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Would you like a preview of Garbadon Major, Book 3 of the Jazz Healy, Reunion Series? Well, here you go! Chapter 1 in its entirety.

I hope you enjoy…

Garbadon Major
Chapter 1

Behind Jazz Healy in the dimly lit, roughhewn tunnel, someone shouted. She spun around, gun up, ready to fire.

A pair of men in ragged coveralls staggered out of a doorway. One belted out a slurred chant proclaiming the greatness of Kinon, the close-orbiting planetoid of the blue sun Jekanel that Jazz found herself within, while the other accompanied his buddy with wordless hollers.

Jazz watched them wander off in the opposite direction and sighed. She had to have arrived on Landfall Appreciation Day, a public holiday marking the moment humans first touched down on the planetoid’s surface. Then again, Kinon’s official calendar indicated every second day was some kind of national celebration. No, that was an exaggeration. Once a week was more accurate.

Despite having only been in the planetoid’s bowels for a couple hours, Jazz could understand the rationale behind the near constant festivities. Already she was giving serious thought to taking her rebreather off and heading into one of the tunnels marked ‘Out Of Order’ just to see how quickly she’d asphyxiate.

“Easy now,” she muttered. “Don’t do anything you can’t regret.”

A drop of water struck her shoulder, the splash wetting the side of her neck. Moisture falling from the ceiling. Satisfied that the drunks behind her were who they appeared to be, she returned to her task. Five hundred feet more and she should be at the current residence of one Arteen Vendta, wanted for murder in the Qitani System. The price on his head: twenty thousand Commonwealth dollars. After expenses – fuel, entry fees at five different non-Commonwealth worlds, and the rest – she should come out a little bit ahead.

She adjusted her torso-plate and brought up on the lower left-hand corner of her optic implants the feed from the mote camera she’d attached to Rainbow Ninja, her waist-tall, gene-spliced cat. She’d sent Rainbow Ninja prowling from the opposite direction in case Vendta got to running before she arrived on his doorstep.

Of course, he might already have lit out but she didn’t think so. Her intel was that he’d used his last cash reserves several months ago to get to Kinon and had been holed up here ever since. Acquiring his address had proven surprisingly easy, the Port Authority clerk just happy to have a visitor to talk to. And possibly drunk.

The tunnel broadened into an area wide enough for several benches set out in an approximate circle. A whole mess of the flickering fluorescent tubes that lit the rest of the planetoid had been lined up together on the ceiling, creating a nauseating, incomprehensible pattern of flashing. A storefront cut out of the rock, within which stood a disheveled woman, sold snack packs and other canned goods. Two men stripped to the waist but more beer gut than chest wrestled halfheartedly in between the benches, a small group of spectators equally halfheartedly cheering them on. The loudest of the bunch waved a small wad of paper money around.

Jazz holstered her pistol and affected an inebriated shamble. The shop proprietor fixed her with a dead-eyed stare but nobody else took any notice. Once past them, the corridor narrowing again, she redrew her gun and upped her pace. The sooner she could get off this creepy rock the better.

All appeared normal at Rainbow Ninja’s end. The cat surprised Jazz, almost on a daily basis, with her intelligence. In this situation Jazz had no doubts Rainbow Ninja, despite her size and rippling muscles, would draw little attention to herself. In fact, she’d probably be less conspicuous than Jazz.

The map Jazz had downloaded – upper right corner of her optics – told her to veer right at the next junction, up a dead-end tunnel full of what the Port Authority clerk had described as ‘cheap’ housing.

Rainbow Ninja reached the intersection at the same time Jazz did.

“Any trouble, girl?” Jazz said, the rebreather muffling her voice. She minimized the camera feed while scratching the cat behind the ears.

Rainbow Ninja responded by rubbing her head against Jazz’s thigh.

“Good.” Jazz headed down the corridor. “Let’s get this done.”

Several open doors showed empty rooms, the interior walls cut in the same crude manner as the tunnels. Finally Jazz came to a closed door and checked her map. This was the place. The door – some sort of imitation wood, moldy – was locked. Jazz weighed up her options. She had a device stored in her cybernetic arm designed to overload electronic locks but it would be useless against the old-fashioned deadbolt sticking out here. She could always knock. Jazz smiled to herself at the joke. She’d been doing a lot of that lately, with the mental giggles often turning into full blown conversation.

She would knock. Just with a bit extra force. Curling her metal hand into a fist she drove it into the door beside the lock. With a crack the paneling gave way. She reached through, grabbed the deadbolt from the other side and wrenched. It came free with barely any resistance and the door swung open.

The problem with that approach was the loss of any element of surprise. Jazz stepped out of line of sight and touched Rainbow Ninja on the snout. The signal meant for the cat to go on guard duty. Dutifully, Rainbow Ninja turned away from the door and settled into a crouch.

After checking that her gun was set to stun – her default but sometimes switches got toggled – Jazz dialed her optics to low-level thermal. She’d only recently had that upgrade installed and now was as good a time as any to try it out. She listened for a moment. No sound from inside. No light either. The stench of spoiled food. It’d be just her luck to find Vendta dead. He was worth a pittance dead.

This residence was laid out differently from the others she’d passed. A narrow entryway, lined on Jazz’s right by a bench dug out of the rock, with a doorway on either side at the other end. The more expensive kind of cheap, perhaps. Keeping low, Jazz drifted inside. Nothing emitted heat, the bench piled high with stuff.

Now she could hear sound. The low thudding whir of a fan, coming from the doorway on the right. Pressed as close to the wall as possible, Jazz shuffled forward, knees bent. She couldn’t stand in one doorway without exposing her back in the other. She risked a peek around the left-hand doorframe. A bed, no heat sources. She turned the other way, could see the outline of a chair frame, the fan turning overhead. Slowly she shifted her balance to give herself a better viewing angle.

Two human-shaped heat signatures beside the chair. She ducked back, almost overbalancing in the process. One signature stood, the other sat. Had Vendta hired protection? Had another hunter beaten Jazz to the punch?

A voice said, “Lights on,” and Jazz scrambled to switch her optics back to normal. The voice was familiar. Out of place but familiar.

The lights, weak but still brighter than darkness, powered on, illuminating walls streaked with green mildew. Half-eaten snack packs and water canisters, probably bought from the shop Jazz had passed, covered the bench beside her.

Now would’ve been a good time for one of former boyfriend Tollett’s smoke grenades. Jazz chased the thought away. Even after six months that was still too fresh a wound.

She peeked around the corner again, yanked her head back. No gunfire. No knife whistling past to clang off the rock. No movement other than the incessant turning of the fan. Just as she was about to take another look Jazz realized whose voice she’d heard. Letting out a noiseless growl, she straightened and stepped into the open, gun up.

“Hello dear,” Mother said, standing over Vendta, pistol pressed against the back of his head. “You are a devil to get hold of, you know that?”

***

Thanks for reading! Book 1 & 2 of the series, Miltan Epsilon & Chak’r’Das, have already been released. Miltan Epsilon is free to read! Get them from your favorite online bookstore today (paperback also available via Amazon)!

Garbadon Major is slated for an early August 2021 release. The final book in the series, Bil’Tross, should be out in November.

Clicking the links attached to the books above will take you to a page where you can choose which bookstore to buy from but I’ll also include the direct links for the major bookstores they’re available at below. Once again, thanks for reading!

S.C. Mae

***

Miltan Epsilon

Amazon: Link
Apple: Link
Barnes & Noble: Link
Kobo: Link
Google Play: Link
Scribd: Link
24 Symbols: Link
Indigo: Link

Chak’r’Das

Amazon: Link
Apple: Link
Barnes & Noble: Link
Kobo: Link
Google Play: Link
Scribd: Link
24 Symbols: Link
Indigo: Link

About a month ago while out walking something wonderful happened. I had some inspiration! It was magical and mystical and for a few minutes I floated off into space. No, I’m just being silly 😛 Mostly.

The inspiration part is true, though. I’ve had a character kicking around in my brain for a long time, as well as a potential setting and plot beginning for his first story, but I’d never got past the opening scene in my head, and even that’s only a rough sketch. And because I’ve got at least 2 more novels to write before I can even begin to think about outlining stories for this character, I haven’t put much mental energy into his universe. But sometimes the brain does what the brain does and while I was out walking Jericho (surname-to-be-confirmed) popped into my head, and I started fleshing out the scene immediately following what will open the novel. Not the opening scene, the one afterwards 🤣🤣

Once back in front of my computer, I wrote it all down. And now I’d like to share it with you.

I hope you enjoy this first look at Jericho (surname-to-be-confirmed)…

***

The moment Jericho entered the shop he knew he’d made a big mistake. From the outside, the steady stream of people entering empty-handed and exiting clutching food and beverages gave the appearance of a typical in-and-out inner-city café.

However, the inside of Mama’s Good Food told a different story. The homely décor, the friendly greetings customers threw at each other, the jowly woman behind the counter who knew everyone by name, all those things told Jericho this was a local watering hole, a place people checked in with their neighbors, a foundation block of the community. In short, the last place he wanted to be.

But now that he had crossed the entrance threshold he couldn’t just turn and leave. That’d be too obvious, too memorable. So he joined the queue, turning the collar of his all-weather cloak up and hunching forward as if cold. That might hide the thickness of his neck but it would only do so much to draw attention away from his broad shoulders and towering height. But it was something.

Conscious of the attention of the other patrons – mostly plain curiosity – he studied the old-fashioned handwritten menu board hanging behind the counter. Order fast, get out fast was the best he could do. 

It didn’t take long to get to the front of the queue. The woman, wearing a lapel that labelled her as Mama Su, placed both hands on the counter.

“What’ll it be today, dear?” she said, Jericho sure he could hear a faint edge behind her friendliness.

He hadn’t been on planet long enough to pick up the cadences of the local accents, so went with gruff and hoarse. “A large mersia, thanks.”

“Excellent choice. Extra syrup?” Mama Su asked, her manner so inviting that Jericho could only say yes.

He paid her in coins, the exact amount, which she stuffed into a pocket before turning to fetch a steaming jug from an element behind her. She grabbed a mug from a shelf beneath the counter – Jericho kicked himself that he hadn’t asked for the drink to go; everybody else was being served in typical disposable fare so he’d just assumed that was the norm – and filled it from the jug with a thick, dark-brown liquid. Then she took a squeeze bottle and squirted a generous helping of extra syrup on top.

While she did this a stocky, middle-aged man sidled up the line and leaned on the counter.

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” he said casually. He had grey-black hair tied in a long ponytail, stubble flecking his chin and cheeks. His right eye was an implant, dull red and disconcerting. Not a seeker though, unless he was pretending to be a street maintenance worker, his hi-vis jacket stained with oil and dirt, his pants and boots likewise.

“Just passing through,” Jericho said.

“Seems to be a lot of that lately.” The man placed a hand, palm down, on the counter. A purposeful gesture which Jericho pretended not to notice. An infinity-sign tattoo, the same dull red as his eye, graced the man’s middle finger. A veteran of last decade’s Sanchi Uprising, then, but on the losing side. The non-Alliance side.

Conversation in the café had dropped to murmurs and whispers. Nothing hostile, yet, just interest in the unfolding of a potential confrontation.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Jericho said. “The galaxy’s changing and that can make people all kinds of uncertain.”

“Is that how you feel?”

Mama Su cleared her throat. “Come now, Bartram, let the man have his mersia. We’re all allowed to be on our way to where we’re going.” She set Jericho’s drink – saucer and all – in front of him. “Here you go, dear. With extra syrup.”

Now the way she said the words made it sound like he’d made a mistake in agreeing to her suggestion.

“Right you are, Mama,” Bartram said, turning to fully face Jericho. His nose had been broken multiple times but never properly reset. “Drink up, stranger. To the health of the Alliance.” He laughed, a raspy sound. A couple of the other customers joined in.

Jericho smiled, acknowledging the joke. The Alliance was dead and there was no amount of anything that would revive it. That fact would make people like Bartram very happy. He lifted his mug and took a sip.

He had made a mistake. The hot liquid, treacle-like in its thickness, the extra syrup making it nauseatingly sweet, stuck in his throat. But he didn’t let on, gulping heavily and immediately taking another draught.

“That’s the way,” Bartram said. “Get it all down ya. Don’t give it time to settle.”

“But it’ll keep you going all day,” Mama Su added. “And mine is the best recipe in the city, I guarantee you.”

“I’ve never tasted better,” Jericho said, gently placing the empty cup back on the saucer. “Thank you.”

He turned to walk away but before he could take more than half a step, Bartram said, “Say, did you hear about the mobsters what got done for last night?”

“Mobsters?” Jericho shook his head. “Don’t know anything about that.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t, just passing through and all. But it’s a strange coincidence. We don’t get mobsters down this side of the bridge, ‘specially not big cheeses, and we don’t get ex-Alliance Special Forces neither, and then in less than twenty-four hours we get both, except one lot is dead as all get out and the other is drinking mersia for breakfast.”

He was close but still off the mark. Jericho was ex-Alliance but much higher up the tree than Special Forces. “Weird,” he said, “but what beef would any Special Forces soldiers have with mobsters?”

“That is the question, I guess.” Bartram sighed. “Though not mine to answer. All I know is that the less of both we have in our neighborhood the better.”

Jericho made his way out onto the footpath. His face was now branded into the minds of every person inside Mama’s Good Food. Which might come to nothing, or might mean everything. He was nearly certain the people who’d murdered those two thugs hadn’t seen him but that was still too great a margin for error. The sooner he got off this rock, the better.

***

And there you have it. Whether this will still be the second scene in the book when I get around to writing it, who knows. But it was fun to write and fun to spend some time in another character’s shoes after so long in Jazz Healy’s.

Speaking of Jazz Healy, don’t forget that Book 1 of the Reunion Series, Miltan Epsilon, is FREE from Amazon and other retailers, too. If you enjoyed Miltan Epsilon, Book 2, Chak’r’Das, is already out. You can buy it at the Amazon Kindle Store, and from other retailers.

Thanks for stopping by!

S.C. Mae

I’m very excited to announce that Miltan Epsilon & Chak’r’Das, Books 1 & 2 of the Jazz Healy Reunion Series, are now available!

Miltan Epsilon is FREE to read. Get your copy from your bookseller of choice here: books2read.com/miltanepsilon

Buy Chak’r’Das from your favorite online bookseller here: books2read.com/chakrdas

Book 3, Garbadon Major, is scheduled for release in August, while Book 4, Bil’Tross, should be dropping in November.

Want to know more about the books before you dive in? You can read the first 5 pages of Miltan Epsilon here: Milton Epsilon Preview Pages. And an even larger sample should be available at each online retailer.

Need a little more? How about some blurbs? Say it slowly with me, blurrrrbbbbbs. It’s a great word, right?

Miltan Epsilon

Jazz Healy is estranged – purposefully – from her mother, who runs a galaxy-spanning criminal organization. Twelve years ago she lost her father when pirates attacked a freighter delivering supplies to a frontier planet. Since then she’s decided it’s better, safer, to keep to herself. Even if means being alone. And often lonely.

Right now, she’s delivering pets, of all things, to a lawless space-station. Apparently even the most hardened criminals like animal companionship. One critter especially is making the cargo run worthwhile: a gene-splice kitten. Jazz will earn a cool hundred thousand Commonwealth dollars if she safely delivers the little fluff ball to its new owner.

But cargo that valuable brings out all sorts, from wannabe animal activists to tech cultists with enhancement fetishes. And maybe even Jazz’s mother. Though the cat is only one bullet point on her agenda.

***

You in for the ride yet? Here’s the blurb for Chak’r’Das:

(SPOILER ALERT: Jazz doesn’t die in Book 1!)

Chak’r’Das

For the last six standard months Jazz Healy has been scouring the Independent Fringes for her father. He’s been missing, presumed dead, for over a decade. But new information has come to light and Jazz is determined to leave no asteroid unturned.

However, the same troubling questions keep popping up. If he still lives, why has he never come looking for her? Twelve years, and not a single comm? Other things weigh on her, too. Like how she feels about Darren Tollett. Not long ago he knocked her unconscious while trying to steal some valuable cargo. Now is she, if not in love, in quite-like with him?

Those dilemmas are soon on the backburner, though, as Jazz finds herself entangled in the political machinations of a royal family. She and Tollett will need all their wits, and maybe some luck, to get themselves out of this predicament in one piece.

***

You’re in now, right? C’mon, it’ll be fun! How about some cover art, for good measure? Big shoutout to L.E. Badillo for his awesome work!

Join Jazz Healy as she navigates her way through the galaxy in books 1 & 2 of this 4-book series. Maybe she’ll learn that allowing people into her life can give her a richness she could never experience otherwise. Or perhaps she’ll decisively conclude that people are just the worst. The worst! Or she might end up as an ethereal light being who can change the past with a thought. No, of course not. That’d just be silly. Right? Right? *looks around nervously*

Don’t worry, there are no ethereal light beings (though if there were it’d make perfect sense for them to be there), but there is plenty of action, adventure, romance, family drama, and even a mystery or two to be had. Or in two words: Space Opera. Boom!

So, in conclusion, thank you for reading Miltan Epsilon and Chak’r’Das, Books 1 & 2 of the Jazz Healy, Reunion Series, and stay tuned for Books 3 & 4, coming out later this year!

S.C. Mae