Chapter 1 - The Mind of a Genius by David Snowdon

Chapter One

The phone began to ring and freelance MI4 agent, Jason Clay reluctantly disengaged himself from the girl he was kissing and reached for the phone.

“Hello,” he said, grabbing the receiver.

“Is that Clay?” said the voice at the other end.

It was a posh, home county voice and Clay thought it sounded vaguely familiar. But at that very moment, he couldn’t place it.

“It is,” he said frowning. “You sound familiar, who’s that?” Clay spoke with a mildly posh London accent.

“You’ve got a poor memory. It’s Colin Shooter.” Clay smiled.

Shooter was the assistant head of the MI4 and he knew that Shooter never called him just to say hello. Whenever Shooter called, there was always a reason, and a very good reason at that.

“Hello you,” said Clay cheerfully.

He was grinning now, and the girl sitting beside him on the sofa, a tall, slim blonde with lovely blue eyes, and who was about 24-years of age, was staring at him, a curious expression in her eyes.

“Long time, no see.”

“Listen, Clay,” said Shooter, “I’ve got something that might wet your appetite. “You haven’t got anything on, have you?”

“Only the shirt on me back,” said Clay smiling. “And that’s coming off very soon.” The girl chuckled.

Just like the girl sitting beside him on the sofa, Clay was tall, slim and Handsome with blonde hair, and lovely blue eyes. He was 34-years-old and had a smile that made the girls go wild. All he had to do was smile and within minutes, they’d be telling him the story of their life.

Tonight, he was wearing a white silk shirt and a pair of white cotton trousers.

“I’ve got something that’s right up your alley,” said Shooter. “This one’s irresistible. You’ll love it.”

“Will I?” said Clay jokingly, wondering what it was, and what was in it for him.

“I know you will,” said Shooter, at the other end of the line.

“You know my terms, don’t you?” said Clay, smiling. “I won’t even contemplate getting out of bed for anything less than ten thousand a day.”

“You’d be lucky to get half of that for this one,” said Shooter. “But come and see me tomorrow morning in my office at ten, and we’ll talk business, okay?”

Clay continued to smile. “Ten thousand a day plus expenses or no deal.”

“I’ll see you in my office at ten sharp tomorrow,” said Shooter. “And don’t be late.” And the line went dead.

“That guy,” said Clay, dropping the receiver, shaking his head and turning sideways to stare at the girl sitting beside him. “He drives a hard bargain, but he’s all right.” The girl smiled invitingly, but didn’t say anything.

“Now where were we?” said Clay smiling, as they started to kiss passionately, again.

The time was now 20.47 and they were sitting on a beige leather sofa in Clay’s spacious, luxurious living-room. The TV was on, but the volume had been turned down low. As they continued to kiss, they could hear it raining hard outside, and there was the occasional rumble of thunder. But that didn’t bother them, as they were now in paradise.

At 10.00am the following day, Colin Shooter sat in a conference room, at a conference table, in the MI4 head office in Vauxhall, overlooking the River Thames and worked on his laptop.

At 56, Shooter was tall, well-built, and had light brown hair. He was an ex-banker.

Today, he wore a brown suit, a yellow shirt and a brown tie.

Also in the room, sitting around the conference table was Special Agent, Paul Hudson and Special Agent, Janet Bond.

Hudson was 38, tall, dark and lean with handsome features and dark brown curly hair.

He wore a well-cut, navy blue Italian Suit, a white shirt and a black and blue stripped tie. He was an ex-solicitor, and a very good one, and it was his track record more than anything else that had impressed the M14 into employing him.

Janet Bond was 32, 5-foot-7, slim with a nice curvy figure, and blonde with blue eyes, and Scandinavian features.

She was a beauty, but she was also very intelligent. And it was the combination of beauty and brains that had attracted Shooter to her.

The phone started to ring, and Shooter snatched the receiver.

“Colin Shooter,” he said, speaking into the receiver.

“Mr Shooter, I have Mr Jason Clay here to see you.” The receptionist’s voice came clearly through the receiver.

“Give him a cup of tea,” said Shooter. “I’ll let you know when we’re ready to see him.”

“No worries,” said the receptionist.

And Shooter put the phone down. As he put the phone down, he continued to work on his laptop, and both Hudson and Bond sat in silence, with a blank expressions on their faces. They knew that whatever Shooter was doing on his laptop had to be vital, as Shooter was always very punctual.

Ten minutes later, Shooter finished working on his laptop and reached for the receiver.

“Send him in,” he said, when he got through to the receptionist. And he put the receiver down.

Three minutes later, there came a knock on the door.

“Come in,” said Shooter.

The door slid open and Clay wandered into the room. He wore a beige coloured suit, a beige coloured shirt and a red tie. He was looking very smart and there was a cheeky smile on his face, as he wandered into the room, and walked towards the conference table.

“Morning, all,” he said, aware that everyone was watching him.

The others returned his greeting.

“Take a seat,” said Shooter, waving him to a chair.

Clay moved towards the chair and sat on it.

“Thanks for coming,” said Shooter. “This one’s a beauty and you’re gonna love it.”

“That remains to be seen,” said Clay, smiling at him. “Let’s have the details and we’ll take it from there.”

Shooter stared at Clay.

He didn’t like Clay’s cocky attitude. Come to think of it, he wasn’t too fond of Clay. But Clay had his uses.

“Malcolm Prince, the scientist, remember him?”

Clay thought for a moment, then he remembered.

“He died a few months ago, didn’t he?”

Shooter nodded. “And that’s why you’re here.”

“Come off it,” said Clay, his smile turning into a grin as he looked from Shooter to Hudson, from Hudson to Bond and from Bond back to Shooter.

“I didn’t kill him. You’ve got the wrong guy.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” said Shooter, smiling at Clay. “You’d do anything for money, wouldn’t you? But if you’ve got your facts right, you’ll know that Prince died of a heart attack.”

“I could have told you that,” said Clay, smiling at him.

Shooter continued to talk. “Malcolm Prince was one of the finest scientist in the world. And at the time of his death, he had just completed a major project; a project that could change the world; a project that could benefit the world.” There was a pause, then Shooter continued to talk.

“We don’t know what the project was about. It was a well-kept secret, but we do know that the project was completed shortly before he died. Shortly before he died, he was on the verge of revealing the project to the world. But now he’s dead, and nobody really knows what that project was based on.”

“That’s sad,” said Clay.

Shooter continued to talk. “We’d like you to try and find out what that project was about.”

“And how do you expect me to do that?” said Clay, changing his position on his chair. Shooter smiled at him.

“Prince has a very lovely wife, and rumour has it that he was very fond of her. We have a feeling that she might have some vital information. Your task is to seduce her and to find out what that project was about.”

Clay gaped at him. “I thought you said I was gonna to love it.”

“You’re a very impatient man,” said Shooter, smiling at Clay.

He was thoroughly enjoying himself. “Patience is a virtue, Clay. Agent Bond has a present for you.”

Special Agent, Janet Bond produce an envelope and slid it across the table towards Clay. Clay opened the envelope, removed a glossy photograph and stared at it.

A beautiful, middle-aged, blonde woman with blue, friendly eyes, wearing a navy blue shirt stared at him.

Clay studied the woman in the picture and a wave of excitement swept through him.

The woman in the photograph looked classy, exciting and sexy. A combination that Clay considered to be irresistible. Shooter was right. He had a feeling that he was going to love this assignment. Here was an opportunity to have a good time, and at the same time, to make some decent money.

Clay smiled as he studied the photograph. It was a passport photo that had been enlarged into a 6 x 4 photograph.

Shooter and the others watched him, as he studied the photograph, and Shooter had a feeling that Clay was hooked.

“Nice girl,” said Clay, dropping the photograph on the table in front of him and smiling at Shooter.

“Laura Prince,” said Janet Bond. “45-years-old, 36-26-36 and an ex-secretary. She has a penchant for handsome toy boys. Had a few lovers when Prince was alive, but isn’t seeing anyone at present.”

“Very nice,” said Clay smiling and looking around the table.

“I told you,” said Shooter. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“But what makes you think she gonna fall for me?” said Clay.

“You fit the bill perfectly,” said Hudson, in his posh accent “You have a way with women. You can charm the birds out a tree. We’re sure you can swing it.”

“I can try,” said Clay. “But I can’t guarantee success.”

“That’s good enough for me,” said Shooter. “We don’t know for sure if she knows anything. She may be none the wiser, but all we can do is try.”

“That’s fine,” said Clay. “Ten thousand a day plus expenses, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“I don’t think so,” said Shooter, shaking his head. There was a crafty, little smile on his face. “Five thousand a day plus expenses, and you can take it or leave.”

Clay smiled at him.

“I’ve got a feeling we’re wasting each others time. Ten thousand a day plus expenses, or you can get someone else to do it.”

Shooter stared at him.

There were other agents that he could use, and who would work out a lot cheaper than Clay. But he realized that if anyone could pull this one off, it was Clay. And this assignment was far too vital to be bungled.

“Seven thousand a day plus expenses. Not a penny more, not a penny less. And that’s my final offer.”

“Done,” said Clay.

“Money, that’s all you ever think about, isn’t it?” said Shooter.

“What else is there to think about?” said Clay, smiling at him. “Money makes the world go round. And where would we be without it.”

“Sometimes I wonder why we pay you so much money,” said Shooter resentfully. We’re wasting hard-earned taxpayers money on you.”

“I’m value for money and you know it,” said Clay with his cheeky smile.

“I can get three good agents for what I’m paying you,” said Shooter.

“That’s three for the price of one. But you’re one of my best guys, and I’ve got a soft spot for you.”

“Come off it,” said Clay jokingly. “You haven’t got a soft spot for your own mother, let alone a guy like me.”

Shooter smiled at him, but this time the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Watch what you say, Clay. You shouldn’t speak about anyone’s mother like that.”

They regarded each other for a moment, then Shooter continued to talk.

“An advance payment of £70,000 will be paid into you’re account. Spend it wisely. Agent Bond will give you all the necessary details.”

“Cool,” said Clay, grinning at Shooter.

Money was very essential to him and he never got tired of talking about it. The more money he could lay his hands on, the better.

“Has Prince got any other relatives that you know of?”

“He’s got a grown up daughter and a grown up son from a previous marriage,” said Hudson.

“I hope so,” said Clay, looking down at Laura Prince’s photograph. “He was old enough to be this chick’s father.”

“She was his second wife,” said Hudson.

Clay regarded Hudson.

He had been so busy concentrating on Shooter that there had been times when he had forgotten that Hudson was also in the room.

“Can’t Pretty boy, Hudson handle this job?”

“I haven’t got your knack with women,” said Hudson, smiling at Clay.

“You’re tailor-made for the job.”

Agent Janet Bond smiled.

“And why is Agent Bond smiling?” said Clay teasingly.

Janet Bond lost her smile and stared at him. There was something about Clay that she didn’t like.

“I wasn’t smiling at you.”

What a chick, thought Clay giving her his dazzling smile. She reminded him of the girl that he had spent the night with. They both had blonde hair and blue eyes, but Bond was undoubtedly the better looking of the two.

“One of these days, we’ll go for a curry.”

“I don’t like curries and I don’t like you,” said Janet Bond.

“One of these days, you’re gonna love me,” said Clay teasingly.

Bond’s eyes flashed angriliy.

“One of these days, Clay, I’m gonna…”

She suddenly stopped without finishing her sentence, aware that Shooter was watching her with interest. She would have loved to have given Clay a piece of her mind. She would have loved to have told him exactly what she thought of him. But she didn’t want to lose her composure in front of her boss.

“Enough of that,” said Shooter, sensing it was time that he intervened.

“Now Agent Bond will give you the details.”

Special Agent, Janet Bond regained her composure and started to talk in her posh accent.

The Mind of a Genius by David Snowdon

(The Formula That Could Change The World)

Special Agent, Jason Clay from the MI4 is hired to find a secret formula that was invented by the famous British scientist, Malcolm Prince. The only weak element in Clay’s strategy to accomplish his mission is Laura Prince, the beautiful wife of the scientist, who Clay has to seduce in order to obtain the formula.

But the CIA, the Denmark Intelligence, the Australian Intelligence and many other very determined individuals are also after that formula, and can’t wait to get their hands on it. The competition is fierce, but who’s going to win?

The story develops as a travel through the world; with the action starting in London, then moving onto Copenhagen, Hong Kong and Australia.

Clay appears to be the right man for the job; extremely handsome and a natural charmer, nothing could be easier for him than seducing a beautiful woman in order to obtain a top secret.

For more information visit www.the-mind-of-a-genius.com

About the book:

The Mind of a Genius by David Snowdon

ISBN: 978-0-9552650-1-3

Publisher: Pentergen Books

Pages: 288

S.R.P £6.99/ $13.56

Available from Waterstone’s, Blackwells, Amazon.co.uk Amazon.com and from the author at his website http://www.the-mind-of-a-genius.com/order.html

About David Snowdon -

British thriller writer, David Snowdon was born in London, and lives in London. He started writing in 1983, and wrote his first book, which hasn’t been published in 1984. His first published work, Too Young To die, was published in August 2006. And his second novel, The Mind of a Genius, was published in November 2007.

To learn more about David Snowdon and The Mind of a Genius, visit http://www.the-mind-of-a-genius.com and to learn more about his virtual tour in early 2009, http://virtualblogtour.blogspot.com/2008/12/mind-of-genuis-by-david-snowdon.html

Post comments on any of the blog tour stops and be entered in a drawing for a copy of The Mind of a Genius.

Starquest by Hywela Lyn

Starquest

Part One - Chapter One

The scream of the red alert cut rudely into Jess’s dreams, waking her Instantly. She sprang from her bunk and ordered the computer to shut off the alarm, then pulled on her bodysuit and raced the short distance from her cabin to the flight deck. She flung herself at the control panels. The flickering lights above the main computer console and the figures on the visual output screen demanded immediate attention.

Her fingers elicited no response when she ran them rapidly over the tactile command pads. She looked up and addressed the main computer panel. “Jaii, these readings are crazy. We’re way off course and nothing’s working on manual, either. I thought I’d fixed the fault. What’s going on?”

The image before her wavered, the familiar features distorted.

Emergency, the J.A.II series computer intoned, with what sounded like a Hint of panic. Serious malfunction of auto navigation array, inertia dampers and control systems, including shrouding device failure. Life support systems severely compromised. All systems currently operating on emergency power. Auto-repair systems unable to

reverse degradation. Main drive calculated to reach critical mass in fourteen minutes and nine seconds.

“What? Why didn’t you wake me earlier?”

Such action would have been pointless. You could have done nothing further. I anticipated that the auto-repair systems would keep the situation under control. When the position became unsustainable, I transmitted an emergency beacon before waking you.

“What are the chances of the signal being received?”

There is insufficient data to form an accurate prediction.

“A guess would do.”

The image darkened as if about to fail completely, although a moment later it sputtered grudgingly back to life.

“Well, I can’t see help reaching us before the ship blows,” Jess muttered, her voice grim. She had only one course of action available. She was heading in the direction of the

emergency airlock and her escape pod when the computer’s voice made her stop and turn back to the flight deck again.

It appears...the signal...has been answered. My sensors indicate a large starship on our trajectory. Available data shows that since it would have been outside the range of our sensors when the beacon was transmitted, it must have attained previously unrecorded speeds to reach us so quickly. We are currently being scanned.

Despite the distortion, combined with the gravity of the situation, Jess had a fleeting sense of

something akin to amusement. The computer gave the impression of looking and sounding almost envious as it recited the data relating to the other ship’s size and speed. The strange ship was obviously larger and more powerful than anything previously encountered — and phenomenally fast.

“It would help if our scanners were operational,” Jess said in frustration. Frantically she activated another control, and the titanium shield covering the observation panel slid back.

“Well, at least something works.” She gasped at the sight of the starship speeding toward her craft. She took in the long, sleek lines of the main hull with its lethal-looking weapons array. The nacelles on each side gave the appearance of the backward sweeping wings of a gigantic bird of prey. Its graceful double tailfins glowed, radiating a pulsing, golden light. Jess tore her gaze from the panel. Her situation was too critical to muse over the aesthetics of the unknown vessel. She had to leave her ship, and quickly.

Attention, the computer commanded. Imperative you eject in the escape vehicle immediately. Repeat, eject immediately. Life support systems are not sustainable. Drive mass will reach critical in eleven minutes and thirty-seven seconds. All functions deteriorating. I am no longer able...to...stabilise... The electronic voice slowed and then faded completely, the image dissipating as if it had never existed.

Jess swallowed, hard. For a long time the ship’s computer had been her only companion. It was

almost like losing an old friend. She had no time for such sentiments, though. The emergency lighting flickered ominously. The instrument panels were shorting out and gave off a pungent smell of burning. As she sped toward the airlock, she fancied she heard a voice in her mind.

Listen closely. This is the starship Destiny. You need have no fear of us. Your ship relayed a distress signal, but the communication systems appear to be inoperative. This is the only way we could reach you. Our sensors indicate your drive core is approaching critical mass. You must eject from your ship at once. We will help you on board. You don’t have much time.

After a moment’s hesitation, wondering if she was imagining it, Jess felt compelled to obey the

‘voice’.

Leave your ship immediately and proceed as follows—

She stopped abruptly, and half turned. “I need to get something from my cabin.”

There is no time. Whatever you have there will be destroyed anyway, as you will be, if you leave it any longer.

Reluctantly Jess agreed. She reached the airlock, boarded the escape pod and ejected from the

ship. Guided by the mysterious voice, she skilfully manoeuvred the capsule into a position adjacent to the starship’s hull. Was she heading into a trap? She had no alternative. Her ship was about to selfdestruct and the escape pod was not fast enough for her to outrun the explosion.

The control panel in front of her flashed wildly, a panorama of red telltales. Moments later it died as an unseen force pulled the small vehicle inexorably toward the Destiny.

There is no need for concern. You are in the grip of our tractor beam. Cut the power to your engines and we will bring you in.

Jess complied, and after a few moments the module came to an abrupt halt. She realised she hadpassed through the outer hull and was now in what was presumably the starship’s main airlock.

She ran a quick sensor scan, which confirmed conditions on the ship were compatible with human requirements. She raised the hatch with some caution, stepped from the escape pod, and glanced around for signs of danger. The ‘voice’ appeared to have left her. As she

approached the inner lock, it opened slowly and she found herself confronted by a man with long, very blond hair, and a calm air of authority. He smiled reassuringly, but she noted the weapon at his hip. Although his stance was not threatening, she remained on her guard.

“I’m Jon Quinlan, commander of the Destiny. You’re among friends,” he said, using the customary Common Universal speech.

“Thank you,” she said simply. “I owe you my life.”

“Are you all right?”

She nodded. “Yes...I’m fine. But all my ship’s control and navigation systems failed at the same time.” She hesitated. “There’s no reason why that should have happened. There was a slight

navigation fault, but I’d rectified it and checked everything else thoroughly a few hours ago. I don’t understand, unless—”She bit her lip and broke off abruptly. It might be better not to mention the thought that only now occurred to her. He and the rest of the crew — and on

a ship this size, presumably there was a crew — were strangers to her. Best keep her notions to herself until she was sure she could trust them.

“Was it you who contacted me on my ship, Commander?” she queried instead.

He smiled again. “Call me Jon, we don’t stand on ceremony on this vessel. No, I’m not telepathic. That was one of our crew, Delian. You’ll meet him shortly.”

As he escorted her along a narrow corridor, she wondered again if she’d walked into a trap. For the moment, at least, it seemed she had no alternative but to obey her instincts and accept that they had saved her from certain death. Eventually they stepped out of the trans-unit,

onto what was evidently the main flight deck. She gazed around, trying to take in her new

surroundings and the small group of figures ranged around the flight controls, obviously curious to see her.

A vivid white flash lit up the main observation screen. Jess and the others on the flight deck

shielded their eyes and looked away for a moment.

Destruction of the unidentified spacecraft, as predicted, is confirmed. The Destiny is at a sufficient distance from the explosion to have sustained no structural damage. All systems currently register normal.

The voice was authoritative, female, and, Jess realised, must belong to the Destiny’s main

computer. Apparently, in keeping with common practice on well-crewed ships, it was deemed

unnecessary to provide holographic imaging to go with the vocal interface.

“Thank you, Metisa. It appears we only just brought the capsule on board in time.” The speaker

was an imposing man with dark, slightly curling hair and a sombre expression. Seated before a

complex control panel, he did not look up.

At the confirmation of her craft’s destruction, Jess felt a sharp pang of loss, for the second time in the space of a few minutes. She remained silent, uncomfortably aware of the curious stares of the rest of the crew.

“Sorry about your ship,” Jon said gently. “I wish we could’ve done something to save her. When we received your distress signal, we ran a computer analysis. The conclusions were obvious. The only option was for you to abandon her before her drive reached critical.”

The stern-faced man turned to look at her now. His blue eyes, cool as gunmetal, fixed on her until she felt herself blush under his relentless scrutiny. He smiled slowly, as if unaccustomed to such an action. He was, in fact, very attractive when he smiled. “Welcome aboard.”

The commander nodded in his direction. “Let me introduce Kerry Marchant, second-in-command.”

Although Jess still could not help feeling a little suspicious, she managed to smile back at him with a degree of confidence she did not feel.

“I guess you’d better meet some of the others.” Jon turned to a girl whose cropped hairstyle

heightened her dainty, almost impish looks. “Laitha Callahan’s our astro-biologist and ecologist.”

A small, neat girl stepped forward, holding out a friendly hand. She appeared to Jess to be barely out of her teens. Despite her rather unprepossessing aspect, she nevertheless radiated a vivaciousness that went beyond physical appearance.

“Hi, nice to have another woman on board. You’ll meet Zeldra later on, but she’s a lot older than

me and I feel kind of outnumbered here.” She rolled her eyes disparagingly. “No one ever pays me a moment’s attention, that is, unless there’s something unpleasant that needs doing, which no one else wants to attend to.” She chortled loudly, and Jon chuckled. Laitha’s hearty laugh was infectious. Even the solemn second-in-command had a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Jess could not help adding a smile, and felt she might have an ally in the girl.

Jon indicated two men who stood by the communication panel, obviously brothers. Almost

identical, both with short beards, their pale skin created a sharp contrast to their black hair.

“Delian and Ragin,” he informed her, “are from Earth Colony Niflheim. They’re telepathic and

telekinetic, like all Nifls.” As the two men smiled in greeting, he continued, “It was Delian who

telepathed a message to you so we could get your escape-module on board.”

Jess nodded at the brothers, wondering if she would ever be able to tell them apart.

“You’ll meet the other two members of the crew, Berne and his wife, Zeldra, when we eat, later on. We all try to take our evening meal together.” Jon paused, clearly waiting for her to introduce herself in return.

“I’m Jestine Darnell,” she announced, after a slight hesitation. “I’m usually called Jess. I’m a

citizen of Earth.”

“You are rather a long way from home,” Kerry Marchant remarked archly, “considering how small your ship was.”

“She was a Category ‘A’ hyperspeedster.” Jess tossed back her long hair, a hint of pride in her voice as she defended her lost ship. He was right though. She was a long way from Earth. She searched for a plausible explanation. “I’m a...a trader. I was returning from...” she hesitated again, “...from Aquarius Seven.”

“Really?”

Was it her imagination, or was there something more than polite interest in Kerry’s voice? She

sensed he somehow knew she’d lied about her origins. Why did he not challenge her, then?

“We’re from Earth too,” Jon said. “Originally, I mean.”

“Have you heard from Earth lately? How are things there?” she asked. I...I’ve been away a long

time.”

“You’ve not missed much,” the second-in-command commented. “Not a great deal has

changed. According to the most recent information, it’s still pretty much the same oppressed ‘trading post’ it always was.”

“You don’t care too much for Earth, then?”

His glance was frosty as he replied, “Are you surprised? Any scope for initiative or freedom of

thought is stifled by the Union and its tyranny. Its petty laws and restrictions do not conform to my idea of what makes an ideal home planet.”

“That’s partly why the Destiny was built,” Jon added. “Although she’s basically an exploratory

vessel, designed to investigate the far reaches of space, I guess we were all beginning to feel our lives had become dull and meaningless. The ship gave us a chance to escape the domination of the Union, to face new challenges.”

Jess studied him thoughtfully. He seemed genuine enough. She wanted to trust him, but

perhaps she should wait a little longer before telling him about Phidia. She could not afford to wait too long, however. Who knew what might be happening there now?

****

After the somewhat cramped conditions of her own craft, Jess found the quarters assigned to her on board the Destiny frankly luxurious. Everything about the great starship fascinated her, and Jon and Kerry showed her many of its mysteries. The basic principles of the sophisticated

hyperdrive, which enabled the Destiny to accelerate from standard cruising speed to many times that of light, together with the highly complicated system of time-dilation stabilisation, the bio-neural cell structures and automated flight controls were similar to those on her own ship. They were refined to such a degree, however, as to make her little hyperspeedster seem almost primitive by comparison. “The main source of fresh food for the crew is from here,” Jon told her as he showed her around the vast hydroponics section. Laid out to represent a garden on Earth, avenues of trees bordered banks of shrubs and flowers. Jess marvelled at the diversity of vegetables and fruit, many of them of extraterrestrial origin in exotic shapes and colours. A glorious mixture of scents drifted toward her as she took in the almost overwhelming shapes, colours and textures.

“The computer controlled synthe-units, while capable of producing satisfactory foodstuffs, are

mainly for the supply of items of clothing, tools and other articles. I guess most of us prefer our food to be natural.” He paused. “Did you have a hydroponics unit on your own ship?”

Jess nodded. “Yes, although it wasn’t nearly as large and well laid out as this.” She was also impressed by the well-equipped sick bay. Zeldra and Berne Kristiensen, the ship’s medics, took pride in showing her around. It contained some of the most advanced equipment she had ever seen, much of it linked to the computer.

“As you can see, we’re prepared for any exigency,” Zeldra said. Her eyes shone with

enthusiasm and her smile dispelled the severe impression she tended to project at first sight.

“Metisa’s memory banks contain the knowledge of Earth’s greatest surgeons and physicians. Earth’s greatest. There’s no surgical procedure so complex and dangerous we couldn’t deal with it,” Berne added, grinning broadly. Built like a small mountain, he, too, had seemed a little intimidating when she’d first met him. Still, Jess found it difficult not to feel at ease with someone with such kind eyes, who radiated such easy-going friendliness.

She could not help feeling a certain apprehension, however, when it came to the telepaths, Delian and Ragin. Could they read her thoughts? The feelings of peace and friendship that

filled her mind when Delian “spoke” to her telepathically on board her ship had been so strong,

however, she felt sure she could trust them. Nevertheless, she tried to keep her thoughts on

purely routine matters when she was near them. Some things she would rather keep to herself.

“Do you ever want to go back to Earth?” Laitha asked, as they relaxed by the viewport after their

evening meal.

Jess forced herself to concentrate on what Laitha was asking. Her mind had been on Phidia,

which was always there, impossible to ignore. “I miss it sometimes,” she confessed, “but I love

space and travelling. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”

“Me too,” Laitha agreed. “I’ve no family, no ties, so there’s nothing to keep me there, and I was fed up with the conditions there, like we all were. Jon’s a very distant cousin and my only living relative. When he asked me to join him on the Destiny I was only too glad to get away from Earth.” Before Jess could reply, Laitha went on, “What about your family, were they happy about you choosing space as a career?”

“Both my parents are dead now,” Jess said, trying to keep the sadness from her voice. “My father

was killed when I was a baby, he was lost in a starship accident. Because of that my mother was

very much against me training to be a space pilot, but she came around in the end.”

Laitha leaned across the table they shared and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, “I didn’t mean to stir up old memories.”

“It’s all right, you didn’t know. My mother died suddenly a year ago, on Earth, and I’ve always

regretted not being there with her at the end. We were very close.”

“D’you have any other relatives?”

“Not now. My grandfather lived to a great age, but he died just after I graduated from Orion. I was so glad he lived to see it. He persuaded my mother to let me accept a scholarship and attend the Space Pilots academy in the first place.”

Laitha shot her a quick, admiring glance before adding, “So you’re all alone now, like me.”

Jess allowed herself the hint of a smile. “I suppose so—but surely you have friends on board this ship?”

“Yeah, I guess. But no one in particular. What about you, have you any men friends—lovers—

stashed away?”

Jess laughed aloud at her directness. “No, nothing like that. I had a few boyfriends at Orion, of

course, but that’s all they were, friends. There was one...but we were too young, our studies were more important and we drifted apart. There’s been no one since.”

Laitha drank deeply from her glass. “Good!” she said with her deep, infectious laugh. “Men are more trouble ‘n they’re worth. We’re better off without ‘em.”

“Does that include your cousin?”

Again, Laitha chortled. “Distant cousin,” she corrected. “Nah, he’s okay, I owe him a fair bit, and he’s a pretty reasonable guy, considering.” Coming from Laitha, this appeared to be high

praise and confirmed the conclusion Jess had reached, herself. If there was one person on board the ship in whom she might be able to confide, it was Jon. She knew she would have to tell him the truth soon, though. She’d already been on board the Destiny for several days and time was running out. She might be able to persuade him to help her, even though she no longer had anything with which to bargain. The Phidians trusted her. She owed it to them to try to fulfil her promise...their way of life, their very world might depend on it. She brought her mind back to the present as Laitha drained her glass and, standing, grabbed hold of her arm.

“Come on, let’s go over to the recreation deck and see what computer games Metisa can rustle up for us.”

****

Kerry, by contrast to the rest of the crew, was something of an enigma to Jess. She noticed his

attitude toward her becoming increasingly cool. Quietly spoken, often taciturn, he was clearly

possessed of a brilliant mind. Although slow to volunteer information, if she asked a specific

question relating to either the Destiny or Metisa, he became completely involved with the subject, explaining simply but precisely. However, she could not persuade him to talk about himself, which naturally made her all the more curious about him. She frequently felt his scrutiny as if he were waiting for her to give herself away, although she could think of nothing she had said or done to arouse his suspicions. This was not the only thing about Kerry she found disturbing.

She was coming to know the ship almost as well as she had known her own vessel. A skilled pilot herself, she was happy to tackle many of the routine operating tasks, plus some of those that were not so routine. Despite his aloofness, she found herself learning a great deal from Kerry. She observed the way he handled the ship, the instructions he gave to the computers. It seemed like second nature to him.

On one occasion, at Jon’s direction, she was perfecting a complicated navigational manoeuvre

with the manual controls, under Kerry’s supervision. “She’s a large, powerful ship,” he said, “and needs handling with a delicate touch. Too much pressure and you would lose her.” Jess glanced at him, frowning. Perhaps the ship wasn’t the only thing that needed delicate handling.

He placed his hands lightly over hers to guide them, and to her embarrassment, she felt her heart thud uncomfortably against her ribs and a blush of colour burn her cheeks.

“This is exactly the position these controls need to be in relation to each other, when the readings here, and here, correspond to the coordinates already set.”

To her relief, he appeared not to notice her unease. For a moment, his eyes met hers. She saw

they were no longer expressionless, but alight with the pride and enthusiasm he felt for the ship.

She looked away quickly to concentrate on the data in front of her, forcing herself to ignore the feelings stirring deep within her. She felt privileged that he and Jon allowed her to handle the controls, and determined to make the most of the opportunity to pilot the immense starship, without any distraction. Besides, she had a mission to accomplish. She had enough to worry about; she didn’t need added complications. She thought of the blaster hidden in

her cabin. All the crew had free access to the ship’s arsenal, and because there was no one else on board the ship, there was no reason for stringent security. She’d found it relatively easy to take the gun when no one was around, but she knew if its loss was discovered she would have to act very quickly.

NAME OF BOOK; Starquest

AUTHOR: HYWELA LYN

WEBSITE: www.hywelalyn.co.uk

PURCHASE LINK: http://www.thewildrosepress.com

Dancing With Fate by Hywela Lyn

Chapter 1

Mount Olympus—the distant past

The last notes of the choir died away and on ceasing their song, the nine beautiful sisters made the slightest of curtsies to their leader. Apollo smiled in approval and the marble hall, with its gleaming pillars of white and gold, glowed in his radiance. When they turned to leave, he called to the one who played the lyre.

"Terpsichore—I would have a word with you."

The muse turned and glided back to where the God of Light sat in splendour. He held his tripod in one hand and his bow hung over his shoulder. His own lyre or kithara lay on his knee. The brightness that emanated from him was such it almost dazzled even a muse such as herself.

However, she met the brilliance of his eyes with pride, and lost none of her self-confidence.

Clasping her delicately carved instrument, she stood before him and nodded at his raven perched nearby. She inclined her head to one side, a question in her eyes.

"First, I would have you dance for me. You know how I love to see you dance."

Even if he had not been the Musagetes, leader of all the Muses, and her half brother, Terpsichore could still not have declined to grant his request. Golden hair, curling down nearly to his shoulders, framed his dazzling, almost frighteningly handsome features, crowned with a wreath of laurel leaves. His eyes, brown in some lights, gold in others, had a mesmerising quality.

His masculine physique was sheer perfection. Little wonder every goddess he looked upon with

desire, instantly yielded to him even without the assistance of Dionysus' enchanted wine.

Apollo nodded to her to begin. Raising her hands in the air, like a bird flexing its wings, Terpsichore drew music from her lyre with the plectrum. The notes rose and surrounded her like a magical veil of sound. Languidly, she moved in time to the music, allowing the silken folds of her long white garment to flow around her like soft ripples in a becalmed sea. She swivelled her hips faster. Leaning backward, she placed the lyre against a pillar entwined with vines of gold, in a fluid movement that was part of her dance. With a toss of her head, she swung her long hair, braided with flowers and ribbons, over one shoulder. Her arms above her head, her hands moved with the grace of a gentle breeze bending the grass. As always when she danced, Terpsichore lost herself in the rhythm. She hardly noticed when Apollo picked up his kithara and accompanied her singing. Her bare feet felt as though they no longer touched the ground as they performed the complex sequence of steps in time to her song and the swirling of her hips. It almost seemed as if time stood still and there was nothing but the magick of her dance.

Faster and faster she whirled, euphoric with the delight of doing what she loved best before someone who showed true appreciation. Then once more she slowed the rhythm and the dance became languorous, eminently sensual. The remnants of her song faded and lingered for

a moment in the crystal air. Terpsichore spread her arms in abeyance, then clasped her fingers in front of her, and stood for a moment in silence.

Apollo slowly lowered his instrument and clapped his hands, smiling and indicating she should sit beside him. She bent to retrieve her lyre, before seating herself and gazed at him, trying to hide her curiosity.

"You wish something further of me, my brother?"

For a long moment, Apollo seemed deep in thought and did not answer. "Do you remember a land of mortals—a small country known as Cymru, the brotherhood, erstwhile called Cambria, or Wales as some would have it? You may recall the folk who inhabit it, who call themselves the Keltoi.

Ah, the Celts. How could she forget them? "I do. They were a fierce and noble race, with

much knowledge of magick and the hidden arts. They respected the faeries and mages of their land. She smiled at the memory. "I inspired them with music and dancing which they embraced readily. I believe in times to come they will be famed for their love of melody, and the grace with which they express it in their dance."

A slight crease appeared on Apollo's brow, normally as smooth and clear as the polished black marble of the great throne of Zeus. "Only if you return to impart these skills once more; much has been lost in their skirmishes and fighting to protect their land. A great melancholy has come upon them. I need you to return and inspire them to dance again."

Terpsichore sighed, a little, soft sigh that echoed through the hall like the singing of the breeze in

summer leaves. "My lord—Apollo—I had not thought to return to the lands of mortals—not for a few hundred years, anyway. Is it truly necessary?"

Apollo's expression grew severe. A small frown played above his eyes and his face darkened slightly, like the sun going behind a cloud. "Indeed it is, Terpsichore. As the Muse of Dance,

it is your duty."

Terpsichore swallowed the sharp retort that rose in her throat. Duty indeed, how dare he suggest she was neglectful of her duty? Even if he was the magnificent Apollo, she would not be patronised. "Have I not already done my duty? Did I not travel to every corner of the world and inspire men and women to dance and rejoice? Have I not made the journey whenever a mortal has been in need of my gift of inspiration, and gladdened the hearts of mankind? Can I be blamed if some prefer to fight and wage war and then forget the joys of living?"

Apollo's countenance grew even grimmer. "So many questions. No, 'tis not your doing—but would you refuse the task?"

Terpsichore sighed and shook her head. "Of course not. You know well that neither I nor my sister muses may deny our vocation. The need to inspire cannot be ignored."

Apollo curved his lips in a smile, once more, and light radiated from his face, illuminating the shadows around him. "It is well; you will need to use subtlety, though. Times have changed since you were last there. It would be better for you to take the form of a mortal."

"What—give up my immortality?"

"No, not give it up. I doubt Zeus would allow that, nor would you want it from the expression on

your face. No, Zeus and I have discussed the matter and feel you should pretend to be mortal for a while. Mingle with the people, bestow on them the enthusiasm to dance again." He paused. "Of course you will not be able to use any of your powers..."

She drew in her breath, unable to hide her dismay. That could present a problem. She was not used to being without her magick.

Apollo seemed to read her thoughts. "At least," he went on, "not before mortals, or in a way it could be discerned. You must not allow your inner psyche to glow when you are among them. Know also, that your powers may wane and you may not be able to get inside their minds or use the gift of foretelling." He looked even more serious. "If you have a problem,

I may not be able to help you."

Oh wonderful, although perhaps my being allowed some freedom might not be a bad thing. She gave him a knowing smile. "I suppose I'll manage. I may need to act the helpless female, but in reality I have a few tricks that may serve me well."

Apollo frowned again. "Take care not to get careless and reveal who you really are. The men of Cymru may not be as awestruck by a goddess as they once were. It could be risky. You would not want to be branded as a witch or an enchantress."

"You think I may be in danger?"

Apollo's frown deepened and his face registered concern. "No, sweet Terpsichore, I would not send you if I thought you might come to harm." He paused. "You will need a name to be known by." He thought for a moment. "Cora. You will be called Cora. A name like enough to those of the common people."

Terpsichore nodded. She liked the sound of it, and it carried enough of her true name not to sound alien to her.

"Now go, prepare yourself, spend time in the Halls of Learning and familiarise yourself with the changes that have occurred since you last visited the land of Wales. Then bid your dear sisters farewell, before you take your leave of your mother and myself. Zeus will facilitate your departure and instruct the Horai to allow you passage through the gates of Olympus."

Terpsichore turned and clutched her lyre to her. "I am to leave soon?"

"Why not? There is no reason to delay."

"No, of course not." A sudden thought struck her. "If I have to act as a mortal, how will I travel? On the grand scale of things, Wales may not be a large country, but it is mountainous and as I remember, not the easiest of terrain. It might be difficult to dance if I am footsore." A vision flashed into her mind: a beautiful winged horse, the color of the snow of the highest peak of Olympus. "Perhaps, I could have Pegasus?" she asked hopefully, although truly she knew the answer before he gave it. She'd always enjoyed riding Pegasus on the rare occasions her father felt disposed to allow it.

Apollo's eyes darkened for a moment, then the corners of his mouth turned up and he smiled once more. "A winged horse might give away the fact that you are not mortal, don't you think? Also, Zeus might be unwilling to loan his favorite steed, even to one of his beloved daughters. Worry not. Take care to materialise outside settlements so as not to be seen by mortals. Should you need it, appropriate transport will be arranged and you will not be disappointed."

A wave of his hand indicated the discussion was closed. With a little sigh, Terpsichore left her seat by his throne. When would she see the magnificent Olympus, her home, again? She would miss it. There again, now she'd had time to think upon it, perhaps she should look forward to the task Apollo and her father had set her. What was Apollo keeping hidden though? She

could always tell when he was holding something back. What had he not told her? Still, he would surely have her best interests at heart. No doubt, he would reveal it when he judged the time to be right.

She left the Hall through one of the rear doors. Was it her imagination or did she hear the

sound of footsteps? Like someone scurrying away down a side corridor. She glanced around and narrowed her eyes as she saw what looked like a tall figure slip into the shadows, but she could not be sure. It might just be a trick of the light. Had she imagined the dark form, the glint of

torchlight on metal, gold or perhaps brass? Could someone have been eavesdropping on her conversation with Apollo? She hurried on silent feet to where she saw the figure disappear, but there was nothing. Nothing except a prickling at the back of her neck and the uncomfortable feeling she had not been mistaken.

Website; www.hywelalyn.com

PURCHASE LINK: http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=909&zenid=ad0c1ac16b23d21bd5c086ee2c2a00b9

Kindred Spirits by Marilyn Meredith

Chapter One

Before Deputy Tempe Crabtree could see evidence of the forest fire, she could smell it. Smoke was heavy in the air and got thicker as she drove up the highway into the mountains.

Monday was one of her days off, but when something happened in her jurisdiction she was often the first responder. Her instructions from the sheriff’s sub-station in Dennison were to make sure everyone who lived in the path of the fire started in the higher elevations of Bear Creek canyon had obeyed evacuation orders.

As resident deputy of the large but sparsely populated area around the mountain community of Bear Creek, Tempe ’s job usually consisted of making traffic stops, arresting drunk drivers, solving problems among neighbors, and looking for lost children or cattle. Along with the highway patrol, Tempe was the law in the community located in the southern Sierra where the foothills turned into mountains.

The last estimate Tempe had heard about the fast moving fire in rugged country was that it covered more than 1100 acres.

She was stopped at the staging area by a highway patrolman she knew by sight though couldn’t remember his name.

Though his uniform still had sharp creases, large circles of dampness crept from his underarms. Opaque sunglasses covered his eyes. He put both hands on the open window of her Blazer as he bent down to speak to her. “Where’re you headed, Deputy?”

“My orders are to check out some of the houses in the path of the fire. Make sure everyone’s out.”

"Be careful you don’t put yourself in danger. It’s one fast-moving fire. It’s in a rough area where they haven’t been able to get in any personnel yet. They’re doing lots of water drops. All the roads are closed from here on up.”

“Thanks for the warning. I know some of the folks who might not have received the word yet.”

Tempe drove by the private airstrip that had been taken over as the fire command post. Men and equipment, fire engines, water tenders and bulldozers were being dispatched from there as well as truckloads of hand crews.

Leaving her window down, Tempe drove around the traffic cones that temporarily blocked access to the road. She planned to stop at the Donaldsons’, but they were loading horses into a trailer, obviously on their way out.

The higher she drove on the winding road, the darker the sky, the thicker the smoke, the harder it was to breathe. Ashes showered on her white Blazer. She passed fire trucks and men heading upward to fight the fire.

In her heart she was thankful her son, Blair, was already back on the coast for his last year in college or he’d be on the fire lines. Fighting fire had been his first love since the age of sixteen when he began hanging around Bear Creek’s fire station.

Tempe stopped at several homes hidden down winding trails or perched on hilltops, surrounded by pine and cedar trees and underbrush. Most homes were deserted with signs of hurried evacuation.

Loaded pick-up trucks drove down the hill, some pulling horse or cattle trailers, not getting out any too soon from the looks of the black sky and the large amount of falling ash.

She had one more place she wanted to check. A beautiful home and separate studio built of sugar pine stood atop a knoll surrounded by Chaparral, and a thick pine forest. Tempe had been there once on a domestic abuse call. The owner, a well-known artist, Vanessa Ainsworth, now lived alone since her boy-friend had been served with a restraining order. If Vanessa wasn’t gone already, Tempe hoped to help her collect her animals and paintings and carry some of them out for her.

When Tempe made the last turn before Vanessa’s she was halted by a horrifying sight.

Available September 1, 2008 from http://www.mundaniapress.com/

See what's new at: http://fictionforyou.com/
NEW! Visit my blog at http://marilynmeredith.blogspot.com/
and the Stiletto Gang: http://thestilettogang.blogspot.com/