Wesley Britton's Blog, page 45

How to Trick a Reluctant Woman Into an Alien’s Bed

I admit, the following excerpt is very strange. That’s because, from time to time, I tried to inject some humor into the Beta-Earth Chronicles. For example, I think characters pulling playful tricks on each other can be very funny.

Here’s one example of female guile from The Blood of Balnakin. To set things up, one storyline is the shaping of the Balnakin Kalma Salk into a full member of Tribe Renbourn. At first, absolutely no one wants this to happen. The mistrust between the Renbourns and all Balnakins is very deep. However, being a devout believer in the goddess Olos, Kalma accepts the divine prophecy that her physical bonding with Malcolm Renbourn will be part of the needed reconciliation between her country and the long hated Renbourns. (That story is told in The Blind Alien.)

This bonding will require Kalma to face one of her deepest fears, of committing what she has been taught is the sin of all sins, of a Balnakin brown lying with a light-skin. On top of that, she has no special attraction for Malcolm. She assumes the goddess will move something to spark passion and desire between them that will override the near terror in her heart.

For his part, Malcolm isn’t interested in what the goddess Olos wants and is deeply resentful of her pulling strings in his life. He likes his family the way it is and has no wish to shake things up. He finds Kalma abrasive and obnoxious and has good reasons for this. She is abrasive and obnoxious. He’ll accept the inevitable if he has to, but he won’t lift a finger to get things going.

So what to do? Three of the Renbourn wives concoct an imaginative conspiracy. Doret, Elsbeth, and Alnenia spend three days doing interesting things to Kalma’s food and drink. Beyond immersing Kalma in erotic poetry and chattering about their favorite physical pleasures, they’re essentially getting her secretly stoned to set up what they can do with the power of suggestion.

What does this accomplish? Here’s what happens in Kalma’s words:

the morn of the fourth day of this foolishness, I had had enough. I burst into Alnenia's office. I demanded, "Sister, what is all this strange curiosity with my food and drinks and eyes and unusual gifts?" "Why, what mean you?" Alnenia replied, innocently looking up at me from behind her desk. "Mean you Elsbeth's interest in making sure your meals are pleasing?"
"Play no more games with me!" I exclaimed, "There is more here than culinary foolishness! What goes on here?" Alnenia looked at me intent, staring into my eyes.
"Yes," she said, as if being a Helprim preparing a diagnosis. "You are getting rather impatient. Ah, feel you any unusual discomforts?" "I have an itch," I began, and then stopped. I turned and closed her door. I sat in her chair and stared back at her. "I am leaving not this chair," I announced, "until you give me explanation full!"
Alnenia turned her cran to one side and looked thoughtful. "It's the fourth day," she said to herself. "It is finally seeming to work." Her face told that she had come to a decision. "Yes, it is the time for truth." She sat back and smiled. "Know you anything about the Ming-ti plant?" "No, I know not," I told her cold. "What is the Ming-ti plant?"
She picked up a skol-stick and tapped it nervously on her desk. "It really should be Doret or Elsbeth to explain it. What I know, they told me. The Ming-ti plant is a heaf
that grows not natural on the Old Continent. It's one Doret ordered seeds for from Menzia. It's a powerful, ah, ah, well, when its leaves are dried and cooked into foods as spices or ground into powder and put into nectars, it, ah, ah," she smiled broad, "considerably enflames our natural drive to be speared. It creates a strong need, very strong, in women for a man-stalk bonding. In your case, the results should be very,
very interesting."
"Interesting!" I thundered. "You've poisoned me and call that interesting! What mean you?" Alnenia looked hurt and shook her head. "Poisoned? Oh no, there is nothing toxic in Ming-ti. The only possible trouble you could have is, well, if you were unable to act on the stimulus inside you. But," her smile returned, "your acting on it is the point. It is long past time for Malcolm to part your legs with full thrusts in between."
I stood and paced before her desk. Questions filled me, and the first was obvious. "Have you others taken this Ming-ti?" "No," Alnenia admitted. "We knew nothing of it until Doret spoke of it after our visit to the Mother-Icealt. None of us, ah, have ever needed the stimulus. We thought of experimenting with it, naturally. For Doret, she'd probably only need a very small amount. Then again, all Malcolm has to do is reach his hand up her tunic, play with her nipples, and irresistible shockwaves, well, you know. Or soon will."
She laughed. "Joline is about your body weight although not as strongly built or muscled." She laughed again. "But, then again, you'd only have to show Joline the plant, tell her of its purpose, and its effect would be complete on sight."
I stared at her. "So, how much of this Ming-ti is in my blood?" Her eyes lit up. "That's what is extraordinary! Very, very extraordinary! Again, Doret can better answer your questions. Normally, I understand, one meal only is sufficient. You've —." She paused and looked at me in wonder." You should, by now, be unable to do anything else but think of being speared. I'm tempted to alert Yil and tell him to clear all males out of —."
"You'll do no such thing!" I exclaimed with full power, pulling her door open. "I am sufficiently disciplined and self-controlled to fight this poison! I will go find Doret and find a cure for this mean trick!"
I stormed up the stairs and burst into Doret's sparsely furnished room. As usual, I found her sitting cross-legged on her mat, meditating, a skol-book by her side. "So, little sister," I demanded, "tell me of this Ming-ti and how to cleanse it from me!"
Doret opened her eyes and looked at me. She studied me. "Finally," she said, "I can believe not it took so long. Well, sit while you can. I'll explain." I sat on her mat while Doret stood and walked over to her desk. She returned with a stack of books, each with many markers poking from the tops. She sat by me, opened the first on the stack, and offered me the book. I looked at the skols and saw the words "Ming-ti." I read the description, history, and reputed uses of the plant and looked at a picture of the tall, leafy weed. "Oh ha," I said, "This says the famed belief that the Ming-ti leaves have powers of excitement have been proved not."
"So it says," Doret agreed, "as do most books written for readers without special knowledge." She handed me another open book, this one yellowed with age with old and faded print. This one had a drawing of the plant along with recipes for its use. "I'd share these others," Doret said, indicating the rest of her stack, "but I'd have to read them aloud to you. They are in the lost and secret languages known only to Icealts of the Old Dome."
She opened a box, and pulled out a set of strange skols and symbols. "From the Mother Icealt herself, I have details unknown outside of priestly circles. For what some say is unproven is merely a matter of knowing how to work the magic proper." She looked at me kind. "I'm wonder struck you can sit there with focused eyes. Have you any idea how much power flows in you? Can you feel your body sweat?"
"How do I rid myself of this?" I asked, looking at my hands and arms. Indeed, I was sweating. My itch was near throbbing.
Doret smiled and shook her cran. "There is one release, and one release only. I confess fear for Husband watching you sit there. The more you resist, the stronger your drive will be."
"Enough!" I cried, "I would see these plants!"
Doret nodded and stood. "Let’s go see Elsbeth's private garden." She picked up her EV-com and coded for Elsbeth. "Sister, May we meet in your rooms? Kalma would like to meet your Ming-ti works."
We walked down the hall and waited for Elsbeth by her door. She appeared smiling. "Oh yes," she beamed. "I see it." As she opened her door and led us to her porch-garden, I asked almost pleadingly, "Sister, gentlest of all, how could you do this to me?" She looked up at me with a hurt expression. "Kalma, Kalma, understand you not? We're only helping your body overcome the fears in your womb. We have taken your fear of touch and turned it upside down. Your fear must have been very strong," she said as we walked into her enclosed porch. "Your desire will be as your fear. Which might break Malcolm's bones."
She led us to one corner where a tray of plants sat in Sojoa-light. The tray looked as if it had once been full of plants. Now, only three bushes remained with many three-pronged leaves soaking in the light. Next to the tray was a three-part stand. Two poles stood upright, one pole stretched between them. From that pole, three plants hung downward, their leaves drying and falling to waiting plates below. "The richness of the Ming-ti juice," Doret said proud, "is enhanced when Sojoa dried, for obvious reasons. The more Sojoa light, the more we women need Sojoa milk." She pointed to a skull-bowl where dried leaves floated in a liquid. "Now there is the solution I can reveal not, the secret that science has uncovered not. It is what converts mere itching into a need of the womb. Kalma, your forehead is wet. I think not you should stand here and delay much longer."
For some pointless reason, I exclaimed, "I will defeat you and your trickery and pay you back in kind!" I stormed out of Elsbeth's rooms. I rushed to my quarters and thought to lock myself in my room. I knew this was foolishness. I went to my mirror and examined my face. Yes, my eyes were red, my skin damp, my body quivering. My breasts had hardened. I laid on my bed and groaned. I clenched my teeth. I dug nails into my palms. I slapped my belly.
I know not how long I writhed and saw images in my mind of Joline's verse and her toes reaching high to limbs of blue leaves and Malcolm's fingers awakening the music in his wives and green plants drying in Sojoa-light and suddenly my body moved without my mind and I nearly ran down the hallway to Husban's room. He was there, he was there, my soul cried, working peaceful at his V-Skiler. He heard me come in but recognized not who I was. "Yes," he said kind, knowing it must be a tribe member to enter his third-floor sanctuary.

Doret: Close to eve-plate time, I heard a soft knock at my door and I called permission for admittance. Kalma walked in looking agitated. I studied her but could read not the confusion on her face. She was biting her lips and unable to focus her yellow eyes. "Little one," she finally stuttered, "Your magic worked well. Very well. Extremely well. Amazingly well. Astoundingly well." She smiled with a faraway look.
She looked unsteady on her legs, like she'd topple any moment. Then her eyes cleared and she looked concerned. "Ah, Doret, you need to see Malcolm and try a different
kind of magic for him or help him to the Int-Clin or whatever should be done. Doret, I'm afraid, ah, I'm afraid I surprised him. He says his back will move not. He groans when he tries to move." As my jaw dropped, and I rose to help Malcolm, Kalma's dreamy look returned. "The rest of those plants," she breathed soft and firm, "are mine."

The Beta-Earth Chronicles (so far)

The Blind Alien (still on sale for 99 cents!)
https://www.amazon.com/Blind-Alien-Be...

The Blood of Balnakin (Book 2)
https://www.amazon.com/Blood-Balnakin...

When War Returns (book 3)
https://www.amazon.com/When-War-Retur...

A Throne for an Alien (book 4)
https://www.amazon.com/Throne-Alien-B...

Coming This Fall!

The Third Earth—The Beta-Earth Chronicles: Book 5
http://bmfiction.com/science-fiction/...

Anne Rice and the Blood of Balnakin

Strange as it might sound, I can point To very few specific literary influences on anything in the Beta-Earth Chronicles. However, in The Blood of Balnakin, I had one author very much in mind when I crafted one scene. That author was Anne Rice.

In particular, in Rice’s better books, and I can’t claim to have read much more than her Vampire Chronicles, her descriptive gifts are on full display. She does an amazing job of presenting the sweep of history with such a haunting, powerful, romantic, sensuous tone. If I were to point out my favorite scene showcasing these abilities, I’d choose the chapter in Servant of the Bones where we enter a cave of jewels that’s both beautiful and richly detailed.

Now, in no way do I claim the scene below imitates or emulates Rice’s style or depth. I’m not in her league. I don’t sound like her and am not trying to do so. Instead, while writing it, I thought it was, in a sense, a tribute to Rice. That’s because I wanted to encapsulate several millennia of history in a few pages with a Rice-like sweep with a large dose of mysticism.

To set the stage, the Mother-Icealt of Beta-Earth, who is housed in the Great-Ring-of-All-Domes in the island sanctuary of Nilexdra, offers an audience to Tribe Renbourn. For most of the Renbourn wives, this summons to meet the supreme priestess and oracle of their world is the opportunity of a lifetime. They realize her purpose is most likely to give her the chance to meet and assess their husband, the Alpha-Man, Dr. Malcolm Renbourn.

The women are correct. The Mother is keenly interested in checking out the one man on the planet whose auras are veiled from her mystical powers due to his other-world origins. As an alien, Malcolm isn’t connected to any of the flows of Olos, the name for both the planet and the goddess who protects it. The Mother determines Malcolm is flawed because of his fears and uncertainties, has important roles in celestial plans for the future whether he likes it or not, and is far, far from dangerous to her people.

The Mother then offers “full oracle” to the Renbourn wives—Elsbeth, Lorei, Joline, Alnenia, and Doret. Most of them meet privately with the Mother in her oracle cell and are given surprising visions into their futures.

But when Doret walks through the curtain for her blessing, the Mother asks her to share her time with her bond-sister, Lorei. That’s because both Doret and Lorei have their own powerful spiritual gifts and the Mother knows the three of them together can open paths never possible before.

To define a few terms: “Sojoa” is the Betan term for the sun which supposedly oversees masculine attributes. The “Sea-of-the-Lost-Moon” is a giant body of water filling what would be much of lower Europe and Asia on our planet. As far as anyone knows, it was indeed a lost moon that crashed there and created the sea before there was any recorded history.

“The Plague-With-No-Name” is the most important influence on Betan culture. Killing three out of four infant boys their first year, it’s the reason for the planet’s polygamy. No one knows its origins. Until now.

In Doret’s words:

As I closed my body-eyes, I felt the flow of interconnection in my mind. I lowered my head. At first, random thoughts floated uncontrolled in my consciousness. Then a flower with the face of Olos began to form, at first vague and detailed not, then a clear image of the goddess studying her child. I knew each of us saw the same image. Then, the flower-Olos stretched out two branches like human arms, and the astounding revelations began.

In a growing flood, images filled me, not of the future, but of distant pasts. I saw, heard, smelled, and touched the guttural-sounds of many, many men in the garb of mere unworked animal-skins. I saw them in paddle-boats on rivers which were true images of times before the plague. So many men, men stronger than women. Men in seated circles around log fires. Men and women roasting the meat of giant birds on the stone cooking platforms. Men and women stuffing simple boots with dry grass as insulation in the cold of ice and snow.

Then, I felt the shaking of the ground, the wail of wounded Olos, the gray cloud in the sky that blocked out Sojoa for so, so long. I, too, felt the shaking earth and ran into the caves and tunnels and spit up waters from my womb and peered into the gray and endless cloud of the angry god that circled Olos, Olos crawling in pain, her hand clutching the rip in her side. She gasped and choked and panted for her missing consort in the sky. Looking down from above, I saw the fissures and veins of splitting land sprouting in all directions cracking the skin of Our Mother. I saw the waves and waves of hot liquid rock and dirt pouring and falling from the mountains. I saw the corpses of the winged creatures that were never to fly again. I heard the howls and growls and cries of animals as they fled into lands new and frightening. I saw water harden and humans walking across seas without need of ships and boats.

As if time moved as fast as a waver picture, I saw the cloud loose its thickness as it became part of all-breathing. Then it faded into the soil and humans returned to the soaking rays and waves of Sojoa. I saw the ice melt, and old connections between tribes were lost to a wandering humanity who continued to search for game and food.

Then, I saw the first wailings as infants died in surprising numbers. I saw the burnings of women whose seed was determined rotten. I saw wives cast out who bore only daughters and were forced inland away from tribal ports. I saw infant girls buried in the sands. I saw the fleeings from the Old Continent when all-skins felt the disasters within their own colors. I saw old worships change when even Olos was branded the demon of our earth. I, too, crouched in my hut fearing the night visits of the imagined Red-Scarfed Plague-Maiden choosing which infants to spare. I saw the beginnings of skol writings and I saw the burnings of skols which told fearful stories. I saw time pass and a gentleness of regret fill migrating tribes who moved from sorrow to resignation to living as if no plague had ever been. Such histories, I knew, were lost in the fearing times when the Plague lost its name and became the mystery with no beginning. Nor end.

I saw how the jealousies and envies of many wives gave way to hope of inclusion and child-birth in tribal alliances. I saw how cultures began to shape themselves as if disconnected from all others. I saw the growth of the Domes and the reverence for Olos return as female nurture spread from home-cribs to all aspects of life. I saw the rises and falls of Lieges on all continents. Through all, I felt the flow of Olos in the fields and skies and waters.

The most puzzling image was of Olos herself standing by a red-brook, a red-sword in her hand. It was a stone-sword she had pulled from the ground but had nowhere to place it. I read her thoughts — the sword is drawn but where is the scabbard to put it to rest?

Then the images cleared and I was again kneeling in the small room with the Mother-Of-All. Lorei was on her knees beside me in deep tears. As was I.

"Plague with no name?" the Mother wailed, her hands gripping her throne. "No, now I see it! It was no Lost Moon who fell into Olos as if in need of her warmth! No, it was a moon of angry rock from far from Olos! A moon jealous of the life on Olos it could spawn not itself! An angry moon, a jealous moon that gave us the Sea we named after a lost moon! Cursed Moon that cursed Olos! And the waters that bear this plague and spread it lap against the shores of this holy island!"

We three said nothing for a time. We now knew of the pollution that infected the wombs and milk of the children of Olos. We knew the ways of prophecy and science had new work to begin.

---
Find out more in The Blood of Balnakin—The Beta-Earth Chronicles: Book 2
https://www.amazon.com/Blood-Balnakin...

The Blind Alien is still on sale for 99 cents!
https://www.amazon.com/Blind-Alien-Be...

Coming This Fall!

The Third Earth—The Beta-Earth Chronicles: Book 5
http://bmfiction.com/science-fiction/...

New Reviews for The Blind Alien

I’m delighted to report the 99 cent sale of The Blind Alien is capturing the imagination of new readers.

In particular, two of those readers took the time to post reviews this month at Amazon. I’m reposting them here. Let me say this: I don’t know these folks. Never met them, never corresponded with them. In fact, 98% of all the reviews for my books at Amazon or here at Goodreads are by total strangers to me. For what that’s worth—

A well crafted sci-fi story, August 3, 2016
By
Piaras

The Blind Alien is a well crafted sci-fi adventure. And I would imagine that fans of this genre will love sinking their teeth into this one! This is my first time reading this author and I must say I was very impressed.

The story had every element a good story should have. An exciting plot, attention to detail, but best of all fleshed out, well-written and well-rounded character development. There’s an abundance of well illustrated scenes that really make you feel like you are right there in the story, and that's something I really look for in a good book.

This captivating and commendable work had me immersed from the beginning. The story flows from scene to scene with ease, and the author shows exceptional skill when it comes to storytelling. There are twists and turns in this page turner that will take the reader on a gripping journey!

It’s one of those stories that come along once in awhile that makes you want to read it non-stop until you get to the end. I’m giving nothing further away here. And this, I hope, will only add to the mystery and enjoyment for the reader!

I’ll certainly be looking forward to reading more from Wesley Britton in the future! I would definitely recommend this book! Five stars from me.

Great mixture of fun and inspiration :), August 4, 2016
Amazon Customer

This was an absolute eye opener. Never have I ever thought about how we would be seen if we too came to be on a different planet. It puts a remarkable spin on regular books about alien invaders. The tortures that Malcolm-the human alien from Earth, was subjected to and had to endure is nothing short of what an alien would have had to endure, had they found themselves on Earth mysteriously. The way Malcolm spun his wise plan to get away from the high leaders and their numerous test was ingenious. That scene left me giggling. His proceeding victory, in gaining partial freedom and achieving a status as a Teacher was well noted. However when things took a turn for the worst and had my heart pounding, he found help. This section gave me hope that even when all things seem lost and we want to despair, there will be help in one form or the other. The 'Helprims' are a set of brave women and I admired them a lot. The courage they displayed and their resilience in assisting Malcolm in his healing process was marvelous. Also Malcolm although now blind showed remarkable strength and adapted well to his new surroundings. I totally recommend this book.


The Blind Alien is still on sale for 99 cents!
https://www.amazon.com/Blind-Alien-Be...

Coming This Fall!

The Third Earth—The Beta-Earth Chronicles: Book 5
http://bmfiction.com/science-fiction/...

Why My Books Are Nothing Like Star Trek

Once upon a time, there was one thing that amused me about Star Trek episodes not set on any of the Enterprises or other starships. Whenever Kirk or Picard’s Enterprises flew over a strange new world, they usually encountered one leader or a handful of council members who always spoke for an entire planet. Yes, there was usually a rebel opposition of some kind or a culture in conflict with the other government, but, again, we met only a handful of these folks. The Enterprise just couldn’t fly over the rest of the planet, encounter different countries, and talk to other leaders. The galaxy seemed full of inhabited worlds with only one, two at most, governments and cultures per planet.

Of course, I realize in the context of a one-hour TV drama, there’s limited time to introduce many new guest characters or try to flesh out much cultural diversity on these inter-planetary stop-overs, at least those not part of empires like the Klingons or Romulans. That’s where a literary epic can go places a starship on the move doesn’t have time to explore. (Of course, I’m talking single-episode stories, not civilizations like the Vulcans, Bajorans, or Cardassians who are so wonderfully developed over many story-lines across multiple series.)

For my part, from the very beginning I knew a number of settings and cultures would be involved in the Beta-Earth Chronicles for a variety of reasons. For example, when Malcolm Renbourn is ripped across the multi-verse in The Blind Alien, he’s a captive in the country of Balnakin. A racist, slave-holding culture, Balnakin believes its people are naturally superior to everyone else as their emphasis is on new technology, the disciplined dignity of its citizens, and their eyes are focused on the future, not the history so prized across the ocean on the Old Continent. When Malcolm escapes to freedom, he goes north to the much looser but far less powerful country of Rhasvi. It’s there where he really begins to learn about his new planetary home as his polygamous family begins to form.

But, by the end of The Blind Alien, Tribe Renbourn is forced to flee Rhasvi after a series of devastating catastrophes and disasters. After sailing over the Philosea Ocean, they settle in the country of Kirip in The Blood of Balnakin (book 2). Here, everything is different not only for the man from Alpha-Earth, but for his Rhasvin wives as well. Having grown up in poverty, most of them never expected to go to places outside their small home regions, especially to a country suspicious of outsiders where everyone speaks a different language. In many ways, the Renbourn women are now a bit like aliens themselves, ostracized by locals unhappy over this unwelcome intrusion of non-Kiripeans. As international figures, the family of exiles and outcast tour many regions of the Old Continent, meet many religious and political leaders, and are even captured at sea by the Liege of the island country of Arasad who threatens fatal consequences to Tribe Renbourn for their not bowing to her evil will.

By the opening pages of When War Returns (book 3), Malcolm unhappily realizes he has to do unpleasant things to give his growing family official protection and a secure sanctuary against the tribe’s growing list of threats and adversaries. This means Tribe Renbourn must relocate to Alma where Malcolm reluctantly accepts the title of Duce of Bilan, which places him in Beta’s equivalent of England’s House of Lords. Alma is very much the opposite of Balnakin with a deep cultural love of history and colorful pageantry. To make his title legitimate, Malcolm must accept an arranged marriage with Sasperia Thorwaife, an enhanced mutant who wants to take control of Tribe Renbourn.

At the same time, the Prince of Alma has lustful designs on the Renbourn wives. His sister, the High Priestess of Alma’s official church, wants to impose a strict orthodoxy on all inhabitants of Alma. In particular, she wants to end religious freedom for the country’s immigrant populations, and many of them live in the region the Duce of Bilan represents in the capital.

As the story progresses, the Renbourns battle one of their own, the heir to the throne, and a church that inflames the entire country to the brink of civil war. By the end of When War Returns, that war erupts and the Renbourns are among thousands of refugees who take to the sea to flee the coming bloodletting.

The fourth book of the saga, A Throne for an Alien, begins with that refugee fleet following the Renbourns wherever they go. That ends up being the island of Hitilec, a neglected country which sits in Beta’s version of the Caribbean. In my opinion, a new character, Elena Richelo, best paints a vivid history and culture of Hitilec in her introduction to A Throne for an Alien. So I’ll let her give you her thoughts in her own words in a post here next week. Stay tuned.

What all this means is that the circumstances surrounding Malcolm Renbourn and Tribe Renbourn are constantly changing. They face uncertainty from ever-shifting threats, pressures, and adversaries that arise from so many international and very personal forces. Readers can never know what to expect as the tribe moves from being frightened fugitives to becoming alleged political leaders themselves to survivors of disasters that impact an entire planet. And, as the saga progresses, the threats intensify as old foes are joined by new, even more powerful enemies whose agendas have more and more consequences for the Renbourns and Beta-Earth itself.

Of course, I admit my panorama can’t measure up in any way with a galaxy of humans, Vulcans, Betazoids, Klingons, Romulans, Ferengi, Bajorans, the Dominion . . . In most ways, it’s hard to see any parallels at all between my books and Star Trek or Star Wars or any other science fiction saga that uses spaceships, robots, advanced technology, or exotic weaponry.

But I can think of one thing we all share, or at least something I tried very hard to make the center of my books around which everything else revolves. Memorable, engaging characters. If my characters don’t fascinate you, intrigue you, resonate with you, nothing else matters. True, I hope readers will feel they’re experiencing a rich, detailed canvas that integrates history, culture, politics, sex, religion, and so many aspects of human life on two earths. In my books, I hope you’ll see all these things through the eyes of one blind alien and the many personalities of Tribe Renbourn in all the places they live and travel.

The Beta-Earth Chronicles (so far)

The Blind Alien (still on sale for 99 cents!)
https://www.amazon.com/Blind-Alien-Be...

The Blood of Balnakin (Book 2)
https://www.amazon.com/Blood-Balnakin...

When War Returns (book 3)
https://www.amazon.com/When-War-Retur...

A Throne for an Alien (book 4)
https://www.amazon.com/Throne-Alien-B...

Coming This Fall!

The Third Earth—The Beta-Earth Chronicles: Book 5
http://bmfiction.com/science-fiction/...

Sneak Peek: The Third Earth is Coming!

I can’t tell you when because Bear Manor Media hasn’t told me yet, but The Third Earth, book 5 of the Beta-Earth Chronicles, is launching this fall! Here’s a short teaser:

For twenty years, Dr. Malcolm Renbourn and Tribe Renbourn faced adventure after adventure, struggle after struggle on Beta-Earth.

Now, Renbourn and five of his Betan wives are forced to cross the multi-verse once again, this time to the strange world called Cerapin-Earth. After startling and frightening physical transformations, the altered Renbourns meet two new kinds of humanity. One is the dominant pairs who are able to share thoughts and sensations at the same time. The other are the nams, single-bodied people the pairs deem defective mono-minds. As a result, nams are exiled from the overpopulated cities of pyramid hives.

Tribe Renbourn must join the outcasts and teach them they are as worthy of love and acceptance as any unkind pair. But helping the nams learn how to stand up for themselves ultimately leads to a catastrophic war. At the same time, Cerapin scientists plan another multi-versal jump that must also end in a costly disaster. Along the way, two sexy spies complicate everything.

On a world where technology is worshiped like a religion, how can the nam rebels overcome the superior armaments of the pairs using primitive weaponry? While this conflict brews, Tribe Renbourn explores what it means to be human in ways they never expected. Will their epic end like it began, forced to sacrifice themselves to save a doomed city?

---
For another tease, readers of the Beta-Earth books know there’s no lack of sex going on in Tribe Renbourn. That doesn’t change on The Third Earth. For example, Malcolm meets an identical pair of very willing and very vivacious girls. Like all their kind, Pidghe El and Pidghe Le share their physical sensations, responses, and thoughts at exactly the same moments.

On top of that, on Cerapin-Earth, Malcolm Renbourn’s sight is restored. This means, after 20 years, he can again enjoy the delights of looking at women’s legs. In the case of the Pidghe girls, they share another typical Cerapin characteristic—their bodies are covered by natural multi-colored splotches, stripes, and streaks. This makes their legs, from the Alpha-man’s point of view, rather exotic and erotic. And irresistibly tempting. More so when you consider whatever you do to one girl, her sister shares exactly the same thing.

Get tempted yourself when The Third Earth debuts—stay tuned!

http://bmfiction.com/science-fiction/...

Breaking and Entering with Enhanced Mutants

Wanting to give some love to A Throne for an Alien, the fourth book of the Beta-Earth Chronicles, I thought I’d share an action scene from the book with you. A rather edited passage as the full scene is too long for a simple blog post.

For a quick set-up: For nearly 20 years, The Collective, an international cabal of ruthless scientists, has been Tribe Renbourn’s most consistent threat. Among their many experiments to battle the Plague-With-No-Name was the creation of enhanced mutants like Sasperia Thorwaif Renbourn who has incredible physical ability and an often overheated mental metabolism.

Another such mutant is the elderly Kiem Holenris, the current head of the Collective. After calling a truce with the Renbourns, Holendris was delighted when she learned the children of Sasperia Renbourn, with their combined mutant DNA merged with Malcolm Renbourn’s Alphan genetics, carried the cure to the ancient curse of Beta-Earth.

Problem: Due to extraordinary circumstances, the files with the cure are only on one electronic pad. And that pad was stolen by agents of Gant Thanq, an evil member of the royal household of Hitilec.

Holenris knows the only way to save the world is to steal the pad back in a night invasion of Thanq’s headquarters. It will take two enhanced mutants to pull it off, even two old adversaries who both rely on the same special medicines to stay alive.

So here’s how Sasperia describes the adventure, with some sections cut for length. I probably should define a number of terms, but that would add to the length I’m trying to control. Hopefully, nothing will be too incomprehensible to throw off your enjoyment of this little battle:

I confidently turned and walked to the bedroom, where I knew Kiem Holenris was working on the disguise that would hide her features from anyone or anything that might see us even in dark night shadows. When I saw her pulling on tight boots over her feet and calves, I first suspected her gifts in deceit were as marvelous as any Shadow-Kin. I saw her body that bore muscles as broad and limber as Alnenia's. In fact, she seemed built like a man used to carrying heavy materials. As she moved, her limbs stretched and pulled as if those of a young woman. When she looked up at me, I full startled. Her face not yet covered with the black mask, she looked younger than myself. Her short hair was dark and shiny. There was nothing of the crone in her beautiful, uncracked face. Kiem Holenris looked as fresh as the cool, white surface of dawn-bowl cream. For a fleeting moment, I thought, Were the two of us to battle, even I might well lose.

Then, the truth struck me. "Oh Sojoa!" I cried, stepping forward, "You've taken an overdose of our formula! Kiem, this cannot —"

She raised both her arms and flexed her fingers to both interrupt me and test her new strength. "I estimate," she told me with calm, strong tones, "I have perhaps six hours as you see me. Then, yes Sasperia, my body will cruelly incinerate." She smiled with deep happiness. "Little kitty, I need but six hours to complete my life's work. As I said, the need for the Collective will soon pass." She rose, and planted her hands firm on widened hips. "I am prepared to be sacrifice. Let us go."

My mind spinning in a flurry of thoughts, I quickly pulled on my own invasion suit of a close fitting tunic, leggings, gloves, and laced boots. I pulled on the rubber headgear that covered my hair and exposed only my ears, eyes, mouth, and nostrils. I pulled on the belt that had deep pockets with the gas-filters, small explosive materials, and the safe-breaking device. As I dressed, I observed Kiem Holenris examining herself in the mirror, smiling as she stretched her arms, jogged in place, and rotated her torso and head. The backs of her legs rippled in the tightness of her muscles. The energy in her entire frame seemed to crackle in her aura. She looked more and more youthful by the moment.

. . . In a private elevator, we two quickly descended to the basement floor and raced behind rows of trans’s and columns. At and end door, we paused as Kiem looked around. Finally, she nodded, and we darted to a metal cover in the street. Opening the hole, we moved in quick time down the pipe to the tunnels of waste below and made our way to another such opening in an alleyway behind a building next to the Lorilian headquarters.

Following Kiem, I crawled up the side of this unfinished eight level structure. It was a new addition to Monte Carlo waiting for merchants to design what would fill the now empty halls. Like many such skeletons in the area, only vats of paint, spackle, and piles of molding laid behind the uncharged Sojoa sheets we climbed past with ease. using the crevices between stones for finger and toe holds, I felt the almost soft smoothness of the yet unweathered masonry. How strange, I thought, for a Ducal of the Alman Mentela to be creeping up buildings like a Shadow-Kin from Rigil. Instead of participating in loud debates behind long tables, I thought of the Collective agents on the streets below creating small diversions and blocking access to this alley. No one saw our ascent. It felt like I was participating in a battle, now being the warrior I'd not been during the war in Alma.

When Holenris and I reached the roof, we crept to the other side and looked down. Yes, there was the outside ledge across the street called First Draw Way. The level we were targeting was six levels above ground. Behind the inviting porch, we knew the offices of Kuf Oy's Eniq were secure from all directions. How could anyone get to that ledge unless, of course, they could leap across a wide four-laned street? Even then, how could magnificent leapers gain access unseen by electronic eyes and ears?

Together, Kiem Holenris and I laid at the roof edge waiting for the answer to the second question. Over and over in my mind, I measured the length of our jump, how I'd land on the cold ledge, how I'd quickly need to move, and what I'd need to do on entering the room behind the closed arches of thick Sojoa-sheets. As we waited for inky dark to fill the skies over the colorful lights beckoning in the signs below us, I wondered how my companion measured time. Inside her, I thought, each moment must be a lifetime, a memory, a new scheme, new discovery, new disappointment.

. . . I also thought of the wizened face of the woman beside me, seemingly the last head of that Collective that had shaped my fate long before the arrival of Malcolm Renbourn on this world. I thought of my bronze skin tanned under the Bilan sun and how my children, my children alone of all my sisters, had borne the fruit yearned for since history began. What had shaped all civilizations was now answered in genetic ladders that were half alien, half genetic mutations. All these streams had come together in one little pad of electronic data hidden in the offices across from where two women waited. And waited.

. . . In a power station located beams from this place, a mysterious overload suddenly cut all power to this part of the city. All of the colorful tribute to Alpha quickly became as black as what my Husband saw each minute. As if sharing one mind, Kiem and I rose, and ran back halfway across the unseen roof of a quiet building. As if four legs of the same body, we ran forward, building momentum. In the same moment, we launched ourselves high over the street, trusting we'd correctly measured the arc to our landing. As I hit a cold floor and slammed into a stone wall, I knew I had done well. A quick glance to my left told me my partner was safe as well. I felt small breaks in my ankle bones and knew for one brief moment my feet, my hands, my breasts were bruised like a normal woman. As ever, I felt the healing energies quickly repair any damage. Equally as quick, we two flattened our backs beside the Sojoa-doors knowing at least one guard would have heard the thuds and come running. One breath. Two breaths. I heard the lock clicking and then sensed a body moving forward. With one motion, I grabbed an extended arm and twisted it, loosening the chroner from one surprised Secops grip. I pulled the body toward me and slammed a mutant fist under an open mouthed jaw. As this body slumped, I saw Kiem pull the small nose filters from her belt and insert them into her nostrils. I did the same as Kiem tossed several thin vials into the room. We heard coughing, choking noises, and then quiet. Then we heard alarms and quickly ran into the room.

In the dark, I knew Kiem was rushing to a V-AV where she could first turn off the alarms, send a signal through the building's networks that would shut down the backup generators, and mechanically lock the doors to the room from inside. With all the confusion happening within the building, and the planned confusion now erupting in the streets below, with luck we had the time I needed. As Kiem did her labors, I sprang to the wall to the right of the main desk and began ripping off wall coverings, not trying to discover just how to covertly get to the safe we knew was imbedded in the wall. My fingers pulled at thick sheets of laminated wood, but I was strong enough to pull and pry and finally snap off the protective layers. There it was, the sophisticated round door with the triangle of three locks. I reached into my belt pocket and pulled out the small machine I'd had no time to master. All I could do, or was expected to do, was place the circular box between the locks and secure it with the suction cups on the back.

I pulled out three smaller boxes with dangling wires which I secured on each of the locks. Each wire I inserted into the proper holes on the center box, and I pressed a button.

While I waited for the device to do its work, I turned and watched Kiem inserting pads into the computers on the desks. It would be long not before every record, every file within this building or connected to it would find itself scrambled, destroyed, or unusable. Then I heard clicks on the wall beside me.

"Now!" I called.

Kiem ran to my side, as I easily pulled the safe door open. I stood back as Kiem's fingers reached inside and explored all she could grasp. Small piles of objects and pads fell to the floor I bothered not to look down at. Finally, I heard her sigh, "Ah!"

I studied her gloved hands as she held the precious, small green square between her fingers. All across it were tiny raised dots I understood not. For one moment, I watched her eyes mist as she clenched the final solution to the mystery of the ages. I wondered if this was the longest moment of her life.

She looked over at me and nearly thrust the pad into my hands. Wordlessly, I tucked it into my now empty belt pocket while she pulled out other pads and handed them to me. I accepted them all. She stood back and I heard her dropping tiny fire-grenades. As pops and green smoke began to sprout by my feet, we rushed back to the ledge and studied the streets outside.

I had to smile. For some unknown reason, at least unknown to the Net officers and the Secops who'd poured out of this very building, panicked people had pulled their trans's into the wrong lanes and blocked traffic from all directions. Women and men stood in the streets yelling and jumping out of their vehicles. It would have taken only two or three planned agents to start this chaos, and then the turmoil would have cascaded on its own. I turned to smile at Kiem but my thoughts quickly turned on themselves. She was looking down like me, but I could tell her body had begun to quake and quiver. Was it illusion or was her tight-suit becoming too big for the body within?

She looked at me and croaked, "My hair turns white again. Blessed be, little kitty." "Then we must hurry," I cried.

She nodded. We ran back into the room, paused, looked at each other, and then ran. And leaped. I pulled my body to its full length to ensure I at least was able to grab the edge of the empty building's roof. I needn't have worried. I landed flat on my face and belly and felt unaccustomed pain. Even such as I have their limits. And my eyes were beginning to water. As we'd begun our leap, I knew something was wrong. From the corner of my eye, I'd noticed Kiem Holenris's jump was aimed not across the way for this roof. She'd leaped almost straight up, as if jumping to the sky. In that moment, I remembered Malcolm's story of Icarus the Fool who'd flown too close to the Alphan sun with wings of feathers and wax.

I quickly rose on my hands and knees and crept to the edge of the roof. Yes, I saw it below, the terrible crush of someone's trans roof. I saw a black form draped from one end of the bent metal. But the dark night hid the details. Sojoa, Sojoa, I prayed, make her end quick and but one flash of pain. Let her not feel the flames of a body now rebelling against chemicals it can withstand not. She had died with double purpose. To end her existence with minimal pain. And to leave her body as a means to draw Lorilian ire at the Collective. And my family not. Blessed be.


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Remember, the 99 cent sale of The Blind Alien is still going on! A Throne for an Alien is still only $4.95!

Blind Author Uses Disability Creating Sci Fi

To begin introducing myself as an author, I thought I’d talk a bit about my blindness. After all, that was one characteristic I gave my main protagonist, Dr. Malcolm Renbourn. My own blindness resulted from a genetic disease called retinitis pigmentosa, Malcolm’s came from being ripped across the barrier between the multi-verses. Hence, that’s why so much about genetics in the Beta-Earth Chronicles.

I admit being very surprised by something I’ve noticed in all the reviews posted at Amazon and Goodreads. Some astute folks have pointed out the depth of the books comes from all the social and cultural issues addressed in one way or another—race, class, religion, sex, politics. But little is said about disability. I sense a reluctance out there facing disabilities which I can’t explain.

Which leads to the question—how much of author Wesley Britton is in the character of Malcolm Renbourn? In a way, I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask. I’m certain there’s much about him that must reflect who I am. For me, I know there are incidents and experiences from my own life I used in the first three chapters of The Blind Alien. However, from the moment Malcolm escapes across the border into Rhasvi, I’ve always felt he had become his own man, always surprising me thereafter. Perhaps you’ve heard TV actors talk about how they started playing a role before a switch goes off inside them and the actor steps into their character, becomes that character, and goes deeper than reading lines and hitting the marks. Well, that moment happened for Malcolm, in my mind, when Bar sends him north into freedom.

What has this to do with disability? Well, when blindness becomes a central attribute of your being, especially when you’re on a strange planet and absolutely nothing is familiar, what doesn’t blindness impact? I think of one scene where Malcolm meets the blind prophetess, Lorei Caul. While Malcolm became sightless at the age of 35, she was blind from birth. These are very different experiences resulting in very different responses from people. One person has memories of what they once saw, what they lost; the other has no such memories—being blind was all they ever knew. So the individual who became blind later in life has the added confusion of trying to mix and match what they feel and hear with things they remember. From personal experience, I can say those of us who went blind later in life have to go through a process of grief and loss. I drew on this truth quite a bit in The Blind Alien.

For another observation, in book two I had a priestess reveal Malcolm’s eyes perceive blackness. Lorei’s eyes perceive nothing at all. There’s a difference. Malcolm has the awareness of darkness, of something impenetrable filling his visual screens. Lorei has no such awareness and senses nothing missing. Here’s something to ponder—the difference between blackness and nothingness.

What has blindness meant to me, a man who started losing his sight in his mid-twenties? A complex question with a complex answer. Let me try this. Some twenty years or so ago, when being a poet of some small renown was my creative identity, I had a friend who was a Lakota-Sioux Shaman. He looked at me one day and commanded, “Write me a poem about the joys of blindness.” Talk about a writing prompt!

The result was “The Veil.” Reading it again so many years later, I can think of many revisions and changes I could and probably should make. But I think it more honest to present it just as it appeared in Talus & Scree, one of my favorite print magazines of the small-press era.

THE VEIL

When the blindness came, so did the veil
& few look in & those that do
I cannot tell for certain

what I am perceiving. Not light, not dark,
not the common colors shared by most.
I see no body language so speak it poorly.
I see neither smile nor frown so ignore both.
Cannot tell friend from stranger, so the veil
swells like a smoke or fog
around me in protection, confusion,
aloneness while
interdependency grows just as thick and wide
regulated by the whims and schedules of others
living around the cracks of others' good will,
hearing more intentions and promises than fulfillment
or commitment or truth
and grasp the limitations after
the embers of rage finally subside

and accept the moment, what is,
what can be patiently done,

ah, patience against my worse nature,
finally accepting calm Now after the
Disappointment Series and feel the
Ying of happy quiet aloneness without
the being with anyone not just to be alone
the Yang of the female other who
may be illusion, fantasy, nightmare
while I casually, cautiously, distantly
touch others veiled not to be hurt
veiled to expect assault
veiled to be comfortable within
and always aware of the separateness
that lives against my belief in
interconnections
expecting more than is offered
expecting more than can be given

so I create little footnotes in books
and minds and groups and drums and
the image of the invisible man walking
thru the town that did not see him before
and is not looking for him now
as I await the next step
whether shin-cracking or
softer, whether pain or the touch
of my dogs & toys

so I have not answered your question. You wonder what are
The joys of blindness?

Well, the joy of music, but I had that before.
The joy of touch, but that has a powerful yang.
The joy of surprising connections, the nuggets
amongst the dross,
and the surprise of occasionally remembering a color,
a face, place, a possible poem
but mostly I find the happiness in thinking of Buddha,
of little accomplishments, small adventures, never minding
the great promise of youth
and knowing how much I've improved--hell,
I've had so far to go--and how different
I do things now so I must call the happiness
acceptance, letting go of illusions
becoming aware of illusions
de-emphasizing illusions
putting illusions into perspective
knowing my past is my own illusion
shared delusionally with others
whose place in the Now is never certain
and uncertainty has its place, especially in

a cocky man
who came to belief and conviction very slowly,
from the Bible to the nothing to the nothing with
meaning
who expects all to be transitory
as is All
and to cease craving, the source
of suffering, and emphasize service and
gifts, even gifts not wanted or expected,
and see what seeds grow.

----
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Remember the 99 cents sale of The Blind Alien while it still lasts!

Beta-Earth website:
https://drwesleybritton.com/

Meet a Mutant Dwarf with Strange Psychic Abilities

This morning, it dawned on me that posting something fresh every day here is really overdoing it. So, as of today, I’m going to try to keep to a Tuesday, Thursday schedule unless I have special announcements I want to share in between. After all, a fifth book is coming . . .

Returning to my character descriptions from The Blind Alien, I thought it time you meet the very unusual Doret Galess, the mutant dwarf initiate “Dream Guesser” of a unique religious school.

For a little set-up, the following scene takes place after Tribe Renbourn has suffered a series of painful trials. After the catastrophe in Bergarten, the Balnakin government openly encouraged its citizens to seek out and kill the alien from Alpha-Earth. They extorted the rights to all of Malcolm Renbourn’s books as partial compensation for the horrible pit that destroyed much of Bergarten. As a result of all this, Dr. Malcolm Renbourn suffered a near fatal heart attack. Tormented for the role she feared she played in all that, Bar Tine Renbourn left the tribe.

So the extremely talkative Helprim Annijol Hod, Malcolm’s heart doctor, thought it wise to bring a spiritual healer to the tribe. Here’s that first encounter where you’ll not only meet Doret but read many insights into Tribe Renbourn as a whole.

Defining a few terms: “Hearthstone” is the name of the Renbourn home and estate. “Sojoa-sheets” are solar panels. “Togs” are clothes and “pravines” are wine-like alcoholic drinks.

While I’m thinking about it, remember The Blind Alien is currently on sale for 99 cents at Amazon. I have no idea how long that will last—

Most of this introduction is in Doret’s voice with a few observations from Alnenia and Lorei Renbourn along the way:

Doret: I met the Renbourns one wet and humid day when I accompanied Annijol Hod on one of her trips to Hearthstone. She had told me much about their situation in her usual style, trying to prepare me for the experience. "You've been seeing them on the news for years," she said, "but films are flimsy Sojoa-sheets into their tribal soul. You have been reading up on their trials? Good. I knew you would. I predict you are in for the challenge of your young career. But I know you, young as you feel, are better equipped than any senior Hollow-Bone at Appool. You are limber enough still to be creative, intuitive, adaptable. This is no test for dry skols and formulaic lists, I promise. Did I tell you, yes, I'm sure I did. Here we are. Open your six senses, Initiate Galess.
You will sense much before you see a face. This will be a true test of your dream-Guessing skills."
Annijol spoke true. But one step out of her trans, I felt the aura-cloud hovering over this place. I looked to the sky and shivered. Before that moment, All I knew of evil was what I had studied — evil comes in currents, vibrations, in parasitic funguses and pollutions that scurry like crabs in sea mud.
I had heard this and read this. But I was young. I had touched or sensed it not in my life. But there it was, unmistakable. Walking to the guest-arch of this gray house, I thought The untrained might have sensed the cloud as an invasion of resentful or angry spirits trapped in this world of matter. But even I knew this was an aura of dead ones not. It was a cloud of psychic despair.
Annijol was in full stride when we reached the door arch and a young woman answered her ring. "Ah Sari, how are things this day? You look not good. Is your face what all in the house wear? I thought so. Come Doret, you are here not a day too soon." I followed Annijol down a short hall and paused in the doorway as she went forward to a dining-table where most of the family sat. I scanned the room, focusing my aura-eye on a thin woman to my left. She was bending over very small children being herded into a room I saw not. She turned in our direction and smiled at me behind a veil of dry tears. I recognized her from the news films. This was Elsbeth. Yes, she was wife and mother and nurturer by birth.
I then looked at the table and scanned the seated group. First was Joline, the sad beauty whose spirit-womb ached. She was with child, but the child was her affliction not. Next to her sat the tight-lipped and determined Alnenia. Yes, she was solid, brash, an anchor. I could see the Husband not through Annijol blocking my vision as she stood by the other woman whose back was to me. From the long brown hair, I presumed she was Lorei. I keenly awaited sensing her presence. One was missing, the Balnakin slave. So I listened and heard Annijol talk, a strange, clear voice in the atmosphere of grief.
"What mean you, gone?" Annijol sat heavily by Lorei and I finally saw the side of the unsighted's face as she turned to speak to Annijol. Oh yes, I sensed her gifts even from this distance. Raw, untrained, unschooled, but unmistakable. A priestess by birth and inclination. I moved forward and stood by Annijol, noticing Elsbeth coming to join her clan. I heard, or rather, heard not, one remarkable occurrence. Annijol was silent.
After a long pause, Annijol collected herself and said, "I sorry. I have no words." Then, she remembered. "Perhaps the friend I told you about arrives on the very day she is most needed." She turned to me and offered me the chair next to her. "This is Doret Galess, a Hollow-Bone from the Appool Ordinum. She is not only trained in spiritual and mental understandings, she was raised in that Seminary from birth. Introduce yourself, Doret. Give these Renbourns something to hear that will distract them from their bad news. I presume you heard. One of their Sisterhood has departed. A spoke of their family wheel is broken."
I looked over the faces and saw Malcolm for the first time. I had to hold back my surprise. His aura was incredibly intense, filled with vibrating colors from the entire spectrum. But there was more. A separate unseen aura was beside him but not in him. His Alpha god? Alien chemistries? It was as if all the auras I had ever sensed had been painted by one artist. A different creator had blended the alien's colors. I sensed that, like Lorei, there was a presence inside him of unique power. But his face told me he was unaware of such presences. Rather, he looked like a man too familiar with cages. He was a mind who had to calculate every thought, each action processed through layers of questions. He was a creature who had lost all instincts. I saw Alnenia
reach over and whisper in his ear. His eyebrows rose. I laughed.
"Alnenia Renbourn," I said, you need not whisper. Immediately I will tell our unsighted company that, yes, I am remarkably short. I expect Joline's legs are taller than I stand. Against most, I stand to the breasts. Still, I am twenty-six years of age. I am short because I was birthed from two parents who participated in an unsanctioned experiment to see if certain chemicals wetted to a fertilized egg might make male offspring more certain. I was the result. A perfect female in all ways. But one who will always wear children's togs. I know not who my parents were. I was a strange creation brought by one Icealt to the school, a little thing apparently no larger than a hand."
I smiled. "Like you, Doctor Renbourn, I am product of strange science. This is one reason Annijol felt I might be of special use here. I am, like you, familiar with being unique."

Alnenia: Looking at Doret that first day, I saw the quiet, certain compassion in her. I drew her story out while the others listened, I know, with only half minds. I intrigued to meet a woman abandoned by her parents at birth to a religious school where she grew up without other children around her. To grow up in prayer-cells and pravine-yards and libraries seemed a sad beginning in life. But I saw no sadness in the short one. She looked complete in herself, a soul with quiet waters in her womb.

Lorei: I gratefulled when Annijol rose and told Malcolm it be time for him to sit in the large-chair so she could examine his chest. As they walked to the other side of the room, Annijol still offering quiet consolations, I turned to Doret and asked, "So what be the help you believe you can offer us?"

Doret: In some moments, I can feel Lorei's strength and it almost drops me to my knees. Perhaps I am too attuned to such waves. Perhaps, no, I certain, that in some moments her Olos-force is beyond anyone I have known. On that first day, I knew the source of her terrible grief and how this shaped her aura. This was a family of extraordinary shared power, tightly inter-woven auras, survivors of incredible adversity. When Annijol had promised me a challenge, she spoke half-truth. This tribe was self-aware, knowledgeable, and so unique I could share not simple consolations. I looked at the man and one list leaped to my mind — "If you can find bearings not, make no short-cuts through the trees. Any explorer knows — return to your starting place instead." But I felt unprepared, unable to reach into my toolbag of skols and phrases and techniques to grab ahold of a starting point. After all, this alien, well, his starting place was another planet. And his starting place on my world had become as cursed a site as any in history. And many placed the curse on his brow.

Beta-Earth website:

https://drwesleybritton.com/

Author contact:

spywise@verizon.net

Here's a Short, Hot Action Scene For You!

Just for fun, I thought I’d take a break from all the character descriptions and toss in an action scene for you. This one is from The Blood of Balnakin.

For a little set-up, this scene takes place while the Renbourns are on a tour of the Old Continent where they encounter many new cultures and customs. In the setting described below, they’re at a mountain village where Malcolm and Alnenia Renbourn think they’re sharing an outdoor dinner with representatives of three remote settlements. Things get a little rougher than they expected.

To define a few terms: a “Legem” is a mayor or tribal chief. A “stadsem” is a college, or in this case, a medical school. A “cran” is a human head.

So, in the words of Alnenia Renbourn:

As the skies darkened and the fires became our main light, the bulky but powerful Legem lost his smile as he turned to Husband sitting next to him. "Honored guest," the man pronounced thick, "I must tell you entertainments here are not what you may be accustomed to. Tonight, you must know, is not an eve of mere happy sport. My second son, the one we wish to send to one of your stadsems, must this eve accept his first wife from the daughters of our three villages. Our ways will seem crude to you. I will simple say you must interfere not with what you will witness this moonless night."
Malcolm nodded as the man stood up and spoke loud in his native tongue. A young man, too young to boast a beard, came forward, kneeling his head to all of us before taking a place by his father. Suddenly, I knew what was coming. I slipped one of my hands through Malcolm's fingers and laid the other over his wrist. I began whispering soft descriptions of what I saw.
As we listened to the murmurs of the seated crowd, three women emerged into the fire-light from each corner of the triangle of tables. Each woman, barely more than girls, were naked. Each wore faces of stern resolve. Eyeing each other full wary, they moved quick around the open area gathering what stones and rocks they could carry.
When they came close to the fire-trenches, I studied the bodies of these women. To my eyes, the strongest was a tall, long-brown haired girl with long limbs, large eyes, and almost manly muscles. She was a head taller than the other two. Both shorter fighters were blonde-haired. One blonde had cropped her hair short and looked around her with fierce intelligence. The last girl, the shortest of the three, had looser locks and seemed to be a woman of a trade or craft and had lived not an outdoor life of hunting or farming. Her muscles were those not of one prepared for hard labors.
Her eyes were dull and her movements listless. Judging by their movements, none of the three seemed experienced or trained in physical combat. This would be no demonstration in Kingrol or other skilled fighting.
Then, the three stood still near their corners. Each had one arm across their bellies holding their stone collections. Their free hands held one stone tightly. "Prepare to lower your head," I told Malcolm," The air may become thick with flying rocks." I was correct. After a long minute of silence, the young man watching the game for his affections held up a horn and blew a long, deep note. With that, the three girls began hurling their weapons at each other. Around me, I heard laughs from the audience as they crouched low to avoid missent missiles. To my surprise, few stones missed their mark. I heard grunts and groans until all three had empty arms. "Now it begins," I whispered.
Now with free hands, the combatants moved closer to the center of the field, each sizing up the other. If I were one of the blonde-ones, I thought as my heart began to pound, I'd team up and take out the tall one first. Against her, unskilled in such arts, neither of the others could possibly win. As if sensing my thoughts, the two shorter girls jumped at each other, scratching and punching as the brown-hair seemed to look on and wait. But then, the two light-hairs whirled and came at the brown. Her crooked smile, to my eyes, was premature. The girl with the intelligent leer lunged for her throat while the other danced a semi-circle behind her. Trying to watch both attackers, the brown was caught off guard as the littlest woman with the dull eyes jumped and wrapped herself around the brown's knees, toppling her face forward to the ground.
The sound intensified as the grunts and cries were now almost lost in the beat of fists as the watchers began pounding a rhythm on the tables. Neither Malcolm nor I joined in as my hands clenched tight on my Husband. Out in the field, the brown-hair had twisted so her face was skyward. But her legs were trapped. While she flailed, the other blonde kept kicking her with her heels, striking hard blows on her cran and shoulders. Desperate, the brown tried to turn, and that was when a flying foot hit her exposed side. I heard a terrible crack — I certained a rib had been broken.
With that sound, the blonde who'd pinned the tall one's legs let go and crouched back, studying the scene. The brown was rolling and crying, her hands on her side. I saw not the smiles of the other two, but the battle was now more even.
I looked at Malcolm, whose face was turned down. He said nothing and I felt sorrow. I was glad he could see this not. But I could keep my eyes not off the new combat and felt my own blood warm and my pulse quicken as if my heart was part of the fast pounding on the tables. It could have been me out there, primitive, savage, if not for the will of Olos. I raised one hand to circle my breasts with a protective loop.
Then the two blondes flew at each other, both pushing their fingers in the other's throats. "You waste force," I muttered to myself, but neither heard me or would have understood. Instead, gasping and grunting, both fell to the ground, rolling and spitting. Then, the little one on the bottom — her eyes perhaps dull but her motions no longer listless — kicked up her knees, and her opponent flew near the fires. She jumped up and scrambled away from the hot blaze. The other laughed as she picked up two stones which she threw perfectly at the shorter girl. Then they were at it again, grappling and cursing and punching. Shocks of hair were pulled loose. Both faces darkened with blood.
Intense in their battle, neither noticed the brown-hair who was panting quiet but slowly rising to her knees. Her eyes were wild and bright as she painfully staggered to her feet. Silent, she moved toward the fight while the stouter of the blondes swung a hard fist square on the face of the little one with dim eyes. For one moment, she stood there, dazed. Then she crumbled to the ground. Too soon, the victorious blonde raised her fists high with a cry of triumph. But in that moment, the brown behind her quickly snaked her own arms beneath the other's armpits and then wrapped her forearms behind the blonde's cran. The seeming victor was now suspended in the air, her limbs flailing angrily.
Then, step by step, the brown slowly moved forward, bearing her burden closer and closer to a trench-fire. I saw the face of the blonde, now fearful and shocked. The brown-hair uttered, "Burn. Or yield." The desperate blonde stopped moving her arms and tried to kick herself free. But the pair only moved forward, closer to the flames.
The brown repeated, "Burn. Or yield."
All around me, I heard breathing not. The drum-beat had stopped but I knew not the moment when sound had stilled. The meats in my belly rose to my throat in anticipation. Then we all heard the pitiful "I yield!" Then the brown whirled and flung her adversary away from the flames. In one moment, both women were lying on the ground.
Then, figures from two of the tables ran onto the field, the friends and family of the vanquished women collecting their wounded daughters. At the same time, the brown hair half-crawled, half-knelt her way to our table favoring her wounded side. Half her face was already swelling and turning ugly colors. She raised an open palm and slapped it on the wood before the Legem. "I have bled to share blood," she panted hoarse. I claim your son."

Beta-Earth website:

https://drwesleybritton.com/

Author contact:

spywise@verizon.net

Meet the Very Sexy Joline of Beta-Earth!

This week, I began my series of introductions of the main characters in the Beta-Earth Chronicles by having them describe themselves in their own words. So far, you’ve learned a bit about the blue slave, Bar Tine, and the Cawl sisters, Lorei and Elsbeth.

Today, meet the towering exile from the Ice-Countries, Joline Sonam, clearly a favorite of many male readers. Perhaps that’s because she has a healthy libido, perhaps it’s her amazingly long legs. I hope, I hope, I hope readers will find much more to Joline than that, especially her creative and artistic side.

For a quick backstage peek: I admit I had Princess Diana in mind when crafting Joline’s facial features and hair style. That’s because, at the time, I was about to make Betan paparazzi—whom Malcolm Renbourn would quickly dub the “Pharisees”—an ongoing, constant, and relentless torment for Tribe Renbourn. Me, I can’t think about the paparazzi without remembering the tragic end to Princess Di. Those who know anything about the Mesa Verde cliff-dwellers in Colorado might recognize some of the setting revealed below.

Before Joline shares her back-story, I’ll define a few terms: “moons” are roughly our months; Wellnee is the college town where the Renbourns are living; “Sojoa” is both the sun and a sun god. “Skoling” is writing. I’ll let you figure out what namna and spears are from the context.

Remember: Beta-Earth suffers from the ancient Plague-With-No-Name which kills three out of four male infants their first year. That’s what Joline is referring to when she mentions “burnings”—meaning the sad cremations of these small victims.

Joline: It was my third half-year at Wellnee in the final moons of 1721 when I started working for Malcolm. I badly needed the work. I had no accounts
other than those from my own hands. So I was unhappy not to set studies aside to pay my way. True said, I hadn't left my home country of Aufrei to come
to Wellnee with a firm path to begin with. My parents only hope had been that I would find a good Rhasvin spear.
I say with fondness, Aufrei was a beautiful land to grow in, especially the half-year winters when we largely retreated to our cliff-caves. During those
moons, we could look over the fields and bare forests gleaming in various shades of thick snows. Hard waters hung from trees and looked like sculpted patterns
along gorges and avalanche piles in the deep valley below our cliff. In the warm months, a child could run freely and climb trees and see what seemed to
be the whole world. I could look across the valley into my home. From this perch, I thought our tall stone buildings looked like they'd been carved into
a huge flat-bottomed mouth on the side of our cliff. We were all expert climbers, able to quickly scurry up and down the sheer wall that had kept invaders
at bay in old times. Sometimes, the smoke rising from the council-pits dug into the cave floor made my home seem a stage and my community populated more
by actors than hard people who preferred simple ways.
In Aufrei, tribes are not like others know. We are a people who prefer living in small bands. For us, wisdom says the size of a country is the width of
the light cast from a festival fire. My father, like many others, had three wives. One fell through thin ice and was found not for moons. Another simply
left one night and we never saw her again. My Mother, the one female to stay with Father and keep his home livable, spent years standing in the morning
air, offering her naked breasts to Sojoa, praying for the white-light that gives mothers healthy milk. Like others of our ways, she had closed her eyes
and wailed aloud and inhaled the dawn into her lungs to energize the seeds in her womb. Standing at the cliff edge in a line with other wives sharing in
the desperate cry, she had torn at her breast with sharp pronged ice-forks so her blood would flow and freeze in the open air as a sacrifice to a god so
far from us. A god who seemingly only rewarded endurance and tired muscles. My parents had done all Sojoa had asked. Like most families, They suffered
four burnings of sons for their trouble. Only I survived. No male to grow into a new tribal head.
Yes, I was tall in the ways of my people. But I never bulked with the protective fat and muscle of my people. All thought I was a weakling in mind and
body. I would have thrived in school had I not been such a dreamer, sketching pictures where notes should have been skoled. I loved my pots and brushes.
But my attempts to share these images were awkward and lifeless. For my panels, I could mix the egg fluids, oils, and dyes to make proper tones, proper
shades for light and shadow. I could sketch stark lines and fill them with correct colors and tints. But I could animate people not. All the faces seemed
naïve, empty, even when I tried to convey the stark anger in elders like my father. I could capture what the eye can see, but not what humans shaped inside
themselves. So my panels became fire food.
More important to my parents, I caught chills easily and few thought I would survive the maiden years. A gentle soul, my Mother sighed in frustration,
needs a large tribe to shelter her. No man in Aufrie had namna to waste on the likes of me except in the spring festivals where young men were permitted
spearing of any girl wishing to, at least, rid ourselves of the unsaid shame of virginity. My Father would have forbid this. For he thought me so useless
that he'd be forced to raise any offspring I might bear. I think he hated the sight of children. For me, talking to my father was like talking to no one.
So Mother decided I should find a man bound not to Dawn-Inhale customs. It might seem harsh to some, but my family exiled me from Aufrei. Perhaps harsh
lands breed harsh beliefs. I was far from the first to hear the words many daughters dread. Still, I gratefulled when Father gave me the accounts to begin
schooling in Wellnee. The one condition was that I never return.

Beta-Earth website:

https://drwesleybritton.com/

Author contact:

spywise@verizon.net