That was the distance between me and a flesh-eating demon that wanted to rip my face off.

The Somnient stalked toward me, a stocky, compact beast that looked like a demonic pit bull with a cavernous mouth of spiky yellow teeth. The smell of sulfur and rotten eggs poured from its mouth, making me want to vomit. It dragged its gnarly claws, leaving a trail of melting snow and rocks behind it.

The beach around us was filled with snow-capped rocks. Running wasn’t an option.

Behind me, the ice cracked on Lake Linette, the city’s great lake that was oh-so-beautiful in the summer, but a major problem for me now because I had nowhere else to run. In the overcast sky, the lake was a gray wasteland, its waves frozen in mid-crest.

I stepped back, and my foot hit a rock. I tripped and stumbled, but I regained my balance, jumping onto the rock.

The Somnient growled, baring its teeth.

“Seriously,” I said. “You have nothing better to do than eat people’s minds from the inside out, do you?”

The Somnient roared.

“It’s negative bazillion degrees outside,” I said. “Shouldn’t you be hibernating?”

The Somnient closed the gap, pouncing onto a rock.

“I keep hoping that one of these days when I talk to you demons, that you’ll talk back, and we can conversate or something,” I said. “Actually, forget I said that. I don’t even want to know what your voice would sound like. It would probably sound like the apocalypse.”

I jumped backward, landing on another rock nearby. Needed to keep my distance.

I hadn’t seen a Somnient since I killed the demon king a while back. The demon population decreased since then, and Somnient sightings were down across the city, which meant I could spend less time demon hunting and more time doing things I loved, like being with my cousins, drinking Prosecco, watching Star Trek…

Any day I didn’t have to deal with these dream-eating demons was a good day.

Now I had to figure out exactly how I was going to dismantle this demon before it made a mess of my client’s dream.

The bitter cold wind blew, damn near knocking me off the rock.

That’s the kind of winter we were having in Kemiston this year—it was cold, even in people’s freaking dreams.

A dreamlike voice spoke from above.

“Didn’t take this bad boy long to show up,” Destiny said.

She was watching the dream, even though she wasn't physically with me. On a day like this, I envied her for not having to do the hard work.

“Won’t take me long to get rid of him,” I said.

Reaching into the air, I felt dream ether pulsating all around me. It buzzed through my body.

I grinned at the Somnient.

“Last chance to repent for your foolish ways, talk to Jesus, or do whatever it is that you demons do to be saved,” I said.

Nothing. The demon didn’t even crack a smile.

“Okay,” I said. “Now it’s time for me to rip your face off.”

“Cuz, strike your pose and do a quarter turn,” Destiny said. “You know, like they do in the magazines.”

“Really?” I asked. “You're giving me posing directions while I fight?”

“Not me,” Destiny said. “It's the client’s photographer.”

I pulled the dream ether into my hands, and I willed it to become bright lines of light that swirled all around me like an overexposed photo.

I extended my hands as if I were shooting the light at the Somnient.

Winking, I willed the rock to disappear, knocking the Somnient onto its stomach.

“More,” Destiny said.

“More?” I asked. “That wasn’t good enough?”

“The wizard tech thingy won’t work right unless you keep going,” Destiny said. “He says to drag this fight out a bit more.”

“Has this photographer ever fought a Somnient before?” I asked. “I shouldn't let this thing live for too much longer.”

“Girl, will you just shut up and pose?” Destiny asked angrily.

Sighing, I composed myself.

The demon jumped to its feet.

I smiled, putting on my best confident smile, imagining myself in a photo shoot.

Because I was in a photo shoot.

Well, kind of.

A real life demon hunt slash photo shoot with no camera, that is.

Ever since we saved the city from a nightmare train hell-bent on death, we were minor celebrities. The city’s news magazine wanted to feature us. Darius was recording my every move with one of his wizard tech thingies that I had no idea how to explain.

“Time to have some fun with this,” I said.

I flipped into the air, spinning several times as I willed the dream ether to gather above me.

*********

Click here to grab your copy of Evil Waking.

If you want to start the Magic Trackers series from the beginning, click here to buy Dream Born.

The post Evil Waking Snippet appeared first on Michael La Ronn.

They sweep into a dream like a summer thunderstorm—suddenly and out of nowhere.

I was deep inside a client’s dream when I lost my control over her mind.

Floating through a corridor of fog, with a thousand hazy screens of jumbled up memories around me, I was watching scenes from a woman’s life that I couldn’t be sure were true. The dream was a soup of sounds, smells, and lights.

The fog thickened and the mindscape grew stuffier. An intense wave of fear passed through me. It wasn’t my fear; it was my client’s. I felt it taking hold and spreading across her mind.

I snapped my fingers.

Nothing.

The dream ether that filled her mind had vanished. Normally, it pulsed just out of sight, always ready for me to dig into it with my fingers and manipulate the dream.

But it was gone.

Shit.

I tried to make sense of the memory screens in spite of what I knew was coming.

My growing anxiety suddenly made it hard for me to concentrate.

One by one, the memories flickered off, leaving me floating in the empty space of the dream, surrounded by fog.

I hadn't had time to make sense of anything. I’d barely had a chance to get my bearings in the dream before the dreamscape started to change.

“Aisha, you better get out of there,” a booming voice said.

Destiny, my cousin.

She was watching the dream with me, even though she wasn’t physically present. Her dreamlike voice was a welcome distraction from the changing atmosphere. I imagined her in falcon form, perched on a bird post next to the bed where the woman was dreaming, watching with one eye open to the real world while she slept.

“Darius says Allegra’s heart rate is increasing,” she said. “We in for a nightmare.”

“That’s what I expected,” I said. “I just didn’t think I’d lose this much control so soon. I'm going to need Allegra’s help. Can you induce a lucid dream, please?”

“A lucid?” Destiny asked. “We ain’t done that in a while. You sure, cuz?” Destiny asked.

“Positive,” I said.

Lucid dreams were those dreams one has every once in a while where they’re fully aware that they are dreaming. They’re somewhat in control of the dream, too, able to think, move, and interact with the environment meaningfully. Sending a client lucid had its pros and cons. Actually, more pros than cons.

“I'll tell Darius, but I don't think this is a good idea,” Destiny said.

“Hello?” I asked. “I'm the dream mage, remember?”

The last thing I needed right now was Destiny trying to tell me how to use my powers.

I waited impatiently.

Slowly, a human form began to take shape in the fog next to me. First a shadow, then the silhouette of a body that traced itself into full form.

My client, Allegra da Silva.

A worrywart kind of woman—the worst I’ve ever met. Even in sleep, her face looked fretful. She must have been my age—about twenty-five—and I found it hard to believe that someone could worry so much about life and still be alive.

But at least she had a generous heart.

I pulled her closer to me, and she floated as if she were underwater.

I brushed my hand across her face, brushed a curly hair aside, and tried to help her consciousness become aware of the dream.

I didn't like interacting with people while they dreamt. I preferred to watch the dreams and interject as I needed to.

But this woman had come to my shop a few nights ago, fear in her bloodshot eyes, hardly able to speak because she was stuttering so much. Through a lot of hot chocolate, we finally got her to calm down. With her thick accent, she told us that she dreamt of people dying.

When she woke up, they did.

And it was true. A couple glances at the news websites with mysterious deaths in subway stations all across the city gave her some credibility.

And she had money, was willing to pay, and was desperate for help, so naturally I took her case.

Allegra opened her eyes.

She blinked a few times and I knew she was truly with me now.

“Welcome to your dream,” I said.

***

Click here to grab your copy of Nightmare Stalkers. 

If you'd like to start the Magic Trackers series from the beginning, click here to grab your copy of Dream Born.

The post Nightmare Stalkers Snippet appeared first on Michael La Ronn.

I took a few steps back, the cold snow seeping into my boots.

The demons focused on me, their spinning, blue nebula-like eyes glowing, their smooth black horns dull in the moonlight. Four-legged, with the build of a pit bull and the teeth of a shark, they stalked down the side of the building—an old brownstone in the heart of the city—growling at me. Their claws scratched against the brick and left long white marks.

“So it's gonna be like this, huh,” I said.

I let down my hood, and the wind blew my hair about. The chill tore through my face, and I could hardly feel my cheeks. My eyes watered in the bone-chilling cold.

Fourth demon encounter this month. The magic suppressant charms weren’t working.

“Darius,” I said, throwing a snowball against the window. “Get out here and see what you did.”

Darius’s lanky frame was a shadow in the front of the shop, and he was sweeping the floor. I threw another snowball.

He stuck his half-braided, half-afroed head out of the door, shivering in the cold.

“It’s too cold out here to be playing, cuz,” he said.

And then he heard the growling and looked up slowly.

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “Why does this always happen around two o’clock in the morning?”

“You only have one job,” I said, gripping my shovel tightly. “Protection spells are not supposed to be that hard.”

“Ain’t my fault,” Darius said, shuddering. “You know I can cast that spell with the best of them.”

He grabbed a puffy coat with a fur collar, threw it on, and joined me in the snow. His hands glowed with warm fire, and the flames bloomed all the way up his arms, suffusing his face in an orange glow. He yawned.

Darius was my cousin. A wizard.

Not the kind you’re probably imagining in your head right now—you know, the wizard with a pointy hat, a star-swept robe, and a gray beard, but a black, eighteen year-old wizard who loved South Pole jackets and who routinely forgot to do his chores—namely, casting a protection spell around my shop. A wizard whose magic and lack thereof always got his big cousin into trouble. But he could throw fire and cast spells like a boss whenever the Somnients showed up, so I usually forgave him.

“At least these bad boys didn’t show up when the sky was really dumping snow on us,” Darius said.

The beasts landed in the snow and inched toward us, breathing smoke and sulphur.

The post Dream Born Snippet appeared first on Michael La Ronn.

***

CITY OF NEW EATON, Middle Rind

Kendall Barnes walked the streets of the Middle Rind with a giant knife and fork in his back pocket.

He emerged from a dirty alley into an avenue of cereal box and soda bottle skyscrapers lit up on every floor.

Rivers of people moved up and down the sidewalks. Walking alongside them were anthropomorphic candy bars, boxed dinners, doughnuts, and other processed foods, each with bright packaging and droopy eyes, adding artificial color to the area.

The humans smiled as they walked in half-struts, half-waddles, mumbling to themselves and licking their lips. Many were overweight and obese.

The foods (called Gourmans) were at least one to two feet taller than the humans and, with the exception of a few wide ones, were mostly skinny and lean. Some mingled with the humans, laughing and cracking jokes; others looked serious and as if they were on their way to somewhere important.

Enormous, three-story tall LED screens on every building streamed glitzy commercials fighting to catch the attention of the crowd.

In the street, traffic zipped by, each car and hovercycle leaving a trail of sparkling, colorful light behind it.

Kendall took in the busy street and snapped his fingers in a jazzy rhythm. He inhaled, taking in every delicious smell of his city, then he exhaled, smiling.

“Gonna be a good night.”

He had chosen his long white t-shirt, jean shorts, and green basketball shoes specifically for tonight. Under his shirt, he wore a smooth, golden chain that his friend, a french fry, had given him. He was determined to be the coolest-dressed black guy at the Festival of the Harvest.

Kendall skipped into the street and joined the flow of people. A TV dinner blimp floated overhead, casting an elongated shadow over everything below. A female voice echoed from a megaphone on the blimp’s bridge.

“Attention citizens: The Festival of the Harvest will begin shortly. Nonpareil Square will be closed to traffic for the rest of the evening. You may have also noticed pipes along the street . . .”

Kendall looked to his left and saw a line of green metal pipes rising up from a sewer grate. They ran parallel to the street and extended for several blocks to Nonpareil Square, where searchlights crisscrossed the dusk sky and music played from loudspeakers on the high-rises.

“Please be mindful of the pipes,” the voice said as the blimp finished crossing and the street brightened again.

Kendall had never seen the pipes before, and he wondered what they were for. As he walked past, he heard a strange bubbling sound coming from them.

An ad flashed on one of the screens and pulled him from his thoughts. A curvy blonde in a striped bathing suit appeared on the huge display. She smiled, ran her fingers through her hair, threw her head back, and laughed as bubbles rose around her. Green text scrolled across the screen: NUTRIZEEN. UNLOCK THE TRUE YOU.

Kendall swallowed and looked down at his stomach. He probably weighed three times as much as the woman on the screen. In New Eaton, being skinny was rare, but desired.

He rubbed his belly and said, “Heh heh. One of these days, I'm going to shed this negative six-pack.”

He had heard of people getting Nutrizeen injections that changed their lives completely. Their weight just fell off, leaving behind firm, fit, god-like bodies. The injections were invitation-only, and the Triumvirate claimed that they were still testing their effectiveness. Humans often talked about what they would do with brand new, athletic and fit bodies; it was a common topic around bars. Kendall himself often daydreamed about all the things he could do if he got an injection. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself with chiseled abs and thighs strong enough to crush a small watermelon. He saw himself on the beaches of Cola Bay, diving into the waves and swimming a mile without getting tired, then retiring to a beach house where he’d sit on the balcony with a drink in his hand and watch the sun sink into the clouds . . .

Three jets burst across the sky toward Nonpareil Square, shattering his fantasy with the thunderous roars of their engines.

Kendall put his hands over his ears and looked up at the huge, lumbering jail-ship shaped like a bag of chips that followed the jets. Then he joined everyone on the street as they cheered.

“There they are,” Kendall said, pumping his fists. “I'm ready to rock this festival, you best believe!”

He quickened his pace toward Nonpareil Square, and could feel the rest of the crowd doing the same.

***

Food City is Book 1 in the Moderation Online series, a new LitRPG series. Click here to grab your copy.

As always, if you’d like to support me, check out my Patreon page. 

The post Food City Snippet #2 appeared first on Michael La Ronn.

***

EARTH, North America, 2067

“Dr. Brotherton, while I appreciate that you're using breakthrough technology to treat my husband, I'm not so sure that a video game will cure him.”

Dr. Peter Brotherton suppressed a sigh as an African-American woman dabbed her moist eyes with a tissue. Two children clung to her dress with worried looks on their faces.

Through the hospital waiting room window, rain fell slanted across the blustery sky, and moonlight bathed the hospital grounds below in a pale gray.

It had been raining for the last week. Dr. Brotherton wished for sunlight, clear air, and a blue sky in which to give the bad news. But the rain fell, a relentless staccato against an undertone of thunder.

“I understand how you feel,” Dr. Brotherton said, choosing his words carefully.

Jamilla Barnes sobbed, heaving loudly. She was obese, with a round face and long dreadlocks.

Dr. Brotherton let her cry. He felt for her, like he did for all of his patients’ families, but his heart stopped breaking  for them many years ago. He clasped his hands together and spoke softly.

“Your husband suffered a massive heart attack. We were able to stabilize him, but he has not woken up yet.”

“When will he wake up?” Jamilla asked.

“It’s hard to say,” Dr. Brotherton said. “It could be days, weeks, or months.”

Jamilla shook her head and wiped her eyes. “I’d like to see him.”

“I’m happy to let you in the room,” Dr. Brotherton said, “but I need to warn you about what you’re about to see.”

Here came the bad news.

The news no one ever wanted to hear because it sounded so strange.

And he was going to give it for the twentieth time this week. With no coffee in his system, no painkillers to deaden the sharp edge of burnout.

“Kendall is already inside the video game,” Dr. Brotherton said. “We have him hooked up to it, so there a lot of wires and technological things in the room.”

Jamilla frowned.

“My husband has a heart attack and you put him in a video game?” Jamilla asked.

Dr. Brotherton pursed his lips. “It’s deeper than than that. Come with me.”

***

Kendall Barnes was an obese black man who lie in a spacious hospital room. He was hooked up to a ventilator.

A coal-black VR headset lay over his eyes. A heart rate monitor blinked over the space where the eyes were. A long wire connected it to a server in the wall, which glittered behind a glass panel. Monitoring screens were mounted all over the room, measuring brain function, sleep patterns, and heart rate.

Jamilla gasped.

For Brotherton, this wasn’t anything new. Kendall looked like the wave of a thousand patients he’d seen this year. Obese, diabetic, lucky to be alive.

“All over the world, we have seen an epidemic,” Dr. Brotherton said. “I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but we’ve been seeing heart-related diseases killing people, almost as if a time bomb exploded.”

He hesitated.

Time bomb.

Poor choice of words.

“It's not like we haven't treated heart disease, but this is worse. It's devastating,” Dr. Brotherton said. “The medical societies of the world have committed to stopping this, so they partnered with gaming companies, and leading psychologists. They developed a virtual reality game experience, and we are hooking up victims’ brains to it.”

“I don’t understand,” Jamilla said, caressing Kendall’s forehead. “I signed the consent papers, but I wasn't aware of—”

“It’s quite simple,” Brotherton said. “It really is, Mrs. Barnes. In order for Kendall to live with heart disease, he’s got to make drastic lifestyle changes. But we’ve been telling patients this for decades and it hasn’t worked. This virtual reality experience—called Moderation Online—immerses them in a world that teaches them the importance of eating right. It's an ingenious game design that subconsciously steers patients into making nutritional decisions at the neural level. We have seen a tremendous amount of success from initial tests. We see drastic weight loss and lasting good habits.”

Jamilla buried her head in Kendall’s chest.

“I’ve been told it’s a paradise,” Dr. Brotherton said. “The science behind it is to take healthy foods such as vegetables, turn them into characters, and assign them names and personalities. Have you ever heard of role-playing games, Mrs. Barnes?”

***

Food City is Book 1 in the Moderation Online LitRPG series. It is a fantasy that takes place in the world of food. Click here to sign up for my email list so you can know when it launches. 

As always, if you’d like to support me, check out my Patreon page. 

The post Food City Snippet #1 appeared first on Michael La Ronn.

***

It was the morning of the biggest presentation of my legal career, and I spent ten minutes practicing my speech in front of a potted ficus. The bronze faces of the partners stared down at me from the wall, and I tried to imagine my face among them. If my presentation went well, I’d become a mid-level associate at the Hanover Law Firm—the most prestigious law firm in the city—and I’d finally get my own office instead of having to share a cubicle.

I hurried through the hall, swung into the conference room, and discovered that the meeting had begun without me. The partners sat around a long cedar table, watching a plasma TV mounted on the wall. They swiveled their heads toward me.

“You’re late, Bebe,” said Annette Farwell, my arch-nemesis with stilettos and perky breasts. Her designer suit made my blouse and skirt look like consignment items. She wasn’t supposed to be in this meeting. She smirked at me from the head of the table, lacing her fingers together so that everyone could see her glittering maroon nails. “I’ve been working on this case for six months, and I don’t appreciate you interrupting my presentation.”

My PowerPoint slides hovered on the TV screen. Only at the Hanover Law Firm were the partners so busy that they couldn’t tell when attorneys were stealing cases from each other.

I nearly turned green when I saw Tucker Salinas sitting at the table. He looked sexy in his black suit and red tie, and I could smell his lavender cologne across the room. His wavy hair and brown skin made him stick out in the room full of pasty white people like me.

“Wasn’t this your case, Bebe?” he said.

“Well—”

Annette raised her voice to cover mine. “Of course Bebe helped me. When she wasn’t on Facebook, she was wonderful. But time management is her weakness. It’s just like her to be late.”

I wanted to say, I’m late because you rescheduled the meeting without telling me, but what came out was something between a pout and a nervous laugh.

The managing partner shot up. “That’s all I need. It’s a tough decision—both of you do a great job. But on the basis of this case, Annette, we’re going to go ahead and promote you to mid-level associate. Bebe, we’ll discuss your performance at a later date.”

Annette draped her palms over her mouth and sucked in air. “I can’t thank you enough for recognizing my hard work.” She schmoozed around the room, shaking everyone’s hands. The partners ignored me as they filed out, and when I tried to meet Tucker’s eyes, he looked through me, too.

“It’s nothing personal,” Annette said after the last attorney left. She primped her bun with one hand and packed her portfolio with the other. “You’ll get your promotion in due time.”

I blocked the door. “You stole my case.”

“It’s so nice to finally hear you speak. I couldn’t tell if you were shocked, or if you were participating in one of your silent vegan protests again.”

“This is wrong, Annette. You never worked on this case.”

“You shouldn’t have left your computer unlocked.”

“You’re committing fraud.”

“You’re the fraud.” Annette stepped toward me. “And if you think I’m a bitch now,” she said, “I dare you to tell the partners. Then I can tell them how you broke company protocol and kissed Tucker Salinas.”

“How do you know that?”

Sure, I had kissed him. I’d had too many cocktails at happy hour—super embarrassing—but he hadn’t kissed me back.

Annette saw me thinking and laughed. “You know the rules. Any kind of personal contact is grounds for termination. I’ll make you wish that you’d dropped out of law school like you should have, and wonder why you didn’t major in English, spend the rest of your life writing erotica, and contribute to society in some meaningful way other than being a tool for my personal advancement. Go on,” she said, pointing to the door, “tell the partners.”

I didn’t know what to say. Annette pushed me aside and slammed the door behind her, leaving me alone with the lingering smell of cologne, legal pads, and betrayal.

***

Magic Souls is an interactive urban fantasy styled after Choose Your Own Adventures, but for grown ups with a storyline that changes as you read it. Click here to relive your childhood. 

As always, if you'd like to support me, check out my Patreon page. 

The post Magic Souls – Snippet appeared first on Michael La Ronn.

New Character Introduction

Ren Flanahey tucked a pile of school books into her backpack.

She joined a stream of children into the dark hallways of Empire Middle School Hive Three Thousand and Two.

The hall sloped upward, and wrapped around in a large circle. The walls were orange and glistening like the walls of a honeycomb.

She walked quietly with the other students, who walked with sullen faces. A drone bot with a television flew overhead, and a teacher’s head appeared on the screen.

“Students, as the weekend approaches, I would like you to take time to appreciate the glory of our empire.”

The drone sped ahead, repeating the message.

“Yes, we celebrate the glory of our empire,” the children said mechanically.

Ren said the words without feeling them, without meaning them, like she had for seventeen years.

Someone nudged Ren.

Her friend, Harlow. Well, more than a friend.

He was built like a young soldier. Bald and tattooed on the face—swirls on his cheeks—he was buff and handsome.

“Spaceship Calc was brutal today,” he said.

“Yeah,” she said, running a hand through her hair.

She had spilled soda on her uniform at lunch, and there was a gruesome stain near her stomach. She turned so that he didn't see it.

“Glory be to the empire,” Harlow said.

“Glory,” Ren said.

“When is your emergence?” Harlow asked. “I just got mine. I've been assigned.”

Assigned.

Emergence.

The time when all of her friends were plucked away, sent onto career tracks in the military, teaching, or science fields. With the hive lottery system, she would never see them again.

She would never see Harlow again.

She knew she shouldn't have gotten attached. No one got attached. It made life easier when Emergence happened. But she'd done it, and now she felt pain, pain unlike anything she'd ever felt in her life. She wanted to cover her ears, to grab his hand, to run, far, far away, over the top of the hive city and into the flat plains so they could get away, be free, free—free—before the somber reality of adulthood sunk in. The somber reality that she was never free, never would be, and that her life was predestined.

“I ship off tomorrow,” he said.

“Oh,” she said.

They walked outside into the moonlight.

The hive city seemed to swirl up into the stars. The lights of embedded pod homes glittered against the earthen walls. The twin moons, red and yellow, were bright in the gray sky.

A line of pod trams waited. The children lined up and entered. The pods zipped away on circular tracks, upward into the city.

The air was crisp, the moonlight pale on her skin, and the goosebumps on her arms popped up the moment she walked into the night air.

“This is goodbye,” Harlow said. “It's been great.”

She sighed.

“So you just leave?” she asked.

They walked to a line.

“It's better this way,” Harlow said. “We’re not even supposed to be dating. Or talking. Glory must first be to the empire.”

“Screw the empire,” she whispered. “What would it be like to live like they do in other galaxies? To be free?”

Harlow shushed her.

“You want to get us killed?”

“You didn't say that when we were alone yesterday,” she said.

“The military needs me,” Harlow said. “And I have to listen. We all do. Maybe you'll be chosen and we’ll cross paths in a few decades, Ren.”

She turned away and ignored him.

“Fine,” she said. “Goodbye.”

“Glory be to the empire,” Harlow said.

She didn't reply.

She didn't want to say anything.

Her boyfriend of five weeks, who had kissed her already, was leaving.

A drone bot hovered over her and the teacher looked at her.

“Glory be to the empire,” she said reluctantly, and scowling.

When she turned away, Harlow was gone, disappeared into another crowd.

The line thinned out and she approached the pod tram, a silver ball designed for ten.

She climbed onboard with the other sullen children, and she became one of them.

***

Coming Soon

The post Horizon Down – Snippet appeared first on Michael La Ronn.

The Mavericks Together for the First Time

Keltie Sheffield waited in the airlock as the escape pod cleared the outer doors and the inner airlock doors opened. The escape pod was a circular ball of metal that looked painfully uncomfortable to travel in.

She wrinkled up her nose.

It smelled like space, too. Like burnt rubber and popcorn.

“Smells pretty bad, huh?” she asked.

Silence.

She turned around. Eddie Puente was at a control panel, entering some commands. He ignored her.

She scoffed.

Ever since they had been left alone, he didn't acknowledge her. He seemed nice enough to start, and they even chatted for an hour. But it must have been something she said, because he stopped talking to her. Like a switch got flipped and she couldn't figure out why.

He avoided eye contact and acted as if the pod hadn't even entered the airlock.

The pod touched down on the ground with a clang.

Grayson piloted, and seeing him, she laughed. He was so tall his head was almost touching the ceiling. He was laughing, too.

Devika was frowning. But then again, Keltie had never seen her smile so that was nothing new.

There was someone else with them in the pod, but she couldn't see who it was.

The pod doors opened, letting out a large whoosh of air.

And then Keltie heard it.

A crazed, revving-like sound.

Weeeeerr!

Keltie ducked as a small black cloud darted over her head. A red eye glinted in the center of the cloud. Seeing it, her heart jumped, sweat beaded on her forehead, and she balled her fist.

“No,” she whispered. And then she yelled, “No!”

A Planet Eater. The alien race that started all of this, the race that killed her best friend before her eyes!

She ripped a crowbar off the wall and banged it as hard as she could.

The alien winced.

“Go away!” she shouted. “Go away!”

She banged the crowbar harder and the Planet Eater flew away, sputtering as if the sound were hurting it.

“Eddie, open the airlock!” she shouted.

Eddie watched with his mouth wide open.

“Eddie!” Keltie said.

CLANG! CLANG!

The alien sputtered again.

“I'll do it myself,” Keltie grumbled, running for the airlock controls. “You killed Claire. You'll pay, I swear to God—”

She heard gunshots in her mind.

Then she was back on Kepler.

In her spacesuit.

People were screaming.

Her best friend, Claire, was running next to her.

Bullets were flying everywhere. Planet Eaters covered the sky like ink.

A hand on her shoulder pulled her from the flashback.

She kept swinging the crowbar, denting the pod.

“Keltie,” someone said.

“Somebody help!”

“Keltie,” the voice said.

The alien retreated to the corner of the airlock, and it shrunk to half of its size.

Someone grabbed her crowbar.

She tightened her grip. But soon the crowbar was gone and it clanged against the floor.

Grayson had grabbed her.

“Keltie, it’s all right,” he said.

“What do you mean it's all right?” she yelled. “Do you remember what they—”

“He's not gonna hurt you,” Grayson said.

“He's telling the truth,” Devika said. “It seems to be docile.”

Keltie shook her head at the alien. She pushed herself away from Grayson.

A petite Asian woman stood behind Devika. The encounter had scared her.

“Hi,” the woman said. “I'm Michiko. And that's Clark.”

Clark swirled in the corner of the ceiling and hovered under a skylight, almost disappearing in the blackness of space outside.

Keltie backed out of the room. Took one last look at Grayson, Eddie, Devika and Michiko.

She thought she knew these people.

Now they were harboring evil aliens!

It was too much to take. She ran out of the room.

***

Click here to grab your copy of Planet Eaters. Or, grab the whole series in one click. 

The post Planet Eaters – Snippet appeared first on Michael La Ronn.

A Traumatic Event Florian Macalestern's Childhood

Florian dashed as far as he could, but he could not keep up with the man.

So he screamed at the top of his lungs.

“Thief!” he cried. “That man is a thief! Stop him! Stop him!”

The man looked back, scowling. His footsteps on the wooden dock were hard compared to Florian’s light steps.

“Stop!” Florian cried.

At the entrance to the dock, someone stuck out their foot.

The man tripped and landed face-first on the wood.

Florian’s heart leaped.

He caught up with the man and jumped on him, grabbing his mother’s purse.

“Let go!” Florian cried, pulling at the purse.

The strap ripped, scattering money, coins, and credit cards all over the ground.

“Big mistake, brat,” the man said, grabbing Florian by the throat.

But Florian kicked him in the groin and the man doubled over.

They wrestled, rolling across the dock.

Florian pushed on the man’s face, feeling day-old stubble. The man pushed back and grabbed a clump of Florian’s hair.

Needles of pain spread across Florian’s scalp—the man was pulling his hair.

“Florian!” someone cried.

Greta.

“Florian!” Greta cried again.

And then Florian felt someone on top of his back.

And then he saw a hand.

Slapping the man on the face.

Again.

And again.

“Leave him alone!” Greta cried.

The man let go of Florian’s hair.

Florian pulled away when—

POW!

Stars danced across his field of vision and he fell to the ground, clutching his chest.

A punch.

He had been punched.

He tried to breathe but his stomach knotted up and his vision narrowed.

He saw his mother wrestling with the man, yelling at him.

Tatiana stood a few feet away, her hands over her mouth.

“Leave…her…alone,” Florian gasped.

And then—

CRACK!

His mother stopped.

The man stopped.

Tatiana gasped.

Smoke. Thick smoke. In the air.

His ears rang.

Florian tried to stand but he stumbled backward.

The world flipped up from underneath him and he was falling.

Falling.

The dock sailed away from him, up, up, up into the sky.

And then he hit the sea, water flooded his lungs, and he sank down, down, down into the clear blue water.

***

He woke, and sprung up, gasping.

His lungs burned and he clutched his chest.

A man put his hands on Florian’s shoulder. His clothes were drenched and his hair was wet.

“Kid, you okay?” the man asked. “You almost drowned but I got you. You’re gonna be okay.”

Florian breathed in and sputtered. Wiping his eyes, he glanced down the dock.

Someone was crying.

Through a gathered crowd, he spotted Tatiana.

He could only see her legs, and bits of her dress.

“Tati,” Florian breathed. “Tati…”

She was crying. She was holding someone in her arms.

And then Florian saw her.

His mother, in Tatiana’s arms.

“No!” Florian cried.

He scrambled across the dock. His rescuer tried to stop him but Florian pushed him away.

Florian shoved two people aside and stopped at the sight of his mother.

Blood welled across Greta’s dress. Her eyes were distant and cold.

Tatiana looked up at Florian and shook her head, crying.

Florian balled his fists.

He looked around for the criminal.

But he was gone.

His legs were suddenly heavy.

He couldn’t move.

He sank to his knees and buried his face in his mother’s chest. He didn’t care about the warm blood on his face.

“Mama,” he said. “Mama, say something!”

But Greta did not respond.

Florian curled into a ball and screamed.

***

Orbital Decay is Florian's descent into darkness. Click here to grab your copy. Or, grab the entire Galaxy Mavericks series in one click!

The post Orbital Decay – Snippet appeared first on Michael La Ronn.

Michiko Sings Away Her Sorrows

Michiko Lins waited for her next assignment in the canteen of a transport carrier.

She glanced at a tablet on the table in front of her.

Blank.

It had been a long hour, waiting for the assignment from headquarters that would change her life. Again. At least for the next few months. Crazy to think that her life was in the government’s hands.

She couldn't take the waiting.

There were so many places the Galaxy Corps could send her.

Some of them made her nervous. Like the border planets near Argus. Or the colonies deep in the recesses of the galaxy, where no one would hear her communications for hours if something went wrong.

Yet she kept telling herself that she signed up for this.

She closed her eyes and listened to the ship’s quiet hum as it cruised through space. The canteen smelled like a global kitchen—on the various stoves, there were skillets with remnants of curry, rice, beans, and other foods the passengers had made for lunch just a little while ago. A plate of half-eaten pork dumplings and rice balls sat on her plate, next to the tablet, along with a cup of yerba mate tea.

Again her eyes went to the tablet.

Nothing.

She sighed, cradling the acoustic guitar on her lap.

She rolled her finger tips across the strings. Quietly, slowly, she began to play a gentle samba.

A samba for all the people she'd known. A samba for all the places she'd been. A samba for love, a samba for sadness, a samba for all those feelings in between. She held in her mind’s eye her mother, pale and beautiful in a kimono, her dad, tall and dark in a soccer jersey, the blue ocean shores of her home planet, Asiazil, the sunlight shining on the water, the dancing sands, the echoes of beach laughter among gentle waves, smiling faces, the dancing—so much dancing!—and drums and berimbaus and guitars and singing—men and women singing and crooning! In an instant she was back on Asiazil, sitting on a rock on a windswept shore, watching the sunset through a vermilion torii gate in the distance. She was singing, one leg crossed over the other, picking out chords randomly and seeing where the song went. Major chords and minor chords and jazz chords that only Asiazil could pull off. Her home planet’s name and essence was an idea born from a song lyric written hundreds of years ago, one she hoped the planet would always live up to.

She sang.

In Portguese.

In Japanese.

In English.

And the time just passed her by like the ocean waves and the herds of clouds in the blue sky, and smells of the fragrant flowers and the intoxicating bento boxes with eel and crab and smoked Brazilian beef.

She sang of home. And for a moment she wished she was there, but then she realized that she could not go back.

Not yet.

Her fingers told her that the song was almost over.

She picked a final chord and arpeggiated it, letting the notes linger before she took her fingers off the strings.

She nodded in satisfaction, looking out the circular window at the stars blinking outside amidst hyperspace.

“That was some beautiful playing,” a voice said. A chubby twenty-something man leaned in the doorway to the canteen, arms folded. He had red hair and a shaggy beard, and he wore a gray t-shirt  with blue G on the left side. His shirt was tucked into cargo pants—the Galaxy Corps uniform. She was so wrapped up in playing that she didn't hear him enter.

“Hey, thanks,” Michiko said. “I’m not bothering you, am I? Because if I am—”

“Not at all,” the man said. “The opposite.”

“Where’d you learn to play guitar like that?” the man asked. “Good god. I didn’t even know music like that was possible.”

“I learned it back home,” Michiko said, putting her guitar into a black nylon case.

Michiko grabbed her tea cup—a smooth, shiny gourd with a metal spoon sticking out of a clump of green tea leaves—and she covered it with a napkin.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Just a taste from home,” she said. “It’s called chimarrão.”

“Chima-what?”

“Nevermind.”

The man walked to the table and extended his hand.

“Rudy Rundgren,” he said. “Nice to see another Galaxy Corps member here. I was starting to think I was all alone.”

“Michiko Lins,” she said. “Nice to meet you, too, Rudy.”

“So help me understand,” Rudy said, hesitating.

A question was coming. The kind she always got whenever someone met her for the first time. After all, she didn’t look like most people. Olive-skinned with slanted eyes, long curly black hair, and very short height. She looked like a little girl even though she was already out of college. Sometimes it was the looks; other times it was her slight accent that no one could ever place, a kind of lilting Portguese but not quite.

“My mom has Japanese blood and my dad has Brazilian blood,” she said.

Rudy stammered.

“That was your question, wasn’t it?” Michiko asked.

Rudy rubbed his head. “Yeah, sorry if I offended. I figured with the guitar and the tea that you were from Asiazil, but I always hate to ask, you know?”

“No, I get it all the time,” she said, smiling. “I guess you could call me east by south.”

“Huh?”

“You know, back on Earth. Long time ago. Japan was east. Brazil was south. It's a song reference, like our entire planet. Too obscure, I guess.”

She laughed at her own joke.

“Well, whatever you want to call yourself,” Rudy said, “you can play guitar like that all day and night and you won’t hear a complaint from me.”

***

Click here to grab your copy of Rogue Colony. Or, grab the entire Galaxy Mavericks series with one click.

The post Rogue Colony – Snippet appeared first on Michael La Ronn.