TRAPPED ON TALONQUE, along with MISSION TO MAHJUNDAR and ESCAPE FROM ZULAIRE are three of my oldest scifi romances and at that point I always stuffed way too much plot into the books. They should have been duologies, I think now, but live and learn. TRAPPED ON TALONQUE is an alien sleeping beauty tale of sorts, with an ancient alien woman trapped in a healing chamber for thousands of years and used as an oracle by the planet’s residents.

At one point, the Main Male Character Nate and his sidekick Thom find themselves escorting a local ruler to an ancient alien warehouse deep below a pyramid. I thoroughly enjoyed writing this scene is all I’m going to say!

The excerpt (Bithia is the ancient alien woman. The locals who accompanied Nate and Thom have been rendered unconscious by a protective feature of the facility. Celixia is a friendly priestess.): 

A high-ceilinged room stretched in all directions as far as he could see with his enhanced night vision. The place was lit only in the immediate vicinity, although Nate felt sure the lighting would follow them as they moved farther into the storehouse. There was a definite pattern to how the ancient explorers had run their operation, which was reassuring under the current conditions.

“Old man Fr’taray was quite a packrat,” Thom said, walking a few paces beyond where Nate stood. He did a slow three-sixty. “Or am I understating the situation?”

Containers vaguely resembling crates or barrels—objects with no human-equivalent name—were all piled in a messy heap of random stacks suggesting haste or panic, or both. It certainly wasn’t the orderly warehouse Nate had visualized.

“Wonder what actually happened, what her father was called back for?” Nate said, surveying the mess. He squatted by the nearest object, which was an orange cylinder. He touched the symbol he now recognized as shorthand for “open.” With a click, the container split neatly in two, spilling a dried substance onto the black stone floor.

“Food? Sample of the local spices?” Thom asked.

“Could be either or both. Or neither. We’ll never know. You try one.”

Thom eyed the assorted piles for a moment and plucked a tiny blue and green triangular object off of a perilously askew stack of squares and rectangles. He shook his selection slightly. “Good things come in small packages, as my gramma used to say. I push this, here?”

“Right—you got it.”

“Hey, we’re experts now.” Thom laughed. “Oops—damn!” His container had held dark green liquid that now splashed onto his sandaled feet and the floor, creating a massive puddle. Thom tossed the partially deflated triangle back onto its former resting place and stepped gingerly away from the liquid. “As much fun as this is, now what?”

“You see anything like a red box, about, oh, this big?” Nate mimicked the size with his hands, much as Celixia had shown him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. We’re required to find one specific thing in all this mess?” Thom’s laugh broke off abruptly as he took a closer look at Nate’s expression. “Seriously? We need this box? For what?”

“Bithia didn’t mention it, but Celixia was adamant that freeing her from the healing device requires the contents of a red box.”

Hands on his hips, brow furrowed, Thom eyed the vast room with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. “I’m game. We have time while old Sarbordon sleeps. Bithia said they’ll be unconscious as long as they stay down here. For sure no one’s going anywhere before we report back. Any ideas where you’d like to start? Hints from Celixia?”

Nate shook his head and considered the challenge. “This aisle runs straight through the room. Let’s see if there are paths branching off. You watch to the right, and I’ll take the left. If this red box is so damn important, maybe Fr’taray left it, I don’t know, where somebody besides him could find it.”

“If he left it here at all. Working off intel thousands of years old doesn’t give me much confidence.”

The two soldiers advanced straight into the room, back to back for defense, warily eyeing the treasure horde of the ancients. The illumination source followed them, as Nate had expected. He found it eerie and disconcerting to be in the center of one pool of light in a vast darkness. The exposure was counter to all his training, as well as his well-honed instincts for self-preservation.

The light in the lift shaft stayed on even as they got farther and farther away. A reassuring beacon.

“I feel like a goddamn target out here in this spotlight,” Thom said after three or four moments of cautious pacing through the stockpile. “Like a pair of idiot cadets on their first war sim, walking right into an ambush.”

“Let’s finish the sweep and get the hell out of here. This is a waste of time, I’m afraid.”

But after only another five yards, Thom came to an abrupt halt, staring off to the right. “Nate.”

“What?” He pivoted and stopped, stunned by the sight that had caught Thom’s attention.

There was a side corridor hat had been hidden by the piles of containers until Thom drew even with it, the charred remains of a body, skeleton showing through ashy black layers of burnt clothing, lay on the cold stone floor.

“Well, I’ll be moon-damned.” Nate walked toward the remains.

“These crates and things have burn marks,” Thom said, eyeing the black score marks. “Firefight?”

“Shows all the signs.” Nate knelt by the body of the long-dead alien explorer. “Burnt to a crisp. No way to tell if the victim was male or female. From the size, I’d guess male.” He rocked back on his heels, scanning the area in frustrated bewilderment. “Damn, what happened here? She swore to me her team had no deadly weapons, or at least not the type I was visualizing, like our blasters.”

Thom moved past him. “Maybe she didn’t know,” he said over his shoulder. “Command don’t confide in the lower ranks, even if she was his daughter. Here’s another guy.” Thom was about ten yards deeper in the warehouse. “Shot in the back. At least he—it—is facedown, which tells a tale. And Nate—”

“What?”

“I see a red box.”

Nate got to his feet and sprinted to join Thom. “Where?”

Thom pointed at the second corpse and the red box cradled in one arm, partially hidden underneath the body.

“I hate to have to tell her about this,” Nate said. “I wish I knew who these people were. Not her father, I hope.”

“Happened a long time ago.” Thom’s eyes narrowed. “Or did it? How are these bodies so well preserved?”

“This will be today’s news for Bithia, I’m afraid. She told me this warehouse has a version of a stasis field that keeps the contents fresh. I guess the effect covers corpses to some degree too. I think it’s safe to assume these bodies date back to her time or thereabouts. Help me get the box loose. At least we’ll have it to show for this expedition.”

VS Note: There’s a lot more to the scene but I don’t want to make this post too long!

Depositphotos

TRAPPED ON TALONQUE

This week I picked a fun excerpt from STAR SURVIVOR, the story of what happened to Twilka and Khevan after the events in WRECK OF THE NEBULA DREAM, where they were supporting characters.

WRECK was inspired by the Titanic sinking and for the two books I wrote about the survivors of my disaster I did a lot of research into the later lives of Titanic survivors. Did you know there were several clothing designers on the Titanic? They survived…so I decided my character of Twilka would naturally become a social influencer, celebrity and…dress designer!

Here’s an excerpt from her fashion show in the novel, where I got to use all my years of loving Project Runway.

The excerpt: 

“I know you like to indulge your creative urge at all times of the day and night, boss lady, but you need to focus on the business tonight.” Jord plucked the champagne from her hand. “She said Fiona Montecouer is attending tonight’s gala and has asked for a gown to wear from the collection. A private fitting, before the show. She and her people will be meeting us there in half an hour, standard time.”

Twilka stared at him. What’s with this attitude? Was proximity to Khevan raising Jord’s jealous hackles? She so didn’t have time for this tonight. She stifled an urge to giggle at the mental picture of Jord squaring off with Khevan. Sure he’d been an all Sectors tisba striker and had kept his six pack through assiduous training ever since retiring with an injury, but he’d be no match for a D’nvannae Brother. No one would be. “I don’t have time to pamper a demanding celebrity before the show.”

Lissa shook her head. “We’ve been trying to get her into your clothes for three seasons now. You have to accommodate her.”

I don’t have to do anything. The rebellious urge rose in her like hot lava. A headache began to throb and she rubbed her left temple.

“Besides, she just had that incredible hit trideo; she’s a sure thing for the Best Actress nomination and we need her to be in a Twilka Original.” Lissa made her case.

Khevan was watching her, face impassive. Twilka wondered what he thought of her business. Straightening, she said, “Of course you’re right, although everyone knows Liora will win for the biopic of the Angel of Fantalar.”

“Liora doesn’t have the right image for your brand and Fiona does,” Lissa said. “She appeals to the edgy Socialite wannabees, especially since she never hides the fact she came up from some awful colony somewhere. People can’t be you, but they can sure relate to being her. Her patronage is a fusion that can boost us.”

Pondering whether Lissa was planning to do a sneaky side deal, hire a designer, and attempt to steal a good chunk of Twilka’s clientele, she gave in. Good luck because no other celebrity designer has my connection to the wreck of the Nebula Dream and people are still fascinated by that night to remember. And by me because I survived. Fiona may be a poor kid who hit the big time, but she’s easily replaced. No one else will ever be me, lucky for them. “All right, if it’ll make you happy, Fiona can have half an hour.”

There was no horde of press to navigate at the venue because the groundcar deposited them at a side entrance. Twilka swept inside and was immediately plunged into the chaos of preparing for a major show. Two of the models were having a catfight over who should wear the show opener, which wasn’t their decision in any event. She settled the squabble in a heartbeat, by switching the dress in question to a third girl, and stepped aside to confer with the event’s Master of Ceremonies. The entire contingent of models was staring at Khevan and trying to get his attention, some more subtly than others, but he was focused on Twilka. She could tell, although he was acting like a bodyguard, assessing the environment and all the people in it with a cold eye, watching for threats. His presence would be comforting, if it didn’t arouse all kinds of other emotions and memories she could definitely do without.

The trideo star swept in with her entourage and her bodyguards, who seemed like untested boys next to Khevan. Twilka escorted the group to a private space at the edge of the fashion maelstrom, and dresses were brought to be tried on. In under half an hour the celebrity was satisfied, walking out in a gown Twilka decreed suited her perfectly and would land Fiona in all the “best of” trideo streams, garnering priceless publicity for the actress and for Twilka. She lingered behind for a moment, sinking into a handy chair.

“Is it always this manic?” Khevan asked, moving behind her to rub her shoulders.

Rolling her head from side to side in sheer relief as the muscle tension eased, she said, “Your hands work magic. Is massage normally part of the D’nvannae bodyguard service?”

“No. But I can see you getting tense and from what you’ve said, there are hours of this event left to get through.” He lifted his hands away from her body as Lissa burst through the door with a quick knock.

Open mouthed, she stared from one to the other. “Oh, sorry.” Obviously recalling her errand, she said hesitantly, “I hate to interrupt, but the model tore the green sheath, put her foot right through the hem, and the girl for the purple-and-gold ball gown hasn’t arrived yet…”

“You may have to wear the dress and walk yourself,” Twilka said, rising. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Have we briefed the models on how I want them to strut this year?” Lissa nodded. “Good. Let’s go see how bad the damage is. Maybe we can stitch on trim to hide the tear in the green.”

“The seamstresses are all busy adjusting hems and taking in seams. There’s not going to be enough time…”

“I haven’t forgotten how to use a needle.” Twilka made a little sewing motion as she walked.

“And the girl who’s supposed to wear the finale piece hasn’t arrived yet.” Lissa had the tone of a person with a long list of problems to report. “I heard she got hired to walk in another show and might not be here for us at all.”

“Let me see who’s in the first third of the program that can do a quick change and we’ll pick a new girl for the finale.” Twilka brushed past a pair of stylists with arms full of accessories. “What else? I know you’re not done dumping catastrophes on me.”

Her assistant stopped dead. “How do you do that? Are you sure you don’t have psychic powers?”

Laughing in spite of her tension, Twilka grabbed Lissa by the elbow and dragged her out of the way of a stage tech burdened down with complicated equipment. “Just a lot of experience with these productions. I’ve seen it all at least ten times over the years. Nothing surprises me.”

“This might.” Lissa took a deep breath. “So the Evanderly people staged a living vignette? And the models had to be part of the scenery?”

Nodding, Twilka walked faster, anxious to deal with the green dress and then the rest of the problems. “A bit over the top, but the collection was too simple. He needed something to distract the critics. How does that affect me?”

“Three of our girls have a purple rash from the leaves and insects they had to wear.”

Hands on her hips, Twilka blinked. “Okay, that is new. Can we cover them with glittering stardust powder?”

“Depending which dresses they’re supposed to wear.” Biting her lip, Lissa considered.

Twilka gave her assistant a tiny shove. “Go figure it out with the head makeup artist. He’ll love the challenge, even as he cusses you out. And then get Jord away from the catering tables and tell him to supervise the dressers like he’s supposed to be doing. I’m off to take care of the green dress.”

The pace of problems and calls for her personal attention were nonstop. At five minutes to curtain, Lissa reported the venue was full, people clamoring for seats, standing room only. “And we’re already booking orders for the dress you let Fiona have!”

The music started pumping. Twilka moved to the edge of the stage, took a deep breath, and walked out to welcome the audience to her show. She couldn’t really see them for all the lights and she had a moment of sheer panic, terrified whoever had taken out the contract on her life might be here, tired of waiting for the D’nvannae to take action. She heard herself uttering her pretty speech of thanks, using the old lilting Socialite voice and plenty of the current slang, because that was still the bedrock of her image—‘Lite girl gone legit—applause crescendoed and she was safely backstage again as the first model sashayed onto the runway, perfect face set in a contemptuous mask, as if to say other people could buy the dress, but no one could wear it as well as she did.

STAR SURVIVOR

The survivors of a terrible wreck meet again—but this time only one can survive.

The long-awaited sequel to The Wreck of the Nebula Dream…

They survived an iconic spaceship wreck together. She never expected to see him again … especially not armed to kill her.

Twilka Zabour is an interstellar celebrity. She built on her notoriety as a carefree Socialite who survived the terrible wreck of the Nebula Dream, and launched a successful design house. But now the man who gave meaning to her life, then left her, is back–this time for the worst of reasons. Will he kill her … or help her survive?

D’nvannae Brother Khevan survived the Nebula Dream in the company of a lovely, warm woman, only to be pulled away from her, back into his solitary life in the service of the Red Lady.  Now Twilka’s within his reach again–for all the wrong reasons. Khevan will do everything within his power to discover why Twilka has been targeted for assassination, and to save her.

But Khevan is not Twilka’s only pursuer. Will allies Nick and Mara Jameson arrive in time to aid the couple, or will Khevan and Twilka’s ingenuity be all that stands between them and death?