Not everyone in space is a hero…
… Some just struggle to survive in this crazy universe.
Far Reach Station was a dream never fully realized.
Built in deep space at the terminus of the Ring Network, the station became a port of call for adventurers, traders, and scoundrels from an untold number of worlds, each with hidden agendas.
Most people that call the station home just want to make an extra ration of water to make life a little more comfortable. Some want to lord over their small patch of deck plate.
Take your pick of professions, Private Investigator, Troubadour, Miner, or Delivery; all jobs take on an air of the dangerous while working in space. This is a place where villainy or heroism is only a question of choice.
This collection is about common souls stuck in a tin can millions of miles from home, all trying to survive in an environment surrounded by the unknown. A place where change is the only constant.
A station where humans are a rarity, struggling like the rest to find their place in the cosmos.
Get it now.
Genre: FICTION / Science Fiction / Short StoriesI have over 30 books published in several SF/F sub-genres; I would like to increase my international readership.
The fly danced across R.O. Smith’s face. Catatonic, her mind raced to think of something to make the fly leave her in peace. Her body still unresponsive, the fly crept towards her wide-open eye, drawn to the moisture. All her senses exploding, she tried to force her body to move, shedding a single tear for the effort. Meanwhile, the fly did a little stroll on her cornea, depositing who knew what as it went. She screamed, if only in her head, for it to leave her alone.
When she thought it couldn’t get any worse, the cold steel of a blade sliced into the back of her scalp. Jets of pain erupted over her nerve endings as she endured the tug at the first of her implants. She thankfully lost consciousness when the rough hands jerked the small sliver of silicone from her brain tissue, severing the connections to her perception. The last thing she remembered was a loud thud, her neurons and synapses firing overtime trying to comprehend what was happening to her body.
<=OO=>
Twelve hours earlier, R.O. Smith waited impatiently in her supervisor’s waiting room. A hydrologist by trade, the Saravipian Traders hired her to operate their section of the station's water system. Her primary task involved finding waste. Water, the universal solvent, even more precious in space than for the surface bound. R.O. was good at her job, damn good.
She checked her heads-up display on her retinal implant and found her supervisor thirty minutes late for their meeting. R.O. shouldn’t be surprised; the Saravipians were notorious for tardiness. She understood this going in. It was the one thing that almost broke the deal, but the money was too good to pass up. R.O. worked with military precision, and she hated delay. She smoothed the legs of her already wrinkle-free uniform jumpsuit, trying to control her growing irritation.
| Language | Status |
|---|---|
|
Dutch
|
Translation in progress.
Translated by Marinus Kruissen
|
|
Portuguese
|
Already translated.
Translated by Rodrigo Peixoto
|
|
|
Author review: Thank you |
|
Spanish
|
Already translated.
Translated by Gleni Mendoza
|
|
|
Author review: Thank you! |
