Help Wanted: Western on Mars

11 Dec

For Kindle


Welcome to the Wild West on Mars…

Gatling Gary is a poor cowboy and has been robbed by his latest employer. If that wasn’t bad enough, he is chased through the canyons of Mars by an angry Farmer after he accidentally walked over his crops while fighting through a resolith dust storm.

An independent cowboy down on his luck, he only has the wishes of a poor Spurn girl, Clarissa, wanting to be trained so she can exact vengeance against those who killed her family. Even in desperate need of cash, he refuses to help, afraid to be associated with the poor race, once enslaved a few years back and then emancipated.

He runs from town and tries to find his way to Aurium City for a second chance and to place some distance between him and his enemies. But instead, a voodoo witch doctor spells him. Fighting away his destiny, he is forced onto a mountain near Clarissa.

He relents to help her but only to train her. He doesn’t want to have anything to do with her enemies, the Rotger Brothers. Begrudgingly, he teaches her to shoot a seven shot revolver on Blackhead Mountain. But there is something else bothering him, a lingering feeling…

With very few friends, animals seek him out. A mangy dog won’t stop pestering him. A domesticated lion stalks him. A beautiful horse attracted to him. These creatures don’t seem to be enough for Gatling to overcome his losses.

But his path leads him in circles until he is faced with an inevitable choice.

This book is intended for adults only: it contains violence, language, and adult situations.

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For Nook

Western, wild west, space western, space opera, gunfighter, gunfight, science fiction, mars colony, steam punk, western sci fi

Dragon Perched on the White House

3 Dec

A Cursed Life

25 Nov


In a world where everyone is either a criminal or a victim.

Earth was ravaged by wars, chemicals and radiation. A green sludge borders every city, town and population. Governments have fallen but corporations thrived. The poor are subject to the greed of the few Elites.

The final chapter in the Robin Luddites Trilogy, Darius Jones struggles with the demons of his past and present while his friends around him are suffering. For the Jones family, it is not a good week.

A child is kidnapped, Gus is arrested and tortured; Rose is enslaved by her contract. The Jones family struggles through a dangerous world. They are hunted, captured and attacked by many enemies. Some enemies they never knew they had.

Sonya rushes to save her friend from Dallas who is suffering under LORD experiments. On the way to his rescue she is captured in Casino Town. She has to find a way to rescue herself and her brother before it is too late for them all.

Darius Jones and Wimpy leave New Orleans to search for the kidnapped child and rescue Rose from a Robin Luddite. On the way to save Rose, Darius discusses his hopes with a unique Breed, a creature that sees more than the simple horizon of horrors, a brighter future that eludes Darius.

The Jones family come to Dallas to face the enemies that have attempted to obstruct their return. They must face old and new challenges in order to save their friends. Darius must find a way to protect the boy and win Rose’s affection while trying to evade the contracts issued on their heads. He faces the LORDs who had conspired to kill his brothers and now are torturing his friend Gus. The last time he was in Dallas, he had paved the road for corruption to filter in, and his brother Humvey is in the center of it all.

Tracking them, Detective Graves stalks them so he can try to prevent Darius from saving the child. A future is hidden in the child’s DNA that the cruel Graves does not want revealed, or harnessed.

Contains adult situations, language, violence and sexual content.

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The train rattled down the tracks, coursing through the city and wrapping around Frisco Regions, track 75. It crossed from the Midwest over the sludge that once was Oklahoma, now coated in green from border to border. The tracks were designed to run a thousand meters over the sludge that swamped the planet. No life dared to rake through the radioactive carnage that pocketed the Earth with organic debris, leftover from devastating wars. The swamps of green were a memorial to a past that was best forgotten.

Within the train, the passengers bobbed back and forth, scattered throughout the car, hiding their faces and secluding against the windows. They were bundled in heavy coats, marked by holes and tears like their bodies, and like the car seats that were marred with graffiti and stabbed with holes. Breeds would venture eye contact with their train neighbors but as their retinas connected, a fear grew inside of them realizing that they could inadvertently challenge the wrong Breed. A simple misunderstanding could result in a gun blast. They quickly turned away. They recoiled like timid, tortured animals, stuffed in an overused cage.

The sky deepened to a darker green, wafting pink puffs of toxic fumes.

Every few seconds, a sign sped pass warning the passengers of threats, fines and punishments when entering the City of Dallas. Colored in blue and black with gold stars, the signs promised periodic searches for weapons and severe punishments for illegal activity. On each passing sign, the language became more aggressive. Graphic pictures showed hungry and beaten criminals in DARC (Dallas Area Rehabilitation Center).

Subsidized by the local corporations, the Lone Star of Radioactive Dallas (LORD) exercised the legal constraints on the citizens and used DARC as their main imprisonment facility. Every city had a recognized police force to rein order over the chaos. Like most law enforcement, the LORDs started as a contracted gang led by a Robin Luddite but then transformed into a legitimate arm of the law, until the corporations will tire of them.

In the front seat, a timid and round creature curled against the train wall, scared and alone, fearing the disapproving eyes and the scornful remarks from his peers. Gus Sips was not accustomed to being so far from home, so far from family, so ignorant of his neighbors; so endangered by random violence.

His coat tightly wrapped around him to hide the Biotech, wired and soldered together by his own hands. He abused his body with Biotech so he could adapt and enter into cyberspace. He had survived his forties in a small town, outside of the major cities. He was old in the face, but young in the mind. His koala bear features were hard to hide. The gray fur framed his face, his fingernails clawed, and the dark irises of his eyes widened.

Isolated from the cruelness of the corporate cities, Gus Sips had dreamed of a life in the Luddite world. He sought the chance to work as part of an underground that was feared and awed by many survivors. He wanted to breathe the toxic airs, to cruise through cyberspace for a Robin Luddite; to troll through a world that he could only relive in AV records. Gus never revealed his secret obsession to his parents.

Running from the ugliness of those cities, his parents had cowered into an isolated town, surrounded by sludge, decay and poor. For years, he hid his secret desires to avoid offending his father.

Only two weeks ago, his father died. Now Gus was truly free. And so he embarked to the closest city. Naïve of the workings of such a corrupt world, Gus Sips charged ahead into the violent madness that very few had survived.

He dedicated his secret career to becoming a Loader; a contract hired to infiltrate corporate computer networks, to decode barcodes and passwords, to upload viruses and to download usable information. Biotech was the common technology infused into the flesh, used to reinforce the body with armor but more extensive manipulation mutated the body for nefarious reasons. Loader implants allowed the user to cruise through cyberspace like mentally tracking through daydreams.

Along the horizon, the disintegrating buildings of old Dallas stabbed the sky. The buildings wagged like old men waiting for their deaths; life dragged them along to suffer a little longer. Glass shards, metal scraps and paper trash tumbled from their sides. Between train tracks and bridges, sewage pipes poured radioactive sludge into lakes creating moats around the city. A Bell helicopter patrolled across the horizon, panning searchlights into the dark recesses of alleys and vacant buildings. Gunfire chirped like bird calls. Sirens wailed in the background as LORDs hunted down contracts.

The Reunion Ball sat alone like a rejected classmate pushed into the corner by bullies. A chunk of its neck had been bitten out by mortar fire but its balled head defiantly stood proud over the neon signs of the neighboring clubs. Old filed papers blew out the smashed windows, raining on the huddled species that scurried across pothole stricken streets.

In the distance and far to the west, Fort Worth decayed. The city transformed into a Venice of sludge seeping between buildings. The old highways that were erected between cities were now crumbled; a few stanchions, braces and pillars remained defiant, waist deep in sludge rivers and moats. Its city had been vaporized by chemical weapons and warheads that were aimed at Dallas, missing their targets and leaving behind skeletal metal frames.

Slithering around Old Dallas, a single train raced along a forgotten path and on a forbidden track. The train was vacant and powered by an unknown energy that no one could unplug. The train was a Dallas symbol ghosting around the city in blind circles; life dredged along its continuous path, heedless and suffering.

Arriving at the Frisco Regions, Gus’ train screeched to a halt, stuttering along the track four more times before the doors hissed open. A crowd of blue and gold shadows assembled outside the car. Mumbles passed between Breeds as the LORDs argued over the operational protocols. At the engine’s sputtering shutdown, passengers stood at the exits while the doors released a hiss and slid open. They were greeted by LORDs guarding every exit with smiles and rifles.

by Jax E Garson

Copyright 2011, 2013 all rights reserved

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Vampires in Space: be afraid; very afraid

23 Nov

Space is dangerous enough place without Vampires.

Garbazhio and his friend Scruta are imprisoned in an asylum. The Elvish Houses intend to rehabilitate their sinful Vampiric sides. After a month’s torture, their corrupt houses have sold them as slaves to mine silver on the cold side of Mercury. While transferred on a spaceship, the crew has died from a disease, and Scruta and Garbazhio escape imprisonment.

They discover fellow victims on the ship. Chorn is a family nemesis, angry at the Weists. His anger transfers to Garbazhio, the only Weist representative in earshot. Glasses is a goofy tailor with a single word vocabulary. Firryashis is a “big boned” Ogre with a fanaticism for Hawaiian shirts. Reese Icker is a quirky Griffin who dabbles in electronics.

Then there are the Maiden Sisters; three witches that conjure spells and prophecies for them all.

There are many obstacles to their freedom. Dwarf miners pirating their ship and goods. Jolly wants them as slaves in his Mercury mines. The noble houses want them disappeared forever so the Vampires would cause no more trouble on Earth. Martians want them all dead. The ship is a maze and puzzle for them to understand. None of these Vampires are space literate.

They must overcome these obstacles to free the slaves.

With Vampires in space, be afraid; be very afraid.

This book is intended for adults only: it contains violence, blood, language, sex, nudity and very adult situations.


We prepared for battle. Our troop of Vampires huddled near the only spot where the Dwarves could gangplank onto our ship, on the back half of the starboard. The other parts of our spaceship was cluttered with trusses and thickened with pipelines. The starboard hatch was the only possible entry point. It wasn’t likely that we were going to open the door for them so the Dwarves prepped to cut their way inside. Besides, we needed the extra time to prepare for close quarters combat.

First thing, we ran around the room, flipping off light switches. Darkness was an ally for us. Even if our night vision was limited, once we fed, it should return and give us a clear advantage. It took us awhile to determine which switches controlled the lights. We flipped one after another. Some lights flickered off, and other switches turned on fans. Another switch made the spaceship gurgle. We avoided that one. Other switches were a mystery to us. They didn’t seem to do anything. Later on, I learned that they operated the outside lights. The Dwarves must have seen quite a light show.

I had found a long sheet of metal to serve as a sword. I wrapped a rag around its end to act as a hilt. Strangely, I missed my cheap sword, a simple twenty dollar katana from a pawn shop. Many of my things were most likely gone, scavenged, stolen or otherwise. I hoped that our next destination would lead to cheap swords.

Glasses was armed with spatulas, ladles and pans. While he waited, he picked raisins and nuts from his glasses and nibbled away. His gleeful expression had not changed since his release; maybe he was a little more excited about the battle, but still the same.

Firryashis created a club out of a vase and plunger stick. She wrapped the vase onto the stick with duck tape and then glued glass shards around the top. Her nose flared as she anticipated the battle. Her vampire glare was harsher than the others. She wished to enact some revenge against somebody after so many months of torture.

Chorn was more clever; he inserted a pipe and tube into a gas tank to assembled an improvised flamethrower. On occasion I caught an angry glare from him. He was not content with me giving orders. He wanted revenge against my family and could not see my as anything but an extension of my corrupt family. It made no difference that I placed myself into self-exile or that I was also thrown into the asylum.

Reese improvised stun guns onto his arms, able to shoot electric bolts on a narrow trajectory. At close range, he was deadly. His face brandished a sinister smile anticipating a face to face conflict. He checked and double-checked his equipment while still carrying the hot soldering gun on his belt, just incase he needed to improvise something else.

Scruta poised with outstretched hands to attack with magic. We were all weary; I was surprised that Scruta had any magical charge left in his body. The magic drained him faster than workout at a gym. With his Vampirism and a lack of blood, I was surprised that he could still sustain the magic. He had an impressive resilience.

We heard the clanks and thuds of the gangplank connecting to our hull. The outer door swished open and the grumbling of heavy Dwarf voices boomed against the skin of the inner door. They seemed to argue for several minutes before someone commanded them. The voices grumbled to a murmur before the sizzle of a torch sparked. They cut for several seconds before someone argued a point. The sizzle stopped and then the Dwarves grumbled in argument again.

We looked to each other, poised for battle but annoyed with the Dwarves’ inability to agree with how to board us. Our zealous anticipation for battle and blood was drowned in frustration and annoyance. My hand was shaking. The lack of blood was starting to tax my body. I had to concentrate to keep my brain from getting fuzzy like I was spun around the room too many times.

The sizzle stopped again and the Dwarves argued. Between the torch’s heat and space’s cold, the door’s metal disagreed with the extreme temperatures; the door warped, bending inwards. With the small gap in the door, we could distinguish the voices arguing.

“You can’t open the door like that. It will never be closed,” one Dwarf said.

“There are other entrances. We’ll seal this one up and use the others to secure the vessel,” another Dwarf explained.

“What other entrances? I saw nothing on the reports.”

“Well, I didn’t read those reports.”

“We can always make new doorways.”

“We aren’t going to spend all day renovating the ship. The Captain wants the goods and then haul the vessel to the junk dealers for scrap.”

I whispered to Reese, “Business must be bad.” Reese shrugged in agreement.

The torch continued as the Dwarves argued. Finally the door collapsed from the wall with a thud. We poised for battle.

The first Dwarf announced, “It’s dark!”

“Maybe they are gone,” the second Dwarf thought.

“No one’s gone!” demanded the Dwarf that I presumed was the leader. After that comment, he stomped his feet and chanted in rhythm, “Hump, hump, hump. Ho, Ho, ho hump.”

The other Dwarves chanted in sync, and then the entire gangplank was filled with the noise of Dwarves reviving their zeal to battle. After a minute of coaxing their spirits, they sang in unison, “Yo ho! Privateering we go. We siphon the gas. And bite the crews’ ass. We steal the gold. And then the vessel is sold. Yo ho, yo ho! Let the pirating begin.”

The first ten Dwarves were suckled dry, before they barely placed two steps onto our deck. The smell of their blood was too much for any of us. We pounced quickly onto their bodies. We let their bodies limp to the ground as we glared at the other Dwarves still standing on the gangplank. They could distinguish little from the darkness, except our glowering eyes, their fallen comrades and the snarls of happily feasted Vampires.

The other Dwarves stared and stay stunned for long moments. Then their leader coaxed them into battle, “Hump, hump, yo ho!” The Dwarves charged ahead. The new song was, “Yo ho. Off to dampen the enemy we go. Let them break. And let them fall. For all our sakes. Their death will be swift. Or not at all. With our mighty gift, we shall brawl.”

Between reprises, Bobby sang, “Glasses, glasses, I need more glasses.” I saw Scruta smile after Bobby’s response to their songs. The Perculian Human tossed ice balls at the enemy like a baseball pitcher. He had a good arm. The ice balls were spiked with icicles so when ice impacted the Dwarf, the icicles speared into nearby Dwarves to increase collateral damage.

This battle reminded me of a joke. So, a Dwarf walked into a bar and said to the bartender, “Bartender, give me a drink!” The bartender shook his head and replied, “Can’t you read the sign. I’m sorry but we don’t serve Dwarves in here.” The Dwarf left the bar and then snapped his fingers. He decided to disguise himself. So he shaved his beard and threw away his pickaxe. He returned to the bar and said, “Bartender, give me a drink.” The bartender eyed the Dwarf and said, “Aren’t you the Dwarf that just came in here?” The Dwarf responded, “Now, do you think I would be stupid enough to return after you threw me out?” The bartender remarked, “Don’t get short with me!”

We sucked our fill of Dwarves and then battled the remaining infiltrators with our improvised weapons. Chorn incinerated the next wave of Dwarves. Reese cleaned up the rest with bolts of lightning. Another song was chanted as we battled away. “Yo ho. They fight brave. They fight naïve. But they cannot break or dampen the wave. Dwarves are mighty and we are skilled. We love to fight with axes and picks.”

“Glasses, glasses, they can’t find their glasses.”

There were hundreds of them, maybe even thousands. There were too many to feed on. I could tell that the diets of the Dwarves were mostly corn, much like a cow. Chorn ran out of gas for his flame thrower and wielded an axe that he found in the mess of bodies. Reese Icker’s stun guns ran out of juice and found a pipe to knock at their heads. We were battling against wave after wave of Dwarves chanting ridiculous sea shanties. Battle was cruel enough torture without the singing. Every time I heard a “Yo ho,” it made me angrier, wanting to slice and dice with greater violence. I slashed away at their bearded heads with a terrifying violence. Our snarling and bloody faces did not scare a hesitant pause in their maddened charges. They fought ferociously, one after another falling at our feet.

by Jax E. Garson

Copyright 2013


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Elven Vampire Series: dystopian dark fantasy

22 Nov

The creatures of fairy tale have returned to the Earth. They saved humanity from imminent doom from an alien attack.

Garbazhio is a collector, a vampire and an Elf.  Follow him with his friends as he navigates the post-apocalyptic Earth.  He loses friends and gains friends as he hunts rare and unique items.  He fights away enemies from wizards, androids and enslavers.







For Nook:

Confessions of an Elven Vampire

Scandal of Vampire Cults

Vampire in an Elven Court

Vampires in Space

Dark Wine

21 Nov

dark wine


An interstellar war is brewing.  Races will come together in common purpose to fight against a dark and evil foe.

A temporal anomaly propelled humans from the 21st century into the future.  Those humans are treated unfairly and labeled as 21 Cents by the Intersystem Conglomerate, an alliance of human colonies brought together by economics.  No one knows how the 21 Cents got there, and no one seems to be interested in figuring out the truth while there is a war going on.

Caused by a series of unfair circumstances, Jarod Garren is given a chance to build a ship as part of a competition.  Now Captain Garren successfully constructed a freighter out of scrap metal and junk.  He is an accomplished engineer but The Intersystem Conglomerate will not give the 21 Cent a chance.  

Despite the prejudices against him, Captain Garren manages to assemble a crew of unique friends and attains a contract to serve an Uthorogud General to deliver supplies for the war effort.  The war gives them a chance to dispel the lies about him and his 21 Cent peers, but the Conglomerate will not make it easy.

But a mystery unfolds that reveals the secrets to how the 21 Cents had arrived in the 26th century.  There are players set against them, trying to undermine the progress of Dark Wine and her crew. 

Take a spin on Dark Wine, a simple freighter with incredible engineering talents.  And follow the wacky and gifted crew of misfits, thieves, detectives, doctors, losers and assassins.

This book is intended for adults only: it contains violence, language, and adult situations.



Dark Wine, My Favorite Drink

        After three months, Jeebs and I were given the opportunities to build our ships.  As expected, we were offered no help, unlike the teacher’s pets.  That was fine for both of us.  The junkyard was full of a wide variety of ships, alien and Conglomerate.  The vicinity had been emptied of civilian personnel, and we were monitored by several Conglomerate cruisers.  

        I managed to build an excellent vessel out of junk, to my amusement and great satisfaction to disappoint the Conglomerate’s prejudicial expectations.  The reversal of their snickers had shifted into my giggling fits.  They could not believe that it was possible that I could design and build a vessel better than the minimal specifications.  They expected me to waste my time twirling my umbrellas and shining flat tires with turtle wax.   Then I would come crawling back to them, pleading for their forgiveness like I was the prodigal son returning after wasting my money.  

        It was a beautiful ship, puzzled together from many parts.  The interior was sectioned and divided with contemporary versions of intermodal containers and rail cars from space trains that intertwined through the Deltus System.  In between the container cars were open spaces that could be divided by walls.  The floor could be rearranged by puzzled blocks that could raise the floor, make stairs, create one room from four, or make five rooms out of one.  For each cargo run, the cargo rooms were adjusted to compensate for the needs.  The interchangeable style of the cargo areas made it impossible for the enemy to know what to expect when boarding her.  

        The central cargo room was called the Media Room, with the addition of an excellent sound system, holographic screen for movies and the forge where we welded our own hand weapons.       The vessel’s stern was an egg-shaped dorsal segment from a Luther battle cruiser.  Its shell appeared scaled like a fish, reduced towards the top and budded into three smooth ribs like fingers.  The shell opened and closed in specific patterns to protect certain sections of the engines.  The engines were multi-propellant, using two different forms of FTL drive systems.  The Dark Wine flew at a top speed of Cell eighty point two, typical for a cruiser warship but not for a freighter, which made my vessel an asset for delivering supplies during war.

        The nose lifted from the front like a preying mantis jutting forward on its march.  Its fangs were high powered lasers protruding below and off to the side of the bow, consecutively one lower than the other and shorter than the opposite.  Two scrubbers dangled from the neck like the frilled flaps of a lizard.  Two barrier condensers from Uthorogud warships protruded from below like spiked arms.  

        After a year, we added two rings connecting several gunneries above and below the vessel for thirty-nine operators.  The gunneries tilted and panned while firing high yield plasma rounds.  Individually, the gunneries could do minimal damage to the enemy defenses but were lethal in ensemble combat.

        Before reaching the Command Operations Deck (COD), two shrines parted from the central hallways, the Shrine of Peace and War Shrine.  The War Shrine was decked with torches and stone, with several columns.  Allied hand weapons adorned the walls, a lot of swords and axes and spears.  The shelves were cluttered with god statues of all Allied mythologies and religions.  The stone was extracted from various planets that we had visited during and before the war, carved and chiseled to fit.  Ominous music filled its chasm.

        The Shrine of Peace was brighter, white columns, gold trim and billowing curtains.  The center was a fountain that interchanged into a moat or a subtle waterfall.  An oval panorama covered the surrounding walls showing a scenic video of allied homeworlds, perfectly melded together by Merlin’s design.  The video shifted to other places, so subtly that no one perceived it.  I found it difficult to explain the need for the Shrines but I could share my feelings for them.  I needed the War Shrine to focus my warrior side and The Shrine of Peace to centralize myself into a calmer place.  I was sure that my crew used them for their own reasons, as long as it was respectful.

        The COD was plotted close to the bow of the vessel but remained central, surrounded by crew quarters and then cargo areas, above the medical bay.  Unlike the Conglomerates, Uthoroguds, Luthors and probably most races who designed ships, I did not place my control area close to the outer hull, exposing it to a lucky shot, crippling the snake with one slash at the neck.  A hallway circled the COD, which we called the “moat” and sometimes we referred to the COD as the Island.  The COD was separated into two parts, the main area containing control consoles and Merlin’s Research and Information area (MRI).  Merlin and I kept that area off limits.  The MRI was the yin to the control area’s yang, and the island was shaped much the same.  

        The COD was organized with navigation off to one side.  The tactical station positioned in the back, ninety degrees from the Plidar sensor and science controls. The Captain’s console was centered but angled.  The captain’s chair sat on a pedestal in the center of the room, which we called the Barber’s Chair.  The robotics console was stuffed in the back corner.  All consoles could be reconfigured and translated into multiple languages.  The console arms shifted inward or outward to the liking of the operator.  Holographic systems interchanged with manual controls for easy access.

        Dark Wine had an oddity, a central hallway along its back that led to itself, a dead end to nowhere.  We added stairs but it was still a useless corridor.  It was an unnecessary hallway, a detour around nothing.  We called it the Aorta, out of irony.  Later, we had filled the walls with shields marking the scorecards of the dead crew members; a weapon was welded and placed behind them.  One hundred and seventeen names had filled those walls, fewer than I expected since the beginning of the war.

        The Dark Wine was armed with Druidfire laser weapons as well as a multitude of torpedoes, some of my own design like Angel Dust and Red Demons.  It was defended with typical Electrical grid, shields and EMP repulsor cloak.  We had two versions of detection, the particle spread and collider scope which we referred collectively as Plidar.  It was not necessary to have both, most vessels only had one, but the diversity offered options in different environments.  The particle spread released millions of neutral particles into an area and using a laser to bounce off of them, analyzed the reflections from those particles to create the outline of a ship or distinguish details of its operating systems.  The collider scope worked similar to sonar and radar, sending out dark matter waves to detect objects.

We considered building a fleet of short range fighters, typical of most heavy freighters that accumulated pilots and fighters to protect against piracy.  Dark Wine’s high LPH reduced the chance that any enemy could keep pace with her.  Just as well, Dark Wine’s versatility made it difficult to find the space for the fighters, and there was not enough room for a catapult system to push the fighter to maximum burn in order to be effective against enemy targets.  We could have stored five to six short range fighters, but so few would make such a defensive attack ineffective.  Besides all of those reasons, we didn’t have any pilots.  We did house two shuttlecrafts, which was all the space that we could afford.       

       We painted Dark Wine black with black-emerald stripes in strategic niches along its jagged lines, for a natural camouflage.  A secondary holographic cloak disguised the vessel with the background.  This shrouding technique was not perfect, especially at higher speeds, but it enabled some guile when delivering military goods.

All rights reserved: copyright 2013

Written by Jax E. Garson


Science fiction, military science fiction, ebook, amazon, space opera, galactic war

Fifth World

16 Nov


Trapped on Blue Star, two Special Forces teams are stranded in an alien solar system. At first, they were sent to secure the Blue Star space station for themselves but they quickly learned that they were not in control of their fates. An ambiguous race of small machines, the Scragg, have propelled the station to a planet and isolated the soldiers in the lower sections.

Colonel Flagstaad is determined to find a way back home for his soldiers. Their original enemy are prisoners laboring to repair the damaged Garuda space shuttle. The two enemies need to find a way to work together without killing each other in order to persuade the Scragg to send them home. But that mission would be difficult when some prisoners are conspiring against them.

To make the situation worse, the Colonel has a civilian that irritates him, a presumptuous Chinese Commander that annoys him and a French Professor that infuriates him. His daughter-in-law is an insolent Officer and his son is drifting away from him. He is surrounded by nagging frustrations that he cannot order to cease.

He remains stubborn, to force the Scragg to return them home, but the mischievous machines had something else in mind… They force the soldiers from the space station. The Colonel argues against landing on the surface of the planet, but the Scragg win out against his stubbornness.

Now, they are stranded on an alien world.

The soldiers explore its mysteries, but there is something familiar about it. The animals seem like creatures ripped from the pages of myth, legend and extinction. They hunt Griffins, fight off Balinese Tigers and watch Unicorns herd with American Buffalo. All of this is strange enough, without witnessing a Native American tribe living on the planet.

Still determined to find a way home, Colonel Flagstaad pushes forward to investigate the disappearance of the original scientists form the space station and learn the secrets of how to return home. Not even the eggheads can seem to slow down his steady march and stubborn focus.

Enter the Fifth World for the human race. The cycle has restarted. The end is near. The beginning is over. The exploration of this old world will bring into light the mysteries of Atlantis, Stonehenge, Nibiru, Hopi Prophecies and much more.

This book contains violence, adult situations and adult language.

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Faster Than a Speeding Shuttle

The Garuda shook violently, more violently than it should. Commander Fox listened to the unfamiliar rattling. It concerned him but his feelings were focused on the large alien marble approaching at high velocity. He would have gauged his speed but the numbers on the digital screen were sporadically jumping through digits, backwards and forwards. With the combined fuels and the jerry-rigged nature of the Garuda, he couldn’t trust the numbers. Half of his readouts were non-functional and he wasn’t sure about the other half.
A console popped off the ceiling, dangling from its fiber optic cables. Loose cables wiggled like worms. He couldn’t afford to take his hands off the controls, not even to push the console back into place. The thought crossed his mind, his sense of keeping his shuttle in an orderly manner. It bothered him to see it swinging just outside of his peripheral vision. He denied that craving and kept his eyes on the window.

Outside the front windows, he saw the reentry heat dissipate and the horizon fill with cloud cover. He felt a certain relief at seeing the clouds but he knew that the landing was only just beginning. The windows were tight, small awkward squares; it was barely visible through them. What made it worse was the crystalline ice forming around its edges. And then the cracks formed. The first one started in the right corner; his heartbeats sped up at the sight of it. And then a longer crack slithered across the top. It stopped for a moment and then spread out in tributaries. Commander Fox was stunned. He could have sworn that the windows were reinforced. The Garuda was a fairly new vessel; such wear and tear should not have been so easy. However, the Garuda had been through combat and a slew of other strange things in the last week or so. Its refit was rushed so they could take the Special Forces team to the Blue Star.

The tank gauges dropped exponentially. The fuel depleted at a faster pace than normal. Fox tried to joke, “Uh, remember what I said about gliding.” His comment was met by a deaf audience.

Something strange happened. A red splatter dotted the windows; it started small and then spread across the window. Fox was confused. He exchanged a look with Commander Libertine from the sides of their eyes. Neither understood where the splatter came from; it was something that they had never seen. Fox dreaded that it was something else, something involving blood but he pushed the thoughts aside.

The ice crystals started to break off. Between the red splatter and the ice it was nearly impossible for them to see. The clouds were rushing past the vehicle. The uncontrolled rattling made the view look like a continuous blur. The cloud cover dissipated from their path but they still could see nothing but blur, a wide and green blur. Then the crystals melted and washed away the red splatter. He could barely discern the leg of the Nazca fly. Trying to think positive, he decided to land there because it seemed like flat strip of brown grass, but it could have been easily a canyon or a stretch of rocks. Blindly, he steered for the fly’s legs, hoping that the creators had cut into the earth making it flat and unobstructed, a natural runway for the shuttle. The landing strip’s width was impossible to measure with their instruments but it still was their best and only chance.

The shuttle jerked violently left, and both Commanders struggled to steer the vehicle straight. They overcompensated too much and the shuttle wagged towards the right. They heard some of the crew makes some noises. The soldiers tried to hide their fears with macho swear words and disagreeing grumbles but it was obvious that they were scared. The pilots lost sight of the fly’s leg; nothing but clouds swirled outside the windows. They were off course. After a lot of readjusting maneuvers, they managed to steer the vehicle back on course.

The final stretch moved too fast. The ground raced towards them at an increasing speed. Twice, they had to readjust their heading for the leg. Fox noted the forest of trees on both sides, looming darkness filled their ocean of greens. On the far right side, the earth was layered with a red fungus, stretching over mountains like a velvet blanket. A flock of fat birds scattered from their trajectory, just as the Garuda’s wings scraped over the treetops. The impact made the vessel shudder. At first, it seemed that the forest trees would tear off their wings, but the fly’s leg opened up like an inverted funnel and they were clear of them.
The ground was a flat pathway of dead grass and gravel and gutters lined both sides. The strangest notion came to Fox’s head at that time; he wanted to go bowling. It immediately made him sad, reminding him that his bowling partner was dead.

The wheel gears dropped; the nose lifted forty-five degrees. Fox knew that the only thing to do now was to let go. At that point, there was nothing he could do, except pray for a healthy landing. A quiet moment of pause followed before a slow whisper of silence, right before the wheels struck the ground. The nose dropped with a crash.   The front wheels collapsed into the cabin and the nose dug into the earth. Dirt spilled over the windows. The shuttle slid sideways as the earth pushed it awkwardly. The vehicle wagged violently. Consoles popped off the walls. Soldiers tumbled in the fuselage as the seats and other materials were set loose. A gunshot rang out.

The Garuda squealed, an unhealthy drum role of metal screeches and ripping. The vehicle slowed. Then it stopped with a sudden jerk.

Copyright 2013, all rights reserved

Written by Jax E. Garson

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