Richard Paolinelli's Blog, page 36
August 2, 2020
Renovation Project
You’ll probably be noticing a lot of changes here on this website over the coming days. From the overall look of the site to what the site has to offer, a lot of new and exciting features will be added.
Exclusive content for subscribers, the ability to buy e-books directly from me – which means non-Kindle readers will be able to read my books on their devices – and the ability to purchase personalized autographed print copies too.
So please excuse the mess, the occasional glitch and whatever else any gremlins might throw at us while we work our way through the process. We think it is going to be very much worth it when we get done.
August 1, 2020
Superversive Sunday Spotlight: Karina Fabian
Welcome to this week’s Superversive Sunday Spotlight. Every week we will chat with a Superversive author that you really should be reading.
This week we welcome Superversive author, Karina Fabian:
How long have you been writing?
[image error]I first started writing with serious intent in 1996, when I had left the Air Force, had toddlers at home and was going a little stir crazy. I started with short stories and writing for my diocese magazine, then moved on to larger works and a wider market for non-fiction. Now, I have …let me count… 41 published books that I either wrote, edited, or have a story in. My goal is to fill a bookshelf I have before I die.
Which writers inspire you?
For what I write: Madeleine L’Engle, Mercedes Lackey, Douglas Adams, Robert Lynn Asprin, Jim Butcher.
As a writer: Larry Correia, Jane Lebak, my critique group at the Catholic Writers’ Guild, and the Writer of Center and Superversive authors on Facebook
So, what have you written?
I mostly write science fiction and fantasy, though I have a comedic horror series that I’m rebooting in October, I hope (Neeta Lyffe, Zombie Exterminator). However, I also write devotionals. To pay bills, I edit a local Catholic magazine and write software reviews and business tips articles for Fit Small Business.
[image error]This year, I made the leap to self-publishing and have been having a blast. My most recent works have been:
The Old Man and the Void & Dex’s Way: An aging ship’s captain on the edge of a black hole hunts relics of an ancient civilization. When his find pulls him across the event horizon, he battles for his life and that of his ship. In Dex’s Way, he finds himself back in the universe, 600 years in the future.
Murder Most Picante: I’m rebooting a favorite series starring Vern, my dragon private detective. This is his first mystery in the Mundane world, where he’s trying to find a murderer why having to convince the general population that he’s housebroken and does not eat cats.
Space Traipse: Hold My Beer: These are Star Trek/Science Fiction parodies starring my own characters aboard the HMB Impulsive. There’s a lot of redneck ingenuity, cliché twisting, and breaking of the fourth wall. They’re a ton of fun to write, and a lot of fun to read. It’s a blog series that I then compile into collections with a bonus story so people get more bang for the buck.
Fill-in journals: These are simple books that people can fill in. I’ve done journals for positive thoughts, meditating on the Proverbs, recording rocket launches, planning staycations and more.
The next book coming out is Space Traipse: Hold My Beer, Season 3. In this one, the Cybers have attacked the Union where it hurts the most – our stuff! A replicator virus that results in practical joke items has thrust the Union into chaos, and the Impulsive goes to Filedise, the source of all replicator programs, to investigate. But when they discover that the Cybers have hired the corporate empire to create a program that mimics the essence of humanity, it’s a customer service nightmare! The second story pokes fun at every musical episode ever when the Impulsive is attacked by a virus that makes everyone sing and turns one unlikely being into the Phantom of the Cybersong. The bonus episode, “Kippers & Chaos,” is a parody of ST: TNG “The Perfect Mate.”
What draws you to Superversive writing?
FREEDOM!
Seriously, it’s just what I enjoy reading and writing. I prefer stories that inspire without tearing down and that demonstrate the moral values that have made us a strong and ethical people. However, as a parody writer, I love a good laugh.
What are you working on at the minute?
I just finished a Star Trek/Sci-Fi parody set in my Space Traipse: Hold My Beer universe. It’s a play off “Yesteryear,” the animated show where Spock went back in time to save himself. Instead, my Ops officer goes back in time to stop herself from going to a party. It was a bad decision that tore apart the entire Union! Somehow a lot of Mirror Universe got mixed in. Evil Enigo was too much fun. It’s going on my blog.
Now, I’m back to working on the second DragonEye, PI novel, If Wishes Were Dragons. Vern and his D&D friends end up in Faerie for a role-playing adventure with comical results and serious consequences.
Do you read much and if so who are your favorite authors?
I read a pitiful amount compared to my past. Lately, most of my reading is books by friends or anthologies I’m in. I’m working my way through the Planetary Anthologies and Monsters, Movies and Mayhem. I just finished Shadow in the Dark by Anthony Kolenk, am reading/critiquing a terrific book by Mary Woods. I was on a cozy mystery binge for a bit – the Granny’s Got a Gun series. I also read Star Trek scripts as part of my parody work.
How can readers discover more about you and your work?
Website: https://karinafabian.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Karina-Fabian-Speculative-Fiction-with-a-Grin-2233839790277963
Twitter: https://twitter.com/KarinaFabian
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/karinafabian/
MeWe: https://mewe.com/i/karinafabian
Thanks for sharing Karina. Be sure to check out Karina’s books and be sure to check back next Sunday for our next chat with a Superversive author.
The Calling: Part 2, Chapter 6
A Work Of Star Trek Fan Fiction By Richard Paolinelli
© 2020 RICHARD PAOLINELLI . ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO COPYING OR ANY OTHER REPRODUCTION OF THIS STORY IS PERMITTED WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION. This is a work of fan fiction based in the universe of Star Trek, created by Gene Roddenberry. It is not intended to be sold, to be used to aid in any sale and is not to be copied or used in any other way by any other party.
CHAPTER SIX
Forelni woke to the sound of someone softly snoring in his ear. Memories of the night before flooded into his awareness. He’d initially objected to the idea of someone being forced into copulation. But Bryna had surprised him by stating that it wasn’t the case. She’d volunteered to replace the slave originally selected because she wanted to meet with the Starfleet men. The love-making, she’d informed him, was a pleasurable bonus.
His battle wounds from the day before were aching. He winced slightly as his ribcage reminded him they were still out of sorts and the action woke his companion.
“Good morning, my lord,” Bryna greeted, snuggling closer.
“I thought we had discussed that earlier.”
“We did, but I don’t mind.”
“Well I do, so stop doing it,” he chided gently.
“As you wish.”
Forelni fought down a sigh as he realized she was teasing him.
“We need to talk before they haul me out to the arena,” he changed the subject, knowing when a prudent retreat was in order. “How many of your people are being held as slaves? How long has this practice been going on?”
“I don’t know the exact number,” she said after a moment. “It’s probably in the thousands. As for how long it has been around since before I was born.”
“There’s no way the Federation would have allowed Kallita to become a member if we’d know about this,” Forelni did the math in his head. “But it appears they hid this from us when their application was being considered. Has there been any attempt to end the practice on your world?”
“None that I know of. Any slave who dares speak of being freed is severely punished.”
Forelni scowled.
“No one should be forced to do anything, even if they don’t mind doing so.”
“I did not mind being here with you.”
“But, what if you had minded? What if you did not want to be here and had been forced to anyway? That is very wrong, Bryna.”
“This angers you?”
“Greatly,” he replied.
* * * * *
His anger hadn’t cooled as he stepped out into the arena for the final battle. In the time they’d had before the guards had arrived to escort her away, she’d told him all about her people and how Kallitan society had judged them inferior and classified them as slaves. He was no longer just fighting for the lives of the diplomats and the Starfleet personnel. He’d become the champion for the oppressed people of Kallita and for a young woman he…
…cared deeply for? Loved, possibly?
He paused at the thought, glancing over where Bryna was standing with the other slaves in attendance. Was there more than just a physical attraction at play here, he wondered, and then shook away the thought. He could not be distracted right now. He had two battles to fight. One against the brute that was just not entering the arena to a cheering crowd, the other for the hearts and minds of that crowd and all who were no doubt watching planetwide.
His opponent was massive. His frame no doubt chemically enhanced as Forelni doubted any humanoid could naturally achieve that bulk of muscle. The brute’s eye were wild, he seemed overly-agitated. No doubt more chemical inducement to achieve maximum adrenaline production. He carried a long spear with a shiny, and no doubt sharp, metal tip at the end. In the other hand a formidable-looking club that Forelni doubted even he could lift.
Unlike his two comrades, this champion wasted no time with the niceties. He charged full speed across the arena, spear fully extended, club drawn back to strike. Forelni waited calmly, stepping aside from the spear thrust, dodging the swipe of the club and used a judo throw to hurl the brute into the concrete wall. The arena shook with the impact. The brute barely registered it.
A backhanded swipe of the club caught Forelni in his damaged ribs, sending him sprawling into the dust. Forelni barely rolled out of the way to avoid a downward smash of the club aimed at his head and the spear thrust aimed at his chest. He launched a flying kick at an exposed leg and it felt like he’d kicked a mountain of solid granite. Favoring the ribs and a now-sore right foot, Forelni backed out of the range of the brute’s weapons. The brute pressed the attack and Forelni found himself on a purely defensive front, unable to land any serious blows against his opponent. The man wasn’t even sweating and Forelni knew he couldn’t maintain this pace much longer. A killing blow would eventually find its mark.
The edge of the spear sliced a small, stinging cut into Forelni’s left forearm. He grabbed onto the shaft of the spear and snapped the wooden shaft in half with his right fist. A quick kick to the inside of the brute’s left knee put the brute off balance. It was now or never, Forelni thought grimly.
A strong slash with the spear tip severed the tendons of the brute’s left forearm and the club tumbled from his now useless hand. A slash across the right forearm rendered it useless too. Two more slashes to each calf and the brute crashed to the ground and lay there, completely helpless.
“Kill, kill, kill,” the crowd began shouting and Forelni switched the spear to his left hand before picking up the club. It was lighter than it looked. He stood over the fallen man, then looked up at the booth where the First Counsel sat, then at his Captain, seated nearby. One blow with the club and the First Counsel would have to release the hostages and let them all go free. As the Crown Prince he could deliver that blow without regret.
He lifted the club above his head and drove it, the butt end first, into the ground…one foot from the brute’s head. He was not just a Crown Princethis day. He was a Starfleet Officer. A silence fell over the arena.
“I will not kill a helpless man,” he did not shout, yet the words clearly carried to every ear as if he had. “There is no honor in that. This fight is over. I have won and the First Counsel will honor the terms of this contest.
“People of Kallita,” he continued, slowly turning to took all around the arena. “You are better than this. You deserve better than this. Your leaders allow bloodsports to determine who lives and who dies. You hold people as slaves for no other crime than an accident of birth. They deserve better. They deserve to be free like…”
He felt the impact in his back even as he heard the gunshot. It drove him into the ground. Even as he rose and turned he knew where it had come from and who had fired it. He hurled the spear at his target and it flew true, driving the First Counsel hand, and the gun it was holding, into the back wall of the booth, pinning the screaming First Counsel to the wall.
“They deserve to be free like you,” he continued, the pain clear in his voice as he struggled to his feet. “You cannot be the people you can be until you free them, until you free yourselves from the bonds of tyranny that you have allowed yourself to be chained with.”
With that Forelni pitched forward and lay unmoving on the arena floor.
* * * * *
Kirk had taken advantage of the confusion and relived the still screaming First Counsel of his weapon.
“My officer has fulfilled the requirements of your contest, First Counsel,” Kirk said, not quite pointing the weapon in the man’s direction. “You will drop the shield, return our communicators and the Doctor’s equipment, and release all hostages.”
The First Counsel nodded his head vigorously and his men quickly produced the confiscated equipment. Kirk looked down at the arena floor. The Kallitan woman had somehow slied past the guards and had run out to Forelni’s side.
“Bones,” he tipped his head down to Forelni.
“On my way, Jim,” McCoy grabbed his equipment and headed down. Kirk flipped open a communicator.
“Kirk to Enterprise.”
“Spock here, Captain. The shield is down and we have already beamed the diplomatic team aboard. Standing by to beam the rest of you back now.”
“Stand by, Spock,” Kirk replied. “McCoy will let you know when to beam him and Mr. Forelni aboard. Have a medical team standing by. There is a Kallitan woman next to Mr. Forelni, Spock, beam her up too.”
“Understood, Captain. The Doctor has just called for beam up.”
Kirk watched as the three figures below dissolved in the transporter effect.
“First Counsel,” he turned back to the injured leader. “I will return to my ship now along with Ambassador Kleine. We will be in touch soon to schedule a new round of negotiations, on board my ship this time. Spock, two to beam up.”
Kirk tossed aside the gun as the Enterprise reclaimed the last of her children.
1K Weekly Series: The Calling: Part 2, Chapter 6
A Work Of Star Trek Fan Fiction By Richard Paolinelli
© 2020 RICHARD PAOLINELLI . ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO COPYING OR ANY OTHER REPRODUCTION OF THIS STORY IS PERMITTED WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION. This is a work of fan fiction based in the universe of Star Trek, created by Gene Roddenberry. It is not intended to be sold, to be used to aid in any sale and is not to be copied or used in any other way by any other party.
CHAPTER SIX
Forelni woke to the sound of someone softly snoring in his ear. Memories of the night before flooded into his awareness. He’d initially objected to the idea of someone being forced into copulation. But Bryna had surprised him by stating that it wasn’t the case. She’d volunteered to replace the slave originally selected because she wanted to meet with the Starfleet men. The love-making, she’d informed him, was a pleasurable bonus.
His battle wounds from the day before were aching. He winced slightly as his ribcage reminded him they were still out of sorts and the action woke his companion.
“Good morning, my lord,” Bryna greeted, snuggling closer.
“I thought we had discussed that earlier.”
“We did, but I don’t mind.”
“Well I do, so stop doing it,” he chided gently.
“As you wish.”
Forelni fought down a sigh as he realized she was teasing him.
“We need to talk before they haul me out to the arena,” he changed the subject, knowing when a prudent retreat was in order. “How many of your people are being held as slaves? How long has this practice been going on?”
“I don’t know the exact number,” she said after a moment. “It’s probably in the thousands. As for how long it has been around since before I was born.”
“There’s no way the Federation would have allowed Kallita to become a member if we’d know about this,” Forelni did the math in his head. “But it appears they hid this from us when their application was being considered. Has there been any attempt to end the practice on your world?”
“None that I know of. Any slave who dares speak of being freed is severely punished.”
Forelni scowled.
“No one should be forced to do anything, even if they don’t mind doing so.”
“I did not mind being here with you.”
“But, what if you had minded? What if you did not want to be here and had been forced to anyway? That is very wrong, Bryna.”
“This angers you?”
“Greatly,” he replied.
* * * * *
His anger hadn’t cooled as he stepped out into the arena for the final battle. In the time they’d had before the guards had arrived to escort her away, she’d told him all about her people and how Kallitan society had judged them inferior and classified them as slaves. He was no longer just fighting for the lives of the diplomats and the Starfleet personnel. He’d become the champion for the oppressed people of Kallita and for a young woman he…
…cared deeply for? Loved, possibly?
He paused at the thought, glancing over where Bryna was standing with the other slaves in attendance. Was there more than just a physical attraction at play here, he wondered, and then shook away the thought. He could not be distracted right now. He had two battles to fight. One against the brute that was just not entering the arena to a cheering crowd, the other for the hearts and minds of that crowd and all who were no doubt watching planetwide.
His opponent was massive. His frame no doubt chemically enhanced as Forelni doubted any humanoid could naturally achieve that bulk of muscle. The brute’s eye were wild, he seemed overly-agitated. No doubt more chemical inducement to achieve maximum adrenaline production. He carried a long spear with a shiny, and no doubt sharp, metal tip at the end. In the other hand a formidable-looking club that Forelni doubted even he could lift.
Unlike his two comrades, this champion wasted no time with the niceties. He charged full speed across the arena, spear fully extended, club drawn back to strike. Forelni waited calmly, stepping aside from the spear thrust, dodging the swipe of the club and used a judo throw to hurl the brute into the concrete wall. The arena shook with the impact. The brute barely registered it.
A backhanded swipe of the club caught Forelni in his damaged ribs, sending him sprawling into the dust. Forelni barely rolled out of the way to avoid a downward smash of the club aimed at his head and the spear thrust aimed at his chest. He launched a flying kick at an exposed leg and it felt like he’d kicked a mountain of solid granite. Favoring the ribs and a now-sore right foot, Forelni backed out of the range of the brute’s weapons. The brute pressed the attack and Forelni found himself on a purely defensive front, unable to land any serious blows against his opponent. The man wasn’t even sweating and Forelni knew he couldn’t maintain this pace much longer. A killing blow would eventually find its mark.
The edge of the spear sliced a small, stinging cut into Forelni’s left forearm. He grabbed onto the shaft of the spear and snapped the wooden shaft in half with his right fist. A quick kick to the inside of the brute’s left knee put the brute off balance. It was now or never, Forelni thought grimly.
A strong slash with the spear tip severed the tendons of the brute’s left forearm and the club tumbled from his now useless hand. A slash across the right forearm rendered it useless too. Two more slashes to each calf and the brute crashed to the ground and lay there, completely helpless.
“Kill, kill, kill,” the crowd began shouting and Forelni switched the spear to his left hand before picking up the club. It was lighter than it looked. He stood over the fallen man, then looked up at the booth where the First Counsel sat, then at his Captain, seated nearby. One blow with the club and the First Counsel would have to release the hostages and let them all go free. As the Crown Prince he could deliver that blow without regret.
He lifted the club above his head and drove it, the butt end first, into the ground…one foot from the brute’s head. He was not just a Crown Princethis day. He was a Starfleet Officer. A silence fell over the arena.
“I will not kill a helpless man,” he did not shout, yet the words clearly carried to every ear as if he had. “There is no honor in that. This fight is over. I have won and the First Counsel will honor the terms of this contest.
“People of Kallita,” he continued, slowly turning to took all around the arena. “You are better than this. You deserve better than this. Your leaders allow bloodsports to determine who lives and who dies. You hold people as slaves for no other crime than an accident of birth. They deserve better. They deserve to be free like…”
He felt the impact in his back even as he heard the gunshot. It drove him into the ground. Even as he rose and turned he knew where it had come from and who had fired it. He hurled the spear at his target and it flew true, driving the First Counsel hand, and the gun it was holding, into the back wall of the booth, pinning the screaming First Counsel to the wall.
“They deserve to be free like you,” he continued, the pain clear in his voice as he struggled to his feet. “You cannot be the people you can be until you free them, until you free yourselves from the bonds of tyranny that you have allowed yourself to be chained with.”
With that Forelni pitched forward and lay unmoving on the arena floor.
* * * * *
Kirk had taken advantage of the confusion and relived the still screaming First Counsel of his weapon.
“My officer has fulfilled the requirements of your contest, First Counsel,” Kirk said, not quite pointing the weapon in the man’s direction. “You will drop the shield, return our communicators and the Doctor’s equipment, and release all hostages.”
The First Counsel nodded his head vigorously and his men quickly produced the confiscated equipment. Kirk looked down at the arena floor. The Kallitan woman had somehow slied past the guards and had run out to Forelni’s side.
“Bones,” he tipped his head down to Forelni.
“On my way, Jim,” McCoy grabbed his equipment and headed down. Kirk flipped open a communicator.
“Kirk to Enterprise.”
“Spock here, Captain. The shield is down and we have already beamed the diplomatic team aboard. Standing by to beam the rest of you back now.”
“Stand by, Spock,” Kirk replied. “McCoy will let you know when to beam him and Mr. Forelni aboard. Have a medical team standing by. There is a Kallitan woman next to Mr. Forelni, Spock, beam her up too.”
“Understood, Captain. The Doctor has just called for beam up.”
Kirk watched as the three figures below dissolved in the transporter effect.
“First Counsel,” he turned back to the injured leader. “I will return to my ship now along with Ambassador Kleine. We will be in touch soon to schedule a new round of negotiations, on board my ship this time. Spock, two to beam up.”
Kirk tossed aside the gun as the Enterprise reclaimed the last of her children.
July 31, 2020
Free Read Friday: The Collected Works of Harry Harrison
It’s Friday and that means it is once again time for another installment of: FREE READ FRIDAY!!!!!
This week’s book you can download for free on Kindle without having to sign up for KU is:
The Collected Works of Harry Harrison
[image error]I usually promote a single work by an author, but when I stumbled across this offering I knew I had to make it this week’s featured book. If you haven’t yet discovered Harrison or his Stainless Steel Rat series this is a must download.
e-artnow presents to you this meticulously edited Harry Harrison collection, formatted to the highest digital standards and adjusted for readability on all devices.
Contents:
Deathworld
The Stainless Steel Rat
Planet of the Damned
The Repairman
The Misplaced Battleship
The Ethical Engineer
Toy Shop
Arm of the Law
The Velvet Glove
The K-Factor
Navy Day
July 27, 2020
Tired Of Those With Nothing To Offer But Hate
I’m tired.
I’m tired of the hate. I’m tired of people whose hearts are so filled with hate they seek out and destroy other people for the sole crime of not thinking the same way they do. I’m tired of seeing innocent creators being attacked, seeing their ability to earn a living off of their creations damaged or outright destroyed.
I’m tired of seeing these hate-filled people crowing about their latest attack with impunity. I’m tired of seeing people giving these hate-filled vermin, not only a pass, but also encouraging them to continue on with their evil ways.
I’m tired of seeing good people like amazing cover artist Jae Lee getting slandered while dealing with the loss of a beloved pet by talentless asshats like Tom King for the simple crime of doing his job. I’m tired of seeing whisper networks in the comics, books, movies, television, and games industries ruining lives for no other reason than for their own amusement.
I’m tired of dealing with these sub-humans personally, as I have for nearly four years now, for the crime of giving away a free book to a comic con in Wisconsin after the entire literary track canceled their appearances – my sole reason for doing so was so that the con attendees who were there for the literary portion would at least get something for their money and I’ve been a target of the swinish multitude ever since. I’m tired of seeing them attacking others for as meaningless a reason too. I’m tired of seeing them do so without suffering any consequences for their foul deeds. I’m tired of people who should be standing up against this are choosing instead to do nothing about it.
I’m tired of turning the other cheek and hoping truth, and right, will out and, eventually, these dregs of humanity will be exposed for all the world to see and be permanently chased back down into the sewer from whence they sprang and I suspect many others, including Jae Lee, are fast approaching this threshold as well.
I’m tired of wondering if any of this is worth it anymore. I’m tired of fighting the good fight and banging my head against the immovable object and seeing nothing gained in return. I’m tired of looking at the calendar and wondering how many more days remain until I reach the day when I say I’m done with all of it.
I’m tired…
July 26, 2020
Superversive Sunday Spotlight: Steven G. Johnson
Welcome to this week’s Superversive Sunday Spotlight. Every week we will chat with a Superversive author that you really should be reading.
This week we welcome Superversive author, Steven G. Johnson:
[image error]How long have you been writing?
33 years.
Which writers inspire you?
Heinlein, E.E. “Doc” Smith, H. Beam Piper, Poul Anderson, Jerry Pournelle, Larry Correia, Bradbury … Larry Niven for clarity and big ideas, Warren Murphy for pulpy verve, Grant Morrison for sheer imagination, Kurt Busiek for heart, John Byrne for structure, Peter Nealen for sensory detail and tightly-drawn supporting characters. Len Levinson, Lester Dent and Don Pendleton, for maintaining pulp zeal and energy, year after year after year.
So, what have you written?
[image error]The Murphy’s War series, “Operation Vampire” and “Operation Reaper”, with more to come. Two self-published novels, the Arthurian fantasy “Keep of Glass” and the superhero epic “Up in Smoke”. Sundry unpublished novels.
Short stories: “The Doom that Came to Necropolis” in Planetary: Luna.
“Asymptote at Three O’Clock”, about a teacher of magically powered teenagers, in Fantastic Schools Vol. 1 “Breakdown”, a World War One UFO story, in “Nth Degree” magazine.
“Cargo,” about an AI facing courtroom troubles, and “Exodus” about the terrifying nature of the Hubble shift, both in Analog.
What draws you to Superversive writing?
I grew up in the Seventies, a deeply stupid time in which nothing worked, everything was failing, and we expected a nuclear war. I went through my adolescent grimdark phase like everybody else, but my efforts to write in that mode were hapless. Now that I have a family, a career, a savior and a life, I want to share that with others who don’t, yet, like I was. It took me a long time to discover what previous generations already knew, that life is worth the living. I don’t blame anybody else, but the culture didn’t help. In reality, we are the safest, richest, most informed generation that has ever existed. It doesn’t do any good to say, “Appreciate this!” but if you assume the sale and tell stories in which that’s a background assumption, it helps us all to remember it. Everyone needs reinforcement at some point in their lives; we weren’t promised it would be easy. I want to help provide that reinforcement at critical moments.
What are you working on at the minute?
Book 3 in the Murphy’s War series from Chris Kennedy Publishing. This one is called “Operation Zombie” and pits five U.S. divisions against Korial, Demon Prince of the Un-dead, in Middle Hell. The whole series is Lord of the Rings meets Band of Brothers: a WW2 in which the Axis has vampires and demons, but the Allies have Elves, Dwarves and wizardry, and no one thinks it’s any more unusual than tanks and aeroplanes. Every squad’s got a Pulaski, a Greenberg, a Fratelli, a Schmidt, and an O’Brien – why not a Mithrandir?
In parallel, I’m working on “UFOCOM”, a reimagining of the 1970s show “UFO” for the modern audience. I add a little every time inspiration strikes. I’m also plotting the sequel to “Up in Smoke” and the 1950s Cold War sorcery series “War Wizard.”
Do you read much and if so who are your favorite authors?
I am very close to a book-a-week man, and have read even more than that in the past. When I find an author I like, I tend to run down everything they’ve written. I love Jim Butcher, and not just the Harry Dresden stuff, either. C.S. Forester and Patrick O’Brien. Ed McBain, Elmore Leonard, Nick Cole and Jason Anspach. I have enjoyed everything I could find from Tom Kratman, H. Beam Piper, Ray Bradbury, and Poul Anderson, and much of Harry Turtledove. I used to re-read Starship Troopers at least once a year, but now I don’t have to. Want to hear the first page of Starship Troopers from memory?
How can readers discover more about you and your work?
My website is hellbustershq.com, named after the Murphy’s War series. I’ve got an Amazon author page at:
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B086Z25ZQ2
Thanks for sharing, Steven. Be sure to check out Steven’s books and be sure to check back next Sunday for our next chat with a Superversive author.
July 25, 2020
The Calling: Part 2, Chapter 5
A Work Of Star Trek Fan Fiction By Richard Paolinelli
© 2020 RICHARD PAOLINELLI . ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO COPYING OR ANY OTHER REPRODUCTION OF THIS STORY IS PERMITTED WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION. This is a work of fan fiction based in the universe of Star Trek, created by Gene Roddenberry. It is not intended to be sold, to be used to aid in any sale and is not to be copied or used in any other way by any other party.
CHAPTER FIVE
“You notice he’s about twice as big as you are?” McCoy pointed out as Forelni prepared to enter the arena to face the first champion. “Not to mention he’s the smallest of the three and at least a fifth of your age?”
“Bet on him then,” Forelni quipped over his shoulder as he stepped through the gate.
“I just might,” McCoy yelled back over the roar of the crowd as the Kallitan warrior entered on the other side. “Damnit, Jim, this is insane. Why doesn’t Spock beam us out of here?”
“I assume both Spock and Scotty are busy trying to do just that, Bones,” Kirk replied as he, Ambassador Kleine and McCoy were led up to a box next to the First Counsel. “Our job is to stay alive long enough for them to get past the shield. Right now, that is Mr. Forelni’s mission.”
“How can you be so damned calm about this?”
“Because this was the most likely outcome according to both Spock and Mr. Forelni when we discussed scenarios,” Kirk lowered his voice as they were seated.
“He must be mad to think he can pull this off,” McCoy muttered.
“Or he’s as good as the legends about him say he is,” Kirk pointed out.
Down below in the large arena’s dirt-covered circle, Forelni stood silently as he sized up his opponent. Where he remained in full uniform, his opponent was garbed in green briefs and a loose leather tunic. He was also carrying a formidable-looking club wrapped in heavy chain. Forelni looked around for his weapon and found none was going to be provided.
With a look up at the First Counsel, followed by a mocking shrug, Forelni didn’t bother to wait for the traditional signal to begin the contest. He simply charged at the Kallita, launched himself in the air and landed a solid kick right in the middle of the champion’s forehead.
The Kallitan’s eyes rolled up until only white was showing and he crashed hard to the floor and did not move. The crowd fell into a stunned silence. Forelni gathered up the club and slowly strolled back across the arena. The rules of combat dictated that when a combatant fell he had 15 seconds to regain his feet after his opponent had pressed his designated plate, starting the timer.
Once at his plate, Forelni dusted off his uniform and inspected his nails, scornfully declining to push the plate and start the timer. After a few more moments he finally did so. The unconscious Kallitan never so much as stirred, though it was apparent he was still alive as his massive chest rose and fell.
“About those legends, Jim,” McCoy whispered.
Several men scrambled into the arena and carried off the beaten champion. One man cautiously approached Forelni.
“You are not permitted to keep that,” his voice unsteady.
Forelni favored the man with a bemused glance before casually flipping the club end over end to him. The guard staggered under the weight of the club as he caught it then turned and fled to the other side of the arena where he turned it over to the second champion as he entered. Taking the recovered club in his left hand, the champion pulled a similar-sized club from his belt.
Attached to the end of the second club was a thick chain and at the end of the three-foot length was a steel, spiked ball that looked very much like a flail from Earth’s Medieval period. The way the brute swung it around it looked like the man knew what he was about.
Forelni cocked his head up at the First Counsel and favored him with another mocking smile at the disparity in armament between the two combatants.
This time, the opponent didn’t wait for Forelni to make the first move, stepping forward while he waved the flail in a constant arc over his head, the second club ready to swing should Forelni charge.
But Forelni simply stood his ground until his opponent drew near, then he rolled under the ball as it passed, driving a solid kick into the man’s shin for good measure. The brute barely flinched, spinning to slam the flail down where Forelni was on the ground.
Forelni rolled out of the way just in time to avoid having his skull crushed, used another kick – this one striking the man’s forearm – to propel himself out of the flail’s range. The sequence repeated several times over, the brute attacked, Forelni dodged, landed a blow and got out of range before a counter-attack could land. But he wasn’t making much of an impact on the champion, who didn’t appear to be slowed by either the exertion or Forelni’s blows.
Finally, Forelni stopped his dodge and roll routine. Stepping into the arc, Forelni braced himself and let the flail hammer into his left shoulder, one short spike digging into the flesh above the shoulder blade. Before the brute could react, Forelni grabbed the wrist holding the flail with his left hand and pulled it toward him hard while driving his right fist hard into the brute’s forearm. The brute’s howl barely drowned out the snapping of the bone.
Forelni swatted the flail away and spun around sharply to drive his left elbow into the brute’s solar plexus. Balling his left hand into a fist, the elbow still positioned in the man’s chest, he drive the palm of his right hand into the fist, like a hammer pounding a spike, three times in rapid succession.
The brute’s mouth dropped open and Forelni closed it, driving the palm of his right hand into the brute’s jaw, lifting him off the ground to slam unconscious to the ground.
The crowd was stunned into silence as Forelni slowly, obviously in pain this time and not showing off, made his was to his panel and pushed it. The fallen brute never tried to rise as the time ran down to zero. Then the crowd burst into cheers and many began to chant Forelni’s name, much to the First Counsel’s displeasure.
“Well done, Starfleet man,” the First Counsel raised a hand for silence as he rose from his seat. “You will face my third champion in the morning. This battle will be to the death.”
A gasp shot through the crowd. Kirk rose to protest but was waved back down by an armed guard.
“This is not within your own rules, First Counsel,” Kirk managed not to roar his protest.
“I just changed them,” he replied as he turned away.
The guards waved Kirk, McCoy and Kleine to follow them back to the cell where they would spend the night. Down below, several guards fearfully approached Forelni to escort him back as well. He limped slightly as he followed, his left arm dangled at his side. He’d won two fights, but had obviously paid a price in doing so.
He was shoved into the cell next to his three companions, despite McCoy’s protests that he needed to examine Forelni and his request for his med kit. All of his pleas were ignored.
Forelni leaned against the bars of the cell and McCoy did what he could with water and strip of a blanket from one of the small cots they’d been provided.
“The shoulder wound isn’t too deep,” McCoy muttered. “If I can stop the bleeding. How’s the knee?”
“Twisted it a bit when I dug in at the last,” Forelni reported. “I’ll be okay in the morning.”
“Hmpf,” McCoy disagreed but busied himself with the wound he could do something about.
“You there, stop that!” a voice command from outside the cells. The door to Forelni’s swung open and a young Kallitan woman, carrying a small woven basket, was harshly pushed inside. She was a slim, fair woman, dressed in a simple tan tunic that ran to an inch above her knees. She wore a braided leather necklace that held an onyx stone with a four-digit number – 8392 – carved into it. A guard rolled a cart of food and two jugs into the cell a slammed the door shut as he stepped back outside. Another cart of food and drink were rolled into the other call for the three men.
“What’s this?” Kirk demanded.
“All the food and water you will get today,” the lead guard snarled as he stepped inside to draw a curtain between the two cells. “Make it last. If you wanted a woman, you should have stepped into the arena instead of him. Only men are treated like men here.”
“So you’ve never been with a woman you say?” Forelni dug a barb in for hell of it. The young woman stifled a giggle. The guard’s face ran the gamut of reds before he slammed the curtain the rest of the way closed and slammed the cell door shut even harder and stormed out of sight.
“He’s going to be very cross with his men after that?” the young girl remarked.
“Good,” Forelni replied. “I’m only sorry I didn’t have the chance to put a boot in his backside on the way out.”
“You are a strange man, my lord,” she noted, withdrawing a clean cloth and a cup of what looked like a salve from the basket and looked over his wounded shoulder.
“My name is Bari Forelni, not ‘My Lord’,” Forelni said gently, not wanting it to sound like a command. “and yours is?”
“My…Bari Forelni,” she corrected. “No warrior has ever asked a slave’s name before.”
“Then I am delighted to be the first. What is your name?”
“Bryna.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Bryna,” he sketched a painful bow. “Thank you for attending to my wounds.”
“You must be in perfect health and well-fed,” she replied. “I have been ordered to do so.”
“So I’ll be able to put on a good show in the morning,” he replied dourly.
“No, My Lord,” she replied, forgetting his earlier admonition, as she finished patching the wound on his shoulder. “So that you will be ready to properly enjoy tonight.”
He was just about to ask her what was happening tonight when he recalled the drawn curtain that separated this cell from the outside world and then the guard’s response to his Captain’s query only a minute or so before.
Obviously, the briefing material on Kallita’s gladiatorial customs had been somewhat incomplete, he thought to himself as Bryna slipped out of her tunic.
1K Weekly Series: The Calling: Part 2, Chapter 5
A Work Of Star Trek Fan Fiction By Richard Paolinelli
© 2020 RICHARD PAOLINELLI . ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO COPYING OR ANY OTHER REPRODUCTION OF THIS STORY IS PERMITTED WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION. This is a work of fan fiction based in the universe of Star Trek, created by Gene Roddenberry. It is not intended to be sold, to be used to aid in any sale and is not to be copied or used in any other way by any other party.
CHAPTER FIVE
“You notice he’s about twice as big as you are?” McCoy pointed out as Forelni prepared to enter the arena to face the first champion. “Not to mention he’s the smallest of the three and at least a fifth of your age?”
“Bet on him then,” Forelni quipped over his shoulder as he stepped through the gate.
“I just might,” McCoy yelled back over the roar of the crowd as the Kallitan warrior entered on the other side. “Damnit, Jim, this is insane. Why doesn’t Spock beam us out of here?”
“I assume both Spock and Scotty are busy trying to do just that, Bones,” Kirk replied as he, Ambassador Kleine and McCoy were led up to a box next to the First Counsel. “Our job is to stay alive long enough for them to get past the shield. Right now, that is Mr. Forelni’s mission.”
“How can you be so damned calm about this?”
“Because this was the most likely outcome according to both Spock and Mr. Forelni when we discussed scenarios,” Kirk lowered his voice as they were seated.
“He must be mad to think he can pull this off,” McCoy muttered.
“Or he’s as good as the legends about him say he is,” Kirk pointed out.
Down below in the large arena’s dirt-covered circle, Forelni stood silently as he sized up his opponent. Where he remained in full uniform, his opponent was garbed in green briefs and a loose leather tunic. He was also carrying a formidable-looking club wrapped in heavy chain. Forelni looked around for his weapon and found none was going to be provided.
With a look up at the First Counsel, followed by a mocking shrug, Forelni didn’t bother to wait for the traditional signal to begin the contest. He simply charged at the Kallita, launched himself in the air and landed a solid kick right in the middle of the champion’s forehead.
The Kallitan’s eyes rolled up until only white was showing and he crashed hard to the floor and did not move. The crowd fell into a stunned silence. Forelni gathered up the club and slowly strolled back across the arena. The rules of combat dictated that when a combatant fell he had 15 seconds to regain his feet after his opponent had pressed his designated plate, starting the timer.
Once at his plate, Forelni dusted off his uniform and inspected his nails, scornfully declining to push the plate and start the timer. After a few more moments he finally did so. The unconscious Kallitan never so much as stirred, though it was apparent he was still alive as his massive chest rose and fell.
“About those legends, Jim,” McCoy whispered.
Several men scrambled into the arena and carried off the beaten champion. One man cautiously approached Forelni.
“You are not permitted to keep that,” his voice unsteady.
Forelni favored the man with a bemused glance before casually flipping the club end over end to him. The guard staggered under the weight of the club as he caught it then turned and fled to the other side of the arena where he turned it over to the second champion as he entered. Taking the recovered club in his left hand, the champion pulled a similar-sized club from his belt.
Attached to the end of the second club was a thick chain and at the end of the three-foot length was a steel, spiked ball that looked very much like a flail from Earth’s Medieval period. The way the brute swung it around it looked like the man knew what he was about.
Forelni cocked his head up at the First Counsel and favored him with another mocking smile at the disparity in armament between the two combatants.
This time, the opponent didn’t wait for Forelni to make the first move, stepping forward while he waved the flail in a constant arc over his head, the second club ready to swing should Forelni charge.
But Forelni simply stood his ground until his opponent drew near, then he rolled under the ball as it passed, driving a solid kick into the man’s shin for good measure. The brute barely flinched, spinning to slam the flail down where Forelni was on the ground.
Forelni rolled out of the way just in time to avoid having his skull crushed, used another kick – this one striking the man’s forearm – to propel himself out of the flail’s range. The sequence repeated several times over, the brute attacked, Forelni dodged, landed a blow and got out of range before a counter-attack could land. But he wasn’t making much of an impact on the champion, who didn’t appear to be slowed by either the exertion or Forelni’s blows.
Finally, Forelni stopped his dodge and roll routine. Stepping into the arc, Forelni braced himself and let the flail hammer into his left shoulder, one short spike digging into the flesh above the shoulder blade. Before the brute could react, Forelni grabbed the wrist holding the flail with his left hand and pulled it toward him hard while driving his right fist hard into the brute’s forearm. The brute’s howl barely drowned out the snapping of the bone.
Forelni swatted the flail away and spun around sharply to drive his left elbow into the brute’s solar plexus. Balling his left hand into a fist, the elbow still positioned in the man’s chest, he drive the palm of his right hand into the fist, like a hammer pounding a spike, three times in rapid succession.
The brute’s mouth dropped open and Forelni closed it, driving the palm of his right hand into the brute’s jaw, lifting him off the ground to slam unconscious to the ground.
The crowd was stunned into silence as Forelni slowly, obviously in pain this time and not showing off, made his was to his panel and pushed it. The fallen brute never tried to rise as the time ran down to zero. Then the crowd burst into cheers and many began to chant Forelni’s name, much to the First Counsel’s displeasure.
“Well done, Starfleet man,” the First Counsel raised a hand for silence as he rose from his seat. “You will face my third champion in the morning. This battle will be to the death.”
A gasp shot through the crowd. Kirk rose to protest but was waved back down by an armed guard.
“This is not within your own rules, First Counsel,” Kirk managed not to roar his protest.
“I just changed them,” he replied as he turned away.
The guards waved Kirk, McCoy and Kleine to follow them back to the cell where they would spend the night. Down below, several guards fearfully approached Forelni to escort him back as well. He limped slightly as he followed, his left arm dangled at his side. He’d won two fights, but had obviously paid a price in doing so.
He was shoved into the cell next to his three companions, despite McCoy’s protests that he needed to examine Forelni and his request for his med kit. All of his pleas were ignored.
Forelni leaned against the bars of the cell and McCoy did what he could with water and strip of a blanket from one of the small cots they’d been provided.
“The shoulder wound isn’t too deep,” McCoy muttered. “If I can stop the bleeding. How’s the knee?”
“Twisted it a bit when I dug in at the last,” Forelni reported. “I’ll be okay in the morning.”
“Hmpf,” McCoy disagreed but busied himself with the wound he could do something about.
“You there, stop that!” a voice command from outside the cells. The door to Forelni’s swung open and a young Kallitan woman, carrying a small woven basket, was harshly pushed inside. She was a slim, fair woman, dressed in a simple tan tunic that ran to an inch above her knees. She wore a braided leather necklace that held an onyx stone with a four-digit number – 8392 – carved into it. A guard rolled a cart of food and two jugs into the cell a slammed the door shut as he stepped back outside. Another cart of food and drink were rolled into the other call for the three men.
“What’s this?” Kirk demanded.
“All the food and water you will get today,” the lead guard snarled as he stepped inside to draw a curtain between the two cells. “Make it last. If you wanted a woman, you should have stepped into the arena instead of him. Only men are treated like men here.”
“So you’ve never been with a woman you say?” Forelni dug a barb in for hell of it. The young woman stifled a giggle. The guard’s face ran the gamut of reds before he slammed the curtain the rest of the way closed and slammed the cell door shut even harder and stormed out of sight.
“He’s going to be very cross with his men after that?” the young girl remarked.
“Good,” Forelni replied. “I’m only sorry I didn’t have the chance to put a boot in his backside on the way out.”
“You are a strange man, my lord,” she noted, withdrawing a clean cloth and a cup of what looked like a salve from the basket and looked over his wounded shoulder.
“My name is Bari Forelni, not ‘My Lord’,” Forelni said gently, not wanting it to sound like a command. “and yours is?”
“My…Bari Forelni,” she corrected. “No warrior has ever asked a slave’s name before.”
“Then I am delighted to be the first. What is your name?”
“Bryna.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Bryna,” he sketched a painful bow. “Thank you for attending to my wounds.”
“You must be in perfect health and well-fed,” she replied. “I have been ordered to do so.”
“So I’ll be able to put on a good show in the morning,” he replied dourly.
“No, My Lord,” she replied, forgetting his earlier admonition, as she finished patching the wound on his shoulder. “So that you will be ready to properly enjoy tonight.”
He was just about to ask her what was happening tonight when he recalled the drawn curtain that separated this cell from the outside world and then the guard’s response to his Captain’s query only a minute or so before.
Obviously, the briefing material on Kallita’s gladiatorial customs had been somewhat incomplete, he thought to himself as Bryna slipped out of her tunic.
July 24, 2020
Free Read Friday: The Path Of Ravens by P.K. Lentz
It’s Friday and that means it is once again time for another installment of: FREE READ FRIDAY!!!!!
This week’s book you can download for free on Kindle without having to sign up for KU is:
THE PATH OF RAVENS by P.K. LENTZ
Norse & Greek mythology meets Lovecraftian monsters in “a brilliant concept… an excellent mix of fantasy and myth. From start to finish, it just didn’t stop–adventure and excitement all the way.” (Amazon Customer review)
[image error]Thamoth and the other Atlanteans raised from the dead alongside him have but one purpose: to fight an unstoppable, unthinking enemy, The Myriad, which has already conquered Olympus. Their leader Ares and the witch Medea may consider the Atlanteans expendable, but Thamoth is determined to save his people and lead them to sanctuary. He will meet a silent slayer of giants and adopt her world as his own. At great personal cost, he will unlock the secrets of his forgotten past. Thamoth’s journey will take him to the throne-room of Lord Odinn and down the twisted roots of the ancient World Tree Yggdrasil.
Yet there are troubling signs that the nightmarish enemy Thamoth thought he had escaped will end his second chance at life before it has even begun.
The Path of Ravens is an epic journey that borrows names and places from Norse and Greek myth while creating its own mythology, turning gods into men and women who sweat, bleed, and die to defend what is dear to them.
