but no cafés or restaurants. In short, it’s not a particularly pleasant stretch of road – in fact, the still motorised parts of Friedrichstraße are much nicer with many beautiful nineteenth century buildings and cafés and restaurants. They did dump a few artsy looking benches onto the street, but there are no planters or trees to provide shade and the sun glared down onto the tarmac.  So in short, you can sit down, which is nice, but it’s not a very pleasant place to sit. And since they only banished cars, but not bicycles, you are also at risk of having a bicycle run over your foot. Finally, the whole experiment is extremely expensive, costing approx. 213000 Euros per year. Having seen how unimpressive it actually looks, that’s an enormous waste of money.

After lunch, I returned to the hotel, because my room was finally ready. Then, after a brief rest, I headed out again. This time, my destination was the Kreuzberg neighbourhood, famous for being both an immigrant neighbourhood as well as hippest neighbourhood in (West) Berlin in the 1970s and 1980s. Kreuzberg is also notable, because its inhabitants resisted the destruction of Victorian neighbourhoods in favour of Brutalist apartment blocks in the 1960s and 1970s and thus changed city planning in (West) Germany for everybody’s benefit.

The Passion church in the Kreuzberg neighbourhood of Berlin, built in 1908.

My destination was Otherland, a great SFF specialty bookstore in the Kreuzberg neighbourhood. Once more, I womanfully restricted myself to buying only two books and also explored the area, while I was there. I found a comic shop, which alas did not have the comic I was looking for, and a great indoor market. There was a great spice and herb shop at that indoor market, but they didn’t have filé powder a.k.a. sassafras leaves, which are nigh impossible to get in Germany.

By that point, I was finished with what I absolutely wanted to do and yet it was still early in the afternoon. So I decided to do some tourism and revisit sights I hadn’t seen in many years. I made my way back to the crossing of Friedrichstraße and the famous boulevard Unter den Linden and strolled down Unter den Linden in western direction towards the Brandenburg Gate.

A look down Unter den Linden in easterly direction. You can see the German national library, the TV Tower and the tower of the Red Townhall in the distance. The boulevard itself is still leafy and pretty, but somewhat boring and far from bustling.

The first time I was there in the summer of 1990 (Unter den Linden was in East Berlin), I thought Unter den Linden was something of a disappointment and a far cry from the famous boulevard that even has a song by Walter Kollo dedicated to it (sung here by Harald Juhnke). Because unlike the bustling boulevard from the song, where young men stroll along to pick up women, the actual Unter den Linden was wide street lined by lots of embassies, ministeries and other official buildings. There were almost no shops, restaurants and cafés in those days, just big, old and rather grimy buildings with lots of colums. Nowadays, all of the big old buildings have been cleaned up and restored and there also are a few shops, mostly souvenir shops, and cafés, but the street itself is still quite boring. The bustling and lively Unter den Linden that Walter Kollo describes in his song must have died sometime in 1945, if not before. Though interestingly, I did walk the exact same stretch of Unter den Linden that Kollo mentions in the song – from the crossing of Unter den Linden and Friedrichstraße, site of the long since defunct and destroyed Café Bauer, to Pariser Platz, the area in front of the Brandenburg Gate – which is as long as it took Kollo’s protagonist to pick up a woman. I did not, however, try to pick up anybody of any gender.

The Brandenburg Gate viewed from the Eastern side. Once upon a time, this was where the world ended, quite literally.

The Brandenburg Gate, viewed from the western side. This was the only way you could see it up to 1989, though the lower portion was walled up.

The Reichstag, seat of the German parliament. The original building was complete in 1894, burned in 1933 and lost its original dome, was further damaged in WWII and refurbished several times. The current glass dome was added in the 1990s and designed by Norman Foster.

The rainbow flag is flying over one of the turrets of the Reichstag building, which made me very happy.

I walked through the Brandenburg Gate and paid a visit to the Reichstag, home to the German parliament. A rainbow flag was flying on one of the turrets of the Reichstag, which made me happy. I briefly considered walking onwards to the Victory Column, but it’s a long way and my feet were beginning to hurt. So I got on the subway (I had a day pass) and headed back in the opposite direction to pay a visit to the Red Townhall (so called, because it’s built from red bricks), Berlin’s townhall and one of my favourite buildings in the city. At university, I even wrote a paper about the Red Townhall, though I don’t remember all that much about it.

The so-called Red Townhall, seat of the mayor and magistrate of the City of Berlin. Designed by Hermann Friedrich Waesemann and completed in 1869.

The Red Townhall is still a stunning building and in the immediate neighbourhood, there’s also the beautiful Neptune fountain and St. Mary’s, the oldest still active church in central Berlin (the nearby St. Nikolai Church is older, but has been a museum since the 1930s). Because by European standards, most of central Berlin isn’t actually very old. Apart from St. Mary’s and St. Nikolai, the oldest buildings in the city center date from the early 18th century, i.e. they’re about three hundred years old. Most of the pre-1700 neighbourhoods and buildings in the city fell victim either to various city planning and remodelling attempts over the centuries or to WWII.

The beautiful Neptune fountain, created in 1891, and St. Mary’s, Berlin’s oldest active church in the background. The oldest parts of St. Mary’s date from the 13th century, the current tower was added in 1666.

Looming above the Red Townhall, St. Mary’s and the Neptune fountain is the Berlin TV Tower, completed in 1969 and still Germany’s tallest building. And yes, Germany’s tallest building stands in what used to be in East Germany, which must have annoyed West German architects to no end. The TV Tower is one of Berlin’s most famous and reconisable sights and while I’ve seen it from the ground several times before, I’ve never actually been up on the observation platform nor in the rotating café and restaurant inside the sphere section. I briefly considered buying a ticket for observation deck, but wasn’t willing to pay 22.50 EUR or wait an hour for the privilege of looking down on Berlin from above.

The Berlin TV Tower, completed in 1969 and still Germany’s highest building. Note the cross-shaped reflection in the sphere. People used to say that this was God giving the East German communists the middle finger by hiding a secret cross in their showpiece tower.

So I trotted past the TV Tower towards Alexanderplatz. The first time I saw Alexanderplatz in 1990, I found it a huge disappointment, because it’s basically just a huge windswept expanse of concrete surrounded by modernist buildings that certainly did not live up to its legendary reputation as the heart of the bustling Weimar era Berlin. BTW, if you’ve seen Babylon Berlin, which has a lot of scenes set on and around Alexanderplatz, it hasn’t looked like that since 1945 and the Alexanderplatz scenes are actually CGI mixed with close-up shots of buildings which look kind of similar to what would have been there in 1929/1930. For example, the close-up shots of Berlin’s long gone central police headquarters on Alexanderplatz are actually the Red Townhall, because both buildings had red brick facades. It’s still very obvious to me, because I know what the Red Townhall looks like.

Alexanderplatz has changed quite a bit since 1990, though not necessarily for the better. They’ve just added a few more large buildings which house department stores, shopping malls, a cinema and the like and covered up some of the East German murals with advertising. Besides, the World Time Clock was edging towards 6 PM, so I decided to go back to my hotel. Though I did buy a mug from a souvenir shop as a present for my Dad first. My Dad is one of those people who are notoriously hard to shop for, but he drinks coffee, so I usually buy him a souvenir mug. I found a nice one with a cartoony drawing Trabant car breaking through the Berlin Wall.

A Trabant car, once sought after and now decorating a souvenir shop on Alexanderplatz.

Back at the hotel, I rested for half an hour or so and then headed back out for dinner. I found a great dumpling restaurant very close to the hotel and had a combination platter of assorted dumplings, a tofu bao bun and fries with hoisin sauce.

My dinner, consisting of dumplings, a tofu bao bun and fries with hoisin sauce, all courtesy of Han West House of Dumplings.

After dinner, I headed back to the hotel, checked my e-mails and went to bed, ready for Metropol Con to begin the next day.

Masters-of-the-Universe-Piece Theatre: “Playing for Dinner”

I’m off to Metropol Con in Berlin tomorrow morning, but while I’m gone, enjoy this Masters-of-the-Universe-Piece Theatre photo story. The name “Masters-of-the-Universe-Piece Theatre” was coined by Kevin Beckett at the Whetstone Discord server.

A few days ago, I got the new Masters of the Universe Masterverse Man-e-Faces, who has an extra set of faces in addition to the three faces – man, monster and robot – that we already know. So I put him on a stage – Man-e-Faces is an actor, when he’s not defending Eternia from the evil forces of Skeletor – and paired him up with Orko, who is an entertainer as well, when he’s not defending Eternia from the evil forces of Skeletor.

In Masters of the Universe Revelation, the defenders of Eternia fall apart after He-Man dies (don’t worry, he gets better). We see what happened to a few of them: Teela storms off and becomes a mercenary. Duncan is stripped off his rank and banished from the palace and moves to a little cottage in the middle of nowhere with Roboto. Cringer moves to Castle Grayskull (probably not quite voluntarily, since King Randor seems to have decided to honour his son’s memory by throwing all of the people Adam cared about out of the palace) to protect the Sorceress and the Castle. Stratos and Buzz-Off are implied to return to their respective homelands. Clamp-Champ and Fisto of all people remain at the palace to guard the King and Queen.

Orko is also kicked out of the palace and is ill and being cared for by Duncan the next time we see him. As for Man-e-Faces, he never appears in Revelation at all, so we have no idea what happened to him. Though I suspect he didn’t stay at the palace, because I doubt the grieving King Randor and Queen Marlena had much need for an entertainer.

So enjoy this story of Orko and Man-e-Faces, the two entertainers at the royal palace, teaming up and taking their show on the road.

On the market place of the city of Sarnscepter:

“Come, good people of Eternia and see straight from King Randor’s court: Eternia’s greatest actor Man-e-Faces and Eternia’s second greatest, no third greatest – I mean, there’s the Sorceress, obviously, and Evil-Lyn and Skeletor, only that he’s gone now, and the Faceless One and Shokoti… brrr… and Mallek and…”

“Orko, come to the point already.”

“Anyway, Eternia’s greatest actor Man-e-Faces and court magician – former court magician Orko bring to you, The Tragedy of Keldor, Prince of Eternia a.k.a. the play King Randor does not want you to see. So give a big hand for Man-e-Faces… and me, of course.”

APPLAUSE!

“Thank you, good people of Eternia.”

WHIRR!

“You all know Skeletor, self-styled Lord of Destruction and Overlord of Evil…”

BOO! HISS!

“Yes, that’s exactly the right response to Skeletor. Though to be perfectly, he’s very much a failure, though I’m only saying that out loud, because he’s no longer around to curse me like he did the last time I mocked him.”

BOO! HISS!

“But did you know, good people of Eternia, that the fearsome and terrifying Skeletor was once the handsome Prince Keldor, half-brother of King Randor himself?”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Of course not, Orko. All that happened long before you came to Eternia. And King Randor is understandably reluctant to talk about his wayward brother…”

“Well, I’d say that the King is reluctant to talk period.”

“You may be right, Orko. But let’s get back to Keldor. For you see, Keldor was extremely privileged. He was handsome, rich, he was a Prince of Eternia, a talented alchemist and master swordsman. However, there was one thing Keldor wanted that he couldn’t have. For though he was a Prince, he’d never ever be King. And that irked him more than anything else. So Keldor decided that if the Elders and the laws of Eternia would not make him King, he’d make himself King…”

“And how did he plan to do that?”

“Simple. Keldor made a pact with Hordak, a terrifying demon from beyond, to increase his magical powers. Then he gathered others around him, beings as ambitious and ruthless as himself. And then he started waging war on the throne and the Council of Elders. The royal guard under Captain Randor, as he was then, and the defenders of Eternia met them in battle and a terrible clash of arms ensued. The horrible war we call… the Great Unrest!”

“Oh, I’ve heard about that.”

“And so you should, Orko, for the Great Unrest plunged all Eternia into war, as Keldor and his allies devastated the land. And it all culminated in… the Battle at the Hall of Wisdom.”

“Oh, that sounds dramatic.”

“The two brothers Randor and Keldor met in battle with clashing swords and singing blades. Keldor was one of Eternia’s best swordsmen, but Randor still bested him. But treacherous Keldor still had an ace up his sleeve. A vial of acid that Hordak had given him to vanquish his brother. Keldor hurled that vial at Randor, but….”

“…Captain Randor raised his shield and repelled the attack. The acid backfired and hit Keldor right in his handsome face…”

“Eww, that’s got to hurt.”

“Indeed, it did, Orko. Keldor only survived his injuries due to the dark magic of Hordak. Alas, the acid ate away the skin and the flesh of his face, leaving only…”

“…the bare bones beneath. And that is how handsome Prince Keldor became hideous Skeletor, Lord of Destruction. Shortly thereafter, Man-at-Arms and the Sorceress of Grayskull erected the Mystic Wall…”

“And that’s not all they did together.”

“Orko, there are children present. Anyway, the reacted the Mystic Wall, locking away Skeletor and his minions in the Dark Hemisphere for the next sixteen years. King Randor, as he was by now, never spoke of his brother again and over time Prince Keldor was forgotten. Until he breached the Mystic Wall and reappeared as Skeletor, Overlord of Evil.”

BOO! HISS!

“Wow, that’s quite a story, Man-e-Faces.”

“It’s not a story, but the whole and unvarnished truth. I swear by all my faces.”

“Alas, poor Keldor! I knew him, Orko, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he has borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rims at it.”

“”Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now, your gambols, your songs, your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table a roar? No one now, to mock your own grinning? Quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come. Make her laugh at that.”

APPLAUSE!

“And thus ends the tragic tale of Keldor, Prince of Eternia.”

APPLAUSE!

“Thank you, good people of Eternia, and don’t forget to put a coin in the hat for these poor impoverished ex-royal entertainers.”

Later:

“So, how much did we make today?”

“…ten, twelve, thirteen gold coins.”

“Enough to buy us a room at the inn, a good dinner and a mug of ale for me and a mug of hot chocolate for you, then.”

“Sigh. It’s sure hard to have to perform on the market places of random towns for a living.”

“I know, Orko. But would you rather have stayed at the royal palace, with the sobbing Queen Marlena and King Randor’s random outbursts of anger?”

“No. First of all, because I got kicked out of the palace. And besides, everything there reminds me of Adam. Sniff, I miss him so much.”

“I know, Orko, I miss him, too.”

***

The story of how Keldor became Skeletor can also be seen in this episode of the 2002 He-Man cartoon.  Meanwhile, Man-e-Faces has borrowed the gravedigger monologue from Act V, scene 1 of Hamlet by William Shakespeare.

That’s it for today, folks. I hope you enjoyed this Masters-of-the-Universe-Piece Theatre Toy Photo Story, because there will be more, when I’m back from Berlin.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters, I just bought some toys, took photos of them and wrote little scenes to go with those photos. All characters are copyright and trademark their respective owners.

Some Thoughts on the 2022 Nebula Award Winners

The winners of the 2022 Nebula Awards were announced last night at 5 AM my time, which is why the commentary post is somewhat later than usual. It’s also a bit shorter than usual, because I’m off to Metropol Con in Berlin on Wednesday morning. The full list of winners may be seen here. For my comments on the finalists, see here.

So let’s take a look at the 2022 Nebula winners:

The 2022 Nebula Award for Best Novel goes to Babel by R.F. Kuang. This is not a huge surprise, since Babel got a lot of buzz and showed up on various “best books of 2022” lists. I have to admit that I haven’t read it yet, because R.F. Kuang’s Poppy War trilogy did not work for me at all. That said, I’m always happy to see a work of linguistic SFF gain attention and awards.

The winner of the 2022 Nebula Award for Best Novella is Even Though I Knew the End by C.L. Polk. This is one win I’m fully aboard with, because Even Though I Knew the End mixes a lot of elements I like – urban fantasy with a retro noir setting, a hardboiled detective story and a wonderful love story. It’s agreat novella and I hope to see it on the Hugo ballot this year.

The 2022 Nebula Award for Best Novelette goes to “If You Find Yourself Speaking to God, Address God with the Informal You” by John Chu. This is another win I’m really, really happy, because I enjoyed the story – a sweet gay romance between two guys who meet at the gym, only that one of them may be a superhero – a whole lot. This story was also on my personal Hugo ballot.

The winner of the 2022 Nebula Award for Best Short Story is “Rabbit Test” by Samantha Mills. I’m afraid this story completely passed me by, though I’m looking forward to reading it.

The 2022 Andre Norton Nebula Award for Middle Grade and YA Fiction goes to Ruby Finley vs. the Interstellar Invasion by K. Tempest Bradford. This is another winner I’m unfamiliar with, largely because I’m not the target audience for a middle grade novel about a little girl dealing with an alien invasion. That said, I have always enjoyed K. Tempest Bradford’s insightful commentary on racism and SFF.

The winner of the 2022 Ray Bradbury Nebula Award for Outstanding Dramatic Presentation is Everything Everywhere All At Once. If there is such a thing as a surefire winner, it is Everything Everywhere All At Once, which has already (deservedly) won all the awards everywhere in the multiverse. Now Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert can add a Nebula to their collection. It may not be as prestigious as an Oscar, but it’s prettier.

The 2022 Nebula Award for Game Writing goes to Hidetaka Miyazaki and George R.R. Martin for Elden Ring. This is another unsurprising winner. As I’ve repeatedly said, I’m not a gamer and often can’t really say anything about the game category, but even I have heard of Elden Ring.

Several special and lifetime achievement awards were awarded along with the Nebulas as well.

The recipient of the 2023 Damon Knight Memorial Grand Master Award is Robin McKinley.  This is a very good choice, since Robin McKinley has had a lengthy and well regarded career. Plus, she was doing fairy tale retellings before it was popular – at least in the US.

The brand-new Infinity Award, basically a posthumous Grand Master Award for authors who did not receive a Grand Master during their lifetimes, was awarded for the first time this year. Initially, there were some concerns that the Infinity Award would be yet another honour bestowed on dead white men, who already have accolades enough (and a lot of the obvious choices actually did receive the Grand Master Award in the past). So SFWA decided to preempt these concers and award the inaugural Infinity Award to a dead black woman, namely Octavia E. Butler. It’s an excellent choice, for while Octavia E. Butler was hardly obscure during her lifetime, her recognition has only grown since her untimely death. I’m certain that Octavia E. Butler would have eventually received a Grand Master Award, had she not died too early. The Infinity Award rectifies this.

As for future possibilities, one person I would love to see receiving an Infinity Award is C.L. Moore, because she was supposed to receive the Grand Master Award in 1985 as only the second woman ever (the first was Andre Norton). However, her second husband declined on her behalf, because by that time C.L. Moore was suffering from Alzheimer’s disease and her husband feared that the ceremony would upset and confuse her. C.l. Moore’s second husband gets a lot of flak for that decision, though I believe it was made with the best of intentions. Nonetheless, the Infinity Award would be a perfect way to rectify this.

The winners of the 2023 Kate Wilhelm Solstice Award are Cerece Rennie Murphy and (posthumously) Greg Bear. The 2023 Kevin O’Donnel Jr. Service to SFWA Award goes to Mishell Baker. All strike me as very good choices.

Those who worry that men are no longer winning the major SFF awards will be happy that we have one male winner (John Chu) in a fiction category and four more (Daniel Kwan, Daniel Scheinert, Hidetaka Miyasaki and George R.R. Martin) in the media categories (plus Greg Bear for the Solstice Award). Of course, the usual suspects will probably complain anyway that those are not the right sort of male writers.

One thing that struck me is that a lot of authors of colour won last night. Of the thirteen winners altogether (including the special awards), eight are writers of colour. This is excellent, especially considering how very white SFF still is in many parts.

All in all, this is a very good set of Nebula winners.

 

Cora goes to Metropol Con in Berlin

This week, from Thursday May 18 to Saturday May 20, I will be at Metropol Con, a new multimedia SFF con in Berlin.

The venue is the silent green Kulturquartier in the Wedding neighbourhood in Berlin. The silent green Kulturquartier is a former crematorium (built in 1910) turned cultural center and events venue.

This is actually the first in person con I’m attending since 2019, though I have attended several virtual cons since then. But great as virtual conventions are, in person cons are a different matter altogether and I’m really looking forward to the experience.

If you happen to be at Metropol Con, you can see me on the following panels:

Translation: What gets lost and what is gained

Friday, May 19, 2023, 9:30 AM in Atelier 1

Participants: CD Covington, Julie Nováková, Cora Buhlert, Moderator: Claudia Rapp

SFFH around the globe: developments, themes, trends

Friday, May 19, 2023, 12:30 PM in the Kuppelhalle

Participants: Mary Robinette Kowal, Peter J. Maurits, Cora Buhlert, Moderator: Sabrina Železný

I’ll also be hanging out at the con and attending programming, so if you see me, say hello.

Once I’m back, there will of course be photos and a con report.

Masters-of-the-Universe-Piece Theatre: “Adam’s Day Out”

It’s time for another Masters-of-the-Universe-Piece Theatre photo story. The name “Masters-of-the-Universe-Piece Theatre” was coined by Kevin Beckett at the Whetstone Discord server.

Now that spring is here and the weather is nicer, it was also the perfect time to take my Masters of the Universe figures out into the garden to pose for some photos. And while I was taking pictures, I made a little story, too.

On the plains of Eternia:

Yes, I know the vehicle is supposed to be called “Ground Ripper” now for trademark reasons, but it will always be the Road Ripper to me.

“I just love getting out of the palace and enjoying the peace and quiet of the Eternian wilderness in springtime. And the Road Ripper really packs a punch. Too bad it’s only a one-seater, so I can’t take Cringer along. Or Teela…”

“Still, nothing beats racing across the plains of Eternia. No Prince Adam, no royal duties, no He-Man, just me and the unspoiled wilderness and… – Oh, raptor crossing!”

SCREECH!

“Sigh! Thank Zoar that the brakes on this thing are as good as the engine.”

The raptor is a Schleich dinosaur.

“Have no fear, my little friend. I love all creatures of the wild and brake for raptors. And of course for…”

“…Teela?!”

“Adam, where have you been? I’ve been looking for you all over.”

“Let me guess, I missed a training session?”

“You did. As usual. And instead of reporting for combat training, you go cruising with the Road Ripper. You’re impossible and irresponsible. As usual.”

“Listen, Teela, I’m sorry, okay? But your Dad asked me to take the Road Ripper for a spin to test the new gear coupling.”

“Liar. He asked Meckaneck.”

“Yes, but Meckaneck’s son has a flute recital today, so I offered to do it instead.”

“So you could shirk combat training? Of course.”

“Look around you, Teela. It’s a beautiful spring day. Much too nice to stay indoors. So why don’t we head back to the palace, grab some cinnamon rolls and a bottle of wine and have a picnic? We can even have a sparring session later. And maybe take a nap in the grass.”

“But only after you’ve finished your combat training.”

“Sigh. As you wish, my lady.”

***

Later:

“You were right, Adam. Just getting away from it all to have a picnic was a wonderful idea.”

“I only have good ideas.”

“Well, I have an even better idea. Let’s have a round of combat training.”

“Let’s not, okay? Unless it’s very close quarters combat, if you know what I mean?”

“Trust me, Adam. I will wear you out either way.”

“I can’t wait.”

***

Nearby:

“What a beautiful day to hang out! Sunshine, green leaves, tasty flies. Yes, Snake Mountain and the Dark Hemisphere may be my home now, but sometimes I still miss the woods and the plains of the Light Hemisphere. But wait! What do I spy with my little eyes?”

“That was nice, Adam. Kiss me again.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

SMOOCH!

“Well, if that isn’t Prince Adam! And he’s making out with Captain Teela… again. If I capture them, Skeletor will be so pleased and then he’ll promote me. The cowardly Prince won’t be much of a challenge, but that Captain Teela is another matter. She’s a handful. And if I fail, Skeletor will punish me. So maybe I should call for reinforcements. Especially since it looks as if those two will be busy for a while.”

***

Will Adam and Teela’s picnic be rudely interrupted by Skeletor and his Evil Warriors? Will Adam be able to say the magic words and transform into He-Man in time?

You’ll have to wait for another installment for the answer, because a bunch of ants decided to interrupt my photo shooting, apparently mistaking my Masters of the Universe toys for something edible.

In the meantime, here is another outdoors Masters of the Universe photo.  I took my figures into the garden to recreate Errol McCarthy’s cardback artwork for the original 1982 release of He-Man.

Here’s the original:

And here is my version:

“Now that Skeletor is vanquished – for now – what shall we do next?”

“Return to the palace and prepare for his next attack. Because the evil forces of Skeletor never rest.”

“Talking of the palace, does anybody where Adam is? One moment he was here and then he was gone. What if he’s in trouble and needs our help?”

“I’m sure Adam is fine, Teela. He’ll turn up again. Meanwhile, I’ll have to take my leave. But rest assured that He-Man will always be there when he’s needed.”

***

That’s it for today, folks. I hope you enjoyed this Masters-of-the-Universe-Piece Theatre Toy Photo Story, because there will be more.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters, I just bought some toys, took photos of them and wrote little scenes to go with those photos. All characters are copyright and trademark their respective owners.