An Excerpt of My Current Project

Arriving at Port Serenity

“I miss my new ship already,” Kel Beemer groused as the shuttle lifted off toward the Ridgeways. Her new ship, the spoils of subduing two slavers, had been detached from her former passenger/light cargo ship, the Stalwart. Before her lay Ridgeway III, restricted class beauty world. And beside her in the shuttle were two handcuffed slavers, their unharmed victims, and the man who got her into the mess. The runner in control of the shuttle sat rigidly, not looking back at his passengers. Maybe, Kel thought, he was having a rough day.

“We’ll get back to your ship,” her new partner, Brother Coyote said, his lanky height folded into the small seat. “What are you going to name your ship?”

“I don’t know yet.”

She ran her hands through her buzzed blonde hair in a characteristic gesture and scowled in her passenger seat. Kel could only imagine how she looked after a dramatic scuffle with the slavers. “Am I going to get a chance to freshen up before I meet the Prime Minister?”

“You mean the Convener of the Moot,” Coyote corrected. And smiled. “Not likely, but knowing my mom, she won’t notice. She’s never been interested in outward appearances.”

Kel grimaced. Brother Coyote looked a little rumpled in his order’s garb, yet serene, his staff across their knees as if it didn’t focus immense energies and create wormholes. His long blond hair had even fallen back into place. She looked like a shipper complete in jumpsuit and the de rigeur buzz cut. With her big brown eyes and diminuitive stature, she looked little older than the two chatting merrily across from her. She did, however, feel every hour of her 32 years, especially when about to meet the head parliamentarian of Ridgeway III, who was also Coyote’s mother. What a mess.

“I should warn you,” he smiled. “She doesn’t want me to leave Ridgeway III again, and will try to exert pressure on me to get me to stay. And on you, of course.”

Of course. This was going to be a trip to remember.

###

Kel expected a guard station at Ridgeway III’s port, which she discovered was named Port Serenity. Cute name, she thought, as the party whisked through the almost empty customs office with no difficulty.

Kel learned the reason why at the other side of the gate. A woman at the center of a small collection of people, dressed in a muumuu of deep purple shot with gold thread, held her arms out. Brother Coyote stepped away from Kel’s side and rushed toward the figure – doubtless his mother with her entourage.

Coyote’s hug enveloped his mother, who was not much taller than Kel herself, although much better dressed.

“How was your little trip?” the Convener of the Moot said in a warm alto voice as she held him at arm’s length.

“Oh, Mom,” Coyote said, “I need to introduce you to my partner.” He stepped back toward Kel, who checked escape routes only to find none.

“Partner!” Coyote’s mom exclaimed. “I didn’t know you’d slipped your bonds for a partner!” She stepped forward to envelop Kel in a massive hug, and Kel found she couldn’t escape. The Convener of the Moot smelled like exotic flowers, and Kel smelled like – she didn’t want to think about it.

“I’m not that kind of partner –“ Kel squeaked.

“What am I thinking?” Kel’s mother exclaimed, letting Kel loose. “You need a bath and a good rest before dinner. Bojun, take Kel to the Statehouse and settle her in.”

“But Mom, where is she going to stay?” Coyote – Bojun? – pleaded.

“In your room, of course.” And she and her entourage drifted away in a cloud of frangipani, taking the twins and the prisoners with them.

Kel and Brother Coyote Save the Universe

Kel and Brother Coyote have another episode!

I am writing a serialized novel called Kel and Brother Coyote Save the Universe and I now have the general shape of the two arcs — one being Kel and Brother Coyote’s chemistry, another being growth arcs for the main characters, and the plot arc that deals with the link between the restricted class-planet Ridgeway III and the exploitative colonial corporation InterGal. I think I will have at least 9 more stories, which should put me at 35-40K words, or a novella length.

Here’s an excerpt from the latest episode:

In a strange room, on a strange planet, Kel lay on a strange bed on the floor, wrapped in tight bandages across her ribs. She glanced up at the glittering suncatcher that her shipping partner, Brother Coyote, called a Sun Mandala. Kel, hopped up on painkillers after a spectacular rescue of the leader of Ridgeway III, dared not look at the wall where the reflection of the mandala shimmered. If she did, she might see something again, and she didn’t want to deal with that just then. The prisms sparkled and made her sleepy. She closed her eyes …

She heard the doorknob open and opened her eyes to Brother Coyote and a floating carry unit. He shut the door and sat down next to Kel, folding his lanky legs up beneath him. The gravitation unit sank gracefully to the ground. “Mom sent me up with dinner from the buffet line. She’ll be up in a few minutes.”

“The party’s still on? After an attempt on her life? That’s a pretty gutsy broad — Oops,” Kel giggled. “I suppose I shouldn’t call the Convener of the — the Moot — a gutsy broad.”

“Mom would have no trouble with that,” Coyote chuckled, pushing back his blond hair. “As for the party continuing, that’s a Ridgewayan cultural tenet. The celebration must go on. We remember too many times we’d quarantined ourselves from various fevers on the planet, so we celebrate any time we can.” Coyote lifted the lid of the carry unit; savory smells enveloped her.

“How do you get carry units on this planet if you’re a restricted trading planet?” Kel wondered aloud. “I can’t make that make sense.” Kel found herself wishing her tongue weren’t quite so loose.
“It doesn’t have an internal grav source, of course. I’m levitating it. Luckily it doesn’t take too much energy.” Kel sat up and Coyote transfered the tray to her lap.

“Ok,” she said. “What’s this?” Whatever it was, it smelled much better than meal bars.
“The stew there is made with native mushrooms and a legume that developed into a landrace here.” The stew, she noted, was an intense golden color, and from the smell, she suspected that Ridgeway III had a local equivalent of curry powder. “Then, with that, is a mess of greens that combines diaspora culture DNA tailored for this planet and some local weeds we’ve cultivated into crops. The two grow together symbiotically, which is a bonus.”

Kel took a small spoonful of the stew. “Take a bit of both individually. Then take a bite of them together. Then try a little of that paste on the edge of your plate with them. It’s important to be creative with your food,” Coyote instructed.

“Tell me, how does one get creative with meal bars?” Kel smirked, but she tried the food anyhow. “Wow,” she said after a few minutes absorbed in her food, which smelled warm and mellow, contrasting tartness and a deep mellowness. “This is amazing. What do you use for spices?”

“A lot of things, largely local. We have a tropical belt which accepted diaspora spices, and we have many native herbs. This planet has immense agricultural potential, but only if it’s cultivated carefully. And by carefully, I mean as close to wild as possible.”

“So you’re hunter-gatherers instead of farmers.” Kel finished her meal and considered the pastry on the tray.

“Well, not hunters, unless you count mushrooms. We’re wildcrafters, we’re permaculturalists, we’re companion planters. We’re tree climbers, plant researchers — did you know there’s a plant here only pollinated by one particular miniature fruit bat? The guy’s not much bigger than a bumblebee and climbs into the fruit’s flowers and gets drunk, then visits other flowers on a bender. He finally passes out in a flower and sleeps until the petals drop out from under him.”

“You must have a lot of farmers if you can’t factory farm.”

“Yeah, but we don’t have a lot of factories. We have them for the technologies we’ve chosen, but we also have artisans and craftsmen. You might notice this tray is wooden.” Indeed it was, Kel noted. “We have a stepped-down economy, and not a lot of us go off-planet, as you might guess.”

Kel found herself looking at the reflections of the sun mandala, which were mere shadows on the wall as twilight fell. Her sight blurred as she found herself sucked into a vision — Keyli, the Convener of the Moot for Ridgeway III and Coyote’s mother, strolling down the hall with a feline creature that came up to above her knee, trotting beside her on a leash.

“Coyote,” she said, instantly regretting the words when they fled her mouth, “Does Ridgeway have felinoids the size of Terran Shepherd Dogs?”

Kel and Brother Coyote Save the Universe

I am writing a series of short stories, space opera, which concern an unlikely duo — Brother Coyote, a monk from a restricted class planet who has a talent for opening wormholes, and Kel Beemer, the pilot of her family’s for-hire freighter. They go on a variety of adventures, with a certain amount of tension despite their opposite personalities. You know, space opera.

I have two and a half stories written, and finishing the third,”Kel and Brother Coyote Deal with a Psychic Allergy”, is something I could finish in a good weekend. And then, more. I would like these to be serialized episodes moving toward a bigger whole, as they’re in chronological order with not a huge amount of time between them.

I’m going to have a lot of time this summer, because I can’t take a summer class for the certificate in Disaster Mental Health, so I’ll have plenty of time to write. I’d like to write at least 5 more Kel/Brother Coyote, but that will only get me 10k-12k words. Enough for a chapbook.

Not enough for Kindle Vellum. Their business model will make the first few chapters free, and I won’t have many chapters after that. But I LIKE the business model, much more than WattPad (good luck getting noticed) or Chanillo (subscription only; no promotion). So I might try it this summer, while I’m writing more on the adventures of Kel and Brother Coyote.

An excerpt of “Kel and Brother Coyote Deal with a Psychic Allergy”:

In a strange room, on a strange planet, Kel lay on a strange bed on the floor, wrapped in tight bandages across her ribs. She glanced up at the glittering suncatcher that her partner, Brother Coyote, called a Sun Mandala. Kel, hopped up on painkillers after a spectacular rescue of the leader of Ridgeway III, dared not look at the wall where the reflection of the mandala shimmered. If she did, she might see something again, and she didn’t want to deal with that just then. The prisms sparkled and made her sleepy. She closed her eyes …

“The party’s still on? After an attempt on her life? That’s a pretty gutsy broad — Oops,” Kel giggled. “I suppose I shouldn’t call the Convener of the — the Moot — a gutsy broad.”

“It doesn’t have an internal grav source, of course. I’m levitating it. Luckily it doesn’t take too much energy.” Kel sat up and Coyote transfered the tray to her lap.

“Ok,” she said. “What’s this?” Whatever it was, it smelled much better than meal bars.

“The stew there is made with native mushrooms and a legume that developed into a landrace here.” The stew, she noted, was an intense golden color, and from the smell, she suspected that Ridgeway III had a local equivalent of curry powder. “Then, with that, is a mess of greens that combines diaspora culture DNA tailored for this planet and some local weeds we’ve cultivated into crops. The two grow together symbiotically, which is a bonus.”

“A lot of things, largely local. We have a tropical belt which accepted diaspora spices, and we have many herbs. This planet has immense agricultural potential, but only if it’s cultivated carefully. And by carefully, I mean as close to wild as possible.”

“So you’re hunter-gatherers instead of farmers.” Kel finished her meal and considered the pastry on the tray.

“Well, not hunters, unless you count mushrooms. We’re wildcrafters, we’re permaculturalists, we’re companion planters. We’re tree climbers, plant researchers — did you know there’s a plant here only pollinated by one particular miniature fruit bat? The guy’s not much bigger than a fly and climbs into the fruit’s flowers and gets drunk, then visits other flowers on a bender. He finally passes out in a flower and sleeps until the petals drop out from under him.”

“You must have a lot of farmers if you can’t factory farm.”

“Coyote,” she said, instantly regretting the words when they fled her mouth, “Does Ridgeway have felinoids the size of Terran Shepherd Dogs?”