In last week’s article, I reviewed J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit. Now, inspired by reading that prelude to The Lord of the Rings trilogy (I’d read the trilogy as a kid, but not its prelude), I’ve continued to read on into Frodo’s odyssey. This article isn’t about that, though.

Instead, I want to tell you about some advice to authors Tolkien offers in his Forward to the Ring trilogy. Okay, he doesn’t present it as advice, but I’ll interpret it in that way as a complement to my little course “Writing Fiction” (Revision 11 is now available as a free PDF download—see the “Free Stuff & Contests” web page at this web site for a list of all my freebies, which includes two full novels in the “Esther Brookstone” series). Let me start with a quote from that Forward:

“Some who have read my book [he considers the entire trilogy as one book here, although traditionally it’s divided into three parts], or at any rate have reviewed them [like today, there were probably reviewers in his day who never actually bothered to read the book], have found it boring, absurd, or contemptible, and I have no cause to complain, since I have similar opinions of their works, or the kinds of writing they evidently prefer.” Powerful words from a classic author!

First, let me state that I all I have to do is change “my book” to “my books” and “found it” to “found them,” and I’ll have something that also accurately describes my publishing career. Tolkien goes on to say that his goal is to have fun telling stories that he hopes might entertain a few readers. That’s all any fiction writer can hope for if they have any common sense at all—the publishing business is full of vagaries—and it’s all I hope for. In fact, I always state that if each of my books entertains at least one reader, for me that book is a success. Making a lot of money might be other authors’ goal, but my joy is in the storytelling.

Second, Tolkien’s quote certainly applies to the erudite critics of the NY Times who don’t seem to recognize a good story when they see one—or refuse to do so. It also applies to most literary agents who live in the River Styx among the rotting corpses between good fiction and the hell of predicting the marketability of a book. They choose something trashy like Spare (1.4 million copies as of the date I wrote this article) or any other celeb’s scandalous confessions over truly good, entertaining stories. In their defense, the Big Five publishing conglomerates. and all their formulaic old mares and stallions in their stables who should have been sent to the glue factory long ago, only worry about marketability—they’re well ensconced in that literary hell!

Some people will just write J. R. R.’s quote off to despair and despondency—he’d just lived through two world wars! While writers are undoubtedly influenced by current events (the Covid-19 pandemic and the war in Ukraine have been my most recent causes of agita, but the advances of fascism worldwide and in the US certainly mimic Tolkien’s frustrations with the Nazi fascists), his quote and my interpretation of it represents a damning indictment of the current publishing environment as well as his. What’s sad is that his Forward shows that not much has changed: The traditional publishing establishment still tries to control what people read. It’s a more insidious form of book banning than what is seen in Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 (or DeSantis’s Florida). I’m actually surprised that the publisher of that pocketbook edition of the Lord of Rings trilogy didn’t leave out that Forward!

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Menace from Moscow. Edits almost done! Here’s a summary:

In the third novel of this trilogy, the critical and difficult management of geopolitics in a post-apocalyptic world caused by a worldwide bioengineered virus continues: Survivor Penny Castro and her friends’ new task is to recover nuclear-armed missiles aboard a US submarine that sunk off Cuba’s coast at the beginning of the pandemic. As if the train trip from Colorado to Florida across a dangerous, desolate, and devasted US isn’t enough, what awaits them in the Caribbean and beyond will put any fan of sci-fi thrillers on the edge of their seats. From SoCal to Cheyenne Mountain and on to Florida, Cuba, and what remains of the Russian Federation, Penny’s adventures are full of mystery, thrills, and suspense.

This book has Draft2Digital in its near future, so it will soon appear at all D2D’s affiliated retailers and library and lending services. I hope readers will enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

The Hobbit. J. R. R. Tolkien, author (1957). “What?” you say. “I come here to read reviews about new books, not old ones. I can just see the damn movie!” A fair complaint, I suppose, but any reader of this blog who might say such a thing doesn’t write the articles for this blog! And while I greatly enjoyed the three Lord of the Rings movies, I read the corresponding books as a kid. (Much better reads than that Harry Potter crap, of course.) But I didn’t read The Hobbit, which is like Asimov’s Prelude to Foundation relative to his Foundation trilogy, i.e., this book is the prelude to the Rings trilogy. (By the way, that trilogy was just one epic novel that Tolkien divided into three for publication.) So, if I ever see The Hobbit movie (a big “if”), I’m better prepared to critique what Hollywood does with it.

As many of you know, this is the story of not Frodo but Bilbo Baggins, the little hobbit whom Gandalf the wizard forces upon the dwarf Thorin Oakenshield and his dwarf buddies to serve as their aide and moral rock on their quest to reclaim their riches guarded by the evil and murderous dragon Smaug. The reader will meet many more creatures from Middle-earth in addition to the dwarves and hobbits: goblins (where Bilbo steals the infamous ring from Gollum); elves (not always good guys and quite self-centered and smug at times); talking birds and wolves; and ordinary humans.

I couldn’t help making a comparison between Tolkien’s book and H. Rider Haggard’s King Solomon’s Mines. Of course, there are many stories about searches for lost treasure, old and new, and The Hobbit is both a weird and entertaining one. It has all the trappings of an adventure story, though—or a modern thriller!—but it’s fantasy, of course, one of the pioneering originals, better known than most, and better in quality than most everything else I’ve read.

Tolkien’s work, in fact, can provide lessons for any aspiring author. (See next week’s article for an unusual one.) None of his main characters are simple ones. Each one is as complicated as any real person might be. The settings are strange but well-described. The plot moves inexorably forward (although possibly a bit rushed toward the end?), and it’s mostly in the POV of the hobbit, alternating between action and introspective reflection for him and among its characters. This is classic storytelling that should be studied in any MFA writing program worth its salt.

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Pasodobles in a Quantum Stringscape. I don’t write a lot of fluff (and could never compete with Tolkien writing fantasy, or many other authors either, for that matter), so I don’t have any fantasy novels. But this collection of short fiction contains some stories that could be called fantasy—ghosts in a Massachusetts town, a zombie chasing a time traveler, a dog take over by an ET, and so forth—so you might want to have some reading fun with it. In contrast to other books, it’s only available on Amazon (it’s the other way around with my recently published books!). Note: The other volumes in this series of short fiction collections are even less expensive—they’re free. (See the “Free Stuff & Contests” web page for a list of all my free downloadable PDFs.)

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

Readers of this blog know that at the end of an article I usually sign off by writing, “Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!” Although it might be obvious, let me parse this motto’s meaning, which has two parts.

The first might be considered a genre statement, but it’s more a statement about my stories’ settings. (I’m no fan of genres or anyone who tries to categorize my fiction besides me.) Those settings can cover anywhere on planet Earth or go far beyond Earth into the cosmos. What that first part does not contain is the time element, which can go from prehistory (e.g., A. B. Carolan’s Origins) to more or less contemporary times (e.g., The Midas Bomb) or to the far future (e.g., Rogue Planet) or a lot of different times in parallel universes (e.g. A Time Traveler’s Guide through the Multiverse). That’s a flaw in my motto, of course, but I didn’t want to make it any longer!

The second part expresses a lot more in fewer Latin words than the first part (the English non-literal translation is a bit longer: “In books, there’s liberty”), and it’s more profound. Books are the traditional and best way to support the fight for liberty vs. autocracy, good over evil, and tolerance over bigotry and hatred. It’s also a statement against book banning, so important nowadays with haters, bigots, racists, and other fascist personalities trying to dictate what people can and cannot read. That such censorship is now ubiquitous and increasing in the US is troubling, to say the least, and I will never condone it. Whatever a book’s themes or topics, a reader is free to choose not to read it, and anything beyond these personal choices should not be a subject of discussion.

So, most everything I write, novels, short fiction, and even these blog articles, can be summarized by my motto. I know most authors don’t have one, but I’m not like most authors! Readers of my many books already know that. I hope the word about my books (and my motto!) gets out so that new readers will join me in this grand adventure we call reading.

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A Time-Traveler’s Guide through the Multiverse. From the hard sci-fi perspective, this is time travel done right, using the “Many Worlds Theory of Quantum Mechanics” to avoid paradoxes. It’s also a rom-com because physicist Gail and her newly hired tech Jeff create a time machine that can only go into the future but also become lovers. But “the future” of one universe in the multiverse can seem like the past in another! The two hop from universe to universe living one romantic adventure after another, exploring some of the various possibilities of human existence…and non-human existence as well, each adventure a different commentary about our Earth and our own Universe. Available wherever quality ebooks are sold.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

[Note from Steve: Some authors give away their published books. Except as an exchange for an honest review, I don’t. But I will give away unpublished fiction, mostly short fiction, and other fiction-related items, in the form of free downloadable PDFs. Here are two new ones you might want to download and peruse.]

The Detectives, Volume Two: The Earl of Penrith. Unlike that long first volume with many detectives and even a mystery that takes place in the future, this volume focuses on just one sleuth, Detective Inspector Earl Wilson, who works out of a substation in the Penrith Police District. Detectives in England’s northern counties generally have to cover large areas of beautiful countryside, and Earl’s Lake District is no exception. By the same token, they usually don’t have to solve a lot of murders—stealing stock and farm equipment are much more common crimes. Earl however has a rash of murder cases to solve, though. To solve them, his DS Sally Hill aids him.

As I was finishing the first story in this collection (there are four, the last never seen before), I thought Sally and Earl might inherit the mantles of Esther and Bastiann from the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series. But I decided that Earl seemed a bit old for the job (he’s about ready to retire too). I chose Steve Morgan and his team instead. But Earl is still an interesting bloke, and you might see more of him in the future.

Given that these are short stories (some are almost novella-length, though), I don’t focus on the CID briefings or relationships among the police personnel. That’s all better treated in a novel. Instead, I focus on the crimes and how Sally and Earl go about solving them. That has to be done in all short fiction, as you have seen in most of the fiction that I offer freely to readers. That’s the essense of most mystery and crime stories.

Writing Fiction, Revision 11. I can’t believe this is #11 already! Over my brief career of writing fiction (when my first novel Full Medical was published in 2006, I was already an old fellow), I’ve been continuously experimenting and trying out new tricks of the trade, so I’ve been passing on what I’ve learned to other writers, newbies or oldtimers who want a fresh perspective, or to anyone who wants to know the truth about this crazy business of writing and publishing fiction.

This new revision includes articles taken from this blog and expands on my recent experiences with Draft2Digital that I’ve used to self-publish my recent novels. It also sharpens my criticism against the Big Five and traditional publishing in general.

It also contains “The Recruit,” a short story you’ve seen in this blog (or in the above collection), but in annotated form to indicate key points about writing elements. This whole freebie is formatted exactly like the novels I’ve produced with Draft2Digital to go along with the article contained therein that explains how to use that easy-to-use software. (If I can use it, you can too!)

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Where can you go to download these free PDFs? At this website, go to my “Free Stuff & Contests” web page and find the list of all my offered freebies and then follow the directions at the end of the list. You can also download the other freebies as well—be my guest. Among them, you will find two complete novels, Defanging the Red Dragon and Intolerance, #6 and #7 from the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

Dr. Carlos and the Wicked Will

Copyright 2022, Steven M. Moore

“Would it be impolite to ask you what your Human wills entail?” said N’Roku, one of the Tali, as they sat around the campfire not far from their crippled hovercraft.

“They’re rather traditional legal documents even if they’re just e-files now and stipulate how the property of a Human—or even a non-Human’s within the ITUIP, allowing for some local variations—are left to one or more people, or even charities and institutions. Conditions are often placed on those who would receive this property, though. For example, they must be alive. In this case,” he glanced at the Tali, which required a look upward, “the condition is that I’m dead.”

The spit was still turning slowly with half the carcass of a large hopping creature still on it. Not one tourist in the group who was a flesh eater had liked the wild taste. Of course, the Rangers had done fine with the fish-like creatures they’d caught in the lake. In a sense, Carlos envied them, but he hadn’t been too hungry since the AI had read the will.

Fortunately, one Human, a woman named Karla Ponce, had found both syntho tea and coffee in a hovercraft closet. Although it might have been there from an earlier time when Human employees of the tour company manned it and offered refreshments to passengers, all the Humans appreciated the hot beverages. Ah, progress, Carlos thought. ‘Tis a wonderful thing, except when it isn’t. And now that damn AI is almost completely offline!

The Tali’s ears were twitching in a way that Carlos knew signified amusement. “Should we all gang up on you now and tear you apart limb by limb?”

“Don’t be crass,” Thom Sideman, one of the Humans, said to N’Roku. “We have to ignore that old woman’s wishes. Clearly she was mentally disturbed and had it in for Dr. Obregon. Do you have any idea why that was, Carlos?”

They were all on first name basis now, so Carlos felt the group’s dynamics had ceased to reflect the wariness of strangers. He still didn’t know that much about their backgrounds, though, the Humans or ETs’, so he wasn’t about to mention what he suspected to be true. And maybe the common home planet and surname are still just coincidences?

Detectives throughout history often said they didn’t believe in coincidences, though. If there was anything to the ones involving the will’s creator, how had the old woman known he’d be on the same tour when he’d decided to go on it only at the last moment? And how had she added the reading of the will to the AI’s programming? For that matter, why was the AI now completely offline? The landing had been a soft one. Had she somehow programmed all that? Or, did she have an accomplice?

“Does anyone here know about programming an AI?” he called out to everyone huddled around the dying fire. “If we can reboot the hovercraft’s, we can guide our rescuers to this place. It might take them days otherwise.”

“I do,” Orl the Usk said. “But there are no tools.”

“There was a toolkit in the closet where I found the tea and coffee,” Karla Ponce said. “Let me show you.”

Carlos held up a hand. “We should probably all go inside now to sleep with the hatch closed. You’ve all seen those local predators from the air. N’Roku, could you help me put out the fire?”

“What about the leftover meat?”

“Give it a good fling. Maybe it will keep the predators busy enough to forget about us.”

***

After everyone was comfortably settled in their seats, Carlos and Orl went to work. The toolkit seemed to be designed for making repairs to electronics, even living biocircuitry, the AI’s wiring a combination of both, so the Usk was happy about that. He was very good with his hands and, of course, Carlos’s surgical expertise using the kit’s many tiny tools allowed him to help a lot. Knowing that the translation software still worked allowed them to quickly find the problem and begin repairs. They soon could converse with the AI again, but it informed them there was no comlink to base, which had been their main goal. Nearing the end of the repair process, Orl had run a diagnostic subroutine, and the AI had informed them that whatever software changes Alger had made had also created a time-delayed power surge that had fried the comlink. They couldn’t repair that.

“You had a good idea, Carlos,” said the Usk, “but she was a right nasty old female Human, wasn’t she?”

He sighed but was glad that most of the others were already sleeping. No wonder. I’m exhausted too. “Can we at least rig some sort of beacon? If bright enough, it might be seen from Euphoria’s space station where my ship is docked.”

“Bad line-of-sight angle,” said Swims-in-Shadows, one of the Rangers, who’d come to peer around Carlos at their repair job. “How about a controlled burn? There’s a cluster of those huge trees not far from our hovercraft. I saw it when we were landing.”

“How long would that last?” Orl said.

“No idea,” said the Ranger, “but it would be brighter than anything we can create artificially.”

“I hate to destroy the local environment,” Carlos said. “And fires all too often get out of control. It might even reach the hovercraft.”

“I can move the hovercraft farther away if that occurs,” said the AI, startling everyone involved in the conversation. “Com’s out, precluding any major flights, but a quick hop locally is possible.”

“That settles it,” Orl said. “Where are those flares we used to start our cooking fire? We’ll begin at the near edge of that cluster so the burn moves away from the hovercraft. When we return, we’ll watch carefully to see if the AI’s hop is needed. I doubt it.”

“The other side of the cluster abuts the far end of the lake,” said the Ranger. “I saw that when I went fishing.”

Carlos shrugged. “Okay. At least it will keep us busy.”

***

Carlos woke N’Roku early. The three, N’Roku, Orl, and Carlos, left the Ranger to guard the other tourists who were still sleeping and headed for the copse of trees.

As they walked, Orl said to Carlos, “Not afraid we’ll gang up on you?”

“I trust you and N’Roku and Swims-in-Shadows as well. And there’s no other option. The other tourists seem to be simple souls with no survival instincts, except for Ponce for the coffee and tea. Of course, if you and the Tali want to kill me, there’s not much I can do about it. Humans are fragile creatures compared to Tali and Usks.”

They got a nice fire going, although the burn went slowly, so Carlos suggested that they scout out the lay of the land as it sloped down toward the edge of the lake, which would stop the fire from advancing any farther. N’Roku returned to the hovercraft to inform the others of their progress and warn the AI to move if that was required.

“Swims-in-Shadows was right,” Carlos said to Orl. “The trees go right down to the lake’s edge.” Carlos stared across the shimmering waters. “This is a beautiful and peaceful place.”

“A fitting place for you to die, Dr. Obregon,” said a voice behind them.

They turned and saw the female Human Karla Ponce. She held a needle gun, and it was pointed at Carlos.

“Where’d you get that gun?” Carlos said.

“Same closet as the toolkit and flares, you idiot. I’m sorry. You seem like a nice man, but I can really use those funds.”

He laughed. “Obviously enough to commit murder. Congratulations. I would never have suspected that you’d be the one.”

“Ideally, all the Humans are going to split the inheritance. I just drew the short straw.”

Carlos wondered what they’d used for straws.

“I’m not a participant in this conspiracy, Carlos,” Orl said.

“Of course not,” Karla said. “I said just we humans, you fool. Why should we split with any slimy ETs?”

Carlos was always amazed how often Humans’ xenophobia reared its ugly head. Other ET groups had that mental disease as well, of course, especially when they had their first contacts with other intelligent beings—the Tali and Usks were examples—but for the most part the disease succumbed to the realization that peaceful coexistence and cooperation were beneficial to all. The Union was built on that principle.

“I see that Alger chose wisely,” Carlos said. “Just to humor me, to grant my dying wish, if you want to call it that, how do you plan to use those funds? You’re not likely to escape from Euphoria’s authorities.”

She shrugged. “To be determined. But we’ll all get our story straight, don’t you worry. The AI can be put out of commission again, so it won’t be reporting on anything. And a needle gun will work perfectly well on the non-Humans.”

“Are you sure about that? I’m a medical doctor, and I’ve studied and attended a lot of ETs in my time.” Carlos jerked a thumb toward his Usk companion. “The poison in your needle gun won’t even affect him. Not Rangers or Tali either. They all use blasters for that reason.”

She hesitated. “Will it slow him down?”

Carlos nodded at Orl. “She’s so stupid that she expects me to answer that.” He turned back to Karla. “Forget the needle gun. You have something else to worry about. Can you swim? The fire soon will be upon us. If you kill me and manage to slow down Orl, you will still have a long swim back along the lake. Without knowing what lethal fauna might be found there.” He now winked at Orl.

As Carlos expected, she turned to look back toward her rear to see how near the burn was. The Usk moved with lightning speed and was soon standing over Karla and covering her with the needle gun.

“What the good doctor neglected to tell you, although I’m sure he knows, is that we Usks can move very fast and have fast reflexes. Our bodies’ form of adrenalin is much more potent than Humans’, which is also why a needle gun doesn’t usually kill us.”

“Where’s the fire?” Fear was etched on Karla’s face now.

Carlos laughed. “Unlike Orl, my friend here, it can’t move very fast. The ground is too moist and the trees too wet. You were so intent on following us that you missed those details. You and the other Humans will soon be living in the nice penal colony they have here on a nearby island. I don’t think ITUIP will be negotiating for your release either.”

***

“You know, Dr. Obregon, we treat tourists well here,” said the local police commissioner, a nice woman Carlos was having some kind of local tea with. “We hate to punish them for crimes they commit, often looking the other way. But this case will be an exception, let me assure you. Maybe their actions surprised you?”

He looked at her over his teacup and took another bite of his cookie, also a local concoction that was delicious. He seemed to remember that afternoon tea had once been a tradition in some ancient Earth country. It was a nice one, especially when the person serving was an attractive Human female.

“Oh, I’m not surprised, especially in this case.” He told her the story about Alger’s brother. “So, you see, it was simple revenge. Quite cleverly done, I might say. But let’s change the topic.” He eyed her. “I have a few days of leave left me, Commander. I took that tour because I was bored. But I’m sure you know a lot more about local sights to see and places to visit. Can I invite you to dinner so we can talk about them.”

She laughed. “I can do more than that. I have the next two days off. We won’t do justice to our lovely planet, but I can give you a grand and personal tour. My only condition?” He nodded. “That you tell me more about your adventures in the SEB.”

He offered a hand. “That’s a deal, Commander.”

“You can call me Twill for the next few days.”

“That’s a lovely name for a lovely lady.”

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The Chaos Chronicles Trilogy Collection. In this ebook bundle of the three novels, Survivors of the Chaos, Sing a Zamba Galactica, and Come Dance a Cumbia…with Stars in Your Hand, the reader can find much of ITUIP’s history that Carlos Obregon is referring to in the above story. These three hard sci-fi novels, all “evergreen books” because they’re as fresh as the day I finished their manuscripts, can be considered my Foundation trilogy. Unlike the famous Isaac Asimov, though, there are plenty of ETs, something that’s obvious even in this short story. The most unusual ones are the Rangers, the first ETs Humans encountered on Carlos Obregon’s home planet New Haven. For more Carlos Obregon tales, see “Dr. Carlos, Chief Medical Officer,” a free PDF download from the list on my “Free Stuff & Contests” web page.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

[Note from Steve: I’m one of the few reviewers who reviews entire series. Below I review yet another series of British-style mysteries, interesting police procedurals with scary criminals and interesting coppers filled with intrigue and suspense. They have greatly influenced my recent stories. (See the ad at the end for an example.)]

The “Inspector Nikki Galena” series. Joy Ellis, author. This series begins darkly with the inspector as a loner and loose cannon whom none of her colleagues in the nick like very much—she’s obsessed with finding the drug dealer who put her daughter into a coma with some bad drugs. She’s forced to work on another case with a new sergeant, Joseph, and he turns her life around, basically saving her from herself. She helps him a lot too. Case after case, sometimes multiple ones at a time, the two become closer, even though he has a daughter who hates him and all coppers. She changes her mind when she becomes romantically interested in one of Nikki’s detective constables.

What’s odd about this series is that I’m not quite sure where it all takes place. The titles all contain the word “Fens” (Americans might call them marshes or wetlands), and their location must be somewhere on England’s east coast. It’s the same location as a secret RAF airbase in WWII that figures prominently in one of the novels. Some of the names of nearby towns and villages are recognizable. I get the feeling that the author is from this area or knows it well, so she presumes her readers will have no problem recognizing it, but I don’t. Of course, I’m not British! This is only a very small nit to pick in this otherwise excellent series.

I’ve read a lot of good British-style mystery series. This is one of the best. Dark and foreboding at times, with the protagonist having to come to terms with death, the coppers also have some successes despite the twists and turns of their cases. Highly recommended.

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Fear the Asian Evil. My British-style mysteries are more complex and international than most. This third book in the “Inspector Steve Morgan” series might seem ripped from the headlines after reports that President Biden strongly warned President-for-Life Xi about invading Taiwan. The book deals more with China’s long-standing policy of industrial espionage and fomenting unrest in western democracies. While it starts out as a typical police procedural not unlike the books in the above series—the sister-in-law of Morgan’s sergeant is shot—it acquires a spy-fi flavor that goes far beyond Christie’s typical British-style mysteries. Available wherever quality ebooks are sold (but not on Amazon).

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

[Note from Steve: It’s been a while since I’ve posted a short story featuring the starship Brendan’s Chief Medical Officer Carlos Obregon. You might have read about some of his adventures in “Dr. Carlos, Chief Medical Officer,” a PDF you can download for free—see the list of available downloads on the “Free Stuff & Contests” web page. This one is a bit different because the good doctor has to be more than an amateur sleuth. It also might be a bit humbling for Human readers because it shows that once-evil ETs might be able to perform morally a lot better than Humans can. Enjoy. And, oh yes, Happy New Year everyone!]

Dr. Carlos and the Wicked Will

Copyright 2022, Steven M. Moore

Carlos Obregon studied the other people in line and immediately felt out of place. He was a starship’s medical officer, after all, not a typical tourist. On a scheduled leave on the planet Euphoria that his captain had made him take, he’d become bored among an entire world of tourists and those who catered to and exploited them. The planet was a tropical paradise, though, and its shimmering seas; towering mountains, many of them volcanoes; and interesting flora and fauna seemed to beckon him. A quick trip around the planet to take it all in was a good way to spend the idle time forced upon him.

Among those in the same line were the ET tourists: Two Rangers—unusual to see the strange fellows from his home planet on a tour, but they’d always been a curious folk; a short, oily-and-mottled skinned Usk, looking more bored than Carlos; and three Tali, orange and furry fellows who towered above everyone. There were also eleven Humans of all shapes and sizes and attitudes, including a wrinkled old lady who made Carlos wonder why she’d not taken anti-senescence drugs. He supposed her choice was due to some religious bias. Human religions often went up against modern science, and their members often died because of those choices. All intelligent beings in near-Earth space seemed to have some strange beliefs.

One by one, they all moved forward. The check-in seemed complete and efficient, the syntho voice of the hovercraft’s AI seeming to ring in all their ears only because it was a nearly instantaneous translation from Standard to the ETs’ different languages transmitted to their now ubiquitous implants in their sound-receiving organs. While his rendering was in Standard without need of translation, he thought that even some of the Humans would receive a translation into their planets’ dialects, especially if they came from outlying worlds.

“Carlos Obregon, Chief Medical Officer of the starship Brendan. Welcome to Euphoric Tours’ sightseeing trip around our lovely planet.”

Everyone glanced his way. They all knew he was out of place too, and, as often happened, he regretted how much technology encroached on people’s lives. The old woman even studied him, her wrinkled face becoming even more distorted by a frown. She was ahead of him, so he knew she was from one of those outlying worlds, a planet outside the Interstellar Trade Union of Independent Planets, aka ITUIP. When he found a seat inside the hovercraft, she chose the seat next to his, glared at him, and then proceeded to ignore him. Maybe she’s a member of some religious cult? The outer worlds in near-Earth space were full of them, their vary existence often making their joining ITUIP impossible.

***

The AI’s programming was good. It flew them over some atolls where strange fish soared out of the water to nab four-winged flying creatures; then over snow-covered peaks, some of them topped with craters with volcanic smoke reaching up into the cirulean sky; and down to a vast savannah where herds of ungulates fed on the tall and waving yellow-green grass, all the while being stalked by some fierce-looking but smart, stealthy carnivores.

The constant drone of the AI gave local names to all the sights they were seeing, but some had no real translation. The locals of Euphoria spoke an ancient Earth dialect called Yiddish, although Carlos recognized a few corruptions within it from ancient Chinese dialects. That wasn’t that uncommon. The Chinese had established the first colony on Mars millennia ago, its autocratic government there mimicking the homelands; it had failed, as had the Earth country, but the Chinese language continued to corrupt the language of the Spacers, which had evolved into Standard.

As the hovercraft flew around some jewel-like lakes, the old woman collapsed.

“A passenger is ill!” Obregon called out. “We need to either land or head back!” He was already leaning over the woman, pressing fingers to her carotid after noting the blue tinge to her wrinkled, pale skin and especially her lips.

“Please tighten your seat belts,” the AI announced. “The hovercraft will be landing—”

They were already losing altitude, but Carlos wondered if its software was failing. Is the AI dying as well? He normally wouldn’t worry about the announcement because he’d already suggested two possible courses of action, and the AI had chosen the easiest one at that moment. They’d come a long way. Moreover, he’d landed—crash-landed, to be precise—on a more than hostile planet and knew how to survive. But not with a bunch of tourists!

He was about to try CPR when he noted a peculiar odor. He’d grown up on New Haven and identified it as a strong poison used against local pests that lurked around the New Haven Humans’ dairy farms. Did the woman commit suicide?

“AI, this is passenger Obregon again. As soon as we’ve landed, the air onboard needs to be replaced with outside air as soon as possible!”

The AI didn’t reply, but the landing was a soft one and they all staggered out of the hovercraft feeling a bit dizzy.

***

“What’s wrong with that Human female?” said one of the Tali.

Carlos gently placed her body on the ground. “She’s dead. I believe she’s been poisoned. Anyone remember her name?”

“Alana Alger,” the Usk said.

“Why would she commit suicide?” the Tali said. “She was a tourist just like all of us. Her home planet is Verdant. I’d never heard of it.”

Now Carlos remembered reacting to the woman’s name and where she was from when the AI had announced her name and citizenry during check-in. He’d written it all off to coincidence. Decades ago, Brendan had made a port of call at that planet. A Human male had tried to kill Carlos; his name was Edo Alger, and Obregon’s testimony against him sealed his fate, a complete mindwipe, a gift considering the options the jury had to consider.

Apparently self-correcting code woke up the AI. It announced, “To all surviving hovercraft tourists, the dead woman has a will on file. I’ve been programmed to read it to you.”

Carlos didn’t like the sound of any of that. Who at Euphoric Tours had programmed the AI for this trip? Like everyone else, though, he listened.

The reading of Alana Alger’s last will and testament was brief. She left all her considerable fortune, millions of credits in a bank located on the planet Sanctuary—he had to smile at the woman’s use of irony in choosing that particular planet considering their current situation—to be shared equally with all the passengers onboard the hovercraft as long as Carlos Obregon, starship Brendan’s Chief Medical Officer, did not make it back alive to Euphoria’s capital city.

Everyone was stunned as much as Carlos was. One could see it on the Human’s faces, and, as a ship’s doctor who had to attend to many different types of ETs, he read that emotion in them as well. He decided to not attach any importance to the old woman’s will. She’d obviously been mentally ill, probably for a long time.

***

“Curious burial rites,” Orl the Usk said to Carlos as they all walked away from Alger’s grave. “Quite touching words too, considering that old Human wanted you dead, Carlos.”

Carlos glanced at the short ET who looked like a turtle from ancient Earth without his shell. Like the Tali, the Usks had been thwarted in their plans to conquer Earth centuries ago, their respective defeats also centuries apart. Also, like the Tali, they’d become well integrated into Earth society and ITUIP.

Carlos worked for the Union’s Space Exploration Bureau. Would that stop Orl or the others from trying to claim Alger’s millions? Most were ITUIP citizens. He still appreciated that the ETs seemed loathe to do the old woman’s bidding and had become even more friendly, though, while the Humans seemed a bit more ambivalent.

“Usks’ burial ceremonies are more like our ancient Vikings’,” Carlos said, returning to the Usk’s first comment. “Very similar, in fact. Many Humans also cremate their dead too, perhaps not so elaborately as you folk but the same idea. We just couldn’t leave her on the ground. We don’t want to attract carrion feeders or predatory animals. Our only choice was to bury her or cremate her. I chose the former for lack of material for a pyre.”

“That shovel and rake in that closet were a great find. Who are these Vikings?”

Carlos explained. He was a student of Earth’s history and customs, many variations of the latter also prevalent in near-Earth systems, especially in Human colonies outside ITUIP like Verdant. Some were like Euphoria, which seemed to have a cultural milieu dedicated to having a good time and tending to the tourist trade.

“I understand,” Orl said. “Those Vikings did have a culture that had a lot in common with our old traditions.”

Carlos could only nod, thinking that it was probably not the time to observe that those ancient Usks were even more vicious than the Vikings. One could find common characteristics for ancient Humans, Talis, and Usks. Only the Rangers had avoided those tendencies toward savagery. Having grown up on New Haven, a world shared by Humans and Rangers for millennia, Carlos knew the latter had had their disputes, but they’d been settled peacefully. Nevertheless, they’d become fearsome allies with the Humans in the battles against the Tali and Usk!

Will someone in this group of tourists attempt to kill me? His first suspects would be his fellow Humans, but he would carefully study all the tourists stranded with him. At the same time, he would try to help them get organized. They could be waiting for a search party to find them for a while.

The AI was now offline, and that meant the hovercraft’s communication with its base was no longer operational. In fact, the only AI function that seemed to be left was its translation subroutines that allowed everyone to communicate without knowing the others’ languages. That was done via their implants and most necessary for the Rangers because of their complicated buzzspeak, but Carlos’s knowledge of the Tali and Usk languages was minimal.

All that meant there was plenty of time for someone to organize an accident to befall him.

***

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The Chaos Chronicles Trilogy Collection. In this ebook bundle of three complete novels, Survivors of the Chaos, Sing a Zamba Galactica, and Come Dance a Cumbia…with Stars in Your Hand, the reader can find much of ITUIP’s history that Carlos Obregon is referring to in the above story. These three hard sci-fi novels, all “evergreen books” because they’re as fresh as the day I finished their manuscripts, can be considered my Foundation trilogy. Unlike the famous Isaac Asimov, though, there are plenty of ETs, something that’s obvious even in this short story. The most unusual ones are the Rangers, the first ETs Humans encountered on Carlos Obregon’s home planet New Haven. For more Carlos Obregon tales, see “Dr. Carlos, Chief Medical Officer,” a free PDF download from the list on my “Free Stuff & Contests” web page.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

[Note from Steve: Wishing a joyful holiday season and Happy New Year to all my readers. This is the third story about the “Earl of Penrith.” Enjoy!]

The Fishing Trip

Copyright 2022, Steven M. Moore

“I don’t understand. I gave you that business card. He gave it to me.”

“Did he or does anyone in your family have connections to Scotland?” Sally said.

Earl was letting her run the interview again. Women often thought he was a gruff old bloke.

“Some cousins, Sergeant. A lot of people across northern England have Scottish friends and relatives.”

“Whereabouts, ma’am?”

She sighed. “I suppose I could make a list. They’re mostly in the west and center. One family even runs an inn near Loch Ness. Not the best place in winter, I dare say.” She smiled. “I guess the tourist industry is in our blood. I know my relatives best. My husband had some in Glasgow as well. I’ve lost contact with most of them. But why would Wayne be living up there?”

Earl didn’t want to say what he was thinking. He could imagine a very lucrative employment for an expert pharmaceutical chemist. He’d need to consult with Penrith PD’s Drugs Enforcement Division. Their investigations often led to liaisons with the NCA’s drugs division, but the coppers at Penrith PD knew a lot about the drugs trade.

“We’d appreciate a list of any names you can remember, Mrs. Simmons,” was all he said.

Their calls back at the station soon included the new names. One of Mr. Simmons’ relatives in Glasgow was candid. “I once asked Wayne why he hadn’t taken advantage of all that schooling. His answer was, ‘I am.’ I didn’t like his sleazy smile. But I’m prejudiced. I never liked his sister, but I liked him even less.”

“So, he was in Glasgow?”

“Oh, sure. For a while. Can’t say we saw him that much, which was okay by me. He was a bit creepy, I dare say.”

“So, you weren’t going to the daughter’s wedding?”

“What wedding? I didn’t even know my cousin had a daughter, Inspector.”

“Um, thank you for your information, sir.”

***

When Earl told Sally about that conversation, she had the same reaction. “Maybe Mrs. Simmons’s baby brother had a life she didn’t know about. In any case, Wayne ended up in Glasgow. We still have to connect the dots from Birmingham to there, and from there to here.”

“A very secretive life, Sally, one that might have got him killed.”

She nodded. “Someone wasn’t too happy with him, that’s for sure. Someone who doesn’t like boats.”

“How’s that?”

“I would have filled his pockets with rocks, rowed him out to the middle of that lake, and dumped him. Depending on that boat sinking was a mistake.”

He smiled. “That’s why we’re such a good team. You see things that I don’t.”

“I can’t see that my observation helps. A scrote who’s afraid of water or boats was obviously still a murderer.”

“It might limit our search to the middle of the country, though, away from the coastal areas. I’m afraid we’re going to have ask NCA for some help, bless their dark, spooky souls.”

Long ago in London, Earl had worked under DS Matthew Finley as his DC. They’d shared a loathing for their DI at the Met and become friends and drinking mates. Matt was now with the NCA, so Earl called him.

After some pleasantries, Earl got down to business. He told Matt about the case and what they knew about the victim so far.

“I know Drake, and let me warn you that you should take what they told you with a grain of salt. Big Pharma is often international—they like to test questionable drugs in Africa, for example—and they don’t even like the whiff from authorities snooping around. Drake might be clean in general, but they probably cut corners just like the worst of them. I’m suspicious of any pharmaceutical corporation that manufactures both the patented and generic forms of a drug overseas and markets them both in the UK.”

“That’s allowed?”

“Just about everywhere for the international corporations.”

“So, you think Ross might have really worked for Drake?”

“Doing things we might not approve of, yes. The most profitable way to market a drug these days is to make it addictive so customers keep buying it. So many people self-medicate now. My daughter ordered some cough syrup from Bulgaria. I had it tested. It had some trace amounts of some really nasty stuff in addition to codeine. Definitely not appropriate for young children! If anything, these places’ quality control can be sorely lacking.”

“Um, I guess they think adequate quality control costs them too much money. But how would Ross be involved in something like that? He’s a skilled scientist.”

“Good question, and I can’t answer it specifically for him. What I can do for you, old friend, is push it up the ladder, maybe even to Gretchen herself.”

“Who’s Gretchen?”

“Gretchen Williams, the director of our drugs division. She’ll know someone who might be able to tell us how Ross was spending his time, and why he was so secretive about it.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Not if you lose the case.” Matt laughed. “Marra, I know you so well.”

“Indeed. I just want to solve a murder case. NCA’s investigations all too often go far beyond that. They want to close down an entire drugs syndicate. They can do that if that’s what this case leads to as long as I can solve my case.”

“From what you’ve told me, the world’s probably better off being rid of Wayne Ross.”

“That’s not for us to say.”

“Of course not. I’ll try to get back to you by day’s end. On a lighter note, how was the fishing?”

“Neither the father-in-law nor I caught anything, but my other guest landed one. Beginner’s luck. He also spotted the rowboat with Ross’s body in it.”

“Sign him up!”

Earl decided not to tell Matt that was what MI5 or NCA had wanted to do.

***

Matt didn’t return Earl’s call; Director Williams did. “Matt brought me up to speed on your case. We’ve been interested in Drake, and Wayne Ross in particular, for a long time, Inspector Wilson.”

“You can call me Earl, ma’am.”

“If you call me Gretchen. Ma’am makes me feel old. You will be asking why we’re interested, I’m sure. There’s a lot of bad stuff coming in over the border. Maybe Drake’s not involved directly, but they’re not drugs you can produce in an old farmhouse somewhere.”

“Coming from Glasgow, are they?”

Read the rest of this entry »

There are a lot of new movies out—I’m up to seeing the new Daniel Craig mystery and the new Cameron film, series that are just getting started—but those movies caused me to reflect on which movie series I think are the greatest. In lieu of reviewing single books, I’ve been reviewing entire series, mostly because no one else seems to do that. I can say the same for movies. So here goes:

The “Lord of the Rings” movies. This might be the biggest, boldest, and best example of how Hollywood makes its greatest movies when the scripts are based on great books. Tolkien’s excellent fantasy series sat the bar high for all those that have followed, and this movie series brought to life on the big screen (and my TV with the DVD set) all the Christian mysticism and mythical languages created by the world’s greatest fantasy writer. And, by the way, all that great New Zealand scenery!

The “Jason Bourne” movies. You might identify Sean Connery with 007, but I identify Matt Damon with Jason Bourne even more. It took a while for me to get beyond the fact that Hollywood wasn’t following Ludlum’s storyline, especially with the second two movies in the series (I knew the third book quite well because I’ve used in as a reference on China, most recently in Fear the Asian Evil and earlier in Goin’ the Extra Mile—that third movie never mentions China!), but the essential mystery, thrills, and suspense from Ludlum’s books are there in the movie. And the third Bourne movie is probably the best action film ever made with a great actor performing. Eat your heart out, Tom Cruise!

The “Indiana Jones” movies. Harrison Ford was only a goofball hero in the goofy fantasy series Star Wars that wants to be but fails miserably as hard sci-fi, and his best performance was in classic sci-fi film Blade Runner, but he is Indy in this Spielberg series. To not slight Sean Connery (his spy-fi slapstick roles as 007 don’t do justice to Fleming’s books), he almost steals the show as Indy’s father. That third movie was the best of the lot, but they all blazed new frontiers. Who knows how the new one will be.

That’s it, mostly because Hollywood doesn’t do series well…or even sequels! (Look at all the Jurassic Park sequels, which are terrible.) Two of the three movie series mentioned here are based on book series, which helps, and one can argue that even the “Indiana Jones: movies are based on H. Rider Haggard’s “Alan Quatermain” series. (Don’t know that one? I pity you.) Perhaps Hollywood should come to its senses and use more books as a basis for movie scripts? (Of course, squeezing all that’s in a novel into a two-hour movie is a daunting problem!)

***

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Rogue Planet. Here’s one of my books I’d like to see made into a movie! On a quarantined planet in the far future (the quarantine exists because it’s a brutal theocracy), a prince struggles to save his world. It has all the elements found in Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, and Game of Thrones without being fantasy—warring armies, suspense and thrills, and lots of romance. And iit’s all hard sci-fi! I suppose there are nuances Hollywood would surely miss (readers won’t), but it would take a really incompetent director and studio to ruin this one. Available in both print and ebook format wherever quality books are sold.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

[Note from Steve: This is the third story about the “Earl of Penrith.” Enjoy!]

The Fishing Trip

Copyright 2022, Steven M. Moore

DI Earl Wilson had to smile and then laugh when Simon hooked his first fish and nearly went overboard using the net to snare it. Old Kevin had to grab his new son-in-law by the belt to keep him from falling in.

Earl had to admire the lad. He’d turned his life around and become a card-carrying and honest member of the great middle class. With a new bride—Earl could imagine that Kathy and Simon might soon make Martha and Kevin new grandparents—a steady job at the auto repair shop where he’d soon have a chance to take over when his boss retired, and plenty of extra work helping Kevin, the busy handyman and father-in-law, Simon would be more than okay. He was even losing some of his Geordie accent and sounding like a Lake District local at times.

DI Earl Wilson was a police veteran who had started out as a patrol constable in London, a “bobby” or “top” as they were called, the latter for the helmet—and then bounced around the country after being promoted from PC to DC and finally DI, finally ending up in the Lake District, where he suspected he would retire someday because he loved hiking and fishing.

He was a big bear of a man, an oversized version of that American telly detective, Columbo, complete with old car and dirty raincoat, but he didn’t smoke cigars and didn’t drink much. In fact, for his age, he was in good shape. A criminal might outrun him, but they’d be hard-pressed to outfight him. He had once broken one’s jaw, but he’d gone to the hospital later to apologize to the hand-cuffed scrote for doing that.

Earl thought the lad had hooked another fish—beginner’s luck!—when he stood up in the boat and pointed across the lake waters. “There’s a boat with a body in it, Inspector!”

Earl didn’t stand—he knew better, and the boat was already swaying side to side. “Sit down, lad!” He squinted but still shaded his eyes. “I believe you’re right. Hopefully, just some fisherman taking a catnap. We made an early start too. The fish wake up and have breakfast early.”

Kevin and Earl took the oars, not wanting to wake the bloke up by starting the motor if he was asleep but still feeling the responsibility of checking up on him. Unfortunately, Simon had been correct. There was a body in the boat, and the head trauma and blood indicated the man had been attacked.

“Lash the boat onto ours, you two,” Earl said. “I’m cranking up the outboard. We need to go ashore so I can use the radio in my old truck. We’ll need the SOCOs and a pathologist.”

“Is the boat a crime scene now, Guv?” Simon said.

Earl had to smile. The lad was mimicking his sergeant. She was a frequent guest at Martha and Kevin’s house along with Earl and Simon. Kathy and Simon lived above the repair ship in a bedsit; Earl had seen bigger closets in rich people’s mansions. The two were saving to lease or buy something bigger.

***

By the time the pathologist and SOCOs arrived, Earl had recorded what the three fishermen had seen. He sent Kevin and Simon home in Earl’s truck with his boat because Sally had arrived too. She could drop Earl at Martha and Kevin’s house so he could get his truck.

DS Sally Hill was from the other coast, loved the Lake District as well, and loathed southern England. Her birthplace was Morpeth, a regional capital not far from Newcastle-on-Tyne, so she felt right at home in Penrith that might be considered a left-coast town in comparison to Morpeth, without any polical meaning intended—the area along the border with Scotland was a conservative one.

Twenty years younger than her Guv, she was coming into her own as Earl’s partner in policing. She was fleet of foot and good enough at martial arts to compensate for her small size, as many a criminal had discovered. She also could turn on the charm, though, if she felt inclined or needed to do so in an interview or interrogation.

Sally became busy on her moby trying to identify the victim—miraculously she had a few bars; Earl’s 4G model had none—so Earl walked the lake shore, trying to find the spot where the rowboat had been set afloat with the body. There were two more moorings to the east and three to the west. He’d chosen to use theirs because he’d had the most luck fishing there.

His surveillance task took him a good forty minutes, but he found the probable launch point, the second of the three western moorings. He checked the third to make sure and then briskly returned. Arriving at the original site, he waved Harry, the lead SOCO, over.

“Second pier west of here has reeds beaten down. There are two old rowboats still there. I’m thinking our victim’s funeral boat might have been a third. There are recent car tracks, maybe from a Rover with one bald tire. Get what spoor you can find there, if you will.”

Harry nodded. “Any idea who owns those rowboats?”

“Maybe you can tell me that eventually. No names on the boats. Couple of diners and pubs hereabouts might know. I’ll be sending some DCs to help. The boats might just be abandoned, though.”

“Could be. The one the victim was in was old and ready to sink with a small hole in the bottom. Might have been the idea, to be honest, but his bloody shirt acted like a cork. Otherwise, we’d never have known what happened to the old geezer.”

“Old? How old?”

“Older than you, and that’s saying something.”

Earl ignored the taunt. “A local maybe?”

“We need to ID him, Guv. Could be, but you don’t know him and Kevin doesn’t, so maybe not. Not tourist season either, though. Someone passing through from down south maybe?”

“Any idea how long he’s been dead?”

“I’d guess he was put out in the lake last night sometime. Otherwise, the boat would have sunk despite the bloody shirt tail. But you’d better wait for Doc’s official TOD.”

“Might not be the same as the boat launch. You fellers can send me your reports. Sally and I had better start looking for mispers. Like you said, we have to ID this bloke.”

***

If Harry was right about the time the rowboat was launched, which meant the victim had been killed sometime before that, it was possible no one had reported the man missing yet. As a consequence, Sally and he stopped at a convenient pub during the trip back to the nick to have a quick pint and an early lunch. Earl took the opportunity to query the publican, who had no idea who their victim might be; the victim hadn’t patronized the club, which started selling breakfasts early in the morning.

Sally eyed her guv over her ale glass. “How did Simon handle that experience on the lake?”

“Happy to land his first catch, the lad was. He and Kevin are tight now. I guess the old man is the father Simon never had.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“He spotted the rowboat and the body. Didn’t seem to give him much aggro. Can’t say he’s seen as many dead as a soldier might, but he’s certainly seen enough in his short life. Kind of gives one a thick skin. Almost seemed like he was more excited about us having another case to solve.”

“Maybe wanting to forget about his?” Earl shrugged. “I’d think the experience would have taken all the joy out of catching his first fish.”

“Lad’s a natural for that if he learns to handle the net. A few practice casts and he was ready to go.”

“And Kevin?”

“He’s an old hand.”

“I meant, how did he react to finding a body?”

“He’s an old soldier. He was more worried about Simon tipping our boat over. He didn’t know the victim, by the way. Neither do I. We need to get busy back at the station. I want to know who that bloke is. Or was. We can then pry into his life to see who would want to kill him.”

“Brutally.”

“I’ll give you that. Lots of anger at the very least.”

“So…should we get to it?”

“As soon as I can flag down Rita.”

“This place is busy, and it’s only eleven-thirty. I’ve never been here.”

“You should see it during the tourist season. We locals take these places for granted, but all the hikers and twitchers want to experience a cozy Lake District pub. They’ve turned the typical pubs into American sports bars in the Big Smoke, you know. They call it making London cosmopolitan.”

“That’s occurring in Newcastle too. Morpeth is a bit more sedate.” She frowned. “I’m not looking forward to preparing another murder board, Guv.”

He smiled. Their last major case had been Simon’s; they’d started out with eight victims in a case that eventually involved both MI5 and NCA. “Hopefully, we can keep the spooks off this one. Rick Barnes was a bit hard to take.”

Sally smiled. Earl knew she fancied the MI5 agent.

Major crime in the Lake District was rare except for spillovers from the big cities in the south and east: Birmingham, Durham, Liverpool, Manchester, and Newcastle. The Penrith Police District spent most of its time on solving lesser crimes, from stealing livestock and farm equipment to peddling illegal drugs. There were plenty of yobbies around, among them those who preyed on tourists, and they all kept the police busy enough. It was rare when the district’s CIDs saw the crime the big cities saw, though, especially what occurred so often in London.

***

As it turned out, there was a missing person. Mrs. Helen Simmons, a woman who ran a boarding house in a hamlet not far from the lake had been expecting a visit from her brother, Wayne Ross, a resident of Durham. The woman’s daughter was getting married and wanted her Uncle Wayne to give her away because her father had passed on.

Sally and Earl paid Mrs. Simmons a visit. She was already accompanied by a Family Liaison Officer who warned the two detectives that her charge was quite unstable. But the elderly woman agreed to talk to them, sitting down with them in the boarding house’s comfortable parlor with tissue box at the ready.

She didn’t look like a dowdy boarding house manager. Dressed to the nines, including what looked like a pearl necklace and earrings, fashionably coiffed hair, and expertly applied makeup, she could have looked good on any MPs arm…or an MP herself like the Iron Lady about to give a speech on the floor of Commons. Is the boarding house business that good? It wasn’t tourist season.

“Can you imagine? We’ve had to postpone the wedding to have a funeral!”

Sally glanced at Earl with eyebrows raised; he nodded. They had no idea when the pathologist and coroner would release the body, but Earl didn’t want to get into that. Sally followed his lead and made no comment about the dowager being more worried about the wedding than her brother’s demise.

“Tell me, Mrs. Simmons, about your brother. What did he do for a living?”

“Some kind of research. He is-was-a brilliant man, my little brother, a chemist who worked in a pharmaceutical company in Durham. Way beyond my understanding is what he did, but I think he invented new drugs to help people. I don’t think the rest of the family knew that. You know how it goes, detectives. I dare say none of them cared.”

For a moment, her grief had turned to anger. Sally was very familiar with dysfunctional families. She wondered how many guests had been coming to the wedding.

“What about his life in Durham? Was he married? Does he have family there?”

“Heavens no. We’re northerners, our Ross clan.” She slipped into some distant memory. “Simmons was my dear husband’s name. We owned and ran this establishment. Some of our customers return every year during the summer months. Other times we survive with traveling salespeople. Not the most elegant boarding house in the area, but our service is exemplary. Breakfast and/or dinner plans are available. Tell your relatives and friends.”

Sally smiled at the advert. “Do you remember the name of Wayne’s company?”

“No, but I have a business card somewhere. Hold on a moment.”

She left the room. They heard drawers opening and shutting. She soon returned triumphantly and handed Sally a card.

“Drake Pharmaceuticals,” Sally read. “Did he describe his work there in any more detail?”

“Only what I already said. And I wouldn’t have understood much more. Oh, he once told me had several patents. I think he meant he created several new drugs, right? Doesn’t one’s company hold the patents?”

“Generally that’s the case,” Earl said. “The researcher signs an agreement. Do you know anyone in the Penrith area who would want to harm your brother?”

“He got along with everyone, Inspector. He had the usual barneys with schoolmates growing up, but that was long ago. And he hasn’t lived in this area for donkey’s years. But he’s Barb’s only uncle. Barbara is my daughter.”

“I assume she’s disappointed,” Sally said.

“For the wedding, yes, but she’s enraged about how someone would do this to her Uncle Wayne. As we all are in the family. Please find who did this despicable act!”

“We’ll do our best, as always,” Earl said. He handed her his own card. “We might have to talk with again, Mrs. Simmons. And feel free to call us if you can think of anything more that might help us.”

***

Drake Pharmaceuticals had never heard of Wayne Ross. Had he lied to his family all those years? Had he even lived in Durham? Earl didn’t know what to think.

Sally managed to verify that he’d received a doctorate from Birmingham University. What could he have been doing if not employed by Drake?

They decided not to tell Mrs. Simmons, her daughter, or any other family members for the moment. Earl wanted to find out more about the mysterious scientist. He and Sally began to call other police departments in northern England, Earl using many contacts he’d developed over the years. Two DCs were trawling for anything in social media about Wayne.

The Home Office’s Border Force came up with one interesting item: Wayne Ross made a round trip in 2027 to Prague, capital of the Czech Republic.

“Not first on my list as a place to visit as a tourist,” Earl said, “so maybe he went for some other reason. Obviously not a business trip for Drake Pharmaceuticals, but maybe one related to his research?”

It all came down to knowing what the secretive man had been doing since he left the university years earlier. Someone had to know.

As much as Earl hated to trawl computer databases, he stubbornly went at it, finding one more item: Ross had purchased a new Range Rover in Aberdeen four years earlier, and he had paid for it in cash. The dealer had no home address or telephone number for the scientist. Earl bet it wouldn’t have been Durham at any rate. Had he been living there or some other place in Scotland?

Earl gave his team the task of answering that question, but that datum also suggested that Sally and Earl should pay Mrs. Simmons another visit. It was time to tell her that her little brother’s life wasn’t what she’d thought it was.

***

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“Inspector Steve Morgan” novels. You met DI Morgan in The Klimt Connection. In these three stories, he has a starring role. In Legacy of Evil, loose ends from Celtic Chronicles are resolved…and then some. The brutal murder of an old man starts things off, and three more occur. In Cult of Evil, Morgan’s team has a cult murder to contend with, and an assassin after Morgan adds an additional worry. In Fear the Asian Evil, the sister-in-law of Morgan’s sergeant is shot, and pursuing her shooter leads the team to a spy network. As a set, these three novels represent an ideal holiday gift for your family and friends who love British crime stories. Available wherever quality ebooks are sold, just not on Amazon.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!