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Meet the author @ Goodreads New Authors in July 2021

G.R. PaskoffGoodreads Author
Bornin New York, NY, The United States
Websitehttp://www.grpaskoff.com
GenreScience Fiction, Fantasy, Young Adult
InfluencesJ.R.R. Tolkien, George R.R. Martin, Star Wars, Raiders of the Lost Ark
Member SinceAugust 2012
URLhttps://www.goodreads.com/grpaskoff
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By day I am a mechanical/ biomedical engineer. But that's just to pay my bills. I've always been a creative person and have been sketching since a young age. Later on I became fascinated by graphic design and taught myself to use Photoshop and Illustrator. But becoming a writer wasn't something I had considered until I had a story idea in my head and it just wouldn't go away. I didn't know when I started where this adventure would take me but it's certainly been an entertaining ride. If you like what you read, be sure to check my website for updates, writing progress, and even examples of my art. And please, if you enjoyed my work feel free to leave me a review...here, and/or on Amazon. Thanks.

Eden M51
by G.R. Paskoff (Goodreads Author)
3.73 · Rating details · 79 ratings · 23 reviews
* * * METAPHYSICAL SCIENCE FICTION * * *

Eden exists, tucked away in a remote corner of the universe.

In the year 2283, overpopulation, resource depletion, and climate change have pushed global civilization to the brink of collapse. Colonies on the moon and beneath the oceans, despite years of development, are struggling to survive. As international tensions escalate, and humanity faces an impending crisis for subsistence, a new race has quietly begun, one to find a habitable planet for human expansion outside the solar system. Thus far, however, every expedition sent has resulted in monumental disappointment, and occasionally, tragedy.

But all is not lost.

A U.S. interstellar probe, launched decades earlier, unexpectedly transmits a burst of tantalizing figures on a remote alien world in the M51 galaxy, yielding the first promising data scientists have seen in years. In response, an international team of experts is hastily assembled to investigate the prospective planet over thirty million light years away. Each with their own set of hopes and agendas, what they discover upon arrival is more than any of them imagined – something that forces them to confront the shadows of their past and to reevaluate their choices for Man’s future.

Commander Nathaniel Hawke, a renowned pilot in the United States Department of Space Defense, is selected to lead the mission. Seven years after the controversial death of his best friend, he views the expedition to M51 as one last opportunity for redemption. But in the end, will the journey offer the salvation he seeks, or cast him further into despair?

Hello, hello. Thank you, Grasshopper, I am happy to be here.

I hope in the next few weeks to entice some of the members here to give my writing a shot. To date, I have written strictly science fiction but I hope to move to other genres as well such as Fantasy and Middle-Grade Fantasy.

But science fiction has so many sub-genres so I wanted to explain a little bit about what motivated me to write my novel, 'Eden M51.' It all started when I watched a Dateline or 60 Minutes episode on the power of prayer back around 2000 or 2001. They highlighted an airplane that was experiencing multiple engine failures but when faced with this potential catastrophe the passengers all turned to prayer and miraculously, the plane landed safely. Later that night as I tried to sleep my brain kept thinking: what if God wasn't listening/watching at that moment? And from that thought I suddenly envisioned a plot for a science fiction story in which a supremely powerful being creates planets and life on those planets, but moves on from past creations in the hopes of perfecting it with the next one.

I know that some people hold very strict religious beliefs and please know that I hope that the concept for the story doesn't offend anyone. That's why I preface the book blurb with stating that it's a metaphysical story, one that questions our purpose in this universe.

Anyway, I'm hoping some of you will find the premise interesting and give it a read. And if you do, be sure to let me know what you think, whether good, bad or indifferent.

Also, throughout the month I'll post various excerpts from the story and some trivia questions.

Thank you all for this opportunity.

Sounds like a fabulous concept!

Here is the first excerpt I'll post from "Eden M51." It's from the first couple of pages. I'll post other excerpts throughout the month.

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EARTH, 2283 A.D.

When questioned in the days following the incident by police, and observed by men in dark suits who said nothing at all, those who knew Howard DeWitt tactfully admitted that he was a quiet man who kept to himself since his divorce; although, when the suits disappeared, several people, under conditions of anonymity, changed their account to describe him as "an overbearing, condescending jerkweed." In truth, if he had a singular flaw it was that he perceived his own cleverness to be equally matched by his brilliant intellect and a hubris that would not allow him to be persuaded otherwise. After all, he had been exceedingly careful not to do anything that would cast even a hint of suspicion upon him. And even on the night of his death, the way he yanked up the collar of his overcoat and scrunched into it like a turtle would have been seen as natural, for the gale winds and rain cascading slantwise in surging waves across the rows of slickened parked cars presented a daunting gauntlet to run.

His eyes darted over the lit parking lot, once, twice, finally, a third time. He gripped his collar with one hand so that it nearly completely covered his face before dashing out from the overhang. The rain hammered at him and the dampness penetrated the crevices where the coat bunched against his skin, saturating him in the short time it took to slip across from the building's exit – to the darkened street – to the relative shelter of the communication terminal on the other side. A glass and plexi partition, its sides lined with active noise dampers, afforded some measure of privacy from the other booths; the 'omelet maker,' the name given to the many-tentacled device straddling the enclosure, ensured that every transmission was sufficiently shrouded in unbreakable encryption and scrambled from signal interception technologies. Despite the hour, he was pleasantly surprised to find it deserted. Of course, that was why this forgotten derelict area in the warehouse district had been chosen as the site for the Project in the first place. He ran his fingers through soggy hair and placed his palm over the infra-red scanner whispering the number he had committed to memory.

It was answered immediately. "Yes?"

It was impossible to determine from the detached tone of the speaker whether a man or a woman was on the other end. Nevertheless, he was fairly certain it was always the same person to whom he spoke.

"We've done it."

There was a pause. "Where are you?"

"Never mind. Did you hear what I said?"

"Where are you?" the question was repeated.

"At a booth. Across the street from the Center."

"You should not have called us from there," the voice admonished.

"Well, I couldn't call you on my cell. Besides, you've assured me your end of the call is secure."

"This was not the arranged time. Will your absence be noticed?"

"By them? Hardly. They're drunk. They've been celebrating for the last hour."

"Still..."

"Don't worry, I'll come up with an excuse if I need one. But since we don't have much time I'll get right to business."

The voice clucked, "The terms of your payment have already been negotiated."

"It's not enough."

"We have been more than generous for your services."

"Yeah, well, this is big. When word gets out there's going to be much tighter security, much higher scrutiny of public records."

"Do not concern yourself. We have handled such things before."

"That's what you say but I'm the one sticking my neck out."

"What is it you want?"

"Triple. If you're not interested I can find others…" Seconds ticked by. His smug bravado melted with each moment of silence and a damp shiver ran down his spine between his shoulders. "Are you still there?"

"I was relaying your request to my superiors."

"And?" he asked, cursing himself for the eagerness that crept into his voice.

"You are certain you can deliver the data?"

"Of course!"

Another silence. "I have been instructed to tell you to remain where you are. A courier is being dispatched."

His brow furrowed. "Now? Here?"

"Yes."

DeWitt craned his neck, surveying the street and darkened buildings. A couple taxis cruised by. He felt exposed, a lone figure standing by the COM terminals in the middle of the night. "How long?" he asked.

"Not long. Ten, maybe twelve minutes."

"Alright. Then what?"

"The courier will provide you with instructions. Goodbye."

"Wait..." The line went dead. Crap. There was no point in dialing again. There would be no answer this time, he was certain. His mouth curled in half a frown. He'd never actually met with a courier before. The only direct communication he'd had was the voice on the phone. Always he'd receive directives to drop the data at a specified location: under a bench or indiscriminately on a window ledge, even in an out of service W2E converter that had long since been disconnected from the metro power grid. Then, in a couple of days the money would turn up in his ex-mother-in-law's account. She was senile and wouldn't know if she'd pissed herself, much less notice that half a million credits had been deposited in her name. His ex-wife didn't know about the account or she'd have taken the money herself and asked no questions, the scheming bitch. Given the chance she'd drain him dry.
He stood where he'd been told, eyes roving up and down the street for any sign of the person who was going to be delivering what could very well be his last payment. Of course, once he'd made one copy of the data it would be simple to make another. He contemplated that, hands thrust into the recesses of his overcoat. He wrinkled his nose. Despite the rain the air reeked with a noisome, chemical smell. Yet another reason to get himself off the Project and find another job, preferably in a better location with better pay.

Another taxi drove by, engine humming. It slowed. The ghost of a face peered through the window, the driver hoping to pick up a quick fare. When he made no effort to hail the cab it sped up again, disappearing around the corner.

How many minutes has it been? Nine? Ten? He wasn't planning on being away this long. If he didn't get back to the office someone might discover he was nowhere in the building. Excuses would need to be made. Just then, headlights came careening up the road. The car's engine had a noisier pitch to it that he was familiar with, fuller, throatier. He couldn't be certain of the make or model but it was definitely an ElectroSport coupe of some kind. Expensive. He himself had owned several in the past. This had to be the courier.

He'd taken only a single step toward the curb when he heard the unmistakable sound of laughter and saw the skinny, waving arms of a boy as he leaned halfway out of the window despite the pelting rain. He frowned. Just some damn kids playing around in Daddy's car. Probably drunk. Or high. A wind-gusted piece of trash thumped against his leg and DeWitt shook it off with irritation, scowling at the dark splotch it made on his tailored pants. Disdain mixing with impatience, he stepped back into the shelter of the terminal. The car zig-zagged wildly up the street crossing over into the other lane and veering back again. The cold rain hitting the warm ground produced a mist that distorted the twin beams of light into living things, writhing in parallel unison. The adolescent driver opened up the throttle, the whine of the engine buzzing, the sports car soaring two feet above the ground propelled by an invisible field on electromagnetic wings.

At that moment, the sound of another engine caught his ears. DeWitt turned his head just as the massive behemoth loomed from the depths of inky darkness and into the small pool of diodic light that illuminated the terminal. Eyes wide, there was time only for a low moan to escape his lips, a feeble acceptance of the inevitable. Glass shattered and metal screeched as the six-ton ElectroFreighter, its headlights off, slammed into the booth where he stood. Without slowing it continued down the street taking the corner at break-neck speed. A horn blared from another vehicle, its driver angered by the truck's illegal turn.

I hope everyone had a great weekend. To start off the week, here is another excerpt from "Eden M51" in which we are introduced to the protagonist, Commander Nathaniel Hawke, a very 'Captain Kirk'-esque character.
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Commander Nathaniel Hawke took a sip of his Jack Daniels on the rocks thinking about what he would do when he retired from the military. The notion occupied more and more of his time. A bad sign. Without family, the Command was all he had. As he stared at the glass, beads of condensation trickled down its icy sides staining a perfect crescent moon on the napkin.

With considerable effort he shifted the direction of his thoughts before they spiraled down that dark road, a path he was all too familiar with. This was supposed to be his R & R, his one yearly opportunity to escape the bullshit and relax and unwind. Four lethargic ceiling fans suspended from the thatched palm leaf roof failed to stir the heavy, humid air. It looked quaint and authentic but underneath the braided palm fronds and imitation bamboo poles was a stainless steel structure engineered to withstand the fury of the tropical storms and hurricanes that bombarded the island every year.

Besides the bartender a few local patrons sat at tables drinking and talking among themselves. A petite Latino waitress busied herself with restocking cocktail napkins and straws when not attending to her customers. No one looked his way.

While he decided whether to order something solid to go with his liquid lunch, a raucous banging of the swinging doors made him turn his head. Three men entered. The one in front surveyed the room nonchalantly adjusting the belt buckle under his protruding belly. His eyes immediately settled on Hawke sitting alone at the bar. He hocked and spat onto the floor.

Hawke turned back, absently swirling the cubes in the glass, a half smile curling up one side.

"Hey, José! Why's this pale-face sittin' on my favorite stool, eh?" The two men behind him sniggered.

The bartender raised his hands in supplication, a dirty rag clenched between his thumb and palm. "Please, Manuel, I don' want no trouble today."

Manuel ignored him and thumped over to the bar. "You got some cojones, pale-face." Hawke's blonde hair and ice blue eyes made him an oddity in the region.

"Hey, gringo! You hard of hearing? I'm talking to you."

Hawke put down his drink and swiveled on the stool. The man facing him was a real gorilla, complete with protruding brow. With thick arms folded over his chest, tufts of black hair sprouted from under his half-buttoned shirt and from the armpits of his torn sleeves. A corded gold chain hung around his neck. His bulbous nose looked to have been broken many times. Yellow, discolored teeth marked him as a frequent user of Chewbacco, a synthetic version of chewing tobacco common in poorer areas. Even substandard grades of the mild stimulant contained active cultures that negated the unsightly dental effects of long term use but this man obviously used a locally grown variety of the stuff...that, or he didn't clean his teeth regularly. Or both.

"I said, yer sittin' in my seat." Manuel looked over his shoulder toward his mates, their toothless smirks giving him all the encouragement he needed.

Though outweighed by at least seventy or eighty pounds, Hawke figured to have a good three inches over the bulky islander. "Well, then it seems you have a problem." Hawke casually shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet.

"Yeah?" Manuel's nostrils flared in anticipation.

"You're obviously looking for a fight so I'd like to oblige by making some smart, witty insult about you. Perhaps something about your rancid breath or your lack of fashion sense, or hygiene, for that matter. But a man of your intelligence wouldn't realize he'd been offended so I'd just be wasting my breath."

Manuel stared for a few seconds, mouth hanging open. His puzzled expression confirmed Hawke's opinion of the man's underpowered intellect. But then Manuel's features twisted darkly and he lunged forward swinging a fist the size of a basketball at Hawke's head. Hawke easily leaned back out of reach and darted forward, jabbing his arm over the clumsy throw.

His fist hit squarely in the nose but Manuel merely grunted without so much as blinking. Hawke guessed his adversary didn't win many fights on technique. Hawke stepped lightly away from the bar so he wouldn't be cornered. Manuel advanced in a grappler's stance, careful not to overreach with his arms again. Hawke planted a sudden roundhouse kick directly on his jaw splitting his lip and causing several yellow teeth to crack and scatter, plinking onto the ground like ivory raindrops. This time Manuel did go down but only to his knees.

The man howled, spattering blood from his torn lips. He came at Hawke again, the veins in his temple bulging. Hawke stayed loose, his body ready to dart in any direction. He feinted to his left and Manuel fell for it, charging. Hawke deftly scooped up a stool and brought it down so hard on Manuel's head that the wicker bindings holding it together came apart.

The bully shrugged off the blow and twisted his arm, managing to his glee to snag one of Hawke's wrists in his melon-sized hands. Hawke brought his knee up firmly into the man's gut. Manuel gasped as the compressed fat was shoved deep into his diaphragm. Hawke followed with an uppercut to the throat.
Manuel made a violent gurgling noise and let go of Hawke's wrist. Then he doubled over and vomited on the floor. When he finished he wiped the bile and bloody froth from his mouth across his knuckles and glared savagely at Hawke.

Hawke didn't see him pull out a weapon but the way Manuel protectively cupped his hand made him instantly wary. Manuel's leg muscles tensed and he sprang, simultaneously reaching with one hand while making a slashing motion with the other. Hawke sidestepped the blade and pivoted, lashing out with his foot. He grunted with satisfaction as he connected on a solid kick to the side of the head. The impact made a sound like splitting wood. Manuel's eyes rolled up into the back of his skull; he was unconscious before his body smacked onto the floor like a slab of meat. A wickedly curved knife slipped from between his fingers.
Hawke faced the two locals who'd accompanied the bully. They took one look at Manuel before hastily retreating from the bar, ignominiously leaving their fallen leader lying on the floor in his own blood and vomit. Hawke went to the bar and downed the rest of his Jack Daniels. The few customers who had remained when the fight started broke into a cheer and toasted him.

Hawke reached into his pocket and threw some money on the counter. "Here, José. Hopefully this will pay for the damages."

The bartender grinned, the gold filling in his front tooth glinting. "Awww, Hawke, you don' have to do that, mon. It was worth it just to see you wipe the floor with that macañema's face. He been comin' in here bullying the customers for three months now."

"Well, take it. You can buy María something nice. Maybe she'll let you move back in." Hawke winked.

José laughed loudly. "You a funny man, Hawke. You come back, okay?"

I'll be posting excerpts weekly, but this one is a bonus. It's been a slow week. Here, Hawke and his flight crew get to see the ship they'll be piloting en route to the prospective planet.
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Hawke and Jim sauntered up to the railing. Involuntarily Hawke drew in his breath. There were a number of spacecraft in the hangar but there was no way you could miss the VX-90. She wasn't the largest spacecraft – a massive JTX Titan CargoCruiser held that distinction. Nevertheless, her aerodynamic shape and crisp, contoured lines were riveting. Compared to the old, worn shuttlecraft around her she fairly glowed. Her sleek hull, custom-crafted turbolift engines, futuristic cockpit design, and stylish markings were inspiring. With her wings folded back in the stowed position she looked like a giant grasshopper ready to leap into the sky.

"She's gorgeous, isn't she," said Ben. It wasn't a question.

Armed military personnel were everywhere on the ground. Teams of engineers and technicians scuttled around the StarCruiser running diagnostics. Everything was being checked and double-checked. Even simple functions such as lighting and door locks would be verified before her virgin flight into space. Anyone who went inside was accompanied by no less than two guards. Hawke had never seen such tight security in the hangar before.

"You guys want to go down for a closer look?"

Ben looked skeptical. "We haven't received official permission to be down there. Security could get a little skittish if we try to start poking around."

"Hey, no harm in trying. After all, we're the ones who're going to be flying that heap."

Hours later, Hawke tried to finish up some routine paperwork at his desk but his mind was elsewhere. He'd managed to get his friends inside the Chinese StarCruiser though he'd had to fight with the Senior Flight Boss to do it. Even then, without proper clearance they wouldn't have gotten in if Hawke hadn't spied Major Bishop coordinating the security detail.

The Major grudgingly smoothed the way for them, giving the eager crew an early look at the new Echelon model. An annoyed maintainer gave them a personal tour while three armed guards shadowed them everywhere they went. Certain areas of the ship remained off limits as essential equipment and supplies had yet to be loaded and installed. Nevertheless, they saw the cockpit, the main engine room, the teleportation control room, and several of the living quarters – many of which were larger and more modern than Hawke's apartment. Everything was fresh and clean and significantly more luxurious than anything Hawke had ever flown.

In fact, the cockpit more closely resembled the bridge of an extravagant hover-yacht than a spaceship. The pilot and co-pilot command consoles were placed front and center but behind them, forming a small outward-facing semicircle, were four other chairs, two on each side, which served no purpose other than sightseeing. Immediately behind the seats was a raised, circular platform with a railing, ostensibly so other people could stand and look out of the VX-90's oversized windows.

But it wasn't excitement that kept the StarCruiser on his mind just then. Despite its classification as a passenger craft Hawke had been surprised to discover the ship's superstructure had been modified to carry four thirty-megaton fusion bombs (nicknamed "Earth-Quakers"). Just one of the bombs was capable of leveling a small city. Under the belly of the bow a powerful laser, complete with a high-powered scope and computerized targeting system, was being installed. He wasn't the only one to notice.

Lieutenant Johnson commented, "Kind of sends the wrong message, don't you think?"

New excerpt for the week. Provides some background on the story's antagonist. I didn't know if swearing was permitted in these posts, so it has been edited for a G-rating.
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Despite the late night festivities Hawke showed up early for work the next morning. Betty, as usual, was already there. Also, as usual, she gave him the cold shoulder. So much for lightening things up between us.

At his desk Hawke found a small, sealed packet on his chair. He opened the envelope and an earpiece fell into his hand. He put the earplug in his ear and a text prompt flashed directly into his field of view requesting permission for a retinal scan. He assented literally within the blink of an eye. The prompt disappeared and Captain Carson's gruff face appeared in a pre-recorded introduction.

"Hawke, here's the information you requested. You better keep a close eye on this guy. Remember my warning. By the way, erase these when you're done with them. They're the real deal, not the unclassified stuff they water down for the public. We could both get into big trouble if you're caught with them." The recording ended. Hawke used the pupil tracker to open the file manager. There were five files stored in memory.

The first one was a personnel file. He stared at the name on the file: G. Maxwell Snelling. So Max is actually his middle name, Hawke observed, I wonder what his first name is? Snelling was born on August 7, 2234. He attended Yale University where he obtained degrees in Psychology and Political Science and finished in the middle of his class. He received a Ph.D. in International Relations from the same university. His height was listed as five foot six, one hundred and fifty-five pounds. Brown eyes. Brown hair. The only other bit of information Hawke found of interest was Snelling's proficiency in linguistics. He was fluent in four languages besides English: Arabic, Hebrew, Chinese, and German.

Hawke opened the next file. It was a news story dated 12 September, 2279. "Indian- Pakistani border tensions eased. U.S. diplomats successfully negotiated terms of agreement over multiple border disputes between Pakistan and the Republic of India. Escalating tensions between the two nations were creating a ripple effect throughout the Middle East and beyond." Hawke scanned the rest. He had only a vague recollection of it; the situation never deteriorated into anything serious enough to make big headlines. During that period he was shuttling back and forth between Earth and the military research base on Io. The crisis had been resolved by the time he'd returned to Earth for any meaningful length of time.

The third file turned out to be a classified memo from one of the U.S. diplomats involved in the Indian-Pakistani border affair to a high-ranking official in the State Department. In exchange for de-militarizing their southern border and ceding the coveted Kashmir region south of the Indus River to the Republic of India, the United States promised to (covertly) deliver twenty-two twelve megaton fusion bombs, two hundred self-guided smart missiles (medium range), two-point-five metric tons of modified soy protein, and twenty billion credits (ostensibly for humanitarian aid) to the government of Pakistan. If this information was exposed to the public it would have serious political repercussions.

The memo further went on to state that, in exchange for the United States's aid in securing the contentious region, the Republic of India would allow the United States to build several top-secret military surveillance facilities along its eastern border that it shared with China. There were other minor technical details of the agreement Hawke glossed over. The letter was signed by one G. M. Snelling.
The next file was another personnel file complete with a photo (albeit with more hair) of Max but this file listed him as an undercover operative for the Central Intelligence Agency. The dates of employment were from 2263 to 2275 with assignments ranging from the United States to the Middle East to parts of Asia. Twelve years. More than enough time to have earned himself a reputation and made a few high-level friends.

The last file was no more than an electronic copy of a training certificate. It stated that Mr. G. Maxwell Snelling had successfully completed the CIA's course on "Military Ordnance and Modified Incendiary Devices." As he scanned over the document he discovered that a small file had been embedded at the bottom. It was a brief article, no more than two paragraphs, dated 28 August, 2279. "Explosion leaves twelve dead. Authorities are still investigating the cause of an explosion and fire that occurred around 1:00 AM in the warehouse district of Khanpur." It went on further though few details were provided and there was speculation by at least one authority that Pakistani insurgent factions may have been involved. Hawke frowned. Although there was nothing directly linking the two pieces of information he understood implicitly why Harry included them together.

"Thanks, Captain. I owe you one."

Hawke read over certain parts of the files again. Then he selected them all and deleted them. He powered down the device, slipped a pair of pliers from a drawer, and crushed it. When the opportunity presented itself, he would dispose of the earpiece in a W2E converter.

He puttered around doing menial administrative tasks until it was twelve forty-five. Some of his electronic files weren't as he'd left them but they all seemed to be there. "Damned IT guys must be screwing around again." Then he shut down his console, stretched, and headed downstairs toward Conference Room A102. He made a point of telling Betty where he was going and to hold his calls. An impassive stare had been his only reply.

Hello, folks. Just to mix things up a little bit, for those of you who might like to sample some of my other writing, I'd like to mention my short story Laster: A short story which is available for free on Amazon and other e-book sites. It's a sci-fi story set on Mars about being the new kid, being bullied, and how far you're willing to go to fit in. I drew inspiration for the story from Bradbury's short story "All Summer in a Day."
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"Okay, class, you may get your lunches now. You have thirty minutes before recess."

There was the scraping of many chairs and the buzz of many conversations starting at once as they grabbed their lunches from the dispensary and took their seats again. Ms. Margot allowed them to talk as long as they kept their voices down. Being at the back of the class there was no one really for Leroy to talk to even if he had felt like being sociable, which he didn't. Topher and the boy in front of Leroy were snickering and glancing back at him. Leroy ignored them and ate in silence.

When it was time for recess all the kids eagerly lined up against the wall. Ms. Margot took Leroy by the hand and led him to the back of the line. "It's just because you're new here," she explained. "Don't worry. You'll move up soon." She offered what he figured was meant to be a reassuring smile though it was incongruous against the harsh lines circling her eyes.

As the class filed into the gymnasium an unruly group of younger kids was being shepherded out. The gymnasium was a large, open room featuring a clear ceiling that permitted plenty of light. The room had an auto-brightening filter to make the sky seem blue instead of hazy brown. A few poorly rendered clouds tracked haltingly across its holographic surface. When they reached the far side the pattern repeated itself. The sand swept obstinately over the roof contrary to the direction of the clouds, a steady thrum, a constant reminder of the danger that lurked outside. But Leroy's new classmates were fearless and commenced an impromptu game of tag.

A playground consisting of three swings, two slides, and some climbing walls and tunnels stood mostly unused except as an obstacle to run around. Leroy trudged over to a swing. It was coated in a layer of dust, the kind that got over everything even though there were seals and filters at every portal, exhaust vent, and juncture to keep it out. Everywhere on Mars was dust like fine sand. Back on Earth, Leroy's parents had once taken him to the beach. It was before his father had lost his job, before he started working for the mining company. It was one of Leroy's fondest memories. He remembered the gentle lapping of the waves and building spaceships in the sand. But the sand on Mars was nothing like that. It was made of iron oxide and what he learned were perchlorates that made the sand salty, but not in a good way.

Leroy brushed it off and sat down. He gently rocked back and forth using the tips of his toes and watched the other kids play with mixed disinterest and envy.

"Aww, how cute! Does the little boy want someone to push him? Maybe he's waiting for his mommy."

Leroy's head jerked up. Hovering behind Topher was Ray and another boy with crooked teeth in a crooked smile whose name he didn't know. All three sat in the row in front of him. Leroy's eyes darted left and right but the four gym monitors clotted together, completely detached in their private conversation.

"Lookit him," said crooked teeth, "He looks like he's gonna run. Where do you think you're gonna go, Laster?"

Leroy forced himself to remain motionless.

"Check out the patches on his pants," said Ray. "Laster's parents can't even afford decent clothes."

Topher laughed and picked at Leroy's shirt. Then two other kids, a boy and girl, came racing around the swings. The boy used the four of them as a shield to avoid being tagged. Leroy took the opportunity to leap away from Topher. He moved closer to the adults and leaned against the wall until recess was over. He made sure he was one of the first ones back in class. Topher kicked Leroy's desk and smirked at him.

The rest of the day's lessons were uneventful. When school ended Leroy moved as keenly as everyone else toward the row of lifesuits. Leroy noticed that everyone else's lifesuits weren't as shabby as his. His suit was too big for him and bunched up around his crotch and under his armpits. "Don't worry, sweetie, you'll grow into it," said his mother the day she bought it from a secondhand store. As luck would have it, Topher's suit was next to his. Topher reached up with both arms to grab his helmet, but as he took it down one hand casually yanked Leroy's helmet off the shelf. Leroy clumsily made a grab for it, missed, and it clacked noisily on the floor causing everyone to stare in his direction. Ms. Margot peered up from her desk disapprovingly.

"Mr. Muntz! For goodness sake, be more careful! Your lifesuit is the only thing that protects you outside. If you drop it like that you should check your facemask carefully for any cracks or tears in the neck seals. If you're not comfortable doing it yourself you can take it to the school maintenance technician, Mr. Harvey, and he'll run a pressurized leak test for you. This is very, very important. Do you understand?"

Leroy picked up his helmet catching Topher's leering grin through the boy's visor. "Yes, ma'am," he said.

"Yeah, Laster. Be more careful," Topher mocked so only Leroy could hear.

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That's it for today's excerpt. Check back later this month for more postings. :)

Here is a new excerpt from 'Eden M51' for the week. This is the President's speech given at the launch site before Hawke, his crew, and the team of scientists lift off for the M51 galaxy.

What do you think? Do I have a future in speech writing?
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"Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to introduce the President of the United States of America, Mr. Martin Jefferson Hernandez."

Amid overwhelming applause the President and Vice-President, strategically escorted by four Secret Service agents, approached the platform. The President was a tall, distinguished man in his late fifties with graying hair and a dark complexion. He waited with practiced theatrical poise for the noise to die down before speaking.

"Ladies and gentlemen." He had a pleasant, but firm voice – fatherly, but not patronizing. "People of the free world. For every generation there is a destiny. Right now, on this day, we stand at the brink of that destiny. Throughout our troubled history we have competed against each other, conspired against each other, and even fought against each other. Yet, when faced with a crisis affecting us all we have time and again put aside our differences and worked together to meet common challenges head-on. Ladies and gentlemen, the biggest crisis facing us today is ourselves. For years we have been consuming Earth's natural resources wastefully. Our global population is approaching the point of critical mass. Yet just as we were reaching that breaking point a sign came to us, perhaps from God, Himself – a sign of hope."

There was a smattering of cheers.

"As this StarCruiser transports the pearls of our scientific community toward Eden M51, it is this hope that shall sustain us. And for the generations to come, as we discover new lands on new worlds, we shall not make the mistakes our ancestors made. We shall not squander what might be used. We shall not hesitate to conserve the exceeding bounty of nature provided to us by the Lord, without which all the technical achievements we are so proud of, and upon which our very lives depend, would not be possible. And hopefully, future generations will look back at what we did here today and in the days to come and be assured, knowing we took history's lessons to heart and did all we could for those who came after us."

More applause.

"It is for this reason that we have the moral obligation to reach out to each other, man to man and woman to woman, to embrace our fellow human beings across borders, mountains, oceans, and especially political ideologies – to assemble the finest team of experts and scientists our world has ever known so they may carry our hope with them like a badge. Let us reject any among us who seek to reopen old wounds and to rekindle old hatreds. For after all, we are one people, united under God. The fate of our world and the future of our people rest not upon one nation, but upon all nations – not upon one man, but upon all men."

There was an eruption of whistling and clapping. The President waited for it to quiet before continuing. The Secret Service agents on either side of him stood impassively, their eyes continually scanning the crowds for any sign of threat.

"This discovery is not a victory of one nation but a celebration of the freedom of all men. It symbolizes an end to our way of life as we know it but also, it points to a new, brighter beginning. It signifies a renewal, of hope and dreams and achievement, as well as monumental change to the way we have lived our lives in the past. We hold in our hands the power to forge a better life for ourselves and our children. Yet we must do so with the firm belief that the rights of man come not from the generosity of governments, but from the hand and will of God."

"Let us all jointly pledge: we shall begin this journey as a quest for peace. Let us proceed from this moment unified by the common concerns we all share. Just as our forefathers before us came together when the oceans rose and the very climate of our planet changed forever, so now do we come together as one. This is not a day of triumph; it is a day of dedication – dedication to the power and perseverance of the human spirit. Here muster not the forces of one party of scientists but the forces of humanity. People of the planet Earth, we go forth on this day not as Americans, or Chinese, or Indians, or Europeans, or any other nationality. We go forth as emissaries of the human race."

The audience leapt to its feet and cheered its approval. They waved flags from at least twenty different nationalities. Many people openly wept.

The President spoke again. "It is with great pride that I christen this ship Xī Wàng, meaning 'Hope,' in honor of the esteemed Chinese people who graciously donated her for our cause. May she and her crew take that hope with them to the stars. And may she carry all of our hopes as well, and deliver unto us a new Eden. The future birthplace of a new type of humanity – one filled with promise, free from want and need. May her hope shine with the aspirations and expectations of the billions of human beings who want nothing more than the opportunity to provide for themselves and their families. And finally, may her hope be a beacon, a beacon announcing to the universe that the spirit of the human race cannot be extinguished. No matter what adversities we face, when we as a people stand united, we will always prevail."

The crowd stood and once again a stentorian wave of applause thundered through the building. People on the upper railings stomped their feet adding the clang of battered metal to the already ear-shattering din. The President and Vice-President came forward and shook hands with the scientists and flight crew, offering words of praise, congratulations, and optimism. The applause continued unabated while the ship's general crew boarded the spacecraft followed by the scientists and their assistants. Last to board were Commander Hawke and Lieutenant Commander Jim Starling.

Well, it seems my month in the spotlight is starting to draw to a close. This will probably be the second-to-last excerpt that I post so as you can imagine I agonized over what it should be. I finally settled on the scene where Hawke and the landing party first meet the indigenous beings on the planet they were sent to investigate.
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Even Bishop seems nervous, Hawke noticed. Her fingers curled and uncurled at her hip, within easy reach of her gun. The entourage stopped a hundred meters away. The six-legged beasts that pulled the carriages snorted and bellowed, occasionally stamping their powerful feet into the grass. Some of the natives were mounted upon lean, two-legged creatures they'd observed from the StarCruiser. They were too far away to see if any of them were carrying or concealing weapons, though the remote analysis Claudia conducted never turned up any sign of aggressive or violent behavior. Even primitive weapons such as spears and arrows were not evident.

The beings were not impatient; they appeared to be waiting. Hawke was about to suggest they make the next move, but before he could say so a figure emerged from the largest of the carriages joined by four others. The small group detached themselves and continued on foot. Snelling swiveled around and hissed, "Remember, I will do all the talking." Hawke ignored his pointed stare, as well as the sidelong glance Bishop gave him.

"Fine, but I think we should meet them halfway."

Max snorted, "That's because you have absolutely no experience in these matters. Having them come to us will set the proper tone."

Hawke shrugged, "Suit yourself, but when they reach the electrofence, it'll set a tone all right."

Bishop jerked and Snelling stared in horror. In the end, they followed his advice. The two parties halted as if by some universal understanding when they were no more than ten meters apart. The one they took to be the leader spoke something softly to those behind him. They bowed and he approached alone, covering half the distance in four long strides, his robes flowing about him. Snelling stepped forward and cleared his throat. The solitary figure regarded him curiously, then candidly looked over all of them. His eyes lingered lastly on Hawke before resuming his attention to Max who stood an arm's length before him.

An observation which immediately impressed itself on Hawke as the being stood next to Snelling was his unusually tall height. All five of them were at least six feet, though very slight of build. The leader was dressed in robes of orange and deep purple. A golden sash draped across his shoulders and a heavy chain around his neck were the only noticeable differences in raiment between him and the other four. On the end of the chain was an amulet that looked to be of pure gold, inset with a large, teardrop-shaped turquoise. Like all the natives his skin was a bluish white; his nose and ears were set very close to his head like smoothly shaped lumps against his face giving him a polished appearance. He was bald except for silky, white hair which protruded around his unpronounced ears, the holes of which were covered by a thin tympanic membrane. A moustache melded into a thin beard reaching down to the middle of his chest.

The slender figure bowed, keeping his arms at his sides with both palms facing upward. "Greetings, travelers. I am Da'ath-Jadon, Obal'Elder of the Principal City, Darda'Ja. On behalf of all Myng'h, I welcome you to our world, C'rinth." He spoke with a stately grace, enunciating each syllable clearly.

Snelling was careful to mimic his movements. "Greetings, Da'ath-Jadon, Obal'Elder. My name is Maxwell Snelling, advisor to the President of the United States, official ambassador of Man from the planet Earth. We have traveled a great distance to be here. It is my hope that this meeting will mark the beginning of a prosperous relationship between our respective peoples. Toward that goal, I have been given full autonomy to negotiate terms which will be mutually beneficial."

Da'ath-Jadon idly stroked his beard and replied,"I am afraid those terms are not acceptable."

Snelling involuntarily took a step backward, reacting as if he'd been slapped. "I don't understand..."

"Ah'n-Ben has declared only the one whose hair shines like the uri, and whose eyes mirror the color of the mar'ked, the Sacred Orbs, may speak as the voice of your people – the one He has declared the Y'uel-an." The Obal'Elder nodded toward Hawke. "As this is ah'n-Ben's wish, we will acknowledge no other."

Hawke felt everyone's eyes on him. Max cast a helpless appeal toward Bishop, but she raised an amused eyebrow and shrugged. Hawke kept a straight face. "Since it's ah'n-Ben's wish, it would be disrespectful not to accept. Don't you think, Max?"

The Obal'Elder inclined his head.

Hawke stepped around Snelling. He could feel his gaze throwing daggers into his back. Good, he needed to be knocked down a few pegs, the arrogant SOB. Hawke bowed to the Elder. "My name is Commander Nathan Hawke. I am honored, but confused. Is ah'n-Ben your ruler?"

The being chuckled. "No. Ah'n-Ben is our...Guider. He watches over us. He is all things and all things are part of Him."

"You mean like a Supreme Being? A god?" asked Claudia.

Da'ath-Jadon answered, "Yes. His Will is supreme. He is the Keeper of the Balance, the Creator of our world and many others. He has many names."

Corporal Sweeney muttered under his breath, "Great, we came all the way across the galaxy for a bunch of wacky religious nuts."

Hawke hoped the comment didn't carry over. If Da'ath-Jadon was offended he gave no indication of it. "And this Creator, you can talk to him?"

"Of course. That is the function of the mar'ked, else how would His Will be made known to us?"

Hawke frowned. "Can we speak to him?"

"In time," Da'ath-Jadon said. "For now, He has told us to treat you as honored guests. To show you everything about our world, our ways and culture, our land, and the history of our people."

"May I ask how ah'n-Ben knew we were coming?"

The Obal'Elder seemed puzzled by the question. "What kind of supreme being would He be if He did not know these things?"

Hawke laughed. "Touché. But what I meant was, if you knew exactly when and where we would arrive, why weren't you here waiting for us?"

"We wanted to give you some time to explore on your own." The Obal'Elder hesitated. "I hope we did not arrive too expediently?"

"No, your timing was perfect," Hawke assured him. The four beings behind the Elder remained perfectly still. "Allow me to introduce the rest of my party." Hawke did so.

Da'ath-Jadon swept an arm behind him and said simply, "These are my ami'sim. They attend to me."

"As your servants?"

"Mine? No, they are servants of ah'n-Ben, but they assist me in my duties."

"So, where do we go from here?"

"If it meets with your approval, Y'uel-an, we will take you and your people to our city. The journey should give us ample time for discussion."

Hawke bowed elegantly. "By your leave, please give me a moment to confer with my companions."

"As you wish." The Obal'Elder spoke in low tones to one of his ami'sim. The young acolyte sprinted lightly back across the meadow toward the waiting assemblage.

The scientists were more than agreeable to the proposal. Bishop shifted uncomfortably on her heels and reminded them they'd be greatly outnumbered should it be a trap, but she conceded such a situation was inevitable given the circumstances. Snelling, for all that his rank had unceremoniously been stripped from him, sullenly admitted that refusing to accept their hospitality at this point would be tantamount to forfeiting any opportunity to negotiate with them.

Hawke approached the Elder. "It seems we're all in agreement."

Da'ath-Jadon nodded in the direction of the caravan, his robes barely ruffling the blades of grass as he passed.

Well, folks, this is going to be my last posting for this month. I'd like to say that I appreciate having the opportunity to talk about my novel and post excerpts. This final sample of the novel represents the first opportunity that Hawke gets to talk to the Supreme Being of the Myng'h, named ah'n-Ben on this world. It was this dialogue that really served as the inspiration for the entire story as I thought about the question: if you met God, what would you say? No, seriously, think about it for a second. What would you say?

As I've mentioned before, if anyone reading these excerpts is interested in the story, please don't hesitate to reach out and message me. Thanks again.
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The entire building was a single cavernous room. To his amazement there was not a single person inside to greet him. In fact, the room was entirely barren except for a small pedestal in the center – nearly a quarter of a mile away! On top of the pedestal was a crystal ball that glowed with a soft blue radiance as if lit from deep within. Puzzled, he approached it, his footfalls echoing through the chamber. The distance was deceptive, perhaps because there was nothing by which he could judge scale. And there were no windows. He looked up but the ceiling faded into grayness. Despite the lack of direct sunlight, the room was sufficiently illuminated by the crystal's sky blue aura, which was surprising considering its size, only about a foot in diameter.

He looked around, his eyes trying to pierce what few shadows existed, but he felt, rather than saw, that no one was watching him. He mentally kicked himself for not asking Neri what he should do next. Acting instinctively, he placed one hand on the orb.

"Um...hello?"

"Greetings, Nathaniel Oliver Hawke," came a remarkably rich voice that resonated directly into his brain.

Addressed by his full name, Hawke was put momentarily off-guard. "Okay, so you know who I am. Who are you?"

"I have been called many names."

"Do I call you ah'n-Ben?"

"If you so desire."

"What are you?"

There was a soft chuckle. "I am all things."

A vague answer. "The Myng'h claim you created their world."

"And so I did."

"And the Myng'h – did you 'create' them, too?"

"Yes."

Hawke expected more explanation would follow, but getting none knew what question he should ask next – and couldn't shake the notion that he was being manipulated into asking it. In the void of silence he sensed ah'n-Ben's amusement. "Are you God?"

"That would depend upon your interpretation of that entity. If by asking you mean: did I create your world – Earth – then the answer would be simply, yes."

"What if I don't believe you?"

"That would be your prerogative."

"Shouldn't you have to perform some sort of miracle? Something to make me believe?"

"Moses said the same, as have others. It is to be expected, I suppose. Yet a burning bush was sufficient for him. Shall I send a plague of locusts to your bedchamber tonight?"

"Very funny. They always said you had a sense of humor," Hawke said dryly.

Ah'n-Ben laughed. It was a warm, pleasant sound. "Ah, that is something I have missed about you humans – your propensity for sarcasm, not that the Myng'h are without humor, but there is a difference. But let us continue this discourse. What else would you ask Me?"

Hawke wondered that himself. He wasn't really prepared for something like this. The situation was so completely surreal, like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. He half-expected to see an eccentric old man behind a green curtain fiddling with over-sized knobs and levers. Only Toto's not here, and I'm definitely not in Kansas. "What else have you...created?"

"Everything, and nothing. All that you saw on your journey. From beginning to end."

"You mean…the universe?"

"Of course. Though I was young then, even as I measure time. I did not fully understand the rules of universal matter and energy. Accidentally, I released too much of Myself."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying you made a mistake?"

"Does that notion seem inconceivable to you? Such a thing is inevitable when attempting what has never been done before. There was no one to guide My hand."

"No one? There are no others like you?"

"I have never met any."

"How were you born?"

"I was not born. I have simply always been."

"But you had to have started at some point in time."

"Can you imagine an end to time?"

"Uh...no," Hawke replied, puzzled.

"Then why can you not imagine no beginning? I suppose it is a consequence of the discrete nature of Man's subsistence," ah'n-Ben replied. "But in response to the context of your query, I have spent more time pondering My existence than all My creations collectively have spent philosophizing in their short time in this universe. Suffice to say My consciousness formed and I became aware."

"That doesn't make logical sense."

"I never claimed that it would, at least as far as you understand and define logic. Yet I sense you still do not believe Me."\

"Well, you've got to admit – from my angle it's a little hard to swallow."

"I see..." The voice paused as if reflecting. "Very well, Nathaniel Oliver Hawke. I shall give you your miracle first. Come see Me again tomorrow. Perhaps then you will feel more comfortable asking Me the questions I see in your heart."

The light within the orb went dim though not out entirely.

What? No roll of thunder. Hawke was mildly disappointed.

Thanks for sharing your work here GR.