Subgenre: Space opera
About Starship Waking:
On an icy, barren world, a starship dreams of doom...
Throughout the galaxy, the reclusive alien race known as The One are incapacitated by terror.
On the planet Luddeccea, wolf-human hybrid Volka harbors a terrible secret...a secret that must explain her nightmares.
Trapped on a luxurious asteroid, pleasure 'bot 6T9 struggles to find purpose--until he receives a message from an Unidentified Caller.
The worlds of The One, Volka, and 6T9 are about to collide.
The galaxy will be shaken to its core.
On the planet Luddeccea, wolf-human hybrid Volka harbors a terrible secret...a secret that must explain her nightmares.
Trapped on a luxurious asteroid, pleasure 'bot 6T9 struggles to find purpose--until he receives a message from an Unidentified Caller.
The worlds of The One, Volka, and 6T9 are about to collide.
The galaxy will be shaken to its core.
The starship is waking.
Excerpt:
It was dark outside, and the night-time pterys were calling when
Volka applied the final coat of primer to the canvasses. Flicking
her ears for the breeze, she wiped sweat from her brow.
Mr. Darmadi’s attic studio had all the latest innovations for cooling. The ceiling was high and arched, and it had a vent at the peak. There were multiple fans. The windows were located precisely across from one another, and all were covered by awnings so the room was never struck with the full force of the Luddeccean New Prime sun. But at the height of the dry season, nothing kept the house really cool.
“Are you finished with those?” Mr. Darmadi asked from behind the enormous painting he was working on.
“Yes,” Volka replied.
“Good, good,” Mr. Darmadi murmured. “You can begin the drawings, then.”
Volka’s shoulders fell, and her heart sank. She was hungry, tired, she still had to tidy the kitchen, wind all the clocks, and she had an hour-long bus ride ahead of her. She bit her lip. Mr. Darmadi had taught her everything there was to painting, and he paid her well even though she was only a weere, a wolf-human hybrid. She would get no better job, and she should go about her work cheerfully. She shouldn’t feel…trapped.
“Volka?” Mr. Darmadi said.
The doorbell rang, and Mr. Darmadi’s stool scraped across the floor.
Bolting from her seat, Volka turned to her employer, her eyes wide.
In his fifties, Mr. Darmadi was a tall, thin human with neatly combed gray hair. With his sharp cheekbones and strong nose, he was a dead ringer for his nephew Alaric, but his eyes were brown, not Alaric’s startling gray. Mr. Darmadi wore glasses when he worked, and now they were slipping down his nose. Squinting over the rims, his eyes slid to the wind-up clock ticking on the bookshelf, and then to the window. Only family or official messengers would come at this late hour.
Mr. Darmadi put a hand to his mouth. “Volka, I can’t look. You go check.”
Running to the window, Volka peered down. There was a car parked in the drive, and it bore the official Luddeccean seal: a dove with a branch in its beak.
Despite what he’d said, Mr. Darmadi was leaning over her shoulder a moment later. “Is that an official seal on the side of the car?” Mr. Darmadi asked.
Volka’s ears swiveled in momentary confusion and concern. He only needed glasses when working on something close-up…didn’t he?
“It’s too dark to see,” he said.
She exhaled. Sometimes she forgot that humans had such poor night vision. “It is the Guard Seal,” she replied.
The doorbell rang again.
“Go get it! Go get it!” Mr. Darmadi said anxiously.
Wiping her hands on her smock, and then throwing it over a chair, Volka headed to the studio door.
“Volka!” said Mr. Darmadi. He touched his hair. “Your fur! Check it in the hall.”
Nodding hurriedly, Volka left the room, ran down the stairs, and stopped in front of the hallway mirror to check her “fur.” She hated that he called it that, even though that definitely was what it was. Although it was confined to her head, it never grew longer than a few inches, and had been gray since she was a child. On her wolf-like ears, it turned to a soft, slightly darker velvet. Her dark lined eyes, nearly black fingernails, velvet covered ears, and “fur” gave her away as a weere. And right now, fur, ears, and nails were spattered with the white gesso she’d been using as a primer. She used her fingers to rub it out and then wiped her fingers on the inside of the boxy tunic she wore. The doorbell rang again, and Mr. Darmadi whispered, “Volka!”
Ears going flat, she ran to the door, pulled it open, and bowed at the waist.
“Official delivery for Mr. Darmadi,” said the messenger.
Volka didn’t raise her head until Mr. Darmadi entered the foyer and announced, “That is me.” He handed the messenger, a young human male who didn’t smell older than twenty-three, his identification. The young man scanned it, checked a photo on the envelope he bore, and scrutinized Mr. Darmadi briefly.
And then, nodding smartly, the messenger opened the stiff cardboard envelope, gazed at the contents, and said, “Congratulations, sir, you and…” his brow furrowed, “… one passenger for accompanied cargo, have been approved for a trip to Libertas.” He handed the contents over to Mr. Darmadi, and then the envelope and a pen. “Please sign this.”
Volka’s hands flew to her mouth as Mr. Darmadi signed beneath his picture. “Volka!” he exclaimed. “We’re going to Libertas!”
At his words, the human messenger’s eyes narrowed and slid to Volka. A muscle in his jaw jumped. Volka ducked her head. Going to Libertas, the fourth planet in the Luddeccean system, was a great honor for a human, let alone a weere. To travel aboard the Leetier, the only approved near-lightspeed passenger vessel, took a special invitation, a background check, and a small fortune. Her eyes prickled. She’d passed the inspection. Alaric was a captain now in the Luddeccean Guard. They would have asked him about his uncle and her. He hadn’t said anything bad…it wouldn’t have been like him to be so petty. Still, it made her chest warm, and she suddenly felt like he was very close.
“Volka, have George make this young man some tea and sweets,” Mr. Darmadi said.
“George isn’t here,” Volka whispered. The elderly weere chef wasn’t well, and Volka had promised to do his chores for him.
Mr. Darmadi rubbed his temple and looked heavenward. “That’s right, that’s right. You see to this young man’s refreshments, Volka.”
Containing a sigh, Volka straightened, nodded, turned to the young man, and said, “Right this way, sir.”
A few minutes later, they were in the kitchen, and the young man was seated at the table. The kettle was already on, and Volka was measuring out tea for the steeping decanter.
“Exactly two spoons,” he grumbled. “I know how you weere have no taste buds.”
“Yes, sir,” said Volka, although his criticism wasn’t necessary. She could make a fine pot of tea by scent alone.
Putting the remaining tea leaves away, her eyes rose to the kitchen window, open to the night. Above the trees she could see the remains of Time Gate 8’s ring, glowing like a moon in the night sky. Before Revelation, Time Gate 8 had been a gateway to the Galactic Republic and Earth. Spaceships had used it to cross hundreds of light years in a heartbeat, and the “ethernet” signals that were like radio—or telephone lines between minds—had passed through, too. But then Revelation happened, and the giant computers within the time gates had attacked Luddeccea and taken over the Galactic Republic. The brave Luddeccean Guard had destroyed a huge chunk of Time Gate 8 and spared the Luddeccean solar system from all of that. Now, Guardsmen like Alaric kept Luddeccea and all the planets and outposts in the Luddeccean system safe—just like they’d been doing for over one hundred years. Alaric was somewhere up there. She scanned the full expanse of the sky.
At the table, the messenger said sharply, “Myself, I wouldn’t want to go to Libertas. Might be part of the Luddeccean solar system, but being in space just puts you closer to the demons and djinn-possessed aliens.”
The kettle whistled, and Volka hurried to pour the water over the tea leaves. Her ears went back. Possession by demons and djinn was a common belief among the weere and uneducated humans. Alaric had told her there were no demons or djinn; it was just that the machines became “self-aware” and had taken over. The humans in the Galactic Republic, mentally roped to the machines by the ethernet, had been helpless to go against them. “There were no aliens,” Volka said. “It was machines.”
“Who’s to say there weren’t aliens?” the messenger objected. “Anyway, I wouldn’t want to go up there.”
“I trust the Guard,” said Volka, eyes going back to the window. Alaric was somewhere between Luddeccea and the Kanakah Cloud—two months at near-light-speed from her. Her brow furrowed. He’d said that for her on Luddeccea it would be four months…something about light speed and “time dilation.” He’d been older than her when he’d left. How much time had he spent at light speed? Was she older than him now?
“You shouldn’t argue with me,” the human grumbled.
“No, sir,” Volka agreed, fetching some sugar.
“It’s dangerous up there,” he added.
“Yes, sir,” Volka murmured. Her eyes drifted to the window again. She was still glad to be going to Libertas. She didn’t mind if it put her closer to the Galactic Republic, that horrible place where machines ruled everything. Going made her feel…untrapped. Yes, she’d be untrapped. She frowned. At least for a while.
Mr. Darmadi’s attic studio had all the latest innovations for cooling. The ceiling was high and arched, and it had a vent at the peak. There were multiple fans. The windows were located precisely across from one another, and all were covered by awnings so the room was never struck with the full force of the Luddeccean New Prime sun. But at the height of the dry season, nothing kept the house really cool.
“Are you finished with those?” Mr. Darmadi asked from behind the enormous painting he was working on.
“Yes,” Volka replied.
“Good, good,” Mr. Darmadi murmured. “You can begin the drawings, then.”
Volka’s shoulders fell, and her heart sank. She was hungry, tired, she still had to tidy the kitchen, wind all the clocks, and she had an hour-long bus ride ahead of her. She bit her lip. Mr. Darmadi had taught her everything there was to painting, and he paid her well even though she was only a weere, a wolf-human hybrid. She would get no better job, and she should go about her work cheerfully. She shouldn’t feel…trapped.
“Volka?” Mr. Darmadi said.
The doorbell rang, and Mr. Darmadi’s stool scraped across the floor.
Bolting from her seat, Volka turned to her employer, her eyes wide.
In his fifties, Mr. Darmadi was a tall, thin human with neatly combed gray hair. With his sharp cheekbones and strong nose, he was a dead ringer for his nephew Alaric, but his eyes were brown, not Alaric’s startling gray. Mr. Darmadi wore glasses when he worked, and now they were slipping down his nose. Squinting over the rims, his eyes slid to the wind-up clock ticking on the bookshelf, and then to the window. Only family or official messengers would come at this late hour.
Mr. Darmadi put a hand to his mouth. “Volka, I can’t look. You go check.”
Running to the window, Volka peered down. There was a car parked in the drive, and it bore the official Luddeccean seal: a dove with a branch in its beak.
Despite what he’d said, Mr. Darmadi was leaning over her shoulder a moment later. “Is that an official seal on the side of the car?” Mr. Darmadi asked.
Volka’s ears swiveled in momentary confusion and concern. He only needed glasses when working on something close-up…didn’t he?
“It’s too dark to see,” he said.
She exhaled. Sometimes she forgot that humans had such poor night vision. “It is the Guard Seal,” she replied.
The doorbell rang again.
“Go get it! Go get it!” Mr. Darmadi said anxiously.
Wiping her hands on her smock, and then throwing it over a chair, Volka headed to the studio door.
“Volka!” said Mr. Darmadi. He touched his hair. “Your fur! Check it in the hall.”
Nodding hurriedly, Volka left the room, ran down the stairs, and stopped in front of the hallway mirror to check her “fur.” She hated that he called it that, even though that definitely was what it was. Although it was confined to her head, it never grew longer than a few inches, and had been gray since she was a child. On her wolf-like ears, it turned to a soft, slightly darker velvet. Her dark lined eyes, nearly black fingernails, velvet covered ears, and “fur” gave her away as a weere. And right now, fur, ears, and nails were spattered with the white gesso she’d been using as a primer. She used her fingers to rub it out and then wiped her fingers on the inside of the boxy tunic she wore. The doorbell rang again, and Mr. Darmadi whispered, “Volka!”
Ears going flat, she ran to the door, pulled it open, and bowed at the waist.
“Official delivery for Mr. Darmadi,” said the messenger.
Volka didn’t raise her head until Mr. Darmadi entered the foyer and announced, “That is me.” He handed the messenger, a young human male who didn’t smell older than twenty-three, his identification. The young man scanned it, checked a photo on the envelope he bore, and scrutinized Mr. Darmadi briefly.
And then, nodding smartly, the messenger opened the stiff cardboard envelope, gazed at the contents, and said, “Congratulations, sir, you and…” his brow furrowed, “… one passenger for accompanied cargo, have been approved for a trip to Libertas.” He handed the contents over to Mr. Darmadi, and then the envelope and a pen. “Please sign this.”
Volka’s hands flew to her mouth as Mr. Darmadi signed beneath his picture. “Volka!” he exclaimed. “We’re going to Libertas!”
At his words, the human messenger’s eyes narrowed and slid to Volka. A muscle in his jaw jumped. Volka ducked her head. Going to Libertas, the fourth planet in the Luddeccean system, was a great honor for a human, let alone a weere. To travel aboard the Leetier, the only approved near-lightspeed passenger vessel, took a special invitation, a background check, and a small fortune. Her eyes prickled. She’d passed the inspection. Alaric was a captain now in the Luddeccean Guard. They would have asked him about his uncle and her. He hadn’t said anything bad…it wouldn’t have been like him to be so petty. Still, it made her chest warm, and she suddenly felt like he was very close.
“Volka, have George make this young man some tea and sweets,” Mr. Darmadi said.
“George isn’t here,” Volka whispered. The elderly weere chef wasn’t well, and Volka had promised to do his chores for him.
Mr. Darmadi rubbed his temple and looked heavenward. “That’s right, that’s right. You see to this young man’s refreshments, Volka.”
Containing a sigh, Volka straightened, nodded, turned to the young man, and said, “Right this way, sir.”
A few minutes later, they were in the kitchen, and the young man was seated at the table. The kettle was already on, and Volka was measuring out tea for the steeping decanter.
“Exactly two spoons,” he grumbled. “I know how you weere have no taste buds.”
“Yes, sir,” said Volka, although his criticism wasn’t necessary. She could make a fine pot of tea by scent alone.
Putting the remaining tea leaves away, her eyes rose to the kitchen window, open to the night. Above the trees she could see the remains of Time Gate 8’s ring, glowing like a moon in the night sky. Before Revelation, Time Gate 8 had been a gateway to the Galactic Republic and Earth. Spaceships had used it to cross hundreds of light years in a heartbeat, and the “ethernet” signals that were like radio—or telephone lines between minds—had passed through, too. But then Revelation happened, and the giant computers within the time gates had attacked Luddeccea and taken over the Galactic Republic. The brave Luddeccean Guard had destroyed a huge chunk of Time Gate 8 and spared the Luddeccean solar system from all of that. Now, Guardsmen like Alaric kept Luddeccea and all the planets and outposts in the Luddeccean system safe—just like they’d been doing for over one hundred years. Alaric was somewhere up there. She scanned the full expanse of the sky.
At the table, the messenger said sharply, “Myself, I wouldn’t want to go to Libertas. Might be part of the Luddeccean solar system, but being in space just puts you closer to the demons and djinn-possessed aliens.”
The kettle whistled, and Volka hurried to pour the water over the tea leaves. Her ears went back. Possession by demons and djinn was a common belief among the weere and uneducated humans. Alaric had told her there were no demons or djinn; it was just that the machines became “self-aware” and had taken over. The humans in the Galactic Republic, mentally roped to the machines by the ethernet, had been helpless to go against them. “There were no aliens,” Volka said. “It was machines.”
“Who’s to say there weren’t aliens?” the messenger objected. “Anyway, I wouldn’t want to go up there.”
“I trust the Guard,” said Volka, eyes going back to the window. Alaric was somewhere between Luddeccea and the Kanakah Cloud—two months at near-light-speed from her. Her brow furrowed. He’d said that for her on Luddeccea it would be four months…something about light speed and “time dilation.” He’d been older than her when he’d left. How much time had he spent at light speed? Was she older than him now?
“You shouldn’t argue with me,” the human grumbled.
“No, sir,” Volka agreed, fetching some sugar.
“It’s dangerous up there,” he added.
“Yes, sir,” Volka murmured. Her eyes drifted to the window again. She was still glad to be going to Libertas. She didn’t mind if it put her closer to the Galactic Republic, that horrible place where machines ruled everything. Going made her feel…untrapped. Yes, she’d be untrapped. She frowned. At least for a while.
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About C. Gockel:
C. Gockel got her start writing fanfiction, and she is not
ashamed! Much. She received emails, messages and reviews from her fans
telling her she should 'do this professionally'. She didn't; because
she is a coward and life as a digital designer, copywriter and coder is
more dependable. But in the end, her husband's nagging wore her down:
"You could be the next '50 Shades of Gray' and I could retire!"
Unfortunately, the author isn't much for writing smut. She is sad about
this; she'd love for her husband to be able to retire and just work for
her so she could nag him.
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