by Ivan Ertlov
Filtered, toned down, mitigated - but the agony of the ship is cruel, and Dila cannot watch it, cannot witness it.
She reacts, switches the barrage to single targeted salvos, takes three more enemies out of the fray, destroys their existence.
Energy reserves at twelve per cent, and the wormhole at almost infinite distance.
The useless wormhole.
But as said, the enemy doesn't know that, believes it knows the Stargazer crew's strategy - and reacts.
They set off with their superior acceleration and top speed, shooting forward, racing towards the wormhole to cut them off.
Too late, they realise that they are no longer alone, that this system is no longer dominated by the new humanity.
Just now, they witness that every forty to fifty seconds, a new contact is added, a small dot on the radar that joins dozens of others already heading towards them.
The wormhole is no longer a bizarre, obscure, little-used fringe portal for the insane and desperate, but a massive revolving door, a source of unshaken enemy contacts penetrating the system.
Tiny ships, small ships, medium-sized ships, of the most varied construction and armament.
Not an army, not an orderly fleet, but the chaos of the Rim bursts upon the Neoterran federation in fierce determination and unimagined unity. The Raging Beauty called, and the scum of the galaxy answers.
Whether allied or hostile, they fly side by side, throwing themselves into battle for a legend.
The Gobosh Syndicate and the Subnebula Pirates, the lone wolves and small associations, soldiers of fortune and privateers, even the Trafura mercenaries - are led by a ship of sagas and legends, whispered tales of barely survived encounters.
It is the Tree of Life in all its glory, and Edge Eastwood lets his mighty bow weapons speak in a language that every spacefaring being understands. The fighters recognise the danger, turn around and try to resist.
Too little, and much too late.
They fall under the onslaught of the outlaws, and Yrsha catches up, joining in the massacre with the remnants of her energy reserves until ...
"Gravity alert! Gravity alert!"
Frank and Dilara flinch, feeling the event even before it manifests itself in the hologram above their heads before Yrsha explains it to the rest of the crew.
"They are activating their main weapon! The superstructure of Hephaestus awakens and builds massive gravitational waves!"
Frank laughs hysterically, opens the radio channel on all frequencies.
"Yrsha to the fleet - enemy activating a space-time fold! Close your eyes, prepare for the gamma ray cascade! Run all optical filters up to maximum immediately!"
Bettsy clicks in panic.
"Close your eyes? What good is that against folded space-time? We are being crumbled, crushed, annihilated! So why should we close our eyes?"
Frank laughs out once more, grins and chortles, finding it difficult to formulate the words.
"Because their secondary antimatter conduit has one of Troshk's nuclear grenades in it."
"Home is by no means the only civilised place in an adventurous world, but the only uncivilised one in a world of constraints and duties."
- G. K. Chesterton
Epilogue
"The remaining fighters of the enemy forces of Neoterra surrendered moments after the destruction of Hephaestus. As I said before, this human colony's offensive production capacities are destroyed. Agriculture and tourism are the only things they have left for the foreseeable future. Their leader is cooperating unconditionally, but that doesn't change the fact that we have no judiciary in the system."
Astonishment and indignation mixed into an unhealthy, toxic cacophony of heckling and protests. The Council was no longer in session, it was arguing, and more than a few MPs were incensed by their speaker's remarks. Two pseudopodia grew up purposefully, stretching so far that their membranes rose higher into space than Aarashkvachora's antennae.
A well-dosed, targeted provocation, despite the apparent emotional rage with which the next words came.
"So what! We should inform the Alliance, perhaps even ask for a joint expedition! This New Earth, the deeds of humanity there - that is the proof, my friends! They have brought back to life the same technology for which we once put them in their place. Homo sapiens will always be a danger to all of us!"
The speaker pulled her segments apart, stretched to her maximum body length and towered over the lectern, the ceremonial altar in front of her, many times over.
"Dear Crown Princess, I remind you that it was a human who destroyed the star forge and its spacetime weapon. One of our citizens, mind you. And as for the Alliance - well, I had a very long, very intense conversation with their ambassador yesterday. Now, without trying to rub salt in your slime, we agreed to establish New Earth's diplomatic relations. Not a full embassy; that would be too much of an honour, but a consulate — both an Alliance and a Protectorate one. I am considering appointing Troshk's daughter as our head. She has diplomatic experience in the Rim Worlds and - well, some military observation skills."
A few quieter protesting voices from the second and third rows fell silent while their owners became visibly thoughtful. The barely concealed message in this message was that the Protectorate would keep a close watch on the questionably free-roaming humans. That sounded good enough to most, but not to the Durash Crown Princess, who babbled away excitedly.
"Diplomatic relations? Without consulting us? You had no right to do that, Speaker! We must eliminate this danger before it happens a second time ..."
"NO!"
All eyes, antennae, pseudopods, and leaves were directed towards the middle of the second row, from where the metallic, overloud voice had sounded. A certain awe spread as Grirrsh's artificial hull soared into the air, the liquid behind the milky glass visibly agitated.
"We say NO! And you all know that it was we who have always called for the annihilation of humanity, insisted from the beginning on wiping out the entire species to the last specimen."
Reverent nods, partly reluctant, partly in clear agreement. The voice of the living ocean became softer.
"But today, we think differently. If we wipe out humans, we are giving away potential. Valuable potential. We're not talking about miners and suicide missions, tasty meat, or cheap labour. The speaker is right - it was a human being who stopped the threat this time. And perhaps it will be a human being who one day destroys a much greater threat on our behalf, for the survival of us all."
Murmurs, puzzled looks, the occasional nod with vaguely defined head-like body parts.
"Granted, they are a plague and a nuisance, but their heroism, their idealism, cannot be denied by anyone. The human individual - a concept we still find difficult to grasp - is able and willing to sacrifice himself and his race, for higher ideals, for his friends, yes, sometimes just for an idea. What if that idea is ours?"
The Crown Princess' pseudopodia retreated at the same speed as her resistance flagged. As grateful as she was surprised, the speaker bobbed her antennae towards Grirrsh, from whom she would have last expected such a speech. And he had not yet reached the end of his remarks.
"We must shape and nurture these qualities, motivate and guide the people under our rule and beyond. Let's pick out a few select human individuals and make them into role models, beacons that the species can follow willingly and enthusiastically. This Professor, for example, is a good start. And as for Frank Gazer ..."
He paused for a moment for dramatic effect.
"... nothing in the Lex Humanitas prohibits us from also granting NHS to a purebred human being. This would be a logical and the cost-effective way to ..."
The rest of his remarks were lost in heckling, which led to a heated but thoroughly civilised debate.
*
"Bettsy thinks she'll get Yrsha fully restored. The systems are all restored, as for the armour and the glass - well, we don't have the materials of the Gahar, but if we take the finest co
ltan-chucknorrisium mixture, buy a few kilos of nanites, and then this special varnish from Özgür with which he coats his used gliders ..."
Frank blinked and looked up from the message, which he made disappear in a flash, almost frantically, when he realised that Dilara was standing in front of him. Actually in front of his desk, in his very official managing director's office at Stargazer headquarters. Of course, with that came a certain responsibility that he did not want to shirk even now.
"Can we even afford it?"
The astrotelepath laughed out loud.
"Are you kidding me? Did you see the bill Florbsh sent to the Council? It was wonderful, a real work of art, with all those lovely extra items and surcharges, and you won't believe it - the Speaker paid it in two days."
She stumbled.
"But of course, you know that. You signed the bill yourself!"
Oh yes, there had been something, an endless column of numbers and lists under which he had put his ID code.
Frank sighed and poured Dilara a large mug of coffee, brewed from the drastically dwindling supplies. She gratefully accepted it, took a seat opposite him - and looked at him unusually serious, even worried.
"Now, seriously and quite honestly, cock on the table - are you all right? How are you, Frank?"
Demonstratively, he let his left shoulder circle, raised it, and lowered it again.
"Very good, everything healed perfectly, I have nothing left apart from a few new scars, and they will fade too."
Dilara hissed angrily.
"That's not what I mean, Frank, and you know it! Ever since we came back, you've been pensive. Melancholic. Somehow not yourself anymore."
He took a sip of his coffee, sat back and stared into space.
"I've been thinking a lot. About New Earth, you know, as a home for all humans who don't want to live under the Lex. And then about what you said to me, about what home means to you, asking me how it looks to me ..."
Her eyes narrowed - well, by Tarjah standards at least - and her gaze became lurking, tense, even more concerned.
"So, how about that for you?"
Frank shrugged his shoulders, made a sweeping gesture into the room.
"THIS is my home. And I don't really mean the office, nor our headquarters. I mean any place, anywhere in the universe, where my friends are. Where you are."
He interrupted himself briefly, then hastily followed up.
"Any place where Bettsy and Troshk are secretly doing it and then come giggling around the corner, quickly fall silent, and pretend nothing happened. Any place where Yrsha is parked on the roof or outside the door and - I've gone that far by now - where Florbsh is sliming and crunching numbers."
He sighed.
"But at the same time, I realise that it's just me. I cannot expect the same from you. You all have a real home, a home that is waiting for you. I, on the other hand, only have this."
Dilara remained silent and stared at him, long and thoughtful, until Frank had the unpleasant feeling that he had said something wrong.
Could the truth be false?
But he was wrong.
Dilara began to smile, put down her coffee, jumped out of the chair and walked around the desk until she was at his side. Her hand rested gently on his shoulder, letting the new, freshly grown skin there feel her closeness.
A shiver ran down Frank's spine when she leaned over him, breathed a gentle kiss on his forehead, just below the hairline. It was a sisterly, perhaps even a motherly gesture and thus far from what he secretly hoped for - no, dreamt of in bold moments. And yet it did him good, infinitely good even, just like her words.
"No, Frank, you're not alone in that. Now let's go and get drunk."
END
Stargazer 3: Civil War
A civil war within the Alliance?
Unthinkable! After all, the symbionts ensure harmony and unity among all the peoples who have joined the empire.
At least in theory.
Behind the scenes, there is turmoil, and a renegade faction is desperately trying to unite the principle of general solidarity, the advantage of the alliance, with that of individualism. A noble undertaking that threatens to fail far away from the Protectorate. The latter cannot and will not interfere, not in the internal affairs of a competing star empire. But one of the proponents of this unlikely rebellion is an old brother-in-arms of Troshk, and the Stormcommander will not abandon him. He counts on his friends - but they have been at odds since Frank was supposedly eaten after all ...
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"... with its thrill and the dystopian elements, one of the best books I have read so far."
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Earth is destroyed, our civilisation lost.
But humanity has survived!
Resilient, on giant generation ships, venturing to distant planets, searching for a new home. Built by billionaires and visionaries, they carry mankind to the stars – and the weight of our last hope on their shoulders.
23 Generations into the journey of the colonial generation ship "Trappist", law and order onboard is upheld and executed by a handful of justices. With the powers of police officers, prosecutors and judges combined, they are among the IDs – Indispensables. Respected, feared, and living in modest comfort, they fulfil the Nobles' will and keep the workforce in check.
Maria Gomez is one of them. At peace with the fact that she will never walk on the surface of a planet, she enjoys the perks of her position and the glimpse of power handed down to her by the Nobles themselves. Until one day, the chase after a chicken thief turns into the case of her life. A mission that will challenge her beliefs – and change everything. For herself, for the workforce, for the Nobles in their heaven.
"Generation 23" is the first Australian English edition of any novel by Austrian-Czech bestselling author Ivan Ertlov. Unlike his other more humorous work, this is a dystopian crime novel. A SciFi thriller set in the void between the stars. Vibrant, violent, breathtaking – because in space, no one can hear you scream…
Winner of the "VLP" – Best Crime Novel 2019
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"Halbar? What about him? He will probably be killed by the waralog or devoured by the demon. Either way, our problem will be solved, and we have been paid in advance."
- Lucca of Malan
"Haunted Keeps & Ancient Demons" is a prequel novella about the rise of Halbar, the hero of the award-winning "The Bladesinger's Dance" fantasy series. It is an exciting introduction to the post-apocalyptic, dystopian world filled with political feuds, mutated creatures, frightening demons, and ancient evil. Witness Halbar's final exam at the academy in Malan and his debut assignment outside the city's sheltered walls.
This Australian English edition includes parts of "Dwarven Steel & Dragon Fire", winner of the German Audience Awards for Phantastic & Escapism, the "Goldener Stephan 2020".
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"War! Finally, we are going to war!"
Cheers of excitement swell in the streets of Farank, arguably the most powerful kingdom in the old world. For far too many years, the reign of sea witch Aidasha over the Northern realms has gone unchallenged, undisputed. She, who grants sanctum and protection to hideous creatures and races created by archdemon Mutander himself, must fall!
King Utbrecht of Farank, a wise and experienced leader, seems to be the only one to disagree. He despises unnecessary bloodshed, preferring diplomacy and negotiations over swords and canons. In a last-ditch effort to save the peace, he asks the Golden Throne ambassador to intervene. The mysterious Kyara reluctantly accepts. Together with Halbar of Malan as her bodyguard and one of the most infamous mages of the old world, she travels North to stop the war before it begins.
This is the Australian English edition of "Zergenstahl & Drachenfeuer", one of the best-se
lling German fantasy novels of 2020. Driven by imaginative worldbuilding, a wicked sense of humour and breathtaking battles, the novel won both the "Silberner Stephan 2020" and the "VLP Fantasy of the Year" awards.
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Imprint
(c) 2021 Ivan Ertlov, Johann Ertl
https://www.facebook.com/ivanschreibt/
c/o Homegrown Games Australia
2780 Katoomba, New South Wales
Johannertl[AT]gmx[DOT]at
* * *
[1] Which happens much more often than you think now.
[2] Anyone who has never woken up in a stuffy stable with thirteen other naked people and a traumatised goat in the hinterland of Goa after an LSD-fuelled night has not lived. Change my mind.
[3] Have you ever noticed that most success guides are written by people who are not that successful? If they were, they would have better things to do than write guidebooks. But not in a stable near Goa, but on a Caribbean island. And certainly not with Heinz-Dietrich and Marlene from Heidelberg, but with Juan and Lucia from Havana.
[4] A crashed space freighter in a block of flats can really spoil the day for many residents.
[5] The aforementioned scribe with little talent but too many excess hormones would probably have mentioned the taut, clearly emerging and thus unmistakable breasts at this point. Perhaps even a bizarre comparison would have been made, possibly with enthusiastically leaping deer twins. But then, at the latest, it would have been time to lead the writer behind the old barn, hunting rifle in hand, to put him out of his misery.