Jennifer Wells - Beyond the Stars - At Galaxy's Edge

>>Achronyx, I’m going to open the small micro-bots. I want you to command them to check out this place, now. I don’t have anyone alive to question so far.<<

And I didn’t. Have anyone to question. It seemed the place either didn’t need them, or they were gone. It took another hour before the little micro-bots found a hidden door in a wall. I jerked around until a quarter hour later I found the mechanism to open it. Although tempted to blow it, I could have killed anyone inside. The door would have blasted into two cages that were ten feet back.

I pulled out my badge and let it hang on my duster, to make sure those inside who knew it would know help arrived.

I opened the door and the smell of unwashed bodies and horrible sanitation hit my nose. My eyes started watering.

>>Achronyx, call Billet and see if he will allow me to hire his people to help clean these ladies up. I count five different species, including one human. I need three rooms for them, and food, water and robes brought here. I’ll get Frank to let me know if we have a mercenary company trustworthy enough to help out here. Then, call Hirotoshi and let him know I want Ryu and half the Tontos to get off their lazy asses and find a fast packet ride over here.<<

I looked around the room and considered my next steps.

>>Let Hirotoshi know I’ve found a playground and a base of operations. The previous owner can kiss my ass, he isn’t getting it back.<<

>>Understood. Billet is willing to support you, but wants assurances that B-ehrunethinee is dead.<<

>>Send him pictures of the front gate, the front room from outside and inside, the hallway with the dead and now this one with the slaves. Next, tell him not to make me enforce laws about offering support. If he wants to argue? Tell him I’ll do the same to his home when I come knocking, I’m not in the mood. He can pee down his leg telling Barney I forced him to deal with me and what a bitch I am.<<

I confirmed no one but the slaves and I were alive in the building and holstered my weapons and started walking into the room with the kidnapped, those that could see me staring at me and my badge.

I looked around and said to no one in particular, “Not like the slaving bastard is going to live long enough to bitch about me, anyway.”

It looked like I would have plenty to do on my vacation.

What is your favorite word?

Believe – It is opportunistic, hopeful, energizing.

What is your least favorite word?

Loser – it is a label, it judges a person’s actions and abilities all in one.

What turns you on?

Creativity – My personality thrives on creating ideas. They don’t have to be workable, we will get to those later.

What turns you off?

Details – The molasses of life.

What sound or noise do you love?

The sound of raindrops on a tin roof while the cool winds of winter encourage me to stay in bed.

What sound or noise do you hate?

Pain – Whether from voice or the crash of cars... nothing good is happening.

What is your favorite curse word?

Fuck – Noun, verb, adjective... such a Renaissance type of word.

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

Special Effects creator.

What profession would you not like to do?

Accountant – Details!

If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates?

Hey, I was that guy on the side of the street you helped out. Well done, well done indeed.

Have you written your whole life?

No, I did a little in high school. However, I was poorly scored during a literary class and it rather killed my desire to let anyone see anything again. So, I kept that desire under the rug for another thirty years.

Why did you do a series that merges Sci-Fi and Paranormal?

I’m a lifelong reader, and for the last ten years, I’ve really enjoyed the vampire/military sci-fi/space opera genres. I figured if I was going to write something, I wanted to have my cake and eat it, too. I just didn’t realize how hard it would be to market the stories!

How many books have you read over your lifetime?

Thousands? Well, hard to say. I’ll reread my favorites three to five times until I just can’t anymore. However, some of my favorite weekends are when I find a new series with three to five books and have nothing stopping me from reading all weekend.

What is your favorite comic series?

Foxtrot, hands down. It was Bloom County, but the sheer consistency of Foxtrot making me laugh can’t be beat.

What is your Golf Score?

How low can we go? The only game of golf that I like to play is ‘best ball’... That way, the pressure is off.

Where do you write?

I have different restaurants and locations. Obviously, home, home office, bed, couch, the club, Austin’s Taco House, The Salad Bowl (with Mexican food, no salad for me) and the occasional Starbucks.

Who is your favorite author?

Damn, this is a good one. I’m going to have to say fellow Indie Author John Conroe. His characters make me want to go back time and time again.

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“COMMANDER. THE ELVII zygotes on level H are restless. Reporting a steep drop in the cryotemp. Growth is exponential. Action required immediately.” Rora’s twelfth alert pushed Commander Jonat B. Rutherford over the edge.

“Twisted balls of a sauced-out sea monkey!”

Spit flew onto the console. “Gawned dammit, Freckles! How many times do I have to issue an order? Freeze them deep. Do it now! We’re still twenty Earth years out. Spoilage. Spoilage and waste, that’s all that I hear. Make it right and do it quick.”

The commander’s frustration bloomed in an ugly red splotch across his grizzled face. He scratched absentmindedly at the poor clump of hair that dangled from his chin. He called it a beard. Rora couldn’t categorize it as anything other than a scrawny squirrel hanging onto his face for dear life. “Damn nuisances,” Commander Rutherford fumed. “I swear to the deepest gullet of a Smathonian banded whale! This whole consarned voyage has been nothin’ but trouble.”

Behind him, Adjunct Human Interface Rora A8302 nodded, as it had been programmed to do. The movement implied that it listened. That it cared. Rora did not care. Still, it had listened to the five years of ranting that the old human had so far vented, cataloguing each word. With less than .0001% of its computing power, it reviewed and reported conditions aboard the spaceship. Its jointed fingers moved with an efficient factory speed of two thousand clicks per minute.