James Catlin
Consciousness returned and with it came the realization that he was anywhere but home. Racing with all manner of dark images, Jared Chandler's mind reeled from the stark reality he found himself in. Sealed within a transparent case with a gap in his short-term memory aroused a deep fear he had never before felt in the mundane life he had led. Closing his eyes and forcing himself to keep calm, Jared finally felt recollection return. He had been on his way home from his parents after Thanksgiving dinner. With his car in the shop he had unwisely accepted a ride home from his sister, Sandra. They had argued, not surprising considering her political and philosophical views, so Jared simply got out to walk the rest of the way. Nothing weird about that.
No. It was minutes later as he exited the C-Store that the little red sports car slid by him out-of-control, the driver glancing out with a look of horror on his face. An instant later Jared turned to see what might have been the cause and found himself confronted by a swirling mass of dark translucent colors that seemed to distort everything around it. He had no place to run and no time. It was then that blackness overcame him.
With a little patience Jared managed to open his small prison. After some tense searching he stood staring out a large window at an uninterrupted black tapestry filled by more tiny points of light than he could have ever imagined.
There had to be answers, but those would have to wait until he survived the Trials of the Elected.
In the milkyway galaxy, on a small blue planet, hides the mind of a pathological interplanetary dreamer, writer, modeler and storyteller. James Catlin enjoys writing science fiction and being an RPG master; designing new worlds from a vast empty place called his mind. From a master model maker and imagineer extraordinaire come the lives of millions not yet born. Or does he have a psychic connection to an untold sphere of universes that have come and gone, or are yet to come?
Born one thousand, nine hundred and sixty years after the separation of time on this small blue planet, James studied in the planet’s education system and has served in numerous capacities in the capitalist slave trade; most recently as an architectural model builder. He has constructed many of the ships and items in this book and in several of the books to come.
James, and his government-approved wife, raise a herd of young humans totaling 9 in all.
By Dave Rhoton
Orion’s power was nearly spent and it accelerated slowly back toward the other transport.
“Orion. How are you?”
“Functional.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Explain.”
“How do you feel?”
“Unable to answer, insufficient parameters and data references to formulate comparative information.”
“You hurt, don’t you?’
“I am at less than my full potential.
“I am sorry, my friend.”
“Apology noted. Friendship remains unchanged, companionship is worth much risk.”
“Yes, friendship remains unchanged,” Jared repeated solemnly. “Please show me a tactical.”
“The transport is unpowered and drifting, atmospheric integrity has been compromised in several areas. Seven life signs detected.”
“Do we have sufficient power to dock and get the survivors off?”
“Yes. Power recharge is now at 23 percent.”
“Alter course to rendezvous with the transport, but make sure all scanners are on the look out for other hostile vessels.”
“Complying.”
“Try to establish radio contact and inform me as soon as we get within docking range,” Jared said, laying his head back against the seat rest.
“Understood.”
**************
Jared had Shar’ya get the anti-grav stretcher and then he helped haul the unconscious Ceralia back to her quarters. Unfortunately, she came to not far from her door.
“Wha… What’s going on? Why am I on this…” Her eyes locked onto Jared. “You…”
Jared looked at the blonde quizzically.
"Your disrespectful verbal abuse will not go..."
"Verbal abuse?" Jared growled. "I'll give you verbal abuse, you thankless guren! It was you who came bursting onto the bridge demanding to know what fool was driving the boat, at the very moment I was trying to save your arrogant hide! ... I could have left your miserable, worthless butt on the deck to flop around like a beached fish, but nooo, I gotta try and help lug your fat carcass down here so you'd be nice and comfy in your bed. And what do I get for my troubles? More verbal tar sludge from your black pit of imperial flatulence!"
Finally she caught her breath and looked at Shar'ya with hurt in her eyes. "I'm not fat...."
