Release date: March 16, 2020
Subgenre: Space Opera
About Kitra:
Stranded in space: no fuel, no way home...and no one coming to
help. Nineteen-year-old Kitra Yilmaz dreams of traveling the galaxy like
her Ambassador mother. But soaring in her glider is the closest she can
get to touching the stars--until she stakes her inheritance on a salvage
Navy spaceship.On its shakedown cruise, Kitra's ship plunges into
hyperspace, stranding Kitra and her crew light years away. Tensions rise
between Kitra and her shipmates: the handsome programmer, Fareedh;
Marta, biologist and Kitra's ex-girlfriend; Peter, the panicking
engineer, and the oddball alien navigator, Pinky. Now, running low on air
and food, it'll take all of them working together to get back home.
Excerpt:
Chapter 1
Twelfth of Red, 306 Post Settlement of Vatan (2846,
old calendar)
At 1,000 meters above the ground, my right wing dipped
down, and I felt a lurch in my stomach as if I were going over a waterfall. The
east edge of the city sprawled out before my right window at an increasing
angle. The invisible columns of hot air that were the source of lift for my
sailplane had disappeared. My fault. I shouldn’t have gotten distracted. There
was no time to worry about that now, though. I spiraled in ever widening
circles, trying to find my lost lift. I had to do it by feel, sensing for
tell-tale little changes in vertical speed, an increase in pressure of the seat
against me. But there was nothing; just a sinking feeling as my ears popped,
heading downward.
A glance at the altimeter showed I had passed 750
meters. I was running out of options. I could keep hunting for the thermals
rising from the hot plains at the edge of the city, but if they weren’t there
anymore, that would mean a hard landing far from the gliderport. For a moment,
I considered just riding all the way down anyway and activating the emergency
antigravity brake, a tiny battery powered thing that would slow my descent in
the last seconds before landing. I grimaced at the thought. I’d never had to
use it before, and it would be an embarrassment, an admission of failure. Not
to mention a long walk home.
I squinted at the distant towers of Denizli. That
was an option. It was about 39 o’ clock, and the sun had warmed the downtown
streets and plazas for twenty hours. They might provide enough lift. Then
again, they might not. It was nearly sunset. Anyway, flying at low altitude
over the capital was a sure way to run into the air traffic cops.
I continued my spiral, flaps fully off, trying to
maximize my glideslope to get somewhere, anywhere there might be lift. I was already
down to 500 meters. I looked around for a ridge or hill. Maybe I could use the
wind that blows upward when a horizontal breeze hits a slope? No, no luck. All
the good ones were too far away.
Bright light filled the cockpit, dazzling me for a
moment. The glancing rays of the setting sun reflected off the ocean,
shimmering all the way to the limits of vision. I hadn’t realized I was so
close to the shore. Shielding my eyes from the glare, I grinned. Of course! I
knew where to find a ridge after all. An invisible one.
I waited until the plane was facing the shore and
then straightened out, making a beeline for the ocean. Would I have enough
time? I looked down and swallowed. Suburban houses, stores, a school, were
drifting uncomfortably closer and closer beneath me. Then, at 150 meters,
buildings gave way to a sprawling stretch of beach. It curved away on both
sides for kilometers, to skyscrapers toward the city, to preserved parkland in
the other direction. I headed toward the greenery, aiming for the source of
lift I knew existed parallel to the shore.
The altimeter read 100 meters as I sailed over the
crashing breakers. The glider jerked in the chaotic air flow, and I gripped
the controls tightly to keep it steady. My back pressed into the seat as the
plane’s wings caught the winds that zoomed up where the warm air of the land
met the colder air above the sea. The plane jittered, then smoothed out,
climbing faster and faster. In no time, I was at 300 meters and still rising,
wisps of marine layer clouds breaking across the glider’s wingtips as I soared
above them. The greenish sky of Vatan was turning gold in the sunset, and the
planet’s rings formed an arch that started at the horizon and vaulted high
overhead. I breathed a sigh of relief and punched a fist against my knee in
victory.
At 2000 meters, more than high enough to make it
back to the gliderport, I eased the plane into a smooth bank, aiming for the
traffic pattern that would eventually get me home. Then I gave my forehead a
little rap for my lapse of concentration. Soaring is something you can do for
hours on end, and it’s easy to slide into a sort of trance, letting your hands
guide the glider on their own while your mind wanders. That’s when you get into
trouble.
I settled into my seat, blowing out a breath. But
even with that object lesson, now that the danger had passed, my thoughts went
right back to what had distracted me in the first place. The decision I’d been
so sure of last night.
Once again, I got those butterflies in my stomach
that had nothing to do with flying, at least not directly. Was this really
going to be my final flight? Was I really going to sell my glider? I loved
soaring, and I loved my little plane. It had given me good service for two
years. Flying in it had become almost as familiar, as easy as walking. Did I
really want to give it up? Could I?
I looked out the right window, watching the setting
sun ignite the ocean horizon with green flame. It was a sight I never got tired
of.
I bit my lip. It wouldn’t just be the glider. It’d
be selling virtually everything I owned, just to start the next phase of my
plan. Ridding myself of a lifetime of security. It would be safer to just pick
out a college, plan a career. If I wanted to follow in my late mother’s
footsteps, I could get a degree in interstellar studies and join the state
department. In fifteen years, maybe only ten, I’d be eligible for a diplomatic
mission off-planet. It was what my uncle, my mother’s brother, wanted me to
do. It was the safe route.
I shook my head. No. That wasn’t the course for me.
It was too long, and the pay-off might never happen. I needed to stick to the
plan.
Next week, Marta and I would go to the auction
yards where they sold second-hand and decommissioned spaceships. In my bank account
would be my inheritance plus the proceeds of the sale of nearly all of my
possessions, including the glider. It should be enough to buy a ship of my very
own. Once I assembled a crew, I wouldn’t be Kitra Yilmaz anymore. I’d be Captain
Kitra Yilmaz.
That thought dispelled the last of my doubts. I
smiled and gave the control panel a fond pat, a goodbye embrace. Then I steered
for home.
From now on, the soaring I’d do would be among the
stars.
Amazon | Journey Press
About Gideon Marcus:
Gideon
Marcus is the founder of the Serling
Award-winning and twice Hugo-nominated historical web project, Galactic
Journey, Gideon Marcus is a science fiction writer and space historian.
His
alternate history story, “Andy and Tina,” is the lead tale in the
Sidewise-nominated anthology, Tales from Alternate Earths 2. He lives in
the San Diego area with his wife and their prodigy daughter as well as a
matched
pair of cats.
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