Before Cassie could ask another question about the missing ship, someone—or something—pounded on the hut’s door. Ginny jerked and whimpered on Ben Fortunas’s shoulder.
Cassie muttered a curse under her breath as she pushed away from the futon. Ben stepped out of her way. He knew better than to get in her way when she had that look on her face.
Cassie shambled back from the kitchenette with a bottle in one hand and a mug in the other. Ben took the bottle from her and motioned with his chin toward the futon. “Rest.”
“I won’t argue with you.” The medical doctor slid down onto the thin cushions. She took a tentative sip of her tea, then sighed. “That’s nice. Where’d you find this recipe?”
Dr. Cassandra Ruger turned as her partner came through the door. Her springy black hair stuck out at odd angles from her braid, except for the sweaty strands plastered to her forehead and neck. Her usually light brown skin had a gray cast to it. Even her eyes—always so ready to sparkle with mirth—looked weary.
Screams echoed underneath the sand-scoured habitat dome of Dremiks. Their rising pitch and intensity promised a coming storm that the protective structure could not abate.
The chalky, blue-gray soil of the planet carried on the wind. Not yet the nightly gale, the dust-laden drafts created visible eddies around the massive dome.
There are days (many, many days) when it feels like 90% of this writing gig consists of begging.
“Please review”
“Please join my newsletter”
“Please tell your friends!”
“Please follow me on Social media.”
It’s exhausting.
Books don’t–as much as we may wish they did–spring forth from our brains onto perfectly printed pages or automatically downloaded to an e-reader. They are labors of love (and frustration). They’re also a group effort.
