A special blog to let readers know that my science fiction action adventure novel Underground Planet is now available!
Now who wants a little taste? Here is the blurb:
Renegade female mercenaries and hired killers.
A treasure hidden for a thousand years.
But old secrets never die – and some treasures should remain hidden.
Inside a planet wide labyrinth of mining tunnels, metal processing, acid waste levels, and abandoned cities is a thriving, genetically engineered ecosystem of predators, prey, and mutant humans. Constantly evolving and always hungry.
It’s a race against time as the teams fight to survive the planet and each other.
There are no prizes for coming second.
Get there first – or die.
You can grab a copy at bookstores here It is ebook now, and will be in paperback soon. You could also gift a copy to friends – get that Christmas shopping done early!
Here is a sneak peek.
Chagar took a long look up and down the crowded street of brothels, drug dens, and pubs. On this planet, everything had a price. All the known sins, and quite a few he wished he was still ignorant about, could be bought here.
At least for the moment no one seemed interested in him. He had shaken off his pursuers, but for how long?
“Watch yourself, mutant.”
Chagar dodged, but not fast enough. The limp body thudded at his feet, splashing him with the putrid slops from the gutter. Automatically calculating the microbe count, he cursed. Sometimes ignorance would be preferable.
The pub doors slammed against the walls as a tall woman in worn army fatigues shouldered them aside. “That’ll teach ya to talk nice to a lady,” she snarled, giving the body a solid boot in the ribs. “You lost, mate?” She glanced up at Chagar, her mass of braids swinging around her dark brown face.
“No ma’am,” Chagar chanced a smile.
“Ma’am, eh? I like you, c’mon in.” She used her ample hips to swing the doors aside as she went back into the pub.
Chagar grimaced as he followed her. His inbuilt nose filters struggled to cope with the stench of old urine and beer slops that oozed from the doorway. She is just what I need. Two months on this terrible planet, searching through the endless pubs and brothels. Rest and recreation planet indeed, the things he had seen here he would need brain bleach to forget. For a moment, the memory of his quiet lab far underground tugged at him, then he pushed through the doors and went in, trying to ignore the moist carpet sucking at his bare feet.
He glanced around. This pub was even seedier and more disgusting than the rest he had seen. There were quite a few people, most skulking in the dark corners, with a few lying on the floor near the kitchen moaning quietly to themselves. He ordered a beer and looked around. A thin man with the gaunt face of the drug-addled eyed him. Chagar flexed his armoured shoulders, and the man slipped away. Chagar smiled. It wasn’t the first time his appearance had scared people off. On this terrible planet of mercenaries, even his genetically engineered modifications didn’t stand out in the mix of cyborg parts, body weapons and scars. He sipped his beer, holding it carefully so he didn’t crush the glass.
Female laughter sounded from the corner near the kitchen, and he signalled the barman for a bottle of whiskey. This had to be the group he had heard about, the only team brave or foolhardy enough to sign up for a job against MineCorp.
He sat the bottle on their table and stood back. He had learned a lot about soldiers in the two months he had been away from home, more than he was comfortable knowing. He would be glad to get back. This planet was so alien, nothing had tried to eat him for the entire time, and he never thought he would miss that. He cleared his throat to get their attention.
“Well, well Sarge, look who followed you home,” the stocky man slurred. His visible eye was bloodshot, red veins woven across the white like the web of a crack addict spider. His remaining eye was covered by a metal eyepatch that was pop riveted to his face, partially obscuring a large, jagged scar crossing his forehead. He was seated between two women, blonde-haired and identical. They belched in unison and then collapsed into giggles. The man had one hand on the table, and Chagar had no doubt the hand under the table held a weapon.
“Shut up, Jock,” the dark woman replied and Chagar guessed she was Sarge. Yes, this was the group he had been told about. Women mercenaries, led by…he frowned.
“Who’s the boss here?” He glanced around, stepping closer to the table. “I don’t have much time. I have a job for you. I repeat, where is your boss?”
Sarge raised an eyebrow at him, and the twins stopped giggling.
“That would be me,” said a voice behind him.
Chagar turned, relieved.
“I am Johanna.” The voice was creamy and deep and oozed femininity. She pronounced her name like a title, the two syllables and the hard H sound hanging in the air with the dignity of a queen. She was tall, dressed in the same army fatigues as the rest, filling them with lush curves and firm muscles. Her hair was red brown and tied back in a long plait. Colourful tattoos wreathed her forehead; intricate lacy floral patterns disappeared into her hair. His eyes travelled up her body, stopping at her green eyes, which glittered like chips of glass in the smoky atmosphere.
“I am Chagar. I need to hire your team.”
“We are not desperate, but a new job would be welcome. Sit down and tell us your story, but remember, we get bored easily.” She introduced the group. Sarge grinned and shook hands, easily matching his for size. Jock and the twins — Daisy and Jasmine Longshanks — smiled, and Chagar swallowed hard. They were the most menacing smiles he had seen, and they were the good guys.
“I don’t have much time.” He glanced back at the doorway.
“Yeah, you said. Get on with the story.” Johanna kicked a chair towards him, turning her own chair so she could watch the crowd.
He sat, hoping the flimsy chair would hold him. Glancing at Sarge’s size, he was reassured. Her body didn’t just hint at womanly curves, it screamed. He cleared his throat. “My planet is a mining planet. My people are gene-enged for mining, we are slaves to our creators. MineCorp…”
“Shh,” Johanna hissed. “We hate them too, but we are not stupid enough to yell it out it in a pub.”
There was a commotion at the door as a tall man with the too perfect face of a god walked in. Elegant clothes and a long jacket set off his well-muscled figure; thick, reddish hair flowed down to his shoulders.
“Their body weight in gold for anyone who brings me the mutant and the females.” He pointed to Chagar. Like sharks sensing fresh prey, all eyes in the pub focused on Chagar.
“Come get some of this good stuff, McAllister, if you’re man enough,” Sarge yelled back, pulling out a handgun.
Grab your copy and make sure to leave a review.