Fire fights on Yuluk.
Standing on the War Witch.
Always when she was about to die.
Everything became clear, slowed down as if time marched on, and she remained standing fast.
The shuttle picked up speed, falling relentlessly toward the white mountains. She pulled the toggle desperately with one hand while her other smacked out the sequence for an automatic reboot.
Please, please, please, please, please work.
A thrum built in her body, increasing the closer they made their way toward an icy peak.
I am not going to die today.
The thrum built, her body filling with adrenaline and energy until a droning buzz overwhelmed all other sound. The onsetting gravity pressed deeper, tunneling her vision to her hands. Hands that had blue sparks flecking her skin.
Blue sparks jumped from flesh to metal.
The shuttle engines flared to life.
The controls became responsive.
Melin screamed her relief and pulled on the throttle.
Not today.
The bottom of the shuttle struck a spindly mountain peak, the stone ripping through the undercarriage in fire and death.
The shuttle plummeted to the ground, tumbling end over end until it landed upside down in a narrow crevasse, a trail of debris streaming behind it in the soiled snow.
Acknowledgements
I honestly never thought this novel would see the light of day. I began working on it in 2010 (?) when I was a young and increasingly disillusioned lieutenant in the Marines. I got tired of reading about the infantry people and wanted to know what happened to the hero after the heroing was done. And also wanted to inject more supply into something that is kinda military science fiction, so, you’re welcome, I guess.
This story grew from a longer story (that handwritten epic fantasy catastrophe) I’ve had in my head for as long as I can remember. I worked on it on and mostly off for nine years, battling writer’s block and depression and burn out, first in the Marine Corps and then out of it. The epic catastrophe shuttled to the wayside and then into an out-of-order dream sequence as Melin popped up, fully formed, exhausted and with zero fucks to give but an entire story to tell.
Thank you to those who gave me the confidence to post my writing where others could read it: the Rebel Elite, eshurricane, jagermeanshunter, laaazybones, rather_be_a_unicorn and dark_writes, gmtschuilling, pfunzo18, and many more. If I forgot to mention you, I’m sorry.
Thank you to the Sapphic Authors of Twitter, who are so kind during all of the rejections, and who continue to offer support as more rejections roll in.
Thank you NineStar Press team, for being patient with my pandemic writer’s block and for giving this story a space to be read.
Thank you Lauren and Melissa, for listening to me whine about edits and encouraging me with gifs and memes and pictures of Anya and Roxie (may Roxie continue being dramatically sassy in the afterlife).
Thanks Oscar, for always having your butthole in my face while I’m trying to type, you damn cat.
Thanks Eva, for not ripping my face off while I sleep.
Thanks Peace, for being the best dog ever. And for mostly respecting facial boundaries.
And thanks honey, for always being there. I love you more than words can express.
And thank you, dear reader, for picking up this book out of the millions that are out there. Sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger.
About the Author
Laurel Beckley has been writing ever since she started her first novel the summer before eighth grade—a hand-written epic fantasy catastrophe that has lurked in her mind and an increasingly ratty college-ruled notebook ever since.
She is a writer, Marine Corps veteran, and librarian.
Twitter
@laurelthereader
Website
www.thesuspectedbibliophile.home.blog
Other NineStar books by this author
Evie and the Pack-Horse Librarians
Also Available from NineStar Press
Connect with NineStar Press
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