Mementos and Memories (In Love and War, Book 13) by Cora Buhlert

Release date: October 27, 2019

Subgenre: Space opera, Science fiction romance 

About Mementos and Memories: 

 

Once, Anjali Patel and Mikhail Grikov were soldiers on opposing sides of an intergalactic war. They met, fell in love and decided to go on the run together.

Now Anjali and Mikhail are trying to eke out a living on the independent worlds of the galactic rim, while attempting to stay under the radar of those pursuing them.

At a market on the tropical ocean world of Sentosa, Anjali and Mikhail come across a dagger for sale. This dagger is the signature weapon of the Imperial Shakyri Corps, and Anjali knows that no Shakyri warrior would ever willingly part with their dagger. So Anjali and Mikhail go in search of the lawful owner of the dagger and come across a long forgotten tale of forbidden love…

This is a story of 7300 words or approximately 25 print pages in the In Love and War series, but may be read as a standalone.

Excerpt:

 

The rim world of Sentosa was a planet of oceans and swamps, shrouded in clouds that rarely tore open to let the rays of its sun shine through. Islands were scattered across the world ocean, none of them large enough to qualify as a continent.

The capital Kota Terapung was built on an archipelago, its islands connected by a maze of bridges and causeways. The city was famous for its floating market. Vendors flocked here from all over the planet and beyond to moor their boats along the wooden walkways or dock their spacecraft on the floating platforms. Here — it was said — one could find almost any good, legal or illegal, in the known universe.

A young couple strolled along the wooden walkways of the floating market hand in hand. The man was tall, with pale skin, striking blue eyes and long dark hair that he wore pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He was clad from head to toe in black, boots, utility pants, shirt, topped with a long coat of black synth-leather. On his hip, he wore a blaster, Republican standard military issue. This was Captain Mikhail Alexeievich Grikov, formerly of the Republican Special Commando Forces, now a wanted traitor and deserter.

The woman by his side was a good head shorter, with brown skin, dark eyes and glossy black hair that fell down her back in gentle waves. She was clad in a flowing skirt with a matching top and bejewelled sandals, all in shades of green and maroon. On her waist, she wore a dagger with an ornate crested hilt. A necklace with a striking gold and garnet pendant gleamed at her throat and on her wrist she wore a matching bangle. This was Lieutenant Anjali Patel, formerly of the Imperial Shakyri Expeditionary Corps, now a wanted traitor and deserter.

Anjali allowed herself to lean against Mikhail and soak up the atmosphere. In many ways, the floating market of Kota Terapung reminded her of the markets of her homeworld of Rajipuri. Of course, the markets of Rajipuri — at least those in the Gurung Highlands, where Anjali had grown up — were on firm ground and not a tangle of boats and walkways. But the calls of the vendors, the array of wares on offer, the smells and the whole atmosphere were similar enough to give her a pang of homesickness.

Anjali ruthlessly swallowed it down. After all, she could never go back to Rajipuri. Neither of them could ever go back. At least, Rajipuri was still there, still safe, still like it had always been. That was more than Mikhail could say for his homeworld.

So she decided to focus on the good things instead. For while she wasn’t sure whether the floating market really offered every good in the known universe, she had found some spice and tea merchants whose selection that could match what would be found on a Rajipuri market.

The food sold here was great as well. There was a bewildering variety of rice and noodle dishes, fried in big pans and inevitably tasty. Other stalls offered bits of tofu or fish or — if you wanted to go really luxurious — chicken stuck on skewers, grilled and served with a spicy peanut sauce. And finally, there was the full bounty of Sentosa’s world ocean, offered in the form of steamed spicy clams, crispy fried shrimps and fish, steamed or fried and coated in spicy chili sauce.

But the floating market had more to offer than weapons, spices and food. For Anjali had also come across some fabric vendors who offered an assortment of tantalising print fabrics with beautiful patterns in bright and cheerful colours. Apparently, fabric dyeing, printing and production was a traditional industry on Sentosa, though the gods alone knew where they found enough dry land to build the factories.

The fabrics were gorgeous, though. They’d make nice skirts or kurtas or maybe even a saree. Cause Anjali hadn’t worn a saree in way too long. Not that she had much opportunity, given their line of work and the fact that they were both on the run.

“You don’t need a new saree,” Anjali told herself firmly. Because those beautiful fabrics didn’t come cheap and money was tight, as it always was with them. And there were so many things they needed more urgently than pretty print fabric for a new saree.

A gust of wind blew across the market, tugging on Anjali’s long flowing skirt. The leaves of the trees that grew in the brackish water around the market rustled and the wind shook loose a plethora of pink and white blossoms, causing them to rain down onto the walkway. Anjali caught one in mid-air and sniffed its sweet, intoxicating scent.

“We’d best find shelter,” Mikhail said to her, “There’s a rainstorm coming.”

Anjali didn’t ask him how he could know that. Unlike her, he’d been here before, just as he’d visited many rim worlds in his time as an operative of the Special Commando Forces. Besides, the locals were suddenly in a hurry as well. And so she just trusted Mikhail and followed along as he quickened his step.

A few seconds later, the rain began to fall in thick drops that quickly turned into a downpour. Puddles formed on the walkway and water splashed up at Anjali’s feet and ankles and drenched the hem of her skirt as she ran.

By the time Mikhail pulled her into the shelter of the awning of a market stall, Anjali was drenched from head to toe. Mikhail had fared somewhat better, if only because his long black synth-leather coat offered more protection.

Anjali looked down at herself. Her top and long skirt were plastered to her body, the hem of her skirt was sprinkled with splotches of dirty water and her hair was a wet tangled mess.

“I look like a drowned puppy,” she said, trying and failing to squeeze the water from her hair.

“No, you don’t.” Mikhail flashed her a fond smile. Rainwater was dripping from his ponytail and formed a little puddle at his feet. “You look beautiful.”

Amazon | B&N | Kobo | Apple | Google Play | Smashwords | Scribd | DriveThru | Thalia

About Cora Buhlert:

Cora Buhlert was born and bred in North Germany, where she still lives today – after time spent in London, Singapore, Rotterdam and Mississippi. Cora holds an MA degree in English from the University of Bremen and is currently working towards her PhD. 

Cora has been writing, since she was a teenager, and has published stories, articles and poetry in various international magazines. She is the author of the Silencer series of pulp style thrillers, the Shattered Empire space opera series, the In Love and War science fiction romance series, the Helen Shepherd Mysteries and plenty of standalone stories in multiple genres.

When Cora is not writing, she works as a translator and teacher. She also runs the Speculative Fiction Showcase and the Indie Crime Scene and contributes to the Hugo-nominated fanzine Galactic Journey.

 

Website | Mailing list | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest | YouTube | Mastodon