OUT NOW–Past Tense (Schooled In Magic 10!)

23 Jul

Their past is not what they think it is…

Thrown back in time after the spells binding Whitehall School together nearly collapsed, Emily finds herself in the days of Lord Whitehall. But everything she knows about the past is a lie. The Whitehall Commune is in hiding from a great and terrible foe, while some of the legendary founders bicker like children and others call on deadly and untrustworthy entities with agendas of their own.

Desperately seeking a way back to her own time, her mere presence a boon and a curse to established history, Emily is drawn into a conflict against both rogue wizards and a mysterious force intent on exterminating all magicians before the future school can take shape. But as deadly powers converge on the castle, her time is running out…

…And, deep beneath Old Whitehall, something dark and dangerous is about to be born.

Check out a FREE SAMPLE, then download the complete book from the links on this page.

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Progress Report (Of Sorts)

14 Jul

It’s been a frustrating week.

For various reasons – family holiday – I ended up starting Unlucky and then needing to take a few days off. I’ve actually got a deadline for this, which isn’t helped by needing to take more days off as we make our slow way home. But I am reasonably hopeful of completing the first draft in time.

(If you sent me an email and I haven’t replied, this is probably why. Sorry.)

I’ve also been working my way through the second set of edits of Past Tense. It’s the usual spelling errors and suchlike, but a few scenes needed to be fiddled with to improve the story. I hope to get it back to the publisher in a day or two, then see what they have to say about it.

On a different note, the publication date for the audio version of The Black Sheep and They Shall Not Pass will be August 2nd. I don’t have any word yet on the publication dates for Schooled in Magic and Fear God and Dread Naught, but they are on their way.

The paperback edition of Fear God and Dread Naught should be available within the next two weeks.

I’m planning to do a major edit of The Empire’s Corps and the Outside Context Problem in preparation for adding them to CreateSpace paperback. I’m hoping to start this process in early august, but they have already been forced back by other demands.

Finally, I’m not sure what to write after Unlucky.

I have a working plan for The Long Road Home (A Learning Experience 4) and Culture Shock (The Empires Corps 13). But I also want to do Ragnarok (Twilight of the Gods 3) as soon as possible. What would you like to see next?

(I have a plan for SIM 11 and an outline for Vanguard III, but they’re being put back for the moment.)

And now I need to go back to work <grin>

Chris

Caesar’s Wife is Not Above Suspicion

7 Jul

One of the most important saying passed down to us from the Roman Republic is Julius Caesar’s observation that ‘Caesar’s wife must be above suspicion.’ Caesar meant, I think, that the appearance of impropriety must be avoided as well as actual impropriety. The mere suggestion that something is wrong – that people are behaving badly – is often just as dangerous, perhaps more so, than actual corruption.

This is unfortunately true. Many of my readers will remember the tempest-in-a-teacup over The Great British Bake-Off, where it was suggested that Nadiya Hussain only won because she was a Muslim woman. This sort of suggestion is impossible to disprove – it isn’t as if the average viewer can sample her cooking – and its mere existence calls the whole system into question. Were the contestants judged on their merits or on the colour of their skin?

This leads us, via a somewhat torturous chain of logic, to the decision by the FBI not to push for criminal proceedings against Hilary Clinton.

It looks bad. It looks very bad. It looks like the fix was in from the start.

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The statement issued by the FBI can be summarised as follows. “Clinton is guilty – but we’re not going to charge her.”

We now know for sure – going by the statement – that the server held emails that included highly-classified pieces of information, information that was ‘born classified.’

We now know for sure that Hilary Clinton did not hand over all copies of work-related emails to the State Department.

We now know with reasonable certainty (I would say complete certainty) that the server was hacked, repeatedly, by foreign intelligence agencies.

And we now know, with complete certainty, that Hilary Clinton lied, repeatedly, about the whole affair – that her actions, in short, were those of a desperate cover-up, not someone who didn’t see any reason to hide.

The FBI argues that Hilary showed no ‘intent’ to commit an illegal act. But this makes no sense. I am no expert in American law, but I believe that gross negligence is not an excuse in such matters. Hilary did something she should have known was incredibly dangerous, if only through security briefings she would have received when she took office. No, she didn’t pack a briefcase full of secrets and take them to the Russian Embassy. But she did leave those secrets out for Russian spies to steal.

Look at it like this. You have a £20’000 car. You take the car to Crime Alley and park there, leaving the doors unlocked and the keys in the ignition. A carjacker comes along and pinches the car – he might have committed the thief, but you made it possible. And then you lie to the insurance company, insisting that you took every precaution to keep the car safe when you did nothing of the sort. That, in short, is what Hilary did.

We may never know just how much classified data flowed into that server – and then straight to Russia or China. Hilary’s attempts to cover up the whole affair may well have rendered some data beyond recovery. No one – not even Hilary herself – can say with any certainty just how much additional data, beyond that recovered by the FBI, was stolen. God alone knows how many lives might have been put at risk by one woman’s arrogance and carelessness.

There is, quite simply, no defence for any of this. It looks very bad.

At this point, I do not believe that any vetting service worthy of the title would clear Hilary Clinton to hold classified information. And yet, she’s running for President. Will she separate herself from any discussions of sensitive issues? Of course not! Can she be trusted with classified data? Of course not! No one in their right mind would look at her record and grant her a security clearance, yet what if she becomes President? This is a nightmarish can of worms for anyone to consider opening.

But even that is not the worst of it.

The decision by Attorney General Loretta Lynch to meet privately with Bill Clinton, just prior to the FBI’s statement, stinks like limburger. Of course it does – even if they really did stay away from anything sensitive, there’s no way they can prove it. It looks, very much, as though the whole affair was fixed. And realistically, what sort of idiot would allow such a staggering appearance of impropriety even if there was no real impropriety? The Attorney General must be above suspicion. Loretta Lynch has proven, time and time again, that she is nothing of the sort.

I am tempted to conclude that the FBI just handed the election to Donald Trump. As has been pointed out, time and time again, countless Americans have been fired and/or jailed for far lesser offences. General Petraeus is an American hero, yet he was charged with sharing classified information (and rightly so). Why is Hilary spared the consequences of her crimes? Why is a woman who has spent the last eight years playing fast and loose with American security – and lying about it – not in jail? Why is she running for President?

The long-term consequences of this will be disastrous. On one hand, defence lawyers are already scheming how best to use the ‘Clinton Defence’ when their clients are charged with mishandling classified material. On the other hand, people are asking why they should obey the law when Hilary Clinton breaks it with impunity. And really, why should they obey the law?

And, on the gripping hand, we have the sickening prospect of Hilary being elected into office, paving the way for political corruption on a staggering scale, the transformation of the United States into a laughing stock, the loss of American influence and the complete collapse of NATO and the US’s other alliances. What sort of global leader would trust a woman like Hilary? Her record for upholding American alliances is already poor – now, with her loose grip on matters geopolitical, no one will listen to a word she says.

It’s easy to say that charging Hilary would not have been easy. The Clintons are known to be vindictive. Any FBI Director who charged her would be putting his career on the line, if Hilary Clinton took office in 2017. But such considerations should have played no role in the decision. The basic principle of western law is that no one is above the law …

… Unless you happen to be Hilary Clinton.

Hilary may have escaped formal charges, but there is no way to avoid the appearance of impropriety, corruption and political string-pulling. And this will cost her dearly.

The question is just how badly it will cost the United States too.

Snippet–Unlucky (Angel III)

3 Jul

Prologue

“Mission accomplished?”

“Yes, sir,” Crewwoman Julia Transom said. She smiled, rather coldly. “Captain Abraham is dead.”

Senior Chief Joel Gibson smiled back. It hadn’t been hard to arrange for Captain Abraham’s death, even though it was a near-certainty that the JAG would go through the entire series of events with a fine-toothed comb. Captain Abraham wasn’t – hadn’t been – aristocracy, but he’d had connections at a very high level. And yet, there had been no choice. Captain Abraham had also been far too effective. Given time, he might have turned Uncanny into a real warship – and that, Joel could not allow.

He leaned forward, warningly. “And the evidence?”

“Gone,” Julia assured him. He didn’t miss the flicker of fear, swiftly hidden, in her eyes. “If they manage to recover the black box, it’ll look like a random fluctuation in the shuttle’s drive field. They can take however long they want to sift through the debris. They won’t find anything incriminating.”

“Good,” Joel said. “And so we are without a commanding officer. Again.”

Julia nodded, hastily. “You’d think they’d grow tired of losing officers to this ship.”

Joel shrugged. Uncanny had been in active service – technically – for three years. The first of her class, she’d been intended to serve as both a squadron command vessel and an independent command for a fire-eating captain. But she’d had a run of bad luck that had left her relegated to lunar orbit, well away from anywhere important. Spacers believed – or chose to believe – that she was cursed. And, given just how many accidents had befallen her crew, they were right to be reluctant to serve on her. Joel and his allies hadn’t been responsible for all of the accidents.

“They’ll want us heading out to the war, sooner or later,” he said, reluctantly. It was classified information, but he’d long-since spliced a hack into the command network. Given how much time the XO spent in the lunar fleshpots, Joel could honestly say that he read his superior’s mail long before it reached its actual destination. “And that gives us our opportunity.”

He smirked as he turned away from her. He’d honestly never expected to stay in the navy, not since a judge had given him a choice between taking the oath and serving his planet or going straight to a penal world. Joel had expected to put in his ten years as an ordinary crewman and then leave Tyre for good, but it hadn’t taken him long to see the possibilities inherent in his new position. There was something to be said for being the only effective man in a crew of drunkards, morons, near-criminals and people the navy bureaucracy couldn’t be bothered to discharge. And there were all sorts of other possibilities for a man with imagination and guts.

Julia coughed. “Our opportunity?”

“Why, to take our fate into our own hands, of course,” Joel said.

Julia’s eyes went wide, but she said nothing. Joel nodded in approval. He trusted Julia about as much as he trusted anyone, which wasn’t very far. Julia would sing like a bird if the JAG found proof she’d assassinated her commanding officer. The less she knew the better. He’d considered disposing of her in another accident – and he would have done, if he hadn’t needed her. Quite how such a remarkable talent for hacking computer networks had escaped being put to better use was beyond him, but he had no doubt of her. She’d done enough to more than prove her credentials to him.

He turned back to face her. She was pretty enough, he supposed; her red hair, cut close to her scalp, shimmered under the bright lights. Her uniform was a size too tight, showing every last curve of her body. But there was a hardness in her face that warned that anyone who tried to take advantage of her was going to regret it, if he survived. Joel had taught her more than enough dirty tricks to give Julia an unfair advantage over anyone who thought that mere strength and brute force would be enough to bring her down.

“Keep a sharp eye on the XO’s personal channel,” he ordered. “If the Admiralty wants to send in another CO, they’ll notify him first.”

“Unless they know what he’s doing with his time,” Julia reminded him.

Joel shrugged. The XO wasn’t very smart – there was only so far that aristocratic ranks and titles could take a person – but he’d shown a certain low cunning in assembling his protective shroud. Unless the Admiralty decided to make a surprise inspection, they shouldn’t have any idea that the XO was enjoying himself rather than doing his duty. And if they did … Joel found it hard to care. The XO would take the blame for everything and the plotters would pass unnoticed.

Unless they break up the crew, he thought.

He shook his head. Uncanny had served as the Royal Navy’s dumping ground for the last two years. Even her couple of combat operations in the war hadn’t changed that, particularly not after the … incident … at Donne’s Reach. Breaking up the crew would force the Admiralty to distribute over a thousand unwanted crewmembers all over the navy, while facing stiff resistance from everyone else. No captain in his right mind wanted a crewman – or an officer – who had served on Uncanny. The ship wasn’t known as Unlucky for nothing.

Julia cleared her throat. “Sir?”

“Keep an eye on his channel,” Joel ordered, again. “And alert me if anything changes.”

Julia nodded, then turned and hurried out of the compartment. Joel watched her go, thinking dark thoughts. They were committed now, no matter how much he might wish to believe otherwise. Whatever he’d said to her, he knew that the JAG would not take the death of a commanding officers lightly. And if they started digging through Uncanny, they’d uncover far too many oddities to look away …

But by then we should be ready to move, he told himself, firmly. They won’t have time to stop us before it’s too late.

Chapter One

HMS Uncanny looked … faded.

Captain William McElney wasn’t sure just what had prompted that observation, but he couldn’t escape his first impression of his new command. HMS Uncanny was a blunt white arrowhead, like HMS Lightning, yet there was something about her that bothered him. Her hull was painted the same pure white as the remainder of the fleet, but it was obvious that no one had bothered to – that no one had needed to – repaint the hull. The network of sensor blisters dotted over her hull looked new, too new. And her point defence weapons, which should have tracked his shuttle as it approached her hull, were still, utterly immobile.

“She doesn’t seem to know we’re here, sir,” the pilot said.

William sucked in his breath sharply, feeling a yawning chasm opening in his chest. A command, his first command … he’d served the Royal Navy faithfully for years, hoping for a command of his own. And yet, the more he looked at the heavy cruiser, the more he wondered if he’d been wise to want a command. On paper, Uncanny was a dream; in practice, the First Space Lord had made it clear that the heavy cruiser was trouble.

“Send a standard greeting, then request permission to dock,” William ordered, finally.

He cursed under his breath. The Theocracy had shown itself more than willing to use suicide missions to target the Commonwealth, even before the tide of the war had started to turn against them. A shuttle crammed with antimatter, exploding within an unsuspecting starship’s shuttlebay, would be more than enough to vaporise the entire ship. Even a standard nuke would be enough to do real damage, if it detonated inside the hull. These days, no one was allowed to dock without an elaborate security screening to make sure they were who they claimed to be. Even the civilians were included, despite endless protests. He couldn’t help wondering if the Theocracy had deliberately set out to ensure that the precautions caused more economic damage than their attacks.

Careless, he thought, grimly. And dangerous, in these times.

“No response,” the pilot said.

“Send it again,” William said. He didn’t want to try to force a docking, certainly not on the day he boarded his first command. But if there was no choice, he’d have to try. “And then find us a docking hatch.”

“Aye, sir,” the pilot said.

William nodded, then glanced down at the shuttle’s tactical display. Uncanny should have been running a low-level sensor scan at all times, but it was all too clear that she wasn’t doing anything of the sort. It was technically within regulations, given how close they were to the network of fortresses that guarded Tyre, yet it was careless. Really careless. If the ship had had to bring up her sensors in a hurry, it was going to take far longer than it should have done …

… And he’d seen enough combat to know that bare minutes could mean the difference between life and death.

“Your commanding officer has written a glowing recommendation, Sir William,” the First Space Lord had said. “And so has Rose MacDonald. I’m afraid the combination of recommendations has quite upset the bureaucracy,”

William had kept his face impassive. He’d been promoted to captain, he’d been promised a command … yet he’d forced himself to keep his expectations low. He was too senior to command a gunboat, he thought; too junior to be offered a cruiser or carrier command. He’d expected a destroyer, perhaps a frigate. And yet, with so many conflicting recommendations, it was hard to know what he’d get. There were hundreds of officers with better connections than himself and only a handful of commands.

“You’re being given a heavy cruiser,” the First Space Lord had added, pausing just long enough for his words to sink in. “You’re being given Uncanny.”

“Thank you, sir,” William had stammered. He’d expected a sting in the tail and he hadn’t been disappointed. He had no reason to be given a heavy cruiser, not when he’d just been made a captain, save for the simple fact that no one wanted to serve on Uncanny. The ship was notoriously unlucky. “Unlucky?

“That’s what they call it,” the First Space Lord said, grimly.

He’d said a great deal more, William remembered. Uncanny had lost two previous commanding officers to accidents, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. The ship had been deployed to a cloaked fleet lying in wait for a Theocratic vanguard, only to have her cloaking system go offline at the worst possible moment. And if that hadn’t been bad enough, there had been a whole string of incidents, culminating in the starship launching a missile barrage towards a friendly ship. It had all been put down to a glitch, but it had cost her commanding officer his career.

And matters weren’t helped by the missiles being unarmed, William had thought, when he’d reviewed the file. If she’d been shooting at an enemy ship, she’d have inflicted no damage at all.

“We need to get Uncanny into service as quickly as possible,” the First Space Lord had concluded. “And if you succeed in sorting out the mess, you’ll remain as her commanding officer permanently.”

It wasn’t much of a bribe, William thought. There was no shortage of captains willing to compete for a post on Lightning – the heavy cruiser was famous – but Uncanny? He’d be surprised if there was any competition for her command chair. And yet, he had to admit it was a hell of a challenge. A heavy cruiser command was nothing to sneer at, even if she did have a reputation for being unlucky. He’d be on the path to flag rank …

Assuming I survive, he told himself. Those accidents may not have been accidents at all

“Captain,” the pilot said. His voice shocked William out of his memories. “We have received permission to dock at Hatch One.”

William felt his eyes narrow as the shuttle altered course and sped towards the hatch. Hatch One was located near the bridge – it was the closest shuttle hatch to the bridge – but it wasn’t where a new captain would board his command for the first time. Normally, a captain would be met by his XO in the shuttlebay, allowing him time to meet his senior officers before formally assuming command. And the XO was supposed to be on the vessel … he’d checked, just before he’d departed Tyre. Commander Stewart Greenhill was currently in command of HMS Uncanny.

“Dock us,” he ordered, wondering just what sort of hellhole he was about to enter. “And remain docked until I give you leave to depart.”

“Aye, Captain,” the pilot said.

The shuttle hatch looked normal enough, William noted, yet he couldn’t help tensing as the shuttle mated with Uncanny. Captain Abraham had died in a shuttle accident – the JAG had found nothing suspicious in two weeks of careful investigation – but Captain Jove had died in a freak airlock accident. A component had decayed, according to the engineers; the airlock had registered a safe atmosphere beyond when it had actually been open to vacuum. William had been in the navy long enough to know that accidents happened, but he’d also learnt that accidents could be made to happen. Losing two commanding officers to accidents was more than a little suspicious.

He covertly tested his shipsuit – and the mask, hidden in his shoulder pockets – as the hatch hissed open. Everything looked normal, but it took just long enough for the inner hatch to open for him to start feeling nervous. The hatch should have opened at once, unless the sensors registered vacuum or biological contamination. He took a long breath as he stepped into his ship and had to fight to keep from recoiling in horror. Uncanny stank like a pirate ship after a successful mission of looting, raping and burning.

Fuck, he thought.

He felt a sudden surge of anger as he looked up and down the corridor. No one had come to greet him, neither the XO nor his senior officers. What were they playing at? Even a very busy XO should have come to meet his CO for the first time, if only to explain any problems that caught the captain’s eye. And to explain why his ship smelt worse than an unwashed outdoor toilet. It wasn’t as if replacing the air filters required a goddamned shipyard! He took another breath and tasted faint hints of ionisation in the air, warning him that dozens – perhaps hundreds – of components had not been replaced for far too long. Every trained spacer knew that that smell meant trouble.

A hatch hissed open in the distance. William braced himself, unsure what to expect as someone hurried down the corridor towards him. He rested his hands on his hips – it was hard to resist the temptation to draw his sidearm – as the welcome party came into view. It was a very small welcome party. A young woman, wearing a steward’s uniform; young enough to be his daughter, yet with a hardness in her eyes that shocked him. Whatever military bearing she’d had, since she’d left Piker’s Peak, was long gone. Her salute, when she finally gave it, was so sloppy that her instructors would have cried themselves senseless, if they’d seen it.

“Stand at ease,” William ordered, curtly. He took a moment to match the face to the files he’d studied during the flight from Tyre. Janet Richmond, Captain Abraham’s personal steward. Blonde enough to remind him of Kat Falcone, but lacking Kat’s poise and grim determination to prove herself. “Where is the XO?”

Janet quailed. It struck William, suddenly, that he might have been too harsh. “I …”

William took a breath. Janet was a steward. She wasn’t in the chain of command. Hell, he doubted she had any authority outside her CO’s suite. What the hell was she doing?

“Calm down,” he ordered, forcing his own voice to calm. “Where is the XO?”

“He’s not on the ship, sir,” Janet said, carefully. She cringed back, as if she expected to be slapped. “Commander Greenhill hasn’t been on the ship for the last ten days.”

William felt his mouth drop open. “What?”

“He left the ship ten days ago,” Janet said. She sounded as if she were pleading with him for … what? Understanding? “He ordered the communications staff to keep up the pretence that he was onboard.”

“I see,” William said.

He had to fight – hard – to keep his anger under control. He hadn’t thought much of Commander Greenhill, after he’d read the man’s file, but he’d promised himself that he’d keep an open mind. Now … Commander Greenhill would be lucky if he was merely kicked out of the navy. Going on unauthorised leave when he was meant to be in command of his ship? Dereliction of duty was a shooting offence in wartime.

“Please don’t tell him I told you,” Janet pleaded. “He’ll go spare.”

“He’ll go dead,” William snapped. Shooting was too good for Commander Greenhill. It was far too good for him. William had been raised to do his duty or die trying, no matter what curves life threw him. Commander Greenhill didn’t even have the decency to resign his commission and totter off to spend the rest of his life in the nearest bar. “Who is on this fucking ship?”

Janet cringed, again.

“The chief engineer is in command,” she said, finally. “But he’s in his cabin … the bridge crew are scattered … the crew …”

“Let me guess,” William said. He hated himself for taking his anger out on her, but it was so hard to remain focused. “They’re currently too drunk to notice that they’re steadily poisoning their own fucking atmosphere?”

He saw a dozen answers cross Janet’s face before she nodded, once.

William shook his head, feeling an odd flicker of sympathy for Commander Greenhill. He might have had a good reason to throw in the towel, after all. Offhand, William couldn’t remember a ship and crew falling so far, certainly not in the Commonwealth’s history. A handful of UN ships had turned pirate, he recalled, after the Breakaway Wars. It hadn’t taken long for them to fall into very bad habits.

And most of them were small ships, he thought, numbly. This is a heavy cruiser.

“Take me to the bridge,” he ordered, meeting her eyes. “And don’t call ahead to say I’m coming.”

“Yes, sir,” Janet said.

She turned and hurried down the corridor, moving so quickly that she was practically running … as if, William reflected grimly, she wanted to get away from him. He hadn’t paid much attention to her file, he recalled; in hindsight, that might have been a mistake. A captain had considerable authority over who served as his steward, after all. Had Captain Abraham been motivated by something other than efficiency?

He followed Janet, feeling his anger simmering as he took in the condition of his starship. A dozen maintenance hatches had been undone, their contents left scattered over the deck; a handful of overhead lockers had been torn open; the strange smell only grew more unpleasant the further they moved into the ship … he winced, inwardly, as he smelled the telltale presence of rats and cockroaches. He’d been wrong, he reflected, as they passed through a pair of solid hatches and entered Officer Country. There were pirate ships from the edge of explored space that were in better condition than Uncanny.

Janet stopped and turned to face him. “It wasn’t their fault,” she said. “Sir …”

William scowled at her. “What wasn’t their fault?”

“Everything,” Janet said. She turned back and opened the hatch to the bridge. “You’ll see in a minute …”

William followed her onto the bridge … and stopped, dead. A single officer sat in front of the tactical console, smoking something that smelt of burning grass; William stared at him, then realised – to his shock – that there was no one else on the bridge. Regulations insisted on at least three officers on duty at all times, even when the starship was in orbit around the safest world in the Commonwealth. Where were the other two? It struck him, a moment later, that Janet might be one of the other officers. And was she even qualified to stand watch?

He pushed the thought aside as he surveyed the compartment. The holographic display that should have showed the system was gone; five consoles were dead, with four more dismantled for parts. He’d never seen anything like it, not outside a shipyard putting the finishing touches on a brand new starship. Creeping horror threatened to overcome him as he keyed the nearest console, demanding a status update. The internal sensor net was down, completely. He’d never seen that outside starships that had been battered into uselessness by enemy fire.

“It’s non-functional,” Janet said.

“I can see that,” William snarled. He strode over to the smoking officer and tore the cigarette out of his mouth, dropping it on the deck and grinding it under his heel. “What happened to the bridge?”

The officer stared at him. “Who are you?”

“I’m your new commanding officer,” William snapped. Up close, the man’s breath made him want to reel. He had no idea what the man had been smoking, but it couldn’t be good for him. Or anyone. “Who are you?”

The officer’s mouth opened and shut for a long moment. “Lieutenant Rodney Graham, sir,” he managed, finally. “I’m officer of the watch.”

“Glad to hear it,” William said. “What happened to my bridge?”

“The engineers cannibalised it to keep other starships running,” Janet said, quietly. “They were practically stripping out the entire hull …”

William understood, just for a moment, why one of his uncles had drunk himself to death after his farm had failed. It hadn’t been the old man’s fault, not really. He’d just seen his investments fail, one after the other, even before the pirates had arrived to threaten his homeworld. Maybe the remainder of the ship’s crew – his crew – felt the same way.

The First Space Lord couldn’t have known, he thought, grimly. Even if they didn’t start stripping out essential components, they’ve been vandalising their own ship and rendering it unserviceable.

He cursed under his breath, savagely. It was difficult, sometimes, to get spare parts from the bureaucracy. Even during wartime, the bureaucrats insisted on having the forms filled out before they released the components, despite the best efforts of supply officers. Having a source of supply they could tap without having to fill in the paperwork would be wonderful, as far as the supply officers were concerned. God knew he’d rewarded a couple of officers for being excellent scroungers …

It may not be as bad as it seems, he told himself. Or that could be just wishful thinking.

“Right,” he said, pushing the thought aside. “I want you” – he glared at Graham – “to recall each and every officer and crewman who is currently not on the ship. If they are back before the end of the shift” – he made a show of glancing at his wristcom – “nothing further will be said about their absence. This time.”

Graham looked as if he wanted to object, but didn’t quite dare. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” William said. “And I suggest” – he hardened his tone to make it very clear that it wasn’t a suggestion – “that you get rid of any drugs and anything else that could get you in hot water before I hold a search. This is your one chance to clean up your act.”

He turned and met Janet’s eyes. “And you are to take me to the Chief Engineer.”

Janet paled. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” William said. He wondered, suddenly, what Kat Falcone would make of a ruined starship and a wrecked crew. “Let’s go.”

Up Now–Fear God and Dread Naught (Ark Royal VIII)

1 Jul

Available for purchase NOW!  Reviews, comments and shares welcome.

On her last cruise, HMS Vanguard – the most powerful battleship in the Royal Navy – barely survived her encounter with a deadly new enemy. Now, with her commanding officer accused of everything from mutiny to dereliction of duty and her crew under a cloud, the Royal Navy doesn’t quite know what to do with her.

But there’s still a war on. And Vanguard must return to the front lines.

Assigned to a task force heading to assist humanity’s alien allies, Vanguard and her crew find themselves caught in a deadly alien trap. Can they survive to turn the tables on their enigmatic foe …

… Or will their next encounter with the new enemies be their last?

fear god and dread naught cover

[Like my other self-published Kindle books, Fear God and Dread Naught is DRM-free. You may reformat it as you choose. Read a FREE SAMPLE, then download from Amazon here – US, UK, CAN, AUS.]

The Generational Gap?

28 Jun

There’s a joke that goes something like this. When I was 15, my dad knew nothing; when I was 25, it was amazing how smart the old man had become.

And it is true.

I mention this because amidst the weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth on Facebook, since the results of the referendum were announced, was the claim that the vote was decided by the older generation and that the younger generation, mainly represented by students in higher education or university, had been screwed. And yes, many of those students voted to REMAIN. I don’t think that anyone can argue otherwise. But – realistically – just how much experience do those students actually have?

Heinlein observed, many years ago, that old age is not an accomplishment and youth is not a sin. And he was right. As Asimov noted, being young is a crime most people are guilty of at some point in their lives. But while the young often have energy and enthusiasm, the old often have more experience and understanding of the world around them. A man in his late sixties, like my father, will have seen and done far more than a youth of eighteen years. My father’s hands-on knowledge of life is still enough to humble me, even though I’m 34. I don’t have a quarter of the experience he has acquired over the years.

I suppose you could say he had a head start. By the time I made the emotional connection between working and wages, he was already well aware of it. My father’s insistence that I work during university holidays didn’t sit well with me, at the time; now, I am thankful that I wasn’t in more debt. My father could, and did, offer advice on many subjects, applying a steadfast common sense that helped him to understand what was going on. He might know nothing about the details of what was going on, but the principles he had learned through life stood him in good stead.

And all of this raises the question. Could it be that the older generation, the one that rejected the EU, might have good reason to do so? Might their experience have taught them to be wary of the EU?

It frightens me, sometimes, when I think about how little I have done until recently – or indeed at all. I was 18 when I held that holiday job – to the best of my knowledge, I was one of the few students who did. (A handful of students I knew did hold part-time jobs during term.) I was 24, I think, when I first held a full-time job. I was 29, I think, when I lost my job and moved away from home to live with my wife in Malaysia. I was 31, I think, when I had to rent a house in the UK. I also had to work my way through the government bureaucracy to get my wife permission to stay in Britain – and, horror of horrors, do battle with the dreaded taxman over how much I should pay.

I could carry on, but why bother?

No amount of theoretical knowledge, I have discovered over the years, can make up for practical experience.

There’s been a truly disturbing trend, in the last couple of decades, for students to be increasingly isolated from reality. Demands for academic independence have morphed into demands for safe spaces and protection from different points of view. Freedom of thought has become demands for censorship and pleas to silence anyone who dares raise a different point of view. Idealism has replaced practicality to a truly insane degree. As each successive generation grows older, they have found life easier and easier – only to discover, perhaps too late, that it is not like that outside the universities. Young people are increasingly unaware of where things come from, at least at an emotional level, and how society works. They are hammering, carelessly, on the very foundations of our society.

Uniting Europe is an ideal. I can acknowledge that – I do acknowledge that. But the part of my mind that has been shaped by experience – mainly after leaving university – tells me that it is staggeringly impractical. Indeed, all my concerns and suspicions proved to be gross underestimations – I never realised, like so many others, just how dangerous the Greek situation had become until it was too late. Idealism must not be allowed to rule over practicality because the idealist will overlook problems until it is too late.

Perhaps I’m doing students an injustice. It has been thirteen years, more or less, since I graduated. But I would be suspicious of someone with no life experience telling me how I should live my life …

… Which explains a great deal about why the referendum went the way it did.

Wedding Hells Appendix (II)

28 Jun

Hi, everyone

I’ve had a word with the publisher about the missing Wedding Hells appendix (see here). The long and short of it is that Amazon is not going to push the update out, as it isn’t a major change in content. However, you should be able to download the complete version by:

1 – Deleting the downloaded file from your kindle and re-downloading it, which should give you the latest version.

Or.

2 – go to ‘manage your content and devices’ on Amazon and request the update.

I’m sorry about this – I’m not quite sure what happened, as we got our wires crossed.

Chris

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