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Stellarnet Rebel word search

Stellarnet Prince crossword (click here for crossword solution)

Minecraft skins of J’ni, Duin and Belloc

February 8, 2013 – Stellarnet Prince review
“…gutsy—popular fiction with real bite… I loved all three of the main characters, each strongly drawn and complex.”

January 31, 2013 – SFR Galaxy Awards
STELLARNET REBEL wins “Best Non-Traditional Romance”

December 3, 2012 – Carina Press Best of 2012
STELLARNET REBEL makes the publisher’s “staff picks” page

December 1, 2012 – Stellarnet Tarot

November 28, 2012 – STELLARNET SERIES: Where cyberpunk meets costume drama

November 27, 2012 – Plotting Princesses
An interview with J.L. Hilton about STELLARNET PRINCE, character POV, using music while writing, and the difficult middly bits.

November 21, 2012 – Bull Spec magazine, “The Hardest Part”
J.L. Hilton reveals the hardest part of writing STELLARNET PRINCE.

November 19, 2012 – Guest blog post
J.L. Hilton on her love affair with aliens and monsters.

November 18, 2012 – Guest blog post
See Belloc and J’ni’s wedding clothes. J.L. Hilton talks about alien marriages in outer space.

November 17, 2012 – 12 cool pieces of technology from the Stellarnet Series

November 17, 2012 – The cover of Stellarnet Prince is “cattified” into Stellarcat Pounce. “A society of humans obsessed with all things feline brings catnappers, pet traffickers and environmental exploitation to the lush catnip fields of Glin-nip…” (read more) And don’t miss this cattified excerpt of chapter one.

November 16, 2012 – Getting in Character
How would the heroes of Stellarnet Prince answer the question: “What’s a secret you’ve never told anyone?”

November 16, 2012 – Otherworld Diner
Talking about space pirates, post-cyberpunk, writing rituals and characters who take over the author’s brain.

November 14, 2012 – Editing a Series
Editor Alison Dasho talks about editing the Stellarnet Series

November 14, 2012 – Writer & Cat
Meankitty interviews J.L. Hilton and reviews Stellarnet Prince: Needs more cats.

November 13, 2012 – Everybody Needs a Little Romance
Nagyx stones, romantic aliens and the history of human engagement rings.

November 13, 2012 – Taste of Kiwi
Shelley Munro reviews Stellarnet Rebel

November 11, 2012 – The Galaxy Express
Heather Massey interviews J.L. Hilton about the Stellarnet Series

November 10, 2012 – Ruth Diaz Writes
J.L. Hilton talks about Stellarnet Prince, the future of journalism and how Legos inspired Asteria Colony

November 10, 2012 – Otherwhen
Find out how the musical Camelot is to blame for the love triangle in the Stellarnet Series

November 9, 2012 – Fun Fridays with Angela Campbell
J.L. Hilton interviewed about the Stellarnet Series

November 8, 2012 – Character interview
Veronica Scott talks to J’ni, Duin and Belloc, the heroes of the Stellarnet Series

November 6, 2012 – Tome Tender
Review of STELLARNET PRINCE: “I was swept away into a wonderful story. 5 Stars.”

November 2, 2012 – An Eclectic Author: Guest Post
J.L. Hilton on storytelling with words and jewelry

November 1, 2012 – SF Signal
Stellarnet Prince listed along with 175 SF books coming out in November, including Star Wars, Star Trek, Neil Gaiman, Robert Jordan and others!

October 31, 2012 – Romance Author Hotspot
Editor Alison Dasho chooses Belloc as her favorite character out of all the books she’s edited SPOILERS

October 28, 2012 – 2013 EPIC eBook Awards
STELLARNET REBEL is a finalist in the science fiction category!

October 27, 2012 – Bull Spec magazine book buying guide
Lists the Stellarnet Series and says it combines “…video games, blogging, aliens, and indeed well done sex scenes…”

October 9, 2012 – Heroes and Heartbreakers
Swimming Against the Stream: Why Aren’t There More Aquatic Heroes in Sci-Fi Romance?

October 1, 2012 – Review by Shauna of the Sisters’ Tale
“Go pick up Stellarnet Rebel if you like space opera/futuristic stories, with amazing world-building and lots of humor.”

September 25, 2012 – Warp drive on its way to a reality near you
by J.L. Hilton, as a contributor to the Contact-Infinite Futures SF/SFR blog

September 9, 2012 – Dances with tropes
by J.L. Hilton, as a contributor to the Contact-Infinite Futures SF/SFR blog

July 5, 2012 – Stellarnet Rebel and aquatic aliens
On the Galaxy Express

June 30, 2012 – Robert Appleton reviews Stellarnet Rebel
“Ms. Hilton made a huge effort with the worldbuilding in Stellarnet Rebel, and her characters play off it beautifully…”

June 14, 2012 – Stellarnet Rebel mentioned in RT article
Heather Massey discusses sexy aliens

April 22, 2012 – The future is now… again
by J.L. Hilton, as a contributor to the Contact-Infinite Futures SF/SFR blog

April 20, 2012 – J. L. Hilton guest post on Book Travels blog
Discussing the people, world and language of Glin

April 20, 2012 – Book Travels in Urban Fantasy Review

February 29, 2012 – Everybookhasasoul Review

February 26, 2012 – Team Duin vs Team Belloc
by J.L. Hilton, as a contributor to the Contact-Infinite Futures SF/SFR blog

February 25, 2012 – Mixed Book Bag Review

January 19, 2012 – Reading Reality Review

January 12, 2012 – Romance Reader at Heart Review
“(A) complex and engrossing read… this isn’t a romance novel, though it has adventurous romantic elements.”

January 9, 2012 – Featured book in Carina Press newsletter
Also in the publisher’s “staff loves” section

January 9, 2012 – Interview with Gayle Hendrix
Narrator of the STELLARNET REBEL audio book

January 8, 2012 – Christine Bell interviews J.L. Hilton
about the book STELLARNET REBEL

January 8, 2012 – Shout out from Sending a Wave
UK Firefly/Serenity podcasters wish author success

January 4, 2012 – Sci-fi is for women, too
Guest blog post by J.L. Hilton for her publisher Carina Press

January 3, 2012 – Why aliens are better than men…
Guest blog post by J.L. Hilton on Manic Readers

January 2, 2012 – Audiobook release day: Stellarnet Rebel
“Long-anticipated title” mentioned on Bull Spec’s “Audible SF/F” blog

January 2, 2012 – J.L. Hilton release day
Bull Spec Magazine blog

December 19, 2011 – New cyberpunk thriller coming January 2
by J.L. Hilton, as a contributor to the Contact-Infinite Futures SF/SFR blog

December 17, 2011 – Breaking Bookshelves: Newly Covered
SR mentioned as “cannot wait to read” and “sounds awesome”

October 16, 2011 – Wilde spirit of rebellion
Oscar Wilde and Stellarnet Rebel

August 29, 2011 – Would an alien be a person?
by J.L. Hilton, as a contributor to the Contact-Infinite Futures SF/SFR blog

August 2, 2011 – The future is now
by J.L. Hilton, as a contributor to the Contact-Infinite Futures SF/SFR blog

The author is a global sponsor of the 2012 Can’t Stop the Serenity project.

Recent tweets about STELLARNET REBEL on Twitter.

Reviews and other information about STELLARNET REBEL on Goodreads.

STELLARNET REBEL topic thread on the author’s website.

- If you know of any sites, articles, reviews, posts or mentions that aren’t listed here, email them to J.L.Hilton.author (at) gmail(dot)com.

Prologue

FOURTEEN RAIN SEASONS (21 YEARS) EARLIER

They came from rivers, streams, and waterfalls. They came from the distant edge of the Great Ocean. They came to kill the Nidenn, and the fence only strengthened their resolve.

“Even the dark whirlpool of Yaggla has no walls.” Owlg’s face twisted into a sneer as he eyed the poles and the webs of woven ropes, which extended as far as they could see in each direction. The barrier spanned the rivers, too, allowing nothing but water and small fish to pass.

“Yaggla needs no walls.” The oldest among them, Tucloup did not carry a stick for walking—he carried a stick sharpened to a deadly point, because they pursued a deadly mission. His skin hung in wrinkles from his wiry frame and his shoulders hunched, but his arm remained as sure as his wisdom. “The souls of the dead are trapped in Yaggla by the currents of the Great Ocean.”

“Are they trapped forever?” Duin had to know. “Will they never be reborn?”

Tucloup smiled, and his face became a pool of deep emotion. “On the verge of revolt, you stop to ask metaphysical questions?”

Glin emerged from the streams and tall grasses to join them at the fence. Those who came from the west marshes were the color of muddy water, the skin on the back halves of their bodies patterned in brown whorls. Those from the falls bore spotted backs resembling mossy pebbles. A few, like Duin, had the speckled patterns of the watershed Glin.

Glin. The word meant here. It’s what they called their world and themselves.

“This is the most important time to ask questions. I must know, if I kill these tyrants, will they return to build fences in the next life?”

The elder’s voice flowed smooth and strong as a wide river, propelling them forward on a current of certainty. “The Nidenn will swim in Yaggla until they reach the oblivion of exhaustion, and when they have forgotten their evil ways, only then will they be carried back to life.”

“And the young ones. Are they evil?” Several rain seasons older than Duin but not old enough to be an elder, Hup had nursed eight children and that carried its own measure of respect. She also stood taller and wider than Duin, with arms and shoulders made powerful by swimming in the rapids of Tiru Papiru. If she balked now, others might hesitate, as well.

Tucloup bobbed his head. “This is a distasteful thing we do, but the deed must be done, to rid Glin of a plague of kings. They would bring evil to us all, and to generations of our descendants.”

“My cousin is there,” said Baba, one of the few local Glin not living under the control of the self-appointed royal family. Unmarried and barely old enough to hunt, Baba still had the androgynous look of the young who were yet neither male nor female.

“Your cousin will be set free.” Owlg swayed and moved his arms in anxious circles. The mannerism came from living in a swift river, though all Glin had various degrees of restlessness about them. To be still meant sinking, to be stagnant and dead.

“You can’t free a fool imprisoned by his own beliefs,” Baba said. “He chooses to serve them.”

“Give their followers the choice to leave,” said Tucloup. “Don’t harm them unless they resist. We’re here for the Nidenn.”

“How will we tell them apart?” asked Hup.

“They are dark blue,” said Baba. “Or silver, like the lake. That’s why they call themselves Tah Ga’lin. They are like the stars in the sky ocean.”

“Pud! They’re not special. They’re Glin, like any other Glin. And they will die like any other Glin. Fence builders!” Hup pulled a bone knife from the sheath on her thigh and began cutting through the barrier. Others joined her in the task, using their own knives or rending the fence with their webbed hands, until they made a hole large enough to pass through.

Duin wanted to tear down every last piece of the fence and cast them into the river, where they would be swept out to the Great Ocean and to Yaggla, where they belonged. The fence proved how dangerous the Tah Ga’lin really were, not that Duin harbored any doubts. Erecting a border—claiming the land, water and resources that others needed for survival—demonstrated true evil. But there would be time enough to remove this outrage, after its architects were dead.

Past the fence, they fanned out, as they might while pursuing a spry, long-legged labbud. Alone or in groups, Glin were excellent hunters. Their lives depended on the skill. But never before had they hunted their fellow Glin. The abomination of such a course was equaled only by its great necessity. Too many Glin would live in slavery if the Nidenn were not stopped, here and now.

The ground sloped upward and mud no longer sucked at Duin’s webbed feet. Fat shrubs and trees replaced tall grasses. Not the low-hanging gop trees, or the thin, fruit-laden mumya, these trees stretched above their heads on trunks thicker than Duin’s body. What sorts of creatures lived here? And would one leap down upon him? Instead of hearing the comforting sounds of flowing water, Duin heard the trees whispering to the wind with a thousand voices.

Tucloup noticed Duin’s apprehension and touched his protege’s shoulder. “You may see things you’ve never seen before. You should decide now.”

“Decide?”

“Decide whether what you see is the work of the Great Rain and the spirit world, or simply a question you have not yet answered.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Not at all,” said Tucloup. “What we fear—or revere—is like mud in the water. Fear and worship prevent us from seeing clearly. But when we seek to understand, we are in maglahem.”

Maglahem. Pure water. Truth.

The clouds broke to reveal a deep, dark, twinkling expanse of sky ocean. Ahead, a lake glimmered silver, as Baba said. Beyond, the ground rose again and stretched away in giant, immobile waves of land. Duin shuddered at the uncanny sight and lowered his eyes.

Glin could hunt with stealth in water or marsh, but forty hunters moving over dry, unfamiliar terrain created a cacophony of crackling twigs, rustling leaves and snapped branches, despite their slow and careful progress. By the time they reached the edge of the lake, another group of Glin had gathered on the opposite shore to greet them.

“Welcome!” The greeter wore a length of bava fabric wrapped around his waist, with one loose end tossed casually over his shoulder, leaving his deep, dark blue back exposed. One of the Nidenn. Duin’s blood roiled with anger.

“I am Tah Ga’lin Rawl of the Silver Lake.” The greeter raised his hand and waved, swaying like one of the tree branches and himself taller than any Glin known to Duin. With a supple gesture, Rawl indicated the others around him. “This is my brother, Tah Ga’lin Jeel. My sister, Tah Ga’lin Diru. My son, Hewel Nidenn. And our attendants.”

Duin heard the growls of disgust from the insurgents behind him. “Slaves,” someone muttered.

Duin’s mentor stepped forward until the water of the lake touched his feet. “I am Tucloup, Elder of the watershed.”

“I see many,” said Rawl. “From distant falls and seas, not just the watershed. Have you come to understand the will of the Great Rain, and carry our truth like ripples across the world?”

“No,” said Tucloup. “We’ve come to kill you.”

Astonishment contorted Rawl’s placid face. The arrogant karak’tukt had not expected that answer. But calm quickly returned to his features.

He laughed and his voice rang like music through the air. “I am the Bright Star of the Sky Ocean. I am the Keeper of Stone Secrets, Master of the Harp of the Wind, eldest living descendant of the first Tah Ga’lin Dennoc who slew the—ugh!”

His words ended in a bloody gag as Tucloup’s spear tore through his throat.

A volley of spears and stones arched over the lake, hitting the Nidenn. Duin grabbed a pebble from the ground. Large, misshapen, and impractical for hunting wapult, but he placed it in the cradle of his sling and hurled. The stone hit Hewel, son of Rawl, in the side of the head with a dangerous thud.

Duin joined Tucloup and the others swimming across the lake. At the other side, the wounded Rawl and Hewel were both dragged into the water. In spite of their injuries, the Tah Ga’lin resisted desperately against the insurgents who sought to rend their arms and legs from their bodies so that they could not swim.

With a spear through his leg and one through his stomach, Tah Ga’lin Jeel put a r’naw horn to his lips and blew an eerie sound over the shrieks of the dying and the wailing of their servants. Jeel continued to blow the horn until Owlg slit his throat. Blood covered half of Tah Ga’lin Diru’s lithe body, but she remained on her feet, fighting amidst a knot of ocean-Glin.

Before he could join one of these furious eddies of rebellion, Hup called to him. “Duin, come hunt Nidenn with me.”

They ran toward a hill out of which streamed more Glin. These were not blue or silver, so Duin ignored them. Some screamed, others ran into the lake to defend their fallen leaders or disappeared amidst the trees. No hill, he realized, but a structure built with the prodigious stones of the region, its doorway framed by the open jaws of a r’naw. In his worst nightmares, Duin could not have imagined the size of that creature, the jaw an arsenal of long, vicious daggers—one hundred teeth like the dagger strapped to Hup’s thigh.

She hopped between the rows of teeth and disappeared within. Duin hesitated before following her. Words dripped down the rocks—carved dots and curves of Glinnish like those Tucloup had taught him with mud and sticks, later with paper and ink.

Some of the rocks resembled faces and creatures, giving Duin a nightmarish feeling. “Bah!” He barked defiantly at the stone faces. This is what the Nidenn do. They control others through amazement and terror. Shaping rock is nothing but a skill—just as weaving bava or curing wallump skin were skills. But they kept their knowledge to themselves instead of sharing it with all Glin. As with their attempts to own the land and water, withholding information made the Nidenn more powerful than other Glin.

He heard a scream, followed by a musical sound. Entering further into the dark interior, he found Hup struggling with a youth who clung to a tall harp. Duin had seen a lap harp before, a small stringed instrument made of bone and sinew. But never one such as this. Carved, like the stones, and made of the bones of a very large r’naw—the same r’naw whose jaws framed the doorway, he guessed.

Still a few rain seasons shy of adulthood, the young Glin offered fierce resistance. Hub managed to tear the harp away and the instrument sang as it hit the floor. She wrapped her fingers around the silver Glin’s throat and bashed the youth’s head against the stone wall. The musician stopped struggling. Hub dragged the body by one foot, past Duin and out to the lake with the rest.

Duin lifted the instrument. The elaborate carvings were inlaid with color, bits of animal scales and stones. The rest was polished to a beautiful luster, like the skin on the front half of a Glin. He knew that the others would break the harp and throw it into the lake. Of course, they had to kill the Nidenn, to spare even one would keep greed and tyranny alive. But he found himself wondering, Couldn’t their treasures be shared with all of Glin?

Other insurgents entered the structure. When they could not find Nidenn, they dragged out the baskets, the rugs and the tools, to toss into the lake. They even tried to dislodge the stones of the structure itself.

“The Harp of the Wind!” Baba identified the object as Owlg snatched the thing from Duin.

Owlg made a gurgle of disgust and hit the instrument against the stone walls. Between Owlg, Baba and several others, they destroyed the harp. Duin understood what it represented, but he felt a surge of regret. The merest suggestion that they keep Nideen objects for themselves or give them to Tucloup, might have ended with Duin dismembered and thrown in the silver lake, as well, so he said nothing.

Duin went further into the stone dwelling, though the walls pressed in on him and his instinctive claustrophobia caused his chest to tighten in panic. He held his breath, as if he were deep underwater. Curiosity—as much as anger or his belief in freedom—propelled him. And the need to get as far away as possible from the broken harp.

Through his body, he could feel as much as hear the distant sounds of killing vibrating through the stones of the structure. His eyes caught a movement ahead, a waver of something a lighter gray than the dark gray shadows. Duin ran forward and seized someone trying to escape through a hole. A stone had been wedged out of the wall, and he felt a wisp of fresh air blow in from outside.

“Who are you?”

The silvery Glin did not reply, just sobbed.

“Who are you? I would know who I send to the whirlpool of Yaggla!”

When the Glin said nothing, he took hold of her thin neck. The bava she wore fell loose from her shoulders, and Duin discovered that he held a young female, clutching an infant to her chest. The baby was so new it didn’t have a colored pattern. Her first child, judging by her small breasts. Blood covered her fingertips, torn raw from moving the stone to try to escape.

“Kill me!” She shook like a pitat leaf in a violent storm. “Kill me now! Please! Before you kill my baby, please! Don’t let me see you kill my baby! I cannot see that!”

Something glittered on the infant’s chest, despite the darkness. A stone, tied to a cord around the child’s neck. Clearer than misty air or flowing water, as clear as maglahem. But the stone’s core seemed to contain all the colors of Glin—the yellow of the frilly della plant, the thready turquoise leewl fish, the iridescent feathers of the dark blue udal, the luminescent purple glow of the weeol bugs, and the rosy pink of the sacred j’ni flower. The baby shifted and the colors flashed. Duin pulled the nagyx from the child’s neck. The baby squirmed and scowled in protest, but didn’t cry.

“No! Don’t take the child’s soul. Cut us in pieces and throw our bodies in the Silver Lake, but let the child keep its stone.”

Duin thought of his wife Ullu in Willup W’Kuay, whose belly swelled with their third child. He would never touch Ullu like this, would never clench his hand around her throat and restrain her. Duin would never hurt anyone he loved. That, and if he ever did, her parents would have beaten him senseless and dropped him in a pool of flesh-eating driznit. If Ullu hadn’t already done so herself.

He demanded again. “Who are you?”

“Vindael Nidenn. Sixth child of Tah Ga’lin Jeel.”

“Your father’s dead.”

Her sob of grief and terror shook Duin’s bones and sympathy washed over him. This was not one of the fiendish Nidenn elders who had fenced in the lake, trees and surrounding marshes and claimed to own land. As if they had any right to say a hungry Glin could not hunt or gather there, a thirsty Glin could not drink, a free Glin could not swim.

Most likely, this female had nothing to do with the Glin who were beaten by the Nidenn if they dared to violate the boundaries. Her father might want others to worship him, to serve and grovel and choose submission over independence, spiritual tyranny over free thought, but perhaps she did not.

Tucloup believed very strongly in the power of choice, and so did Duin. At that moment, he chose to see a mother, a daughter, a wife, and not an enemy. But, ultimately, he would let the choice be hers. “Do you want your child to die a prince, or live a Glin?”

“Live!” She replied without hesitation, and that was enough for him.

He let go. Vindael stared at him. When she realized that she was not about to die, she dove through the hole, out into the trees and the dark, carrying her child away and leaving its nagyx stone dangling from Duin’s hand.

Duin never saw her again.

Copyright (c) 2012 by J. L. Hilton
Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A.

BUY BOOK ONE: STELLARNET REBEL

STELLARNET PRINCE will be available in November 2012, wherever ebooks are sold.

There was a release party for J. L. Hilton’s digital cyberpunk thriller STELLARNET REBEL, the first book in the Stellarnet Series, at Tir na nOg Irish Pub in downtown Raleigh from 7-9pm January 5, 2012.

The cake was not a lie!

Live traditional Irish music was provided by Kilcarragh, featuring Hunter Murray on the Irish Button Accordion and Mark Van Sciver on guitar, bodhrán (the Irish frame drum), bones and vocals. Kilcarragh specializes in playing Irish house music – the music of the small pubs and local gatherings so popular in Ireland, and which plays a role in the novel.

“Aileen’s Pub” in the Asteria space colony was inspired by Tir na nOg and the author’s Irish heritage.

Photo by Alexander Zaitchik

I found this article today, and I discovered that there are some amazing similarities between the indigenous peoples of South America and the Glin — one of the alien races in my Stellarnet Series.

This was not by design. While writing my first novel, “Stellarnet Rebel,” I researched the rebellions and revolutions in India, Ireland, and France, as well as North American leaders such as Cochise and Geronimo. I read articles about space travel, cetaceans, wetlands, and textiles. I investigated ancient musical instruments and the development of written language. But I knew nothing about the “uncontacted” tribes of Brazil and Peru, until now. And I have to admit, the more I read, the more it blows my mind.

Like the Glin, they are semi-nomadic, build grass huts (like the Glinnish tippat), weave baskets, create and dye fabric for robes (similar to the Glinnish bavat), and live along rivers and watersheds. One of the photos in the article shows a dark monsoon — from which I derived the Glinnish word soom, for a terrible storm.

I did a little more searching and discovered that the Ashaninka use psychedelic drugs for spiritual and healing purposes. Duin mentions that the Glin use “intoxicants” for “recreational and spiritual purposes” and (mis)interprets the result of Genny’s all-nighter with a bottle of whiskey as a holy trance. Belloc also briefly mentions something called rizwij that would render a Glin “immobile and give him hallucinations.”

They might not have webbed hands and feet, but like the Glin, the Ashaninka people of the Amazon region are fiercely independent and brave. But in spite of this were enslaved by rubber tappers in the 1800s. An estimated 80% of them were killed. According to Wikipedia:

Many fled into the interior and others gathered in the thousands in small areas for protection. Because Asháninka communities are usually very small, this caused great disturbance. They could neither hunt nor fish effectively due to the danger posed by armed groups in the forest, thus malnutrition became increasingly threatening.

This will all sound familiar to anyone reading Duin’s accounts of Glin treatment by the invading Tikati.

Just like the Glin, the Ashaninka way of life is currently threatened by the building of dams and other “improvements” forced upon them by larger, more powerful forces. When Duin goes to Asteria Colony seeking Earth’s help (a plea not unlike that of leader Raoni Metyktire of the Kayapo people to the UN a few months ago), he has a hard time even convincing people that he’s an alien, let alone that what he says is true. I’ve been questioned on this by some readers who ask, “If scientists discovered aliens, why wouldn’t everyone know it and believe it?” or “Why wouldn’t they listen to him?”

Well, check out this video by a BBC camera crew. When the indigenous people of Earth have problems with loggers, says the narrator, “instead of expelling the loggers, Peru’s government has suggested that uncontacted tribes don’t exist…”

Sounds like the plight of Glin is not so “alien” after all.

- J. L. Hilton

(Additional sources: Survival International :: National Museum of the American Indian)

Read a longer excerpt on SHELFARI

Browse other chapters on GOOGLE BOOKS

********

Prologue

He could hear them screaming, banging on the walls, trying to claw their way out, while his mother lay dying in his lap.

“Kehlen,” she whispered through parched lips. The sound of that name, the name he never used, was more disturbing to him than the sounds beyond their cell or the smell of the five dead Glin in the corner.

“Yes, Hadi.” Holding her ashen hand, he cradled her head with his arm. Her breath wheezed in her throat and chest, when she breathed at all.

“I wish I could see the silver lake again.” Her words were in soft contrast to the desperate shrieking of those who still lived yet longed to die. It was impossible to block them out. His keen senses felt even the smallest whimper vibrating through the immense boat that was their prison.

“What silver lake, Hadi?” he asked. In a life of constant wandering, he’d never seen such a place.

“The lake where you were born.”

He wondered if her sanity was swimming away with her, beyond the Last Wave. She’d never talked about his birthplace before.

“I tried to save you,” she said.

“Save me?” He kissed her forehead, almost laughing as he sobbed. He had saved her. He’d killed all of the prisoners who shared their cell. Mad with confinement, the others scratched the walls, the floor, each other, until their fingertips were worn down to the bone. When they grew too thirsty, they threatened to drain the blood from his flesh and hers, for lack of water. They broke his mother’s arm. So he killed them.

He would have killed the Tikati, too, but they had fire. Flames hotter than the burn of a stinging guet, forcing him into captivity. So he and Hadi were trapped in a Tikati sky boat. He had no idea if they were still on Glin, on Tikat, or somewhere in between.

“When they attacked us, I saved you,” she said. “One of them let us go, in exchange for your soul.”

Kehlen pattered his fingers on her arm, trying to soothe her delirium. Anguish choked him when he tried to speak. “No Glin or Tikati can hurt you ever again. It is time to dream of rain.”

He hummed low in his throat, a song she used to sing to him when he was a child. He could no longer see her through the membrane over his eyes, thickened by sorrow, but he felt her exhale and the life leave her body.

“Hadi!” he cried. No, what did their secrets matter, here? He used her real name. “Vindael… mother…” He could no longer feel the rhythm of her heart vibrating through his bones. All he could feel was the symphony of terror that went on outside their cell. The crying and howling were one with him, a lament of his loss.

“Don’t leave me alone,” he begged, repeating the words in a litany, clutching her until she grew as cold as the walls, cold as the air that made it painful to move. Only then did he let her go and try to stand. Days without water or food made his head spin and he staggered, clutching the doorway for support.

Grief wrung a wild cry from his chest. For a moment, the Glin trapped in the rooms around him fell silent, waiting, wondering what new horror or hope it might herald.

The doorway sparked where his hands gripped it, the doors opened, and he fell forward into an empty corridor. More than his loss, his fear or his surprise at his sudden freedom, his body felt the urgent need for water. His nostrils flared and his brain screamed, Wet! He moved toward the scent. Careening from wall to wall, he passed several closed doors, some alive with whispers or pleas, others quiet as a grave pool. Around a corner and down another empty hall, he stopped when he smelled water beneath him.

Prying at the cracks in the floor, he exposed a hole and dropped into it with a small splash. It was another room, empty save for a few inches of greasy water. It tasted like dirt and waste and the bitter krich beetle. But he drank, cupping his webbed hands and lifting the liquid, letting it run through his fingers, down the dark blue skin of his hands and arms, and over his legs. He was filthy, but he was wet, and he felt the strength returning to his limbs. He pulled himself back out.

“Is someone there? Who are you?” called a hoarse voice behind the nearest door. It threatened to kill him if he was a Tikati, and then it begged for water.

But he had no idea how to open the other rooms. He had no idea how he’d escaped his own. And he didn’t care. If he helped anyone else he might have to kill them, like the Glin who attacked his mother, and he did not want to kill any more. The prisoners went on weeping and screaming, pleading and pounding, while he searched. More walls, closed doors and symbols of a language he could not read. But no Tikati captors and no fire.

In what he guessed to be the prow of the boat, he found a room larger than any hut he’d ever seen. It was filled with tiny lights, glowing like thousands of weeol, flashing, flickering, moving on the walls and surfaces. There were windows here, and he could see the sparkles of the deep sky ocean, beyond.

Out, out, out, urged every fiber of his being and he ran forward, vaulting up and launching himself at the nearest opening. His head hit an invisible barrier and he crumpled, knees slamming the lighted surfaces. The weeol changed color and emitted a shrill screech.

What is this? he wondered as he tried to push his pale face and palms through the window that wasn’t. A renewed sense of distress washed over him as he realized that there were no clouds above him and no water below. They were adrift, far beyond the raging storms of the Great Rain, far away from Glin. And he had no idea how to return.

“I am lost,” he bemoaned to the stars and the darkness.

Copyright (c) 2012 by J. L. Hilton
Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A.

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Rebecca writes: At first, Laurie couldn’t decide which kind of tea she wanted. The camomile, which used to be her favourite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked camomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So camomile was out of the question.

Gary writes: Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed, asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago.

(More…)

The Stellarnet Series is a combination of science fiction and romance, walking a middle ground between the two extremes humorously illustrated above. The books aren’t typical of either science fiction or the romance genre.

(February 2013 UPDATE: Stellarnet Rebel wins the 2013 SFR Galaxy Award for Best Non-Traditional Romance)

The series features a character-driven narrative with a prominent heroine, sex, violence, alien invasions, video games, digital technology, a load of reality-based science, several important secondary characters, what reviewers like to call “world-building,” and a story arc greater than just the sum of the protagonists’ feelings.

“(Stellarnet Rebel) isn’t a romance novel, though it has adventurous romantic elements…” — Heather Hiestand, Romance Reader at Heart

Medieval romances were the adventures of chivalrous, heroic knights on quests to fight and defeat monsters. The knight’s love for his lady inspired him to do great deeds in order to be worthy of her love or to win her favor. But the plot of the medieval romance was not just full of love and sentiment — it was also full of adventure. By that definition, the Stellarnet Series is like a medieval romance.

“(R)eally good science fiction romance…” – Reading Reality

In the modern age, Romance Writers of America defines a romance as having two basic elements: a central love story and an emotionally-satisfying, optimistic ending. “The main plot centers around two individuals falling in love and struggling to make the relationship work. A writer can include as many subplots as he/she wants as long as the love story is the main focus of the novel…”

When I write the Stellarnet books, I construct an action plot and an emotional plot, and I weave them together. The series is as much a tale of war, oppression, freedom and social issues as it is about the characters and their relationships to each other.

“The relationship between Genny and Duin is the heart of Stellarnet Rebel for me. And Belloc becomes important too. If you took the love story out, you’d still have strong worldbuilding, but the refugee/rebellion plot wouldn’t have that heart.” — sci-fi author Robert Appleton

My goal is that science fiction and romance merge. There are explosions, video games, action and adventure, science and gadgets, but love is an important element of the story. Romantic love, yes, but also love of family, love of liberty and independence, love of one’s home, and love of truth and justice.

Do the books have an “emotionally-satisfying, optimistic ending”? I believe they do, though it’s an unconventional series, to be sure.

- J. L. Hilton

This is the layout of a “compartment” or living space, within a space colonization block.

The idea of living in small spaces fascinates me. Here are a few interesting vids about tiny apartments.

- J. L. Hilton

Click on image for enlargement

In STELLARNET REBEL, a “block” is a square, standardized colonization module, designed to interlock with other blocks to create a permanent, enclosed settlement. Blocks could be set on top of each other and connect through the stairwells, or beside each other, allowing the thoroughfares and doorways to line up.

This is a diagram I created for my own reference. My idea was that blocks were almost like Lego(R) toys. No matter who manufactured a block, it would have certain standard features that would enable it to fit into any space colony — Asteria, Mars, Ceres, etc.

To some extent, the interiors could be modified for different purposes, such as Aileen’s Pub where instead of separate living spaces, it’s one large restaurant. The idea that most of them would have gardens is based on my reading about the Biosphere 2 project.

The “dot” designations are addresses. For instance, Genny lives at K.83.3.3, for Sector K, Block 83, Level 3, 3rd compartment.

Also see individual compartment layouts.

- J. L. Hilton

I operated on the assumption that leetspeak, chat acronyms and gaming memes would work their way into mainstream vernacular by 2062, as Generations X, Y and Z age into senior citizens. So, my characters use many of these words and phrases, even if they are news reporters, doctors or military officers.

But my readers tend to have one of two basic reactions:

1) “Its uber awesum u haz stuff off teh internets!”

2) “How in the world did you make up so many slang words?”

Which reveals who spends all their time gaming and reading 4chan, and who doesn’t.

There are very few human slang terms I invented for the story. They are:

- “l’up” (look up, as to “l’up” some information on the net)
- fresh/stale (good/bad)

The rest are words I lifted straight from chats and MMOGs. Here are several examples that appear in the book:

- a’ight (“ah-ite” for all right)
- cosplay (costume play, dressing up as a fictional character)
- epic (incredible, wonderful, immense)
- fail (messed up; if very bad then “epic fail”)
- for the win (also FTW; something awesome, getting something right, doing the thing you need to do in order to win)
- full of win (awesome)
- Imma (I’m gonna)
- k tnx bai (OK, thanks, bye)
- k or kk (for OK)
- lag (slow response time, such as when playing an online game)
- ‘lo (hello)
- looking for group (or LFG; gamer slang for “seeking a group to adventure with”)
- nom (act of eating, or the item eaten – “Imma nab sum noms”)
- noob (person who is new to something; a mash up of “new” and “boob” pretty much sums up this word)
- owned (defeated, bested)
- plz (please)
- prog (to program computer code)
- prolly (probably)
- scope (check out)
- shipper (often seen in fanfic and discussion boards, refers to fans who are jonesing for two characters or two people to be in a relationship)
- smart mob (real-life assembly mobilized by technology)
- smexy (smart and sexy)
- s’posed (supposed)
- squee (the noise a happy little girl makes – and trust me, they really do; my 7yo squees a lot)
- squishy (in gaming, someone who dies easily, such as a wizard or healer)
- sup (short for wassup, or “What’s up?”)
- tank (strong warrior with high armor class, tough)
- uber (from the German for “super”)
- ur (your, you’re)
- vid (video)
- wh’ever (whatever)

- J. L. Hilton