Authors

 So, I couldn't resist posting this here:

I 3D printed this guy at the original scale that Sabertooth Collectibles sold it as, made another and sent it to Regal Rebel, but then I got to thinking and well...

Lol.

I added fur and here he is. Nice learning project for fur and airbrushing. Special thanks to Uncle Jessy and M.M. Props Shop for the encouragement.

I've got enough fur to do 1-2 more projects. Debating on which. Mom asked me to make an ewok. lol. I was leaning towards Snarf.

 Sitrep: So, Rea has sent me back J10. I hope she has fun in Irvine at the track meet. :)

On to the snippet!

Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";}

Chapter 2

 

Antigua

 

“I love my job,” Willow said as she took the stairs to her boss’s office. She had short legs so the steps were slightly uncomfortable for her dwarven physique. She made it work, however.

Newly promoted Chief Warrant Officer 1 Mariah Willow was the lead armorer of the Cadre. Well, most of the time. Whenever that Tauren Ox showed up, everyone including herself deferred to him. That was fully understandable and she supported it. Ox had been the original armorer after all.

She had been the mastermind behind the Cadre 2.0 program. She was still working on improvements for it. She had a small design team that was also working on alternative ideas for the suits to use in combat.

One of the greatest strengths of the Cadre 2.0 program was that they could innovate new designs and send them via ansible to units in the field to implement. Field units could then generate the changes with their AI and nanites. Major changes could be altered permanently into the hardware or “baked.” Minor changes could be stored for later use. Alterations for mission specific scenarios could be stored in modules for on-call use. But of course they all needed to be tested first.

The same was actually happening in reverse; deployed Cadre units were sending feedback and adjustments back via the ansible to the armor, nanite, and software research and development teams. They then went through the data and changes and built virtual and then physical test models to see what worked and if they could refine it further.

A lot of the data coming in were rough and ready bug patches to address a specific problem. Usually it was mission related, such as in smoke or to deal with other environmental factors. The team was particularly looking forward to the heaps of data that would come in from the Cadre deployment within the pirate battle moon.

Well, the data that survived to get to them at any rate, Willow mused with a slight grimace as she passed a set of robots.

That was another thing that had been innovated, the partnership with robots. The Cadre now had two robots assigned to each suit minimum. Some could handle up to six smaller robots. They were still working on the level of autonomy in the units.

She nodded to the two mastiff-sized robot dogs on either side of the door as she went in.

She waited patiently as the yeoman dealt with a call.

“He’s on a call,” Peggy informed her. She indicated a seat on the HUD. Willow grimaced and took the seat. The Yeoman looked up to her and then nodded and went back to the call. She was using a hush mike so Willow couldn’t quite hear it.

She briefly toyed with the idea of testing her aural implant improvements but decided to keep her nose short.

“You think he’ll really go for this?” Peggy asked.

“What’s with the pessimistic approach?” Willow asked. She was only slightly nervous. They had a good pitch; the idea had been used in science fiction media for centuries. It had even made it into a few suits at different time periods. Unfortunately, the specific data on their use and why they fell out of favor had been lost to the ravages of time.

Willow had come up through the army’s powered armor units. She’d heard stories about how they’d gotten the jump start on powered armor courtesy of then Lance Corporal Jethro McClintock.

Jethro had just graduated with the legendary F Platoon. He had heard that the corps was struggling to get into the hardware and had remembered his family’s cache of suits including his own ancestor’s suit.

He had dug them out, and they had been refurbished and copied. At the time, not many had known that his suit was a Cadre suit and that he had been the descendant of a legendary Cadre member.

She smiled slightly. Some of the details were still sketchy but she’d picked up a few more over beers when she’d chatted with Ox a few times. Like the fact that Bast had been awoken in the armor and had caused havoc in Agnosta before being tamed and eventually brought to full sentience by Admiral Irons and his AI.

They had used Jethro’s armor and Bast as a template for the formation of the Cadre some years ago. Admiral Irons had authorized them to continue to innovate and to incorporate the little data that they had gathered from the Lemnos facility.

When she had come on board, she had been determined to make the Cadre the best it could be. A step beyond what they were. So far the jury was still out on if they’d achieved that lofty goal. They’d find out more when word got back to them about the battle moon … if it ever did.

Hopefully, she thought.

The battle was a suicide mission some whispered. She didn’t believe that. The Cadre took insane tasks, impossible missions, and broke then down into something they could win when others would fail. They’d make it, she thought firmly.

When they did get word, they were going to be swamped she mused. They had servers ready to process what came in … when it came in.

Dribs and drabs, she thought as her strong hands flexed on her knees slightly.

Most likely the data from the battle moon would have to be sent in packets at various ansibles or by courier. The wait for the full data would be excruciating in some ways.

They weren’t sitting on their thumbs while they waited, however. They had a bunch of proposals to sort through as well as some concepts to pitch in sims and test. She had been increasingly enamored with the idea of transformation. The suits with their nanites and hardware were polymorphic. They could adapt to any scenario. She wanted to capitalize further on that concept.

One of the techs had mentioned a foldable motorcycle called the Corgi. Apparently, Abe had seen it in a museum and it had stuck in his mind and caused a bit of inspiration. During the AI research that Peggy had initiated, they had found references to mecha that could transform into vehicles for rapid transit. Something called Mospedea. She had become fascinated with the concept which brought her to her current pitch.

“Ma’am?” she looked up. The yeoman indicated the door. “The general will see you now.”

She nodded and got up. She paused at the door to knock twice. The open command allowed her to open the door and come in.

“I’ve got twenty minutes, Willow,” General Lyon said as she came in and took a seat that he indicated. “I scanned your brief.”

“Briefly scanned the brief,” Mars said from the holographic projector on the desk. Peggy joined him there.

“Bite me,” the general growled. He turned to the dwarf. “Back it up a bit though. Corgi? You were inspired, not by the dog but by …?”

“Corgi. A motorcycle, really a scooter that folded up. It was dropped by planes for paratroopers during the second World War,” the dwarf explained.

Peggy helpfully put an image up of the thing.

“Okay, and this attaches to the suit?”

“No, sir, it inspired the project. From there we went into Mospedea which really inspired it.”

“Okay …?”

Peggy put up a few images and a 3D model and then animations.

The general watched them thoughtfully.

“What we were thinking was add on components or a program where the AI can initiate a change to grow the components of a motorcycle.”

“Sounds … interesting.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Various videos were shown of mecha and robots transforming into motorcycles. “We can combine the idea with the robots too as seen here. Build on the modular ability I mentioned earlier.”

General Lyon nodded thoughtfully.

“And you think this is faster than running?” he asked.

“Yes, sir!” Peggy said excitedly. She highlighted the speedometer on one image and showed it bobbing and weaving through traffic.

“Definitely on roads. We are still experimenting with off-road and indoors.” Willow hesitated. “The general idea is fast reaction to a battlefield and shock value. Hard and fast.”

General Lyon blinked and then nodded slowly. That was the essence of shock attacks. They could backfire, however, he knew. He also didn’t like the idea of moving through civilian traffic but he was a pragmatist. He knew such things happened in reality from time to time. As much as they’d like to avoid civilians, they did tend to get underfoot and clutter up a battlefield.

“Okay, I’ll authorize a single test. Check it out.”

Willow nodded. She felt smug. That was easy as expected. “Thank you, sir.”

“Not so fast. Try before you buy.”

“Sir?”

“Try it in VR first. Run simulations. In fact, run a lot of simulations as realistic as possible.”

Willow frowned. “I’m really a hands-on person, sir.” She was a maker; she generally left the coding side to her AI partner.

“Then find someone who can do the VR side and the testing. Run them through various scenarios and then see what comes out the other side. You are on a shoestring budget. I’m pulling a few credits from projects that completed early and under budget to finance this,” he warned.

Mars nodded from his spot on the general’s desk.

Willow thought fast. “We could probably build the thing for the cost of hiring a programming team and getting them through the necessary security clearances, sir.” She was hoping that would deter him. With AI and nanites, they could fab just about anything as long as they had raw material or meta materials.

Of course they had to have a basic design to copy first.

“We have AI for a lot of the coding as you know,” the general reminded her. Willow flushed slightly as Peggy quirked an eyebrow upward on her HUD. The dwarven armorer gave a slight grudging nod. “You could also involve Bagheera.”

Willow blinked. “Sir? He’s a civilian.”

“Who is on base and is an avid gamer. He doesn’t need to know what he’s testing. Just have Peggy or some of the other AI create a game mod. Design the basic unit and drop it in and then create various scenarios for him to try it out with.”

“I’ll create the scenarios,” Mars stated.

Willow blinked and then cocked her head. She didn’t like that Mars would create the scenarios but then again they would be tough but fair.

“That could work,” her AI stated. “We can look at game examples as well. We haven’t gotten beyond the sci-fi references in the pitch.”

“Good. Try that first,” the general stated.

Willow nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

<<(O)>>

As you all know, Ilona and Gordon are currently deep in the writing cave finishing Maggie 2. The cave door is closed. ASMR keyboard clatter can be heard faintly in the distance.

If you look at the homepage, you’ll see a new countdown clock to the release of This Kingdom Will Not Kill Me. Nineteen days and counting.

With Maggie arriving so soon, there will be an influx of fans to our ranks. New blood and ideas, fresh, innocent Horde recruits for us to corrupt into our Dushegub ways. Obviously, we cannot simply throw them into the middle of things without preparation. That would be irresponsible.

These are some of the field notes I’ve gathered after years of careful study. The list is not complete, and I will require your assistance to improve it.

• Devouring: goes without saying. The book is finished ideally within hours of release. Extra points if you manage to ask about the sequel on the same day.
  
• Character Adoption Program: main sponsored charity of the BDH. A character appears on page for maybe a handful of paragraphs – they can be instantly adopted by the Horde, who will demand to know their entire life story, “Is there a scene about how …” emotional journey, and future romantic prospects. Never Forget! (Puffles4Ever. Klaus Klaus Klaus, barsa barsa barsa)
  
• Petition habits: already hinted at above, the BDH mobilization on request-protocol is famous fandoms over. Teasing us with characters? Jokes about books that don’t exist? We make them happen. Been there, done that, have the ebook, paperback and audio to prove it. Who’s laughing now?
  
• Rereading conspiracies: The first read is for enjoyment. The 24 subsequent rereads are for enjoyment and investigation. Why did Linus sneeze right there? Could it mean that he’s actually Augustine in disguise and what does Sergeant Teddy have to say about this? There’s no such thing as “small detail from Chapter 3” and we all know it.
  
• Announcement Analysis: A small piece of news appears. A cover reveal. A single unassuming sentence in a blog post such as “we are working on something”. The Horde studies this information carefully. Very carefully. Rest assured, we’ll get to the bottom of what it *really* means. The rumour mill always grinds.

Please add your observations in the comments so we can continue expanding the newcomer guide.

For those wishing to determine their precise Horde alignment, the classification quiz is available below.

14991

Which BDH team do you belong in?

Ah, the Book Devouring Horde. Whether you're sprinting off into the wilderness of speculation, hold firmly to the foundations of fact, vibrate with anticipation, or discuss everything into the ground- we are a force of nature. Where do you stand, when you stand with us?

1 / 9

A BDH colleague posts a theory you don’t agree with:

That’s interesting, I like the way you think. I would even agree with you, but then we’d both be wrong. Your first mistake is that you haven’t taken this far enough! What you first need to understand is that every.single.shifter is a First... Live and let conspire. I’ll watch how it plays out, and maybe even get a House Andrews answer out of it. Ever considered doing the action known as “putting two and two together”?

2 / 9

A serial or snippet you want to reread has been archived on the blog. How do you react?

We wish to discuss! Vociferously! That’s what the Snippet Dark Web is for. I meet with the underground BDH in absconded corners of the internet, and we make the relevant snippet/spoiler trade off. The Void is darkness, the Void is peace, I am within it, wrapped in its cold embrace... The authors had their reasons. Hopefully we'll see a final edit of it published.

3 / 9

House Andrews tell us that "The next Innkeeper book will be the end of the missing parents series arc". What does this mean to you?

There will never be any more Innkeeper books. We won't find out about Maud! Orro will never cook again! PAPERCUT TO MY SOUL! I told you they sold the series to the muskrats! End of the series arc doesn't mean the end of the series. They can have several adventures after that, it's a wide Galaxy out there. Proposal: You write several Gertrude Hunt novellas. Then a Klaus novel. Followed by Helen's series. How Dina met Beast. An Arbitrators Saga, the Jack Camarine spin off, heavily featuring Gaston’s Baha-char business ventures. How Caldenia came to the Inn and other Dominion misadventures and then a Drifen trilogy. Do you wish to discuss? I do want to know what happens and all the answers, but I don't want it to end. But I’ll preorder it as soon as it’s available!

4 / 9

Someone shipped Julie and Saiman. Your first instinct is:

Metal Rose Metal Rose Metal ROOOOOSE! That’s interesting. I want to hear them out. Burn it! With FIRE! Burn it with BEAVERS! Yu Fong? Sure. Ascanio? Maybe. Derek? Most likely, based on all the evidence. Saiman makes no sense. Explain yourself.

5 / 9

It’s release day of a new Ilona Andrews book, what do you comment?

I don't comment, I'm DEVOURING! A long review on the blog. Spoilers might slip. I'm emotionally compromised. Review on book review sites, questions on the blog release thread. When is the next one coming out?

6 / 9

House Andrews mention a new character in passing. What's your first thought?

I update my characters chart but wait for more concrete information before making any assumptions. Never heard the name before, so it's clearly Augustine’s long lost sibling. This means an Arabella trilogy is in the works, with this character as a love interest. And it sounds like an Innkeeper cross-over. I have to tell my friends! Does this mean a new book? Hope the wait won’t be too long! But aren’t you working on Hugh 2? If nothing else is put forth in the next 10 working days, I’ll be sure to drop a reminder on the blog. We must discuss!

7 / 9

How do you react to the three words most dreaded by the Horde: w*it, p*tience, d*lay?

Steady ON. You know there are kids around, right? It’s not the best, but life happens. We are still beloved. House Andrews have quit writing. It’s because of all the graphic novels. They'll never go back to real books. We will murder the words. Patience is futile! Waiting is the mind killer! Delays are the enemy!

8 / 9

Ilona has posted an April Fools' joke about a new book. What do you do?

I’ve already requested it from my local librarians and added it to Goodreads, where it has over a thousand reviews so…good luck on keeping this a prank lol I immediately checked the date and figured out it’s a prank. But you know, they say in every joke there's a kernel of truth… I go on an emotional rollercoaster before realizing the truth. And another one after realizing the truth. No backsies. You said it, you write it, we read it. It is known.

9 / 9

There's a new snippet on the blog. How do you react?

I devour it immediately, thank you! I’m keeping it for a rainy day. What about the other series? Does this snippet mean there won't be any more from other series? Have you abandoned them? Nooooo, I forgot it was a snippet! I got so lost in it and then it was over! Please, House Andrews, may we have some more? LinkedIn Facebook Twitter VKontakte

div#ays-quiz-container-8 * { box-sizing: border-box; } /* Styles for Internet Explorer start */ #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 { } /* Styles for Quiz container */ #ays-quiz-container-8{ min-height: 350px; width:400px; background-color:#fff; background-position:center center;border-radius:0px 0px 0px 0px;box-shadow: 0px 0px 15px 1px rgba(0,0,0,0.4);border: none;} /* Styles for Navigation bar */ #ays-quiz-questions-nav-wrap-8 { width: 100%;border-radius:0px 0px 0px 0px;box-shadow: 0px 0px 15px 1px rgba(0,0,0,0.4);border: none;} #ays-quiz-questions-nav-wrap-8 .ays-quiz-questions-nav-content .ays-quiz-questions-nav-item a.ays_questions_nav_question { color: #000; border-color: #000; background-color: #fff; } #ays-quiz-questions-nav-wrap-8 .ays-quiz-questions-nav-content .ays-quiz-questions-nav-item.ays-quiz-questions-nav-item-active a.ays_questions_nav_question { box-shadow: inset 0 0 5px #000, 0 0 5px #000; } #ays-quiz-questions-nav-wrap-8 .ays-quiz-questions-nav-content .ays-quiz-questions-nav-item.ays-quiz-questions-nav-item-answered a.ays_questions_nav_question { color: #fff; border-color: #fff; background-color: #000; } #ays-quiz-questions-nav-wrap-8 .ays-quiz-questions-nav-content .ays-quiz-questions-nav-item a.ays_questions_nav_question.ays_quiz_correct_answer { color: rgba(39, 174, 96, 1); border-color: rgba(39, 174, 96, 1); background-color: rgba(39, 174, 96, 0.4); } #ays-quiz-questions-nav-wrap-8 .ays-quiz-questions-nav-content .ays-quiz-questions-nav-item a.ays_questions_nav_question.ays_quiz_wrong_answer { color: rgba(243, 134, 129, 1); border-color: rgba(243, 134, 129, 1); background-color: rgba(243, 134, 129, 0.4); } /* Styles for questions */ #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 div.step { min-height: 350px; } /* Styles for text inside quiz container */ #ays-quiz-container-8.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container .ays-start-page *:not(input), #ays-quiz-container-8.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container .ays_question_hint, #ays-quiz-container-8.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container label[for^="ays-answer-"], #ays-quiz-container-8.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container p, #ays-quiz-container-8.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container .ays-fs-title, #ays-quiz-container-8.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container .ays-fs-subtitle, #ays-quiz-container-8.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container .logged_in_message, #ays-quiz-container-8.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container .ays-quiz-limitation-count-of-takers, #ays-quiz-container-8.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container .ays-quiz-limitation-count-of-takers *, #ays-quiz-container-8.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container .ays_score_message, #ays-quiz-container-8.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container .ays_message{ color: #000; outline: none; } /* Quiz title / transformation */ #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-fs-title{ text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 21px; text-align: center; text-shadow: none; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-quiz-password-message-box, #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-quiz-question-note-message-box, #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_quiz_question, #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_quiz_question *:not([class^='enlighter']) { color: #000; } #ays-quiz-container-8 textarea, #ays-quiz-container-8 input::first-letter, #ays-quiz-container-8 select::first-letter, #ays-quiz-container-8 option::first-letter { color: initial !important; } #ays-quiz-container-8 p::first-letter:not(.ays_no_questions_message) { color: #000 !important; background-color: transparent !important; font-size: inherit !important; font-weight: inherit !important; float: none !important; line-height: inherit !important; margin: 0 !important; padding: 0 !important; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .select2-container, #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field * { font-size: 15px !important; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-fs-subtitle p { text-align: center ; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_quiz_question p { font-size: 16px; text-align: center; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_quiz_question { text-align: center ; margin-bottom: 10px; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_quiz_question pre { max-width: 100%; white-space: break-spaces; } div#ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-questions-container .ays-field, div#ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-questions-container .ays-field input~label[for^='ays-answer-'], div#ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-questions-container .ays-modern-dark-question *, div#ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-questions-container .ays_quiz_question, div#ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-questions-container .ays_quiz_question *{ word-break: break-word; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-quiz-timer p { font-size: 16px; } #ays-quiz-container-8 section.ays_quiz_redirection_timer_container hr, #ays-quiz-container-8 section.ays_quiz_timer_container hr { margin: 0; } #ays-quiz-container-8 section.ays_quiz_timer_container.ays_quiz_timer_red_warning .ays-quiz-timer { color: red; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_thank_you_fs p { text-align: center; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .information_form input[type='text'], #ays-quiz-container-8 .information_form input[type='url'], #ays-quiz-container-8 .information_form input[type='number'], #ays-quiz-container-8 .information_form input[type='email'], #ays-quiz-container-8 .information_form input[type='tel'], #ays-quiz-container-8 .information_form textarea, #ays-quiz-container-8 .information_form select, #ays-quiz-container-8 .information_form option { color: initial !important; outline: none; margin-left: 0; background-image: unset; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .information_form input[type='checkbox'] { margin: 0 10px; outline: initial; -webkit-appearance: auto; -moz-appearance: auto; position: initial; width: initial; height: initial; border: initial; background: initial; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .information_form input[type='checkbox']::after { content: none; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .wrong_answer_text{ color:#ff4d4d; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .right_answer_text{ color:#33cc33; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .right_answer_text p { font-size:16px; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .wrong_answer_text p { font-size:16px; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_questtion_explanation p { font-size:16px; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_cb_and_a, #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_cb_and_a * { color: rgb(0,0,0); text-align: center; } #ays-quiz-container-8 iframe { /*min-height: 350px;*/ } #ays-quiz-container-8 label.ays_for_checkbox, #ays-quiz-container-8 span.ays_checkbox_for_span { color: initial !important; display: block; } /* Quiz textarea height */ #ays-quiz-container-8 textarea { height: 100px; min-height: 100px; } /* Quiz rate and passed users count */ #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_quizn_ancnoxneri_qanak, #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_quiz_rete_avg{ color:#fff; background-color:#000; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-questions-container > .ays_quizn_ancnoxneri_qanak { padding: 5px 20px; } #ays-quiz-container-8 div.for_quiz_rate.ui.star.rating .icon { color: rgba(0,0,0,0.35); } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_quiz_rete_avg div.for_quiz_rate_avg.ui.star.rating .icon { color: rgba(255,255,255,0.5); } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_quiz_rete .ays-quiz-rate-link-box .ays-quiz-rate-link { color: #000; } /* Loaders */ #ays-quiz-container-8 div.lds-spinner, #ays-quiz-container-8 div.lds-spinner2 { color: #000; } #ays-quiz-container-8 div.lds-spinner div:after, #ays-quiz-container-8 div.lds-spinner2 div:after { background-color: #000; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .lds-circle, #ays-quiz-container-8 .lds-facebook div, #ays-quiz-container-8 .lds-ellipsis div{ background: #000; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .lds-ripple div{ border-color: #000; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .lds-dual-ring::after, #ays-quiz-container-8 .lds-hourglass::after{ border-color: #000 transparent #000 transparent; } /* Stars */ #ays-quiz-container-8 .ui.rating .icon, #ays-quiz-container-8 .ui.rating .icon:before { font-family: Rating !important; } /* Progress bars */ #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .ays-progress { border-color: rgba(0,0,0,0.8); } #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .ays-progress-bg { background-color: rgba(0,0,0,0.3); } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-progress-value { color: #000; text-align: center; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-progress-bar { background-color: #27AE60; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-question-counter .ays-live-bar-wrap { direction:ltr !important; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-live-bar-fill{ color: #000; border-bottom: 2px solid rgba(0,0,0,0.8); text-shadow: 0px 0px 5px #fff; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-live-bar-fill.ays-live-fourth, #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-live-bar-fill.ays-live-third, #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-live-bar-fill.ays-live-second { text-shadow: unset; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-live-bar-percent{ display:none; } /* Music, Sound */ #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_music_sound { color:rgb(0,0,0); } /* Dropdown questions scroll bar */ #ays-quiz-container-8 blockquote { border-left-color: #000 !important; } /* Quiz Password */ #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-start-page > input[id^='ays_quiz_password_val_'], #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-quiz-password-toggle-visibility-box { width: 100%; margin: 0 auto; } /* Question hint */ #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_question_hint_container .ays_question_hint_text { background-color:#fff; box-shadow: 0 0 15px 3px rgba(0,0,0,0.6); max-width: 270px; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_question_hint_container .ays_question_hint_text p { max-width: unset; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_questions_hint_max_width_class { max-width: 80%; } /* Information form */ #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-form-title{ color:rgb(0,0,0); } /* Quiz timer */ #ays-quiz-container-8 div.ays-quiz-redirection-timer, #ays-quiz-container-8 div.ays-quiz-timer{ color: #000; text-align: center; } #ays-quiz-container-8 div.ays-quiz-timer.ays-quiz-message-before-timer:before { font-weight: 500; } /* Quiz buttons */ #ays-quiz-container-8 input#ays-submit, #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .action-button, div#ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .action-button.ays_restart_button { background-color: #27AE60; color:#333; font-size: 17px; padding: 10px 20px; border-radius: 3px; white-space: nowrap; letter-spacing: 0; box-shadow: unset; white-space: normal; word-break: break-word; } #ays-quiz-container-8 input#ays-submit, #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 input.action-button { } #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 a[class~=ajax_add_to_cart]{ background-color: #fff; color:#333; padding: 10px 5px; font-size: 14px; border-radius: 3px; white-space: nowrap; border: 1px solid #333; } #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .action-button.ays_check_answer { padding: 5px 10px; font-size: 17px !important; } #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .action-button.ays_download_certificate { white-space: nowrap; padding: 5px 10px; } #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .action-button.ays_arrow { color:#333!important; white-space: nowrap; padding: 5px 10px; } #ays-quiz-container-8 input#ays-submit:hover, #ays-quiz-container-8 input#ays-submit:focus, #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .action-button:hover, #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .action-button:focus { box-shadow: 0 0 0 2px #333; background-color: #27AE60; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_restart_button { color: #333; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_restart_button_p { display: flex; justify-content: center; flex-wrap: wrap; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_buttons_div { justify-content: center; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .step:first-of-type .ays_buttons_div { justify-content: center !important; } #ays-quiz-container-8 input[type='button'], #ays-quiz-container-8 input[type='submit'] { color: #333 !important; outline: none; } #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 i.ays_early_finish.action-button[disabled]:hover, #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 i.ays_early_finish.action-button[disabled]:focus, #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 i.ays_early_finish.action-button[disabled], #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 i.ays_arrow.action-button[disabled]:hover, #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 i.ays_arrow.action-button[disabled]:focus, #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 i.ays_arrow.action-button[disabled] { color: #aaa !important; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_finish.action-button{ margin: 10px 5px; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-share-btn.ays-share-btn-branded { color: #fff; } /* Question answers */ #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field { border-color: #444; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px; box-shadow: none;flex-direction: row-reverse; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-quiz-answers .ays-field:hover{ opacity: 1; } #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .ays-field label.ays_answer_caption[for^='ays-answer-'] { z-index: 1; position:initial;bottom:0;} #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .ays-field input~label[for^='ays-answer-'] { padding: 5px; } #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .ays-field { margin-bottom: 10px; } #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .ays-field.ays_grid_view_item { width: calc(50% - 5px); } #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .ays-field.ays_grid_view_item:nth-child(odd) { margin-right: 5px; } #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .ays-field input:checked+label:before { border-color: #27AE60; background: #27AE60; background-clip: content-box; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-quiz-answers div.ays-text-right-answer { color: #000; } /* Answer maximum length of a text field */ #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_quiz_question_text_message{ color: #000; text-align: left; font-size: 12px; } div#ays-quiz-container-8 div.ays_quiz_question_text_error_message { color: #ff0000; } /* Questions answer image */ #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-answer-image { width:15em; height:150px; object-fit: cover; } /* Questions answer right/wrong icons */ #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field input~label.answered.correct:after{ content: url('http://ilona-andrews.com/wp-content/plugins/quiz-maker/public/images/correct.png'); } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field input~label.answered.wrong:after{ content: url('http://ilona-andrews.com/wp-content/plugins/quiz-maker/public/images/wrong.png'); } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field label.answered:last-of-type:after{ height: auto; left: 10px;top: 10px;} /* Dropdown questions */ #ays-quiz-container-8 .select2-container--default .select2-search--dropdown .select2-search__field:focus, #ays-quiz-container-8 .select2-container--default .select2-search--dropdown .select2-search__field { outline: unset; padding: 0.75rem; } #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .ays-field .select2-container--default .select2-selection--single { border-bottom: 2px solid #27AE60; background-color: #27AE60; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field .select2-container--default .select2-selection--single .select2-selection__rendered, #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field .select2-container--default .select2-selection--single .select2-selection__placeholder, #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field .select2-container--default .select2-selection--single .select2-selection__arrow { color: #d8519f; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field .select2-container--default .select2-selection--single .select2-selection__rendered, #ays-quiz-container-8 .select2-container--default .select2-results__option--highlighted[aria-selected] { background-color: #27AE60; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field .select2-container--default, #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field .select2-container--default .selection, #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field .select2-container--default .dropdown-wrapper, #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field .select2-container--default .select2-selection--single .select2-selection__rendered, #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field .select2-container--default .select2-selection--single .select2-selection__rendered .select2-selection__placeholder, #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field .select2-container--default .select2-selection--single .select2-selection__arrow, #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field .select2-container--default .select2-selection--single .select2-selection__arrow b[role='presentation'] { font-size: 16px !important; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .select2-container--default .select2-results__option { padding: 6px; } /* Dropdown questions scroll bar */ #ays-quiz-container-8 .select2-results__options::-webkit-scrollbar { width: 7px; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .select2-results__options::-webkit-scrollbar-track { background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0.35); } #ays-quiz-container-8 .select2-results__options::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb { transition: .3s ease-in-out; background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0.55); } #ays-quiz-container-8 .select2-results__options::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb:hover { transition: .3s ease-in-out; background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0.85); } /* WooCommerce product */ #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-woo-block { background-color: rgba(39,174,96,0.8); } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-woo-product-block h4.ays-woo-product-title > a { color: #000; } /* Audio / Video */ #ays-quiz-container-8 .mejs-container .mejs-time{ box-sizing: unset; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .mejs-container .mejs-time-rail { padding-top: 15px; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .mejs-container .mejs-mediaelement video { margin: 0; } /* Limitation */ #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-quiz-limitation-count-of-takers { padding: 50px; } #ays-quiz-container-8 div.ays-quiz-results-toggle-block span.ays-show-res-toggle.ays-res-toggle-show, #ays-quiz-container-8 div.ays-quiz-results-toggle-block span.ays-show-res-toggle.ays-res-toggle-hide{ color: #000; } #ays-quiz-container-8 div.ays-quiz-results-toggle-block input:checked + label.ays_switch_toggle { border: 1px solid #000; } #ays-quiz-container-8 div.ays-quiz-results-toggle-block input:checked + label.ays_switch_toggle { border: 1px solid #000; } #ays-quiz-container-8 div.ays-quiz-results-toggle-block input:checked + label.ays_switch_toggle:after{ background: #000; } #ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_elegant_dark div.ays-quiz-results-toggle-block input:checked + label.ays_switch_toggle:after, #ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_rect_dark div.ays-quiz-results-toggle-block input:checked + label.ays_switch_toggle:after{ background: #000; } /* Hestia theme (Version: 3.0.16) | Start */ #ays-quiz-container-8 .mejs-container .mejs-inner .mejs-controls .mejs-button > button:hover, #ays-quiz-container-8 .mejs-container .mejs-inner .mejs-controls .mejs-button > button { box-shadow: unset; background-color: transparent; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .mejs-container .mejs-inner .mejs-controls .mejs-button > button { margin: 10px 6px; } /* Hestia theme (Version: 3.0.16) | End */ /* Go theme (Version: 1.4.3) | Start */ #ays-quiz-container-8 label[for^='ays-answer']:before, #ays-quiz-container-8 label[for^='ays-answer']:before { -webkit-mask-image: unset; mask-image: unset; } #ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_classic_light .ays-field input:checked+label.answered:before, #ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_classic_dark .ays-field input:checked+label.answered:before { background-color: #27AE60 !important; } #ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_classic_light .ays-field input:checked+label.answered.correct:before, #ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_classic_dark .ays-field input:checked+label.answered.correct:before { background-color: #27ae60 !important; } #ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_classic_light .ays-field input:checked+label.answered.wrong:before, #ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_classic_dark .ays-field input:checked+label.answered.wrong:before { background-color: #cc3700 !important; } /* Go theme (Version: 1.4.3) | End */ #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_quiz_results fieldset.ays_fieldset .ays_quiz_question .wp-video { width: 100% !important; max-width: 100%; } /* Classic Dark / Classic Light */ /* Dropdown questions right/wrong styles */ #ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_classic_dark .correct_div, #ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_classic_light .correct_div{ border-color: green !important; opacity: 1 !important; background-color: rgba(39,174,96,0.4) !important; } #ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_classic_dark .correct_div .selected-field, #ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_classic_light .correct_div .selected-field { padding: 0px 10px 0px 10px; color: green !important; } #ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_classic_dark .wrong_div, #ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_classic_light .wrong_div{ border-color: red !important; opacity: 1 !important; background-color: rgba(243,134,129,0.4) !important; } #ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_classic_dark .ays-field.checked_answer_div.wrong_div input:checked~label, #ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_classic_light .ays-field.checked_answer_div.wrong_div input:checked~label { background-color: rgba(243,134,129,0.4) !important; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_question_result .ays-field .ays_quiz_hide_correct_answer:after{ content: '' !important; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-quiz-close-full-screen { fill: #000; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-quiz-open-full-screen { fill: #000; } @media screen and (max-width: 768px){ #ays-quiz-container-8{ max-width: 100%; } div#ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_modern_light .step, div#ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_modern_dark .step { padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important; } div#ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_modern_light div.step[data-question-id], div#ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_modern_dark div.step[data-question-id] { background-size: cover !important; background-position: center center !important; } div#ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_modern_light .ays-abs-fs:not(.ays-start-page):not(.ays-end-page), div#ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_modern_dark .ays-abs-fs:not(.ays-start-page):not(.ays-end-page) { width: 100%; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays_quiz_question p { font-size: 16px; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .select2-container, #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field * { font-size: 15px !important; } div#ays-quiz-container-8 input#ays-submit, div#ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .action-button, div#ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .action-button.ays_restart_button { font-size: 17px; } div#ays-quiz-container-8 div.ays-questions-container div.ays-woo-block { width: 100%; } /* Quiz title / mobile font size */ div#ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-fs-title { font-size: 21px; } } /* Custom css styles */ /* RTL direction styles */ #ays-quiz-container-8 p { margin: 0.625em; } #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field.checked_answer_div input:checked~label { background-color: rgba(39,174,96,0.6); } #ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_classic_light .enable_correction .ays-field.checked_answer_div input:checked+label, #ays-quiz-container-8.ays_quiz_classic_dark .enable_correction .ays-field.checked_answer_div input:checked+label { background-color: transparent; } #ays-quiz-container-8.ays-quiz-container.ays_quiz_classic_light .ays-questions-container .ays-field:hover label[for^='ays-answer-'], #ays-quiz-container-8 .ays-field:hover{ background: rgba(39,174,96,0.8); color: #fff; transition: all .3s; } #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .action-button:hover, #ays-quiz-container-8 #ays_finish_quiz_8 .action-button:focus { box-shadow: 0 0 0 2px rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.5), 0 0 0 3px #333; background: #27AE60; } if(typeof aysQuizOptions === 'undefined'){ var aysQuizOptions = []; } aysQuizOptions['8'] = '{"quiz_version":"8.7.4","core_version":"6.8.3","php_version":"8.2.29","color":"#27AE60","bg_color":"#fff","text_color":"#000","height":350,"width":400,"enable_logged_users":"off","information_form":"disable","form_name":"off","form_email":"off","form_phone":"off","image_width":"","image_height":"","enable_correction":"off","enable_progress_bar":"off","enable_questions_result":"off","randomize_questions":"on","randomize_answers":"off","enable_questions_counter":"on","enable_restriction_pass":"off","enable_restriction_pass_users":"off","restriction_pass_message":"","restriction_pass_users_message":"","user_role":[],"ays_users_search":[],"custom_css":"","limit_users":"off","limitation_message":"","redirect_url":"","redirection_delay":0,"answers_view":"list","enable_rtl_direction":"off","enable_logged_users_message":"","questions_count":"","enable_question_bank":"off","enable_live_progress_bar":"off","enable_percent_view":"off","enable_average_statistical":"off","enable_next_button":"off","enable_previous_button":"off","enable_arrows":"off","timer_text":"","quiz_theme":"classic_light","enable_social_buttons":"on","final_result_text":"","enable_pass_count":"on","hide_score":"on","rate_form_title":"","box_shadow_color":"#000","quiz_border_radius":"0","quiz_bg_image":"","quiz_border_width":"1","quiz_border_style":"solid","quiz_border_color":"#000","quiz_loader":"default","quest_animation":"shake","enable_bg_music":"off","quiz_bg_music":"","answers_font_size":15,"show_create_date":"off","show_author":"off","enable_early_finish":"off","answers_rw_texts":"disable","disable_store_data":"off","enable_background_gradient":"off","background_gradient_color_1":"#000","background_gradient_color_2":"#fff","quiz_gradient_direction":"vertical","redirect_after_submit":"off","submit_redirect_url":"","submit_redirect_delay":"0","progress_bar_style":"first","enable_exit_button":"off","exit_redirect_url":"","image_sizing":"cover","quiz_bg_image_position":"center center","custom_class":"","enable_social_links":"off","social_links":{"linkedin_link":"","facebook_link":"","twitter_link":"","vkontakte_link":"","instagram_link":"","youtube_link":""},"show_quiz_title":"on","show_quiz_desc":"on","show_login_form":"off","mobile_max_width":"","limit_users_by":"ip","explanation_time":"4","enable_clear_answer":"off","show_category":"off","show_question_category":"off","answers_padding":"5","answers_border":"on","answers_border_width":"1","answers_border_style":"solid","answers_border_color":"#444","ans_img_height":"150","ans_img_caption_style":"outside","ans_img_caption_position":"bottom","answers_box_shadow":"off","answers_box_shadow_color":"#000","show_answers_caption":"on","answers_margin":10,"ans_right_wrong_icon":"default","display_score":"by_points","enable_rw_asnwers_sounds":"off","quiz_bg_img_in_finish_page":"off","finish_after_wrong_answer":"off","after_timer_text":"","enable_enter_key":"on","show_rate_after_rate":"on","buttons_text_color":"#333","buttons_position":"center","buttons_size":"medium","buttons_font_size":"17","buttons_width":"","buttons_left_right_padding":"20","buttons_top_bottom_padding":"10","buttons_border_radius":"3","enable_audio_autoplay":"off","enable_leave_page":"on","show_only_wrong_answer":"off","pass_score":0,"pass_score_message":"<h4 style=\"text-align: center;\">Congratulations!<\/h4>\r\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">You passed the quiz!<\/p>","fail_score_message":"<h4 style=\"text-align: center;\">Oops!<\/h4>\r\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">You have not passed the quiz!\r\nTry again!<\/p>","answers_object_fit":"cover","quiz_max_pass_count":1,"question_font_size":16,"quiz_width_by_percentage_px":"pixels","questions_hint_icon_or_text":"default","questions_hint_value":"","enable_early_finsh_comfirm_box":"on","hide_correct_answers":"off","quiz_loader_text_value":"","show_information_form":"on","show_questions_explanation":"disable","enable_questions_ordering_by_cat":"off","enable_send_mail_to_user_by_pass_score":"off","enable_send_mail_to_admin_by_pass_score":"off","show_questions_numbering":"none","show_answers_numbering":"none","quiz_loader_custom_gif":"","disable_hover_effect":"off","quiz_loader_custom_gif_width":100,"quiz_title_transformation":"uppercase","quiz_image_width_by_percentage_px":"pixels","quiz_image_height":"","quiz_bg_img_on_start_page":"off","quiz_box_shadow_x_offset":0,"quiz_box_shadow_y_offset":0,"quiz_box_shadow_z_offset":15,"quiz_question_text_alignment":"center","quiz_arrow_type":"default","quiz_show_wrong_answers_first":"off","quiz_display_all_questions":"off","quiz_timer_red_warning":"off","quiz_schedule_timezone":"UTC-6","questions_hint_button_value":"","quiz_tackers_message":"This quiz is expired!","quiz_enable_linkedin_share_button":"on","quiz_enable_facebook_share_button":"on","quiz_enable_twitter_share_button":"on","quiz_enable_vkontakte_share_button":"on","quiz_make_responses_anonymous":"off","quiz_make_all_review_link":"off","quiz_message_before_timer":"","quiz_password_message":"","enable_see_result_confirm_box":"off","display_fields_labels":"off","quiz_enable_password_visibility":"off","question_mobile_font_size":16,"answers_mobile_font_size":15,"social_buttons_heading":"","social_links_heading":"","quiz_enable_question_category_description":"off","quiz_message_before_redirect_timer":"","buttons_mobile_font_size":17,"quiz_answer_box_shadow_x_offset":0,"quiz_answer_box_shadow_y_offset":0,"quiz_answer_box_shadow_z_offset":10,"quiz_enable_title_text_shadow":"off","quiz_title_text_shadow_color":"#333","right_answers_font_size":16,"wrong_answers_font_size":16,"quest_explanation_font_size":16,"quiz_waiting_time":"off","quiz_title_text_shadow_x_offset":2,"quiz_title_text_shadow_y_offset":2,"quiz_title_text_shadow_z_offset":2,"quiz_show_only_wrong_answers":"off","quiz_title_font_size":21,"quiz_title_mobile_font_size":21,"quiz_password_width":"","quiz_review_placeholder_text":"","quiz_make_review_required":"off","quiz_enable_results_toggle":"off","question_count_per_page":null,"question_count_per_page_number":"","mail_message":"","enable_certificate":"off","enable_certificate_without_send":"off","certificate_pass":"0","form_title":"","certificate_title":"<span style=\"font-size: 50px; font-weight: bold;\">Certificate of Completion<\/span>","certificate_body":"<span style=\"font-size: 25px;\"><i>This is to certify that<\/i><\/span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: 30px;\"><b>%%user_name%%<\/b><\/span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: 25px;\"><i>has completed the quiz<\/i><\/span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: 30px;\">\"%%quiz_name%%\"<\/span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: 20px;\">with a score of <b>%%score%%<\/b><\/span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: 25px;\"><i>dated<\/i><\/span>\r\n<span style=\"font-size: 30px;\">%%current_date%%<\/span>","mailchimp_list":"","enable_mailchimp":"off","enable_double_opt_in":"off","active_date_check":"off","activeInterval":"2025-11-29 20:28:30","deactiveInterval":"2025-11-29 20:28:30","active_date_message":"The quiz has expired!","active_date_pre_start_message":"The quiz will be available soon!","checkbox_score_by":"on","calculate_score":"by_points","send_results_user":"off","send_interval_msg":"off","question_bank_type":"general","questions_bank_cat_count":{"1":""},"enable_tackers_count":"off","tackers_count":"","send_results_admin":"on","send_interval_msg_to_admin":"off","show_interval_message":"on","allow_collecting_logged_in_users_data":"off","quiz_pass_score":"0","send_certificate_to_admin":"off","certificate_image":"","certificate_frame":"default","certificate_orientation":"l","make_questions_required":"off","enable_password":"off","password_quiz":"","mail_message_admin":"","send_mail_to_site_admin":"on","generate_password":"general","generated_passwords":{"created_passwords":[],"active_passwords":[],"used_passwords":[]},"display_score_by":"by_keywords","show_schedule_timer":"off","show_timer_type":"countdown","progress_live_bar_style":"default","enable_full_screen_mode":"off","enable_navigation_bar":"off","hide_limit_attempts_notice":"off","turn_on_extra_security_check":"on","enable_top_keywords":"off","assign_keywords":[{"assign_top_keyword":"A","assign_top_keyword_text":""},{"assign_top_keyword":"B","assign_top_keyword_text":""},{"assign_top_keyword":"C","assign_top_keyword_text":""},{"assign_top_keyword":"D","assign_top_keyword_text":""}],"quiz_enable_coupon":"off","quiz_coupons_array":{"quiz_active_coupons":[],"quiz_inactive_coupons":[]},"apply_points_to_keywords":"off","limit_attempts_count_by_user_role":"","enable_autostart":"off","paypal_amount":null,"paypal_currency":null,"paypal_message":"","enable_stripe":"off","stripe_amount":"","stripe_currency":"","stripe_message":"You need to pay to pass this quiz.","payment_type":"prepay","enable_monitor":"off","monitor_list":"","active_camp_list":"","enable_slack":"off","slack_conversation":"","active_camp_automation":"","enable_active_camp":"off","enable_zapier":"off","enable_google_sheets":"off","spreadsheet_id":"","google_sheet_custom_fields":[],"quiz_attributes":null,"quiz_attributes_active_order":null,"quiz_attributes_passive_order":["ays_form_name","ays_form_email","ays_form_phone"],"required_fields":null,"enable_timer":"off","timer":100,"enable_quiz_rate":"off","enable_rate_avg":"off","enable_box_shadow":"on","enable_border":"off","quiz_timer_in_title":"off","enable_rate_comments":"off","enable_restart_button":"off","autofill_user_data":"off","enable_copy_protection":"off","enable_paypal":"off","ays_enable_restriction_pass":"off","ays_enable_restriction_pass_users":"off","result_text":null,"enable_result":"off","enable_mad_mimi":"off","mad_mimi_list":"","enable_convertKit":"off","convertKit_form_id":"","enable_getResponse":"off","getResponse_list":"","submit_redirect_after":"","rw_answers_sounds":false,"id":"8","title":"Which BDH team do you belong in?","description":"Ah, the Book Devouring Horde. Whether you're sprinting off into the wilderness of speculation, hold firmly to the foundations of fact, vibrate with anticipation, or discuss everything into the ground- we are a force of nature. Where do you stand, when you stand with us?","quiz_image":"https:\/\/ilona-andrews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/03\/Knights-in-armor-e1600449341400.jpg","quiz_category_id":"1","question_ids":"66,65,64,63,62,61,60,59,58","ordering":"8","published":"1","intervals":"[{\"interval_min\":\"0\",\"interval_max\":\"25\",\"interval_text\":\"Team Facts be Damned calls you home!\\r\\nYou are a rumor-wrangling pioneer, living by the flickering glow of the blog fire pits, swapping wild theories like old legends, surviving on the sparse rations of snippets and off-hand author comments. You leap across canyons of logic, hunt for cryptic clues in the ashes of deleted posts, and wrap yourself in the tattered cloak of hope as you stare into the flames, waiting for a sign. \\r\\nYour natural habitat: Fandom spaces, frantically interpreting vague emojis from the authors.\\r\\nWithout the proud pioneers of Team Facts Be Damned, we\\u2019d have far less fun, and no comment section would ever reach its true, unhinged potential.\",\"interval_image\":\"https:\\\/\\\/ilona-andrews.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2021\\\/05\\\/Moonlight-path-werewolf.jpg\",\"interval_redirect_url\":\"\",\"interval_redirect_delay\":\"\",\"interval_wproduct\":\"\",\"interval_keyword\":\"B\"},{\"interval_min\":\"26\",\"interval_max\":\"50\",\"interval_text\":\"You are a member of Team Facts are King.\\r\\nAn anchor in the hurricane of fandom chaos, the watchtower of rational thought, you were basically Catalina Baylor in another life. You cross-reference, you fact-check, and you stand as the stalwart reminder that \\\"No release date yet\\\" means exactly that, not an apocalyptic prophecy. \\r\\nYour natural habitat: Making cautiously optimistic blog comments, while keeping a firm eye on those timelines!\\r\\nWithout the cool heads of Team Facts, we\\u2019d be running in circles, tripping over wild theories, and we'd probably believe Klaus was actually a dragon.\",\"interval_image\":\"https:\\\/\\\/ilona-andrews.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2019\\\/12\\\/Frist-Scholar-Thek.jpg\",\"interval_redirect_url\":\"\",\"interval_redirect_delay\":\"\",\"interval_wproduct\":\"\",\"interval_keyword\":\"A\"},{\"interval_min\":\"51\",\"interval_max\":\"75\",\"interval_text\":\"You stand with Team Chalant.\\r\\nYou pride yourself on your p*tience. And yet, here you are, vibrating with barely contained anticipation. You are happy to go with the flow, but you would like to know what time the flow starts and how many pairs of socks you need to pack for it. \\r\\nYou refresh the blog just once (or 15 times) a day, just in case, and you want to be fluffy. You try to be fluffy. But\\u2026 have the authors considered maybe just one tiny little update? A morsel? A crumb?\\r\\nYour natural habitat: the featured release page, counting down the days on the tracker.\\r\\nWithout the emotional depth of Team Chalant, we\\u2019d lose the sheer passion, the longing, the desperate joy of waiting for the next book (while pretending we\\u2019re fine through dramatic sighs). They are our beating heart.\",\"interval_image\":\"https:\\\/\\\/ilona-andrews.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2024\\\/12\\\/Emotionla-support.jpg\",\"interval_redirect_url\":\"\",\"interval_redirect_delay\":\"\",\"interval_wproduct\":\"\",\"interval_keyword\":\"C\"},{\"interval_min\":\"76\",\"interval_max\":\"100\",\"interval_text\":\"You belong to Team Dushegub.\\r\\nThe Dushegub Division DEVOURS the books, tearing through stories like hungry, page-shredding beasts. You do not fear spoilers, for they only make you stronger! Your natural habitat: The comments section, armed with Proposal #37: New Spin-offs and Why They Are Necessary.\\r\\nWithout the insatiable hunger of Team Dushegub\\u2014creeeek, hisssss, hissssss, knock\\u2014we\\u2019d probably accept things far too easily and discuss a lot less. Which would be a tragedy.\",\"interval_image\":\"https:\\\/\\\/ilona-andrews.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2024\\\/09\\\/Dushegub-featured.jpg\",\"interval_redirect_url\":\"\",\"interval_redirect_delay\":\"\",\"interval_wproduct\":\"\",\"interval_keyword\":\"D\"}]","author_id":"4477","post_id":null,"create_date":"2025-01-31 09:03:06","quiz_url":"","is_user_logged_in":false,"quiz_animation_top":100,"quiz_enable_animation_top":"on","store_all_not_finished_results":false}';

The post Book Devouring Horde: TNG first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

 So, I am struggling with getting back into writing. I have been having a lot of fun making various projects. I may post some images and video here in the coming weeks.

I just finished a life size Wampa bust, it is... cool. :)

  Anyway, I need to get back to the AI art and the current book I am writing. I sent Rea J10 the other day so I better get on the snippets too.

Oh, you are going to see some crossover material. That syncs my timeline up and of course some events drive reactions in other circles... yadda yadda.

On to the snippet!

 Chapter 1 Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}

Deep Space, Sigma Sector

 

Jethro felt a sense of relief as the titanic ship dropped out of hyperspace. It pushed through the last barrier in an incredible burst of energy and then drifted. Second Fleet came in behind them. As he stared at the screens Bast finished working her way into the computers and signaled the other Cadre members.

Jethro noted other AI in the network but he was busy making certain that a reactor wouldn’t overload or something. He’d hate to come this far only to blow it somehow. When power dropped to lower levels he flicked his ears.

“We’re getting calls from across the ship demanding to know what is going on,” Bast said in amusement.

“Now what?” Mara asked, looking very small as she climbed out of the helm tube. Water dripped around her. She snagged a towel from the limp fingers of a sleeping attendant and dried herself off. She looked at the other sleeping water dwellers and her lower lip quivered.

Bast sent a signal to the nanites to wake them up. The girls woke within seconds. They looked up to Mara and then began to cry.

Bast flashed ‘trauma’ on Jethro’s HUD in yellow as a caution. He gave a slight nod and ear flick of acknowledgment.

“You were very brave. Now we get you and your friends back home,” Jethro rumbled softly.

“Home,” she said in a quavering voice. She shivered violently. The other water dwellers cuddled with her. “Home,” the blue woman said softly over and over again as she cried. They cried with her huddling together in a knot of comfort, misery, and relief.

“Sitrep?” Jethro asked as he scanned the room.

“Doors secure. They are armored so the guards outside won’t get in easily… even if they were awake which they are not,” Bast stated. Jethro raised an eyebrow in inquiry. “I am in their computers and control the life support.”

Jethro nodded.

Images appeared with knots of humanity as well as some fighting. Jethro grunted. Even though he had control of the ship there was still more to do. They had anticipated this, the die hards would try to fight to the end rather than surrender.

“You need to broadcast to the ship to lay down their arms,” Bast stated. “I am transmitting the codes to Second Fleet with the invitation to come on board.”

Jethro nodded and took a position at parade rest. When Bast nodded a green light came on in front of him indicating that she was recording.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jethro said over an all hands circuit. “This is Chief Warrant Officer Jethro McClintock. I am the black cat you definitely do not want to cross,” he growled.

Bast smiled and barred her teeth briefly.

“As some of you know, the Cadre boarded this vessel several days ago. We have disabled the self-destruct and taken control of this vessel. Your empress and her staff are in our custody.”

He didn’t look around the room.

<<(O)>>

Detective Kern felt his shoulders slump a little as he and other police officers and their families gathered around the video screens in the bullpen to watch the broadcast from the black cat.

He wasn’t quite ready to admit it, but he felt strangely relieved that it was over.

<<(O)>>

Jewel Cohen stared at the screen. Her lower lip quivered as did her whole body. “What happens to us now?” she asked as she turned to her parents.

“I wish I knew,” her father said quietly. He shook his head. “I wish I knew.”

<<(O)>>

Across the ship some diehards bristled at the idea of surrendering. Some were just ornery, others knew that they would be executed for war crimes. They had no reason to lay down their arms. Some privately vowed to build a death guard of as many people as possible.

<<(O)>>

“Twenty or so years ago I boarded one of your ships on my own in a little star system called Kathy’s World,” Jethro rumbled matter of factly. He felt his lips twitch in an almost smile. “I fought the crew to a standstill. Their captain negotiated to leave if I left their ship.” Bast flicked her ears on his HUD.

His ears flicked briefly. “Well, this time I brought friends,” he growled.

Bast smirked on his HUD. She had been with hiim on that mission but she was classified.

“We are now out of hyperspace. Second Fleet and a task force of Tenth Fleet are outside and boarding Marines now. Your fleet, what little was left of it, fled. We control your life support, your security systems, weapons, computers, power, the whole kit and caboodle people. There is nowhere to run, if you try to hide we’ll find you. There is no sense in fighting. It is over,” Jethro said flatly. As he spoke Bast was altering the command codes for the systems with the support of the other AI. She was also locking down sections of the ship, trapping people while also mapping their locations.

<<(O)>>

Chief Warrant Officer Hurranna grinned at Jethro’s broadcast. “Now that’s tellin’ them,” she growled. She glanced to the compartment where the EPOWs were being housed. Some looked even more defeated. Good.

<<(O)>>

"Power plants are on lock down. All self-destruct packages are secure. All magazines are secure though some are only remotely secure," Minotaur reported.

Ox grunted and flicked his ears. After a moment he nodded. "Good to know."

"Marine shuttles are inbound. Once they have a secure beachhead they will start to ferry over the skeleton crew."

"The round up?" Ox asked.

"Lockdown has been initiated. Anyone not locked down will be caught. We are working on tracking them now. Many are without weapons."

"Understood."

"It is rather pathetic that many of their weapons are melee weapons."

"Thank the tyrant for that," the Tauren rumbled as his thick fingers scrolled through the feeds. "She didn't want her people armed out of paranoia. So, it bit her in the ass."

"Right," Minotaur stated. "Though, they are pirates. We still need to be careful. That militia came as something of a surprise."

"Agreed."

<<(O)>>

Ragged, hungry, Skye gets abandoned at the door of what looks like a gigantic prison. The Assassins Guild—an impenetrable fortress. Only they let her in. And now, she either joins or escapes. One final test will determine the future—for herself and everyone around her.

“Skylight” is available on this site for one week only. You can get the story as a standalone ebook on all retail sites. And, if you like this story, check out the Three Science Fiction Books Kickstarter that runs until Thursday. You’ll get three of my sf books, including a brand-new collection of short stories, any other reward you might choose, and stretch goal short science fiction.

Skylight Kristine Kathryn Rusch

 

SKYE STANDS OVER the unbelievably fat man, feet spread as far as they go so she can straddle him, and clutches the spear in her right hand. His eyes are wild, but he’s past begging. Tears stain his face, and his lower lip trembles.

She doesn’t hate him. She should hate him, right?

She doesn’t look up either, because if she looks up, she fails, but she feels like stepping aside. Even though she’s in a simulation, everything feels real—there’s an actual wind blowing her long black hair (over her face, dammit), her footprints depress the grass around the fat man’s body, and the light of the fading sun seems too bright to her untrained eye.

Plus she can smell this guy. He smelled like garlic when she first arrived at his estate, pretending to be an escort that he had hired, and now he smells like sweat. Not healthy manly sweat, but flop sweat, tinged with fear so powerful that if there were predators in this simulation, they would come from the woods beyond in droves.

But there are no predators here, not even her. She’s supposed to be one, but it’s just not working for her.

“I asked this before, and I’m going to ask it again,” she says, sotto voce to her handler, just like she’s supposed to if something goes horribly wrong with the simulation. “A spear? Really?”

She knows the answer. Her handler has given her the same answer for two full days. You have to be ready to use everything around you. The story she’s acting out here is a simple one: the fat man’s bodyguards disarmed her at the door, so she grabbed what was near to hand.

But she hadn’t arrived at any door, and there were no bodyguards. She just appeared inside the estate, near the fat man, conversation already in progress. She stood with her hands folded in front of her while he talked, and scanned the room that overlooked the manicured grounds, searching for weapons.

The fat man had no idea she would grab a weapon (and the spear was handy), then end up like some kind of warrior, chasing him down that perfect lawn until he tripped and sprawled in front of her. Not half an hour ago, those bulging eyes twinkled with the idea of sex.

Now she’s supposed to plunge that spear into him. Preferably into his heart where he’ll die immediately, but considering what he’s (supposedly) done, impaling him in the eye isn’t bad either. It’ll make him scream and hold him in place and then she can go back for a more suitable weapon, like a knife or a laser pistol.

She’d prefer a laser rifle—hell, she’d prefer some air-to-ground missiles—because she doesn’t like looking at this guy’s face. Even if it is a simulated face.

It’s a simulated face that’s crying, because, apparently, that’s what the fat man did the day he really died, when a real assassin killed him nearly a decade ago.

Skye stabs the spear into the ground beside her, then uses it for balance so she can step away from the fat man. He sits up, his lower lip still trembling.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice wobbling. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

This is the point where her best friend MingLee said, Screw it, plucked the spear out of the ground and ran the guy through. She wasn’t supposed to tell Skye the experience in this simulation (or any simulation for that matter), but she had, in whispers, when they were off the Guild grounds, on holiday.

I guess that’s when I knew I could do this, MingLee said. They say you have to have a lot of anger in you to qualify, and I had no idea I had any anger at all until that fat man sat up and treated me like his savior for letting him go.

He isn’t treating Skye like a savior. He’s thanking her, sure, but she can see in those bulging eyes of his that he’s trying to gauge her, to see how badly he can fool her before he manages to escape.

She sighs. “You’re really a piece of work,” she says to him, then shoves him backwards with her booted right foot.

He starts crying again. She’d wager that in other simulations, people would kill him for those tears. But she’s not other people.

Nor is she a good candidate.

She thought she was angry about everything. Apparently, she’s not.

***

Still, what anger she had started the day she arrived at the Assassins Guild. She’d been ten, ragged and hungry, so thin that she could see the outline of the bones in her hands. She’d been told she was going back to her parents, and instead her uncle (if indeed, he was her uncle: it had never been proven) brought her here.

The Assassins Guild looked like a prison to her, but then, everything on this part of Kordita did. The Guild took up the area of a small city and it was a fortress, literally and figuratively. Outside its gates, it seemed so formidable that she had no idea how people would enter it.

The gates, seemingly made of blond river stone, towered above her. Columns rose on the right and on the left, apparently holding up the actual door in the middle.

Only it wasn’t a door so much as the image of a door. If she put her hand in it (and she didn’t at that moment; she only learned this later), she would discover that the image rippled, faded, and showed the actual entrance behind it. The entrance had three different airlocking systems, filled with all kinds of identification monitors and DNA checks.

Almost no one entered the Guild this way; those who tried usually died. But her so-called uncle hadn’t known that, not that he would have cared.

He spoke to that ripply door as if someone were there.

“I’m leaving the kid here per her parents’ instruction.” He glanced over his shoulder to see if she was listening. She was, but she was also trying not to look at him. He had a long thin face, something like her mother’s but not enough like her mother’s to think they were related. Besides, his black eyes were shifty, looking at Skye, then looking away, like people did when they lied.

He turned back to the door, and said, “Either you let her in or you don’t. It’s not my business. I will say, though, that I doubt she’ll live longer than a week without a good meal. And that’s on you guys, not that assassins would care about anyone’s life, right?”

No one answered. Nothing happened at all. There wasn’t even any indication that anyone had heard his message.

Skye thought he would try again. But apparently, she didn’t even warrant a second try.

He shrugged, and backed away from the door. Then he turned toward her, tousled her hair, and gave her the fakest smile she’d ever seen.

“Good luck, kid,” he said almost like he meant it, and walked away.

Her breath caught. She wasn’t going to yell after him. She knew better than to do that. But part of her couldn’t believe he was walking away.

He was the last tie to her parents. How would they find her? She couldn’t imagine that they would want her someplace called the Assassins Guild, but she couldn’t imagine a lot of things about her parents, things that they would later say or do.

Of course, they wouldn’t try to find her. They never did.

She swallowed and raised her chin as her so-called uncle disappeared over the horizon.

She didn’t cry. He wasn’t worth the tears. Besides, she was already used to people discarding her. Her parents had tried for years, and had only succeeded six months ago—only because she stopped trying to find them.

She wasn’t going to beg back into their good graces. Not anymore—and that resolve stayed, even now.

She sat down, wrapped her scrawny arms around her scrawny legs, and rested her cheek on her knees. She could still hear her so-called uncle cursing even though she could no longer see him. He was going on about money owed, payment denied, and revenge exacted.

Not that she cared. She was done. No one wanted her, and she wasn’t even sure she wanted herself.

She decided to wait until he’d been gone at least an hour. Then she’d try to find her way back to that slow-moving train he had taken her on. Maybe she could take it back to the city. She knew how to survive in a city; she could pick a pocket, steal an identity, and scrounge food better than anyone she knew.

She had a plan. But surprisingly, the Guild changed it.

And they changed it by opening the gate.

***

Skye sits in the debriefing room. She hasn’t expected to come here; she was told she’d be debriefed inside the simulation. Apparently she failed so badly that no one wanted to visit the interior of the simulation with her.

The debrief room is purposely devoid of anything except a table, two chairs, and of course, the replay walls that are able to show her failure in both 2D, 3D, and full virtual. Right now, the walls are off.

Maybe she’s going to get thrown out of the Guild, although she isn’t sure if that’s even possible. After all, she owes them a small fortune for fifteen years of room, board, and education. Theoretically, she’s supposed to work off the money as she apprentices with someone.

But she’s not going to apprentice with anyone now. No one’s going to want her. She already has a reputation for failing to play well with others, and now she can’t even kill a mass murderer properly.

Or better put, she can’t even replicate the murder of a mass murderer properly.

Oh, wait. She’s supposed to call his death an assassination.

The Guild defines assassination and murder differently. Assassination is a targeted death, done for reasons other than passion. Murder usually happens in a moment of passion, often without planning, but usually in response to some kind of emotional stimulus.

Assassination, properly done, is actually legal. The Guild is registered with hundreds of cultures on dozens of planets, and gets called into service whenever a major criminal (usually a mass murderer) escapes local justice and moves to a jurisdiction that protects him. Or won’t give him back. Or simply lets him exist.

Treaty after treaty make it okay for members of the Guild—and for other licensed assassins—to get rid of legal targets, targets already convicted elsewhere of provable crimes.

Sometimes the Guild even goes after folks whose heinous crimes can’t be proven in a court of law, but who are clearly guilty. That requires a bit more finesse, and a lot of proof from either the person (government, business, whatever) hiring the Guild or proof from the Guild itself.

Ten years ago, the fat man was one of the unconvicted—he’d actually bribed his way free. He’d murdered dozens of people, including some of the jurors on his very first trial five years before the one that made someone—Skye isn’t sure who—figure out that this guy was too slippery to convict of anything; he just needed to be executed.

Execution is another word that the Guild says is different from murder. But Skye isn’t sure of that either. Execution, as she learned in school, is simply what murder/assassination/death caused by others is called when a government does it.

She knows the lecture she’s going to get now, in this debriefing room. You can’t have pity for these guys, her handler will say. Then she’ll hear a recitation of everything the fat man ever did, probably the same damn recitation (with actual footage, in some cases) that she heard when she moved to this training level.

It took her a while to get here. Her hand-eye coordination isn’t the best. She required extra training just to get through weapons’ proficiency, and she passed it by such a low margin that she wasn’t sure they would move her forward.

But those anger tests, they got her a lot farther than anyone expected.

She might have bad hand-eye coordination, but she has enough anger for twenty assassins.

Or maybe twenty-five.

Or so they told her—before this simulation.

***

She didn’t make friends in the Guild. What was the point of friends? You’d just have to leave them anyway. Or they’d abandon you when it mattered.

From the moment she walked through that door into the Guild, she stayed on her guard. She expected them to throw her out. No one did.

They threw her in a class with a dozen other kids her age. Those kids paid real money to come here—or their parents had paid it. The kids were supposed to learn a trade, and assassin was one of the hardest trades of all.

You had to be smart, because you had to outthink your opponents. You had to be strong, but that could be trained. You had to be charming, or else no one would befriend you. And you had to have an ability to be forgettable, or your usefulness would end after your first few jobs.

The Guild tested for all of that—or at least, it tested the things it could test for. It could test for smarts, but charming appeared over time. Forgettable was something that couldn’t be tested either. And the Guild believed that anger would become strength over time.

Skye mimicked charming. She told people what they wanted to hear.

All the kids had parent stories, so she had parent stories. Some of them were even true.

Usually the parent stories got exchanged when the kids were in the gardens. The gardens inside the Assassins Guild were extensive, and were supposed to be calming. The kids had their own garden, filled with plants of all kinds—although none lethal. There actually was a lethal garden, locked and hidden, something the students got to use if they made it through regular schooling and moved into Assassins school proper.

Skye loved the garden, mostly because of the sunshine. Lots of stone paths widened into flat areas where kids could lie down and study the bugs in the dirt. She hadn’t seen bugs in their natural environment before coming to the Guild; she’d only seen bugs on ships or in restaurants or in low-rent space stations. There the bugs were disgusting, a sign of filth. Here, they were normal and desired, usually to keep the plants alive.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about the plants. All the other kids knew what the green ones were called and why some of them had red blossoms and others purple blossoms, but she didn’t. She’d never had regular schooling.

In fact, she’d never been in one place long enough to know where she was from. Her parents hadn’t named her for the sky she now saw above her, beautiful and blue and clear.

Instead, they’d named her Skylight, to remind them of a daring escape they’d made out of some ancient palace on some faraway planet. She had no idea what a skylight was until she’d come here, and someone had shown her one that existed in the upper towers of the student wing.

Even then, that person hadn’t known her name. No one knew her as anything but Skye. She wouldn’t even tell them her last name.

Not that any of the kids asked. They were more concerned with prestige and wealth and backgrounds of the parents.

“Hey, Skye,” some kid would say, “how much money do your parents make?”

That one was easy and true: “I don’t know,” she’d say. “They never told me.”

Or

“Hey, Skye, why haven’t your parents come to Parents Day?”

Harder, but also able to be truthful: “Their job takes them all over the sector. They never know where they’ll be from one month to the next.”

Or

“Hey, Skye, what do your parents do?”

That one she couldn’t answer, not truthfully, not and stay here. They’re pirates wasn’t quite true—they didn’t steal ships per se, but they did steal things on ships. They’re thieves made them sound small, and her parents were anything but small. They had grandiose plans, and sometimes those plans even succeeded.

So she’d say something almost true: “I don’t know what they do exactly. They can’t tell me what they’re doing most of the time.”

“Top secret, huh?” the kid would always answer, and she’d smile knowingly.

“Top secret,” she’d say, and go back to her bug study, or whatever else she was doing.

No one ever asked her how she got here. No one ever asked her why she was here. She didn’t even know this place cost money until six months in, when one of the administrators pulled her aside.

“Your probationary period is over,” the administrator said. “Congratulations. You’re a perfect candidate for our school. We’ve gotten you several scholarships to get you to age fourteen, but after that, we will need to review your situation.”

Fourteen seemed like forever away. She didn’t think of it.

Nor did she think much about it when, at fourteen, they explained that she could move to Kordita’s biggest city, Prospera, and go to public school at the city’s expense or she could stay here, have a top-notch education, and then work off her debt to the Guild once she graduated.

Working off debt sounded just fine to her.

It wasn’t like she had plans.

But, of course, back then, she hadn’t known what working off debt actually meant.

***

Václav, her handler, strides through the door. He’s whip-thin, muscular, and not much taller than she is. He keeps his head shaved, not because it’s perfectly formed—it isn’t—but because he lost his hair early, or so they say.

His skull shows his difficult life. Scars scatter across it like tattoos. He can have the skin enhanced so that no one sees the former injuries, but he’s proud of them.

Skye thinks they make him look like he has been stitched together by an inept seamstress.

He sits in front of her. He doesn’t reach under the table and activate the walls. She at least expects to see her failure in slo-mo.

Instead, Václav tilts his chair onto two legs, one elbow resting on the back, and says, “I don’t think you were objecting to the spear.”

She doesn’t expect him to say that. She raises her chin anyway. “It’s a stupid weapon, especially at close range.”

“Yes, it is,” Václav says. “That’s why the assassin who actually killed your target didn’t use it. In fact, you’re the first person to do the simulation to set the spear aside, just like the original assassin had.”

Her stomach twists. He’s not supposed to tell her how the actual job went. “Why are you telling me this?”

He smiles. His smile reveals laugh lines around his mouth, but not his eyes. She’s always found that curious. He has learned to smile and look amused without changing the expression in his eyes at all.

“I think you know the speech I would normally give here,” he says. “I suspect you could recite it to me. I also think that it doesn’t matter to you.”

Her heart pounds. She’s not used to being seen so clearly.

“I do want to ask one question, though,” he says. “Does it matter to you that after this guy escaped the first time, he murdered sixteen people, including ten children?”

She shudders just a little, and looks down. This is the reason no one tells the apprentices the names of the simulation targets. That way, the apprentices can’t look up what really happened. They have to trust their instructors to tell them the truth.

“Or that our projections showed that if he had been allowed to live, he probably would have killed—conservatively—another two hundred people over the course of his natural life?”

She swallows. She wants to say, Statistics can be manipulated or something else equally vapid like, We can’t predict the future. But she doesn’t because she knows there is no excuse for what she has done.

She’s an apprentice. She’s been given a target. She’s supposed to assassinate him.

In fact, her instructions were to kill him in any way she could, only she must not let him escape.

The word “escape” filters into her consciousness. She frowns. “Did you say he escaped?”

Václav’s smile finally reaches his eyes. Still no laugh lines, but the edges turn downward in amusement. As he trained her over the years, she always enjoyed seeing that downward turn more than she enjoyed seeing him smile.

“And the actual assassin didn’t use the spear?” she asks. Then she tilts her head. Her breath catches. “This isn’t a training simulation. You guys first created this simulation to see where the original assassin screwed up.”

Václav claps his hands together slowly.

“Brava,” he says. “You are the first student ever to go to the metalevel. Of course, in doing so, you’ve also managed to fail to qualify as an assassin.”

She isn’t sure what he means, why it amuses him, or why he finds it all praise-worthy. So she focuses on the failure. “Just because I set down the spear?”

“What do you think would have happened to you had he escaped?” Václav asks.

She doesn’t know. No one has ever talked about this. All she has ever learned in the Guild is that failure is not an option.

“I don’t know,” Skye asks. “What happened to the original assassin? The one who screwed up?”

“She didn’t report her failure,” Václav says. “The only reason we learned of it was the loss of those sixteen souls.”

Skye’s breath catches. “You mean, she just came back here and said she succeeded?”

“Oh, no,” Václav says. “She was still on his trail. She caught him shortly after the sixteen died, and then she dispatched him quite quickly—and very nastily, if the truth be told. She was angry.”

“I’ll bet,” Skye says softly.

“But she did get reprimanded,” Václav says. “And then she got removed.”

Skye leans back just a little as she understands what really happened. “She lied to you. She told you it wasn’t possible to kill him on his estate.”

Václav’s smile grows. Then he looks away and nods, as if Skye’s done well. She knows she hasn’t, so she’s even more surprised.

“Yes,” he says. “That’s why we created the simulation. We ran it with dozens of trained assassins. Every one of them found a way to dispatch the fat man on his estate. The spear, by the way, proved to be the most popular weapon.”

“Only because it’s unusual,” Skye mutters.

Václav’s eyes twinkle. “And here I thought it was because it’s ancient, something humans have used since the dawn of time.”

Is that humor? From Václav? She can’t quite tell.

He says nothing else. She knows this trick. He studies her, and then waits until she breaks. She’s not going to break. She knows how badly she failed. She just wants the verdict.

“So,” she says, “what’s the metalevel?”

His eyebrows go up, moving all of his scars. “That,” he says, “is a very good question.”

***

Skye started to get an inkling about the ways she’d work off her debt when she was told she’d go into Assassin school. Some of her peers—most of her peers—got to choose whether or not they’d continue in the program, but she didn’t.

When she finally asked if she could choose something else, her advisor had looked at her like she was dumb.

“You know what we are, right?” her advisor had said. “We train assassins.”

“But lots of people do other jobs here,” Skye had said. “There are scholars and investigators and teachers—”

“All of whom have been through Assassin School,” her advisor said.

“I thought only assassins go through Assassin School,” Skye had said.

“Yes,” her advisor said. “That’s right.”

***

“Before we go any further,” Václav says, “you need to tell me why you didn’t kill him.”

The debriefing room had gotten cold, or maybe Skye had. She had come in here covered in sweat. After all, she had been the only real thing in that simulation, and as a real thing, she had had real reactions to her physical efforts.

She felt damp, sticky, tired, and annoyed.

She’s had this discussion with Václav before, often in this wing of the Guild—when she blew her first exam to get into Assassins School; when she failed her laser-pistol test, the one where all she had to do was get the pistol to fire; when she refused to punch MingLee in the face hard enough to cause damage.

Skye should hate these plain, windowless debriefing rooms, because she’s been in them a million times, but she doesn’t. In fact, she feels just a bit victorious every time she enters.

She isn’t trying to fail at being an assassin, but she’s told everyone for years now that she’s not suited to it. And time and time again, she’s proven it.

As if Václav can hear her thoughts, he says, “I don’t want the discussion about why you’re not suited to be an assassin. We’ve had it. I want to know why you didn’t kill this target in particular. You were nearly there.”

His smile is gone, which she expected, and so is that little downturn at the edges of his eyes. He’s not happy with her, which shouldn’t surprise her. He’s usually not happy with her.

“The fat man wasn’t worth it,” Skye says.

Václav’s face reddens. She’s never seen that before. She actually got an emotional reaction out of him.

“Not worth it? We can prove that he killed hundreds of people in cold blood. How is that man not worth killing?”

She knows better than to bark out the answer that comes to mind first: Most people in the Guild have killed in cold blood. Does that make them worth killing?

Instead, she says, “Not worth killing to me. I’d lose a bit of myself. I don’t want to do that.”

“Lose a bit of yourself,” Václav repeats as if he doesn’t understand. And maybe he doesn’t. After all, he was one of the best assassins ever until he failed his last physical and had to retire from the field. She has no idea how many people he’s killed.

Her cheeks warm. “I’d lose a little bit of my—soul. Some people call it soul. Others call it…humanity. I don’t want to lose that.”

Is this the first time she’s told him this? Maybe in those words. He’s looking at her like she used to look at the bugs. Like she’s interesting and strange and imminently squashable.

“You think none of us have humanity?” he asks.

A verbal trap, one that she opened up. She answers cautiously. “I think we’re all different.”

She wants to stop there. Maybe he will let her stop there. She hopes he will let her stop there.

“But…?” he says.

And here it goes: the trap closing, mostly because—for once in her life—she’s tired of giving the expected answer.

Tired of lying.

She shrugs. “You believe that what you do puts you on the side of right. I think it makes me the same as the fat guy.”

Václav slams his palms on the table. It bounces up and then down. He stands up so fast his chair flips over.

She’s never seen him like this. Her heart pounds, but she doesn’t move.

He glares at her so coldly that she actually shivers. Then he yanks the door open, slamming it against the wall, and leaves, pulling the door closed so hard behind him that the entire building shakes.

She lets out the breath she was holding.

She’d managed to keep those thoughts to herself for more than a decade.

Now everyone will know.

“Ooops,” she says softly to herself, and wonders if she means it.

***

She was nineteen and one year into Assassin School when she finally had enough knowledge to marshal her arguments against continuing her education. She went into the chief administrator’s office.

It overlooked the kids’ garden, but the windows were so sheltered that Skye had no idea the administrator could watch the kids until this meeting.

So many secrets in this place, some of them built in.

The office itself was asymmetrical, walls jutting out at odd corners, spaces set aside seemingly haphazardly, unless one knew where to look. Skye had always known where to look.

Nothing in the Guild was accidental. Either those walls hid secret passages or secret viewing areas or just plain old secret rooms. Sometimes they were designed merely as decoys, so if anyone broke in looking for the secret passages, viewing areas, or rooms, they’d find one of these places.

But Skye saw all of them, the decoys and the real ones. She just said nothing. She would look at the Guild architectural drawings later to confirm her suppositions. She’d found the drawings nearly a year before when she was researching something else. Of course, the drawings had been miscategorized on purpose, so that no one could do what she had started to do—study the Guild from the inside out.

The head administrator, Umeko Hagen, was a tiny woman whose desk dwarfed her. She hadn’t held the job long; she’d been promoted when something no one talked about happened to or with her predecessor. She had hair as black as Skye’s and wore it so short that it looked like it had been accidentally lopped off.

“Every student believes she should leave the program at this point,” Umeko said before Skye had a chance to speak. “Not many get an audience with me about it.”

Skye swallowed hard. “I have talked to other administrators.”

“I see that,” Umeko said. “They told you to talk to me. They say your argument is persuasive. Is it?”

Skye wasn’t going to answer that. It was a silly question, and one meant to put her on the defensive.

“You’ve probably looked at my file by now,” she said. “You know I was dumped here with no say in the matter. You also know that I have said from the beginning that I’m not suited to be an assassin.”

“The tests say otherwise,” Umeko said, repeating what every administrator had said at this point.

“I may have the personality for it,” Skye said. “I may have the background for it. But I don’t have the desire.”

“The first year is hard—”

“I’ve never had the desire,” Skye said, “and unlike my peers, I don’t get to choose my future. You people have chosen it for me.”

“The scholarship students all get a choice,” Umeko said.

“I’m not a scholarship student,” Skye said. “I’m indentured. And that’s not legal.”

She wasn’t sure about the legalities. She couldn’t find which legalities applied to the Guild and which didn’t. The Guild seemed to be its own country, which meant it made its own laws. Although she wasn’t even sure of that. The secrecy of the Guild had worked against her, and for once, she wasn’t sure how to get around it.

“You made an agreement,” Umeko said.

“At fourteen,” Skye said.

“Which is old enough under the law,” Umeko said. Of course, she didn’t say which law. And Skye didn’t ask. She did know that on Kordita, fourteen was old enough to enter a contract, provided certain conditions were met.

“But no one explained all the terms to me. They said I’d have to work my room, board, and education off. No one told me that the only people who work here are assassins. I didn’t learn that until I was nineteen.”

“I thought you were observant,” Umeko said.

That insult hit home. “I am,” Skye said. “But none of the chefs kill people here.”

Umeko grinned. It made her look young. “Touché.”

“I understand that I owe you a great debt,” Skye said. “I’m willing to get work outside the Guild and send you half of what I earn for as long as it takes.”

“You want out of here that badly?” Umeko asked.

Part of her did. But for another part of her, the Guild was home.

“I like it here,” Skye said. “But I don’t want to be an assassin. Even for a little while. I’d like to choose my own future.”

Umeko templed her fingers. “As would we all.”

Skye held her breath.

“Do you know the cost of your room, board, and education?” Umeko asked.

“No one will tell me,” Skye said. “I have a guess, based on what the others say their parents pay.”

Umeko’s fingers folded together. “The other students have no idea what their parents pay. The cost of your education, so far, is in the millions.”

Skye frowned. “How can that be? I’ve done some figuring—”

“Yes, but you do not know how hard it is to get into the Guild, how much people are willing to pay for the privilege. You have been given a great opportunity. All we ask is ten years. Ten years in which you work for us, doing as we ask. Then you may set your future.”

Skye clenched her hands into fists. Umeko was her last chance. The other administrators said Skye had a good argument. She actually thought she might be able to control her life right now, get out of school, move onto something else.

She wasn’t going to let go so easily.

“I’d still like to try to pay you back myself, without going through Assassin School,” Skye said. “I’ll only incur more debt if I do.”

“Your path is set,” Umeko said. “Believe me, ten years is no hardship. You might only have one job per year. You will travel. Your expenses will be paid. We will pay for your home, your wardrobe, your weapons. You will have money in savings when you leave us. If you leave us. You are still getting the better of the deal.”

“If it were actually a deal,” Skye said.

“Ah, but it is,” Umeko said. “You were a scholarship student until you turned fourteen. You could have left us then. You chose not to.”

“I didn’t know what I was choosing,” Skye said.

Umeko’s face darkened. “Have you learned nothing? Ignorance is never an excuse.”

Skye’s fingernails dug into her palm. She’d tried claiming the judgment was unfair once, just once. And she was told that nothing in life was fair.

If anyone had cause to believe that, she did.

Especially now.

***

For the next two hours, she sits alone in that debriefing room. She can do nothing except wait. The walls are silent. She cannot access any of the communication devices that she knows are nearby. Exactly one hour into her wait, a side door opens and reveals the debriefing room’s private bathroom.

She’s been through this before. She will be able to take care of herself no matter how long she’s in here.

And it could be hours, or even days.

If she’s here for a few more hours, she’ll get a meal. More hours, and the lights will dim so she can rest.

She sighs. She supposes she deserves this punishment. Not just because she got rid of the spear and let the fat man go, but because she so badly insulted everyone here.

Finally, the door to the outside opens. A young man she’s never seen before waits outside.

Skye’s been through this before too; even if she talks to the man, he won’t answer. He’ll just lead her to the place she’s needed next.

Which is a conference room in the debriefing area. No windows here either, but on the walls, image after image of Skye failing. There’s the laser weapons’ test, the missed punch, the laughter at one of the more serious weapons. The image of her standing by the fat man, hand on the spear, appears every five images or so, and after it, the look on her face two hours earlier when she told Václav that she felt morally superior to him.

She looks vicious in that moment with Václav. Her blue eyes flash, her cheeks are red.

No, not just vicious.

Hateful.

Does she hate them all here?

She’s not going to answer that, not even to herself. But she will admit that she’s still angry. Furious in fact. Angry that she’s in this position. Angry that she’s never had a chance at anything resembling a life like the one she’s wanted.

She wants the opposite life from the one they insist she has. She wants to climb into one of the towers here, sit under a skylight, and use the grids and the old books. She wants to study everything, learn everything—not how to do something, but why it was done, who invented it, what its initial purpose was.

She likes information, and learning, and seeing patterns.

She likes being alone.

She’s not alone in the conference room for long. Václav comes in, with Umeko, and five of Skye’s teachers. And then they all bow as the director of the Guild walks in.

Skye stands still in shock, then remembers to bow as well. She’s suddenly shaken.

Skye has seen Kerani Ammons from afar, but never interacted with her. Skye did not realize that the director is the same size as Skye. The director seems bigger somehow. She glides when she walks, and she presents a calm that no one else in the room has.

This, then, is as serious as it gets. Skye has heard the rumors: the reason no one questions the Assassins Guild is because no one survives the questioning. Those who dissent get the same sentence as the criminals that the Guild pursues.

Skye hasn’t believed those rumors until now.

“I have reviewed all of your records,” the director says. “Václav tells me that you have seen through most of our tests, including this last. You know how our systems work, perhaps better than we do.”

Skye swallows. She isn’t sure if she should say anything. Her teachers stand back—all of them good at being forgotten, like the Guild teaches. Skye wouldn’t be thinking about them either, except that they seemed to step out of the conversation all at the same time.

They seem to want nothing to do with her.

Only Václav and Umeko stand near her. Skye can’t tell if they’re beside her to defend her or to judge her.

Or to observe.

“I have but one question for you,” the director says, “and I will know if you fail to answer truthfully.”

Skye’s heart rate has increased. If they’re looking for physical tests, she’s already presenting as someone either terrified or deceptive or both. She’s not deceptive at the moment, but she is terrified.

The director sweeps her hand toward the images. “Did you fail all of these tests on purpose?”

“All of them?” Skye asks.

The director bows her head slightly. “Forgive me. I will ask the question in a way that provides a better answer. Did you go into all of these scenarios with the intent of failing them?”

“Did I take all my classes and all of the tests planning to fail?” Skye asks. She knows she has to be honest. She’s just not sure how.

The director studies her for a moment, as if assessing that answer. “You’re a good student,” she says. “Let’s forget the classes for a moment, and speak only of the tests. Did you take them expecting to fail?”

Skye doesn’t dare lie. Not to the director. Not now. There’s no point. They’ve probably already judged her.

“Did I expect to fail?” she repeats. “Yes, I did. My heart wasn’t in it. But that’s not the pertinent question.”

Václav glances at her, startled. Is she talking back? She’s not sure.

The director nods. “What is the pertinent question?”

Skye swallows against a dry throat. A nervous habit, one she thought she’d trained herself out of. “The question you should ask,” she says, “is whether or not I tried to succeed in each of the tests.”

“Did you?” The director asks.

Skye lets out a large breath of air. Honest. No lies. She never thought it would be so hard to tell the truth.

“I went into the tests hoping to succeed,” she says. “In the middle of these tests, what you asked of me was too much. If I do what you want—if I hurt my best friend or kill a helpless crying fat man in the middle of some grass—then I become someone other than me.”

“Is that such a crime?” the director asks.

Crime. Skye has never used that word in her mind, not in connection to this. But she has mulled over all of the terms that the Guild uses and she rejects their subtle distinctions.

She clearly defines “crime” differently than the Guild does.

She’s not going to say that though, because the Guild is often about word games.

“Legal, illegal, crime, not a crime,” Skye says, “that’s not what I thought about in those moments.”

“What did you think about?” the director asks.

Skye squares her shoulders. She’s never admitted her true thoughts about anything to anyone. “I thought that if I continued at whatever it was I was doing at that moment, I would break.”

“And what is wrong with breaking?” the director asks.

Tears fill Skye’s eyes. She has to take several breaths to make the tears fade back. She does not blink while they are there. But she does swallow hard again, her throat hurting.

“If I break,” she says, “I will come back different.”

“What is wrong with different?” The director asks.

“I will be like everyone else,” Skye says.

The director nods her head once. “Like your parents.”

“Yes.”

“Like the man who left you here.”

“Yes.”

“Like us.”

The truth. They have asked for the truth. The director has asked for the truth.

“Yes,” Skye says.

The five teachers draw in breath. Václav whirls as if she has betrayed him. Umeko looks down.

“And we are so contemptible?” the director asks.

Skye shakes her head. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me.”

“You have not answered the question,” the director says.

“You aren’t asking fair questions. All I have said from the beginning is that I don’t want to be like you.”

“And being an assassin would make you like us?”

Skye shrugs. “I would lose what little ability I have to see people for who they are.”

 “Why?” the director asks.

She’s shaking. She’s never had uncontrollable physical reactions to words before—at least, not words she’s spoken. Words others have spoken, yes, but not her own words.

“Because if I see people for who they are, I can’t kill them.” Skye says.

The director takes one small step back, as if she’s shocked. “No matter what they’ve done? What monsters they’ve become?”

“That’s the thing,” Skye says. “They’re not monsters. They’re human. Just a kind of human we as a society have deemed unacceptable, because society itself cannot survive with them in it.”

Umeko raises her head. Václav turns slightly, looking at Skye as if she is someone he does not recognize.

The director smiles, just a little bit. The smile is not for Skye. The director is looking at Václav.

“There’s your metalevel,” she says to Václav, as if Skye is not in the room. “We either use her singular talent or we destroy it.”

Skye holds her breath. She knows what they mean by “destroy.” They could kill her, but they won’t. They’ll send her into the field, and if she fails to perform, if she tries to flee, then they’ll come after her, and then they will destroy her.

If she works for them, and she succeeds, then, by her own admission, she will be destroyed.

“We have rules,” Umeko says.

“We do,” the director says. “But we have also learned that sometimes things do not go as planned.”

Like that simulation, Skye thinks but does not say. And even as planned, each trained assassin proceeded in a different way. She doesn’t say that either.

“So,” the director says to the others, “we make an exception.”

Skye’s mouth goes dry.

The director turns back to her. “You will work for us for fifteen years, not ten. You will use your talents as we say, seeing what we send you to see. You will send back your thoughts on what you discover. And you will never ever have to harm another human being—monster or not.”

Skye thinks for a moment, then understands. “You want me to spy for you.”

The director nods. “Precisely.”

Skye is trembling. “What’s the catch?”

The director smiles. Her smile is cold. “It is simple, really. We offer our assassins our full protection. Legal, mostly. Some, though, those you thought had trained for other jobs, they live different lives. They were trained as assassins, and they can no longer ply their trade. Many of them cannot leave the Guild for threat of reprisal or even death. We keep them here because keeping them here keeps them alive.”

Skye’s face grows warm as she realizes what the director is saying. “You won’t protect me?”

“That is correct,” The director says. “We won’t even admit you work for us. Ever. If you get in trouble, you are on your own.”

Skye bites back her first comment: It’s not fair. She bites back her second, You’d send me into trouble with no backup? No safety net?

Instead, she blurts, “Five years.”

“What?” the director says.

“If I’m to risk my life for you, if I’m to do something this unprecedented, then I work for five years to repay my debt,” Skye says.

The edges of Václav’s eyes tilt downward. He’s smiling without smiling. He looks down.

“Ten years,” the director says.

“Seven and a half,” Skye says.

“Ten and full protection,” the director says.

“Done,” Skye says.

The director tilts her head back and laughs. The laugh is infectious, but no one joins her. They look away as if they do not dare.

Finally, the director catches her breath. “You are the first to change our rules,” she says. “How does that feel?”

“I’ll let you know,” Skye says. “In ten years.”

“Fair enough,” The director says. “Václav will draw up the agreement with our legal team. The others here will be cited as witnesses, plus we have recorded all of this, in case you worry that we will not keep our end of the bargain.”

“I don’t worry about you.” Skye says.

The director studies her for a long moment. Then nods once. “And I no longer worry about you.”

Then she leaves the room. The others follow. The images wink off the wall.

The door remains open.

Skye isn’t sure what she’s supposed to do.

Then she realizes that none of them know what she’s supposed to do either.

This is what freedom feels like.

Like climbing out of a trap into blinding light. The next stop is hard to see. But it’s there.

She just has to find it.

 

 

Copyright © Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Published by WMG Publishing

Cover and Layout copyright © WMG Publishing

Cover design by WMG Publishing

Cover art copyright © oscargutzo/depositphotos

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Any use of this publication to train generative artificial intelligence (“AI”) technologies is expressly prohibited. The author and publisher reserve all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

Good morning. By now most of you probably have seen the Owlcrate edition announcement for the special edition of This Kingdom. For those of you who haven’t, here it is, I stole it for you from Instagram. If you are viewing this post through your email, here is a direct link.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by OwlCrate (@owlcrate)

Mod R has gathered your questions. I’m fortified with Rose Scented tea from Harney and Sons, so let’s get to it.

Owlcrate:

1.  Is the OwlCrate edition going to feature art by Luisa Preissler?

Owlcrate features a reversible dust jacket, meaning that there is a paper cover that fits over the actual hardcover, and it has two different images, so you can choose which image to display. One of them is by Luisa Preissler.

The edition features artwork from 5 artists, I think. Sorry, this was a little while ago, so I can’t recall if it’s 5 or more. To my knowledge, the reverse jacket is the only image Luisa Preissler has painted for that edition.

2. Will that artwork appear anywhere else, or is it OwlCrate-exclusive?

All content commissioned by OwlCrate is exclusive to OwlCrate for a period of several years.

3. Will Luisa be creating additional art for This Kingdom Will Not Kill Me outside this edition?

Yes.

4. Will the interior artwork be bright/high-contrast?

Eh. I don’t know because I don’t have the actual edition in my hands, but I saw endpapers and they were beautiful and in full color.

5. Is the OwlCrate edition the one that contains the bonus story, or is that tied to a different edition? Can that be announced earlier so we can actually get the book?

Everything that Owlcrate chose to announce is in that Instagram post. We can’t give you additional information at this time.

6. Do we know whether OwlCrate is likely to produce editions for books two and three of the trilogy?

We don’t.

7.  If someone manages to get this OwlCrate edition, will that give them priority access to the part 2 of This Kingdom, like Subterranean does?

You would have to check OwlCrate policies.

To clarify: we did not commission these editions. All of the special editions of this book have been negotiated through our publisher. If it was something we negotiated, we would have more information. Our role in these was to approve the art and sign or stamp the signing pages.

8. “Are they one of those businesses where people can just buy extras in general sales or buy after their subscribers have first dibs?”

Email OwlCrate.

9. “If I subscribe now, can I still get the April box? I looked online and I don’t understand their Horror book and Adult book boxes, I just want This Kingdom?” 

Email OwlCrate.

10. “Well damage is done now and I have no chance to get the subscription in time, how else can I get the book? Will it be resold anywhere, or on the Ilona Andrews store?”

Email OwlCrate. This is a separate business, and we will definitely link to any remainder sales, but we will not be reselling these copies through our site. We do not have the rights to do that.

11. Can we have a page with all of the special editions?

Yes. Added to Maggie’s page.

Extra art:

12. I’ve missed the special editions. Are there going to be any art prints or stuff?

Yes.

Commissioned Art

We commissioned art from four artists, in alphabetical order, Candice Slater, Helena Elias, Leesha Hannigan, and Luisa Preissler.

Examples.

Click to enlarge.

Candice Slater.

Helena Elias

Leesha Hannigan

And, for the first time, art reveal, drum roll please…

Luisa Preissler

So very gorgeous.

You will be able to purchase character card packs, art prints, custom dust jackets, merchandise (we bought the mug rights), stickers, and hopefully vellum inserts. We will be releasing things through our store and the individual artists will be releasing products through their stores, including card packs, calendars, art prints, etc.

Placeholder Mug mockup Placeholder Mug mockup

For those of you missing out on the special editions, vellum inserts might be of particular interest because you can slide them into your hardcover and they will stay, so you basically make your own illustrated edition. About vellum – we are having difficulty finding a good printer, but we are working on it.

We are commissioning fully illustrated maps in color. Anchored Designs, who coded the theme on this website, is designing an entire different website just for the Maggie the Undying, which will have lore, art, and freebies.

Bookmark Packs.

Everyone coming to see us during our book tour is going to get a bookmark.

These are being printed by a local printer today and will be shipped to the stores on Wednesday. Additional bookmarks are being designed and will be available in packs on our site.

Companion Book

For those of you who read in ebook but still want the art – we are planning on releasing a companion book of deleted and bonus scenes and all of this art will be in there. That volume will be self-published and you will be able to grab it from our store and all the usual retailers.

Themed Boxes

We are looking into this. I am running into a language barrier with trying to select a plushie manufacturer, but we will likely do some kind of themed box, with the printed copy of the companion book, bookmarks, stickers, merch packs, etc. This will be expensive but we will stuff it well. The target for the box is sometime this summer.

To reiterate, there will be many opportunities for you to throw money at us get pretty art. No worries. There will be plenty of extras.

Boring Conclusion to This Post

There are 40,000 words between us and the end of this book and it must be done by the tour. The book is 140,000 words long already, so it will be another brick unless it gets trimmed in the editorial process.

So I’m going to vanish again for a week. You are the best. Don’t worry, we will make sure that you have all the fun extras.

The post Art, Owlcrate, and Other Things first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

When shall we three meet again?

I vote for when hell freezes over.

Oooh, yeah, seconded!

I can work with that.

I have never in my whole life been happier not to be invited to a party.

INORITE?!

On my Patreon page, I’ve been putting up free posts about the new and improved cover art that we’re doing at WMG. You can find a number of posts, but I thought I’d share this one with you here. (I’ll be sharing the occasional Patreon post throughout 2026 and maybe beyond.) You can sign up there for free and get the free posts only. On the weekends, I also write a new business post, but you’ll have to go through a paywall for those. Here’s a long(ish) one on the history of the Alien Influences cover.

Alien Influences

We have a plethora of covers to choose from here, and I even missed one, because mine is in storage, and I can’t find a good example of it online.

So…Alien Influences. I wrote the novel as interconnected short stories originally because at that time I did not realize I wrote out of order. The stories were published in various places, got nominated for awards, and (I knew) needed to be threaded into a full novel.

At the time, I was being published first in England, through Orion Books’ imprint Millennium. There’s a lot of backstory here, some of which I was never privy to. I do know that the company was co-founded by Anthony Cheethem, who had been in British publishing since the mid-1960s. This company, which was founded in 1991, was the third company he had founded. The first two were acquired by major publishers in the UK for sums of money that I can’t find on a quick search.

Everyone I worked with at Millennium was enthusiastic. They all had a chip on their shoulder and something to prove. That they could build bestsellers? I have no idea. That they could publish good books that sold well? Possibly.

I do know this: I was never treated as well in traditional publishing as Millennium treated me.

They published my early fantasy novels and then they took a flyer with Alien Influences. I love the cover on the British hardcover, and they did a different version (which I can’t find easily) for the mass market paperback. There was also a trade edition.

The book hit number one on the bestseller list for the Times of London, got extremely well-reviewed, and became a Topic of Conversation, at least in UK fandom.

It had also sold to Bantam in the United States as part of a bigger deal. Then in the U.S., I lost my editor at least five times. (I have blocked the exact number.) Meaning I had five different editors before my first novel from Bantam came out. Someone—and god knows who—moved Alien Influences away from the Fey publications and then buried it.

It was the only non-romance book that I know of that has the 1990s hunk (blech) Fabio on the cover. This cover often gets featured in retrospectives on Fabio covers…and then ignored.

It is a truly, truly, truly awful cover.

I got the rights back to the book because it went out of print very quickly, despite the excellent overseas sales and the good reviews—including one in The New York Times.

When we started WMG, we published it as soon as we could. We had one ugly-ass cover on it for a nanosecond because at the time, there weren’t yet art sites. I’m not even showing you that one, which was designed in PowerPoint, using historical (pre-20th century) artwork.

I think it only showed up on Amazon for that nanosecond because there were no other markets at the time.

Then we hired locally in Lincoln City, and brought in someone who eventually proved to be a mistake.

We hurried to rebrand Alien Influences. The first cover, co-designed by Dean, has pretty good art and adequate branding.

For some unknown reason, the cover got redesigned around the time Dean and I moved to Las Vegas. I remember seeing the redesign after it was uploaded to all the sites. I do not remember being consulted on any of the redesign.

The most charitable thing I can say about the artwork itself is that it looks like a Richard Powers imitation. I loathe most of Powers’ work, so this is not a compliment.

Still, the name is more-or-less properly branded and the pull quote is good. Maybe if I liked the art, we might have made it pass muster.

But why would we do that? It doesn’t look like modern science fiction at all. I see nothing here that would get a reader in 2026 to buy it and, in fact, I see two different things that would turn the reader off.

The first is that art. Blech, yuck, icky.

The second is the award I was nominated for. Back in the 1990s, the U.K.’s Arthur C. Clarke award was prestigious as hell. Maybe it still is, because it exists. But, the man was credibly accused of pedophilia, and there is a lot that I know about him because I was close to people who ran sf conventions. After the year 2000 or so, he was never invited to a U.S. sf convention again. (That I know of.)

I don’t want the association. We took that off my book cover this time. We put the best quote on the book, the one from The New York Times, not one from PW that sounds literary. (Yes, I find it ironic that the Times was the least literary review.)

I was the one to suggest rebranding and redesigning Alien Influences right away in our quest to brand everything properly. Now we have a cover I like. I believe this cover will entice readers to take a look, much more than the previous cover.

This book has had an interesting and weird history. I’m pleased it’s getting the kind of design it hasn’t had since it was introduced in the U.K. decades ago.

And right now, remember, we’re doing a Kickstarter on this and two other books. Broken Windchimes, which is also rebranded (and which I blogged about last week), and a short story collection that I will blog about on my Patreon page on Monday or so.

Visit Penguicon’s website for more information about the event and tickets.

A special leather-bound edition of Storm Front and a special hardcover edition of Brief Cases will be featured in their auction! Please come to support and be a part of this wonderful opportunity. Thank you Penguicon!

Thank you forbthe update!

So pleased to hear that a regular annual release of IoM looks feasible again! Congratulations for keeping on with book#5 rather than waiting for the Book#4 edits before proceeding – it looks a winning strategy!

Thanks for keeping us informed and fingers crossed that “Early March” Edits are minor and don’t impact your new writing now that its going so well! (any idea why the edits were so long in coming this time?)

Since the Oscars are just around the corner, it seems only fair that the Book Devouring Horde hold their own awards ceremony.

Andrea donated some extra-long purple shag carpet and Steve said any machine is a smoke machine if he operates it, so the ceremony part is clearly handled.

We just need you to pick the most beloved winners. Polls will stay open until next Friday and I’ve tried (operative word) to enable multiple options. You should be able to choose two answers in these, the most impossible of choices. Mwahaha!

Note: There is a poll embedded within this post, please visit the site to participate in this post's poll.

Everything happened so much this week, why not pour your favourite drink and relax by thinking about your favourite among these capable, fierce men:

Note: There is a poll embedded within this post, please visit the site to participate in this post's poll.

But Mod R, there’s only one leading man from the Edge! So much squandered hunkiness! Yes, he’s my favourite, I love him the best, and this is my poll *phhhrrrrbttt*.

Now it’s your turn to nominate:

Suppose you wake up in an Ilona Andrews world* the way Maggie does in This Kingdom Will Not Kill Me: cold, confused, and very much alone. The protagonists are busy saving the day, so they’re not available to help you. Which supporting character do you go looking for first?

*Because the Innkeeper world is our world, we’ll mix it up and have you waking up in Baha-char, with nothing on you, not even a sneaker to trade the muckrats.

And if you can’t wait to find out how Maggie handled the world of her favourite series, reminder that the first chapters of This Kingdom Will Not Kill Me are currently running as a serial over at Reactor Magazine and are available as an extended preview for readers served by the US edition.

Take care out there, BDH!

The post The Devouring Oscars first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

“I’ll be able to keep up my one-a-year target after all” You were CONCERNED about nothing.

There’s a new “Dread & Darkness” horror megabundle at Humble Bundle consisting of 52 ebooks. Included are the Matthew Corbett series (minus The Queen of Bedlam, since Open Road doesn’t publish that), Stinger, They Thirst, The Wolf’s Hour, Boy’s Life, and Swan Song, along with books by Richard Matheson, Stephen Graham Jones, Robert Bloch, and others. You can get all 52 ebooks for $18 (or more, if you want).

If you’re not familiar with Humble Bundle, you pay what you want, and part of the proceeds go to charity. This Bundle benefits the charity Save the Children. The included ebooks are DRM-free and can be read on any e-reader.

Dread & Darkness: A Horror Megabundle from Humble Bundle

The Bundle is available through March 23, 2026.

ACOTAR 6 and 7 release dates revealed on Call Her Daddy

The post New: COMING SOON: A Court of Thorns and Roses 6 (27 Oct 2026) & A Court of Thorns and Roses 7 (12 Jan 2027) appeared first on Sarah J. Maas.

That’s how much time I have for the blog post today. I have a fancy and semi-intelligent post in drafts about Fantasy genres and it need more braining than I have at the moment. So this is a rambling salad of randomness instead.

On Monday we got a massive attack of Chinese IPs and the site has crashed. We have solved the problem but it ate most of the day, even with the capable assistance of WP-Engine Support.

I worked two weeks straight without breaks and crashed just like the website for the whole day yesterday. It was that place where you haven’t slept well and you have a low grade headache, and you almost feel slightly out of it because you are that tired. This release + deadline is kicking my ass.

It’s been hot and humid, so we haven’t gone walking this week. I can’t play computer games because we are signing things for Waterstones and I am making a blanket for Gordon, and the hand can only take so much. The blanket actually helps to loosen the fingers up, because I’m using a very bulky yard and a big hook, so the motion is wider. I will take a pic once it’s done. It is very pretty.

All my coping mechanisms are failing a bit.

In a flash of brilliance or desperation, I’ve off loaded the This Kingdom website to Anchored Designs, who created this one, so that is one less thing on my plate. I’ve also learned the InDesign in self-defense. OMG, editing graphics for print layout is so much easier.

In the good news, This Kingdom has taken the triple crown in audio: Audible, Apple and Spotify all selected it as their featured release for the month of March.

I leave you with this wonderful post by Éros Brousson. Everything you ever wanted to know about Texas HEB religion. If you are reading this in your email, here is a direct link.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Éros Brousson (@erosbrousson)

That reminds me, I need to put a grocery order in and the flyer should’ve just come out.

The post 25 Minutes first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

…in the brand-new Kickstarter that just launched. It features my bestselling novel, Alien Influences, which The New York Times calls “a well conceived, well executed novel,” my award-winning novella, Broken Windchimes, and a brand-new collection of my science fiction stories, called Strange People, Stranger Places.

In addition, you can get all 28 Diving books in ebook format or more than 100 short stories in large collections. If we’re lucky enough to hit some stretch goals, you’ll get even more fiction and two workshops for writers and readers on the history of science fiction.

We have some writing workshops here as well, including my favorite—”Handwavium.” “Handwavium” is the art of making the reader believe in impossible things.

So lots of fun things and lots of reading. But hurry! The Kickstarter will disappear forever on March 12. Click here to see all the offerings.

Thank you all for bearing with us yesterday through the technical difficulties. It was not the BDH enthusiasm (this time!) but I will let Ilona tell you more about it another day. Just happy to be back.

I come with the promissed reminder about the Imagine Books preorder for their resale edition of This Kingdom Will Not Kill Me, which is now live.

What is a resale edition?

Imagine Books are purchasing the hardcover teal-edged edition directly from the publisher, then creating a redesigned, double-sided dust jacket with foiling, page overlays and bookmarks with character art.

The book:

The extras:

• Signed bookplate sticker with House Andrews autographs
• Redesigned front dust jacket with foiling: @jescole.art
• Reverse dust jacket: @davidev.art
• Page overlays: @avoccatt_art
• Bookmark with character art

A page overlay is a semi-transparent illustrated sheet designed to be placed inside the book over a specific page — essentially a removable full-page art print tied to a scene.

This is a limited run and Imagine Books typically do not offer reprints. It is open to everyone and does not require subscription. Before you ask: yes, there are two more US special editions not yet announced officially. I cannot speak about them, do not mine me for information, I am bound by contract.

Preorder: Imagine Books Shop website

Price: $42.99 plus tax plus shipping. Add on option: additional page overlay $11.99

Shipping: International.

Shipping date: This resale edition is estimated to ship in JUNE. So later than the book release at the end of March (only 27 more days!). This is because the featured custom art must be produced and shipped to Imagine Books before they send the customized books to you.

DISCLAIMER: For all additional inquiries, please contact Imagine Book Shop.
House Andrews did not commission this edition and are not involved with order fulfillment. This was done through the main publishers, Tor.

The post This Kingdom Imagine Books Edition first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

In reply to Anthony.

Yes, that’s exactly what they do.

Mickey never imagined her life would turn out this way. But she learned the hard way that life holds many surprises. Seeking solace on the skating rink, she discovers that life’s changes hold hope for new beginnings—if only she knows where to look.

“Skating in Time” is available on this site for one week only. You can get the story as a standalone ebook on all retail sites. Enjoy!

Skating in Time Kristine Kathryn Rusch

 

MICKEY STOOD and turned slowly on the thin orange carpeting. They never played Mozart at the roller rink. If they did, she’d go out there and skate with the finesse of Dorothy Hamill. She’d pretend she was on ice, wearing a small, glittery costume, performing for thousands of fans. Her movements would be as elegant as the music, with little trills and delicate pauses, light with an undertone of warmth.

If only. Her life had been full of idle daydreams. She had never gone to college, never tried the glamorous activities of her imagination. All she knew of Mozart, besides the fact that she loved his music, was that he had died young. Like Carl. Her heart tightened, and she made herself breathe. Nearly a year now. She could live without him. She had lived without him for eleven months, twelve days and ten hours.

Mickey rolled up the ramp and onto the floor as Elvis launched into “Jailhouse Rock.” For one giddy moment, her feet threatened to slide out from under her, then she got her balance and moved forward.

As she gained speed on the straightway, the years left her body. She was thirteen, when she’d skated every Friday night until closing, staring at the guys and swaying with the beat. She’d given all this up when she married Carl. They’d been oh-so-serious at eighteen, straight out of high school and determined to be adults. She’d gone to work, cooked and cleaned, and cuddled with Carl on her days off from the travel agency. He came home at night, ate her meals and watched television, never saying a word about the lumber company or his experiences in the woods. A skidder had killed him and, up until the day of his death, she hadn’t even known what a skidder was.

A man clomped by her, clearly on skates to please his date. Mickey watched him: a frown on his face, pot belly, feet sticking out at an awkward angle. A woman passed him, skating backwards, shouting instructions. He clomped harder. As the woman disappeared into the crowd, Mickey found herself beside him

“You ski?” she asked.

He looked at her and had to kick a skate forward to keep his balance. She extended her hand to catch him if he fell. “Yeah, I ski every Sunday.”

“They tell me it’s the same motion,” she said. “I don’t ski so I don’t know.”

And then she passed him, crossing into the corner to a singer whose name she could never remember, a deep-voiced man who cried about summer loves. The woman skated past again, still going backward, weaving in and out among the other skaters as if she’d been born on wheels.

Mickey skated around the rink a few more times, wondering if her desire to hear Mozart was a wish to make the sport more serious, less fun. She didn’t have to be graceful on the rink. The only graceful person here was skating with a frown on her face and her nose in the air. The other skaters flopped and flailed and laughed as they fell. Since the month after Carl’s death, Mickey had been coming here every Thursday for the sense of community. Although she rarely spoke to anyone, she just knew that if she landed on her back, someone would put a hand under her shoulder and help her up.

The smell of hot dogs and popcorn from the concession stand grew stronger with each turn, and finally she followed the aroma off the rink. She leaned against the greasy counter, bought a diet soda and a hot dog with everything, then sat at one of the picnic benches and watched the other skaters as she ate.

The man she’d helped skated off the rink. His movements had eased; his legs flowed beneath him rather than jerked along. He made his way across the floor, stopping when he reached her table.

“Hey, you know, you were right,” he said. “It is just like skiing.”

She smiled, feeling awkward with the large, messy hot dog in her hand. “You look a lot more comfortable now.”

“I am.” He had a nice face, chocolate-brown eyes and ears that stuck out a tad too far from his scalp. “You said you’d never been skiing.”

Her heart thudded against her chest and her fingers dug into the hot dog. She tried not to expect anything but still found herself wondering what she’d do if he asked her. “No, I never have.”

He glanced at the rink, at the frowning woman circling backward. His smile, when he looked back at Mickey, appeared apologetic. “You ought to try it sometime,” he said.

“I will,” she smiled.

He skated by her to the concession stand and she took another bite of her hot dog. It tasted gritty and slightly charred—delicious. Carl said hot dogs were made of things no human should eat and so she hadn’t had one the entire time she was married. She hadn’t skated, she hadn’t skied, she hadn’t done anything because adults didn’t have fun.

She glanced at the man waiting for his food. If he did ask her out, she’d say no. Dating was too adult. She needed time to feel her heart thud like a teenager’s when she talked to a man; time to eat a decade’s worth of hot dogs; time to skate around the rink until she was exhausted. Her desire to hear Mozart had nothing to do with being an adult. It came from an urge to be different, to break rules she’d followed for too long.

She got up and skated out onto the floor, her plastic wheels rumbling beneath her. She had loved Carl, but he was gone, and she had some of herself to rebuild. She smiled and felt the breeze blow the hair off her face.

Next week, she’d bring a Mozart tape and ask them to play it—something lively and warm.

 

“Skating in Time” Copyright © by Kristine Kathryn Rusch
Published by WMG Publishing
Cover and Layout copyright © by WMG Publishing
Cover art copyright © Alexander Kataytsev/Dreamstime

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Any use of this publication to train generative artificial intelligence (“AI”) technologies is expressly prohibited. The author and publisher reserve all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.