Third-gender operative Dalí Tamareia thought their life as an ambassador ended when they joined a galactic intelligence agency. When they’re yanked out of the field and tapped to negotiate the surrender of deadly bio-engineered warriors who crashed into hostile territory, Dalí is thrust headfirst back into the tumultuous world of galactic diplomacy.
Dalí has faced Shontavians before, but not like these. The stranded mercenaries are highly intelligent and have an agenda of their own. Dalí can’t afford to be distracted from the negotiations by their own demons or the presence of a charming diplomat with a mysterious past.
As a brewing civil war threatens to derail the entire mission, Dalí must use all their skills to bring this dangerous situation to a peaceful end—but the Shontavians may not be the biggest monsters at the table. Someone is determined to see Dalí and their team dead before they discover the brutal truth hiding in the wreckage.
Currently, I am a part time writer. It’s something I cannot live without doing because it makes me very happy and keeps me sane. I would like to someday make it my only career, but I have to have a job which pays my bills at the moment. Fortunately, I love my other career so it’s a negotiable balancing act.
What is your other career? Has it impacted your writing?
I’m an oncology nurse. I know my first drafts sometimes have really technical medical or anatomical terms because that’s how I think! My editor, Jami Nord, always flags these for me and I change them when they need to be more what a non-medically trained character would think or say. Before I worked in oncology, I was a hospice nurse. I know that part of my career impacted how I write about death and the grief process, especially with Dalí, the main character in my space opera books.
Are you a plotter or a pantser?
Mostly a pantser. I try to plot a little so I know where I’m going, and then just fly with the characters. I’m having to plot a bit more for the next Dalí book, which will be Third Front. I’m a stickler for having details that are believable and making sure my plot points aren’t completely random. This one is going to have some more intrigue and connections have to be solid before I start so I don’t get completely off track.
What character gave you fits and fought against you?
Funny you should ask that, but my main character Dalí derailed Third Front, which was supposed to be the book I was writing when Peacemaker happened. They chose a completely different mission than I’d planned for, which is one of those lovely things about pantsing I will never regret. It worked out better than I hoped because now we’re poised on the edge of the events that take place in Third Front, which takes Dalí and crew back to Sol Fed.
What secondary character would you like to explore more? Tell me about him or her.
I absolutely love Dalí’s crechemate Gor, who is a zezjna priest and Dalí’s best friend in the universe. There’s a novella I’m outlining which will show a bit more about their friendship, and how both of them will drop everything to get to the other’s side when they need them. What we’ve seen so far is a bit one-sided since Dalí’s life was torn apart and Gor’s been helping them pull themself back together. I want to show Dalí is just as invested in their relationship.
The other character who will be getting more page time in the next book is Rion Sumner, Dalí’s commanding officer. We find out a lot more about him in Peacemaker, but there’s still so much we don’t know. Dalí’s relationship with him is evolving into this infuriating dance of flirtation and pushback. I can’t wait to see where it goes.
What pets are currently on your keyboard, and what are their names? Pictures?
I have an aggressively snuggly feline overlord named Ashes who believes writing time is sit on the keyboard time, and a border collie mix rescue named Percy, who chose us at the shelter. He makes sure I stay in my chair and write. I love them both so much.
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I tamed my wavy brown mop as best I could, drawing it into a short, braided queue at the back of my neck before putting on the dress black uniform hanging in my quarters. The white starburst of diplomacy blazed in holographic relief on my left shoulder with the multiarmed spiral of the Remoliad’s sigil on the opposite sleeve.
To be back in the uniform of an ambassador felt strange. Transient reflections in the narrow window showed a me I hadn’t acknowledged in over two years. I barely recognized the echo of who I used to be, a transparent ghost against the stars outside.
The reason I had been pulled out of the field began to make sense, though I still didn’t know what the assignment entailed. Time to find out.
At the closed door of Sumner’s ready room, I tugged at the tunic’s high collar, squared my shoulders, and tapped on the panel to request entry.
“Commander. Permission to enter?”
“Granted.” The door slid aside with his verbal acknowledgment. I stepped through.
Silhouetted by the flicker of busy data screens behind the desk, Sumner wore a black uniform with insignias of diplomatic service similar to mine but without the starburst rank of ambassador. Instead, he wore the pips of an officer in the Remoliad Fleet on the high neck of his collar. He stared at the screen of a PDD, his expression dark and troubled.
Sumner glanced up and a crooked grin formed on his lips as he rose. “Ambassador Tamareia. I haven’t seen you in a while.”
His vocal inflections sounded almost normal, but his eyes still held frost. We were never this formal with each other, a sign of the tension between us.
“I haven’t seen me in a long time either. It feels very strange.” I took a deep breath. “I would like to apologize for my insubordination, especially for what I said in med bay, Commander. I was out of line.” Embarrassment burned in my cheeks, and I lowered my gaze. “I owe Melos and Ziggy more than an apology. I was under the influence on a mission, and I put the lives of my teammates in danger. I will accept the consequences of my actions as you deem appropriate.”
“Grab a chair.” He gestured opposite his desk, and I sat. “I think I owe you an apology as well. I’ve gotten used to autonomy. When some bureaucrat tells me to drop whatever I’m doing and pull my operatives in the middle of a potentially productive mission, it pisses me off. The order to recall you came from so far over my head I got vertigo. The rest is just the frost on the comet, and it pushed me over the line.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for the vendetta remark.”
“No, you were right. I needed to be reminded why I’m here. You promised only that I will be involved when we take them down, not that I would be the instrument.” No matter how badly I wanted the privilege, I had a bigger job to do. “Who told you to recall me?”
His mouth twisted in an ironic smile. “The Remoliad security council.”
My eyebrows threatened to merge with my hairline. “The security council has authority over the Penumbra?”
“Technically. My superior answers to the secretary general, but it’s almost unheard of to receive a direct order from any office.”
“I don’t understand.” I frowned. “Did my mother have anything to do with this?”
“No, Ambassador Urquhart isn’t involved as far as we can tell. We checked since the order was so specific. But I just received more details.” He handed me the data device he’d been scowling at when I came in. “Against all previous declarations of disdain for galactic alliance, the Ursetu recently issued an emergency petition for their planet to become a member of the Remoliad.”
I narrowed my eyes at him and took the PDD. “I saw something about that in my debriefing file. The crown princess is dead?”
“Yes. The queen and her grandson, Prince Razaxha, are still alive.”
“What happened? Was the planet attacked?”
“Yes and no.” He swept his hand and a heads-up display swirled into view between us. “I’ll warn you up front, this is brutal.”
The wreck of some immense ship blighted the forested grounds of a ziggurat-like palace, silhouetted against the backdrop of a sharp black mountain. Columns of smoke and flames traced the outline of warped and twisted debris. The recording lens zoomed in on a section of the disaster where tiny flashes of light sparked and died. As the picture enlarged, I sat forward in shock.
“Enhance this area.” Sumner circled the spot on the heads-up and spread his fingers. The portion of the holovid expanded, grainy, blurred, and blocked by foliage, but I made it out plainly enough. Enormous, gray-skinned figures piled out of the wreckage.
Shontavians.
The four-armed beings appeared unstoppable as they swatted aside the Ursetu and their guns, snatched up the soldiers with their sharp-taloned hands and—
A psychic memory of the taste of blood and entrails hit me so hard I fought the urge to vomit.
“Stop the playback!” I drew heavy breaths through my nose until the nausea passed and my heart stopped pounding. Sumner swept his hand over the enlarged holo, reducing details to a safe distance as my mind attempted to process what I’d seen.
A ship hadn’t crashed in the middle of an Ursetu city. It was the orbiting laboratory where Shontavians were engineered and kept isolated until their sale to whomever bought their mercenary services. It crashed into the planet or was deliberately brought down.
By whom?
The Ursetu faced monsters of their own making—huge, intelligent creatures with the serrated teeth and claws of a predator, created solely for fighting wars. And they had a craving for sentient meat.
Her other books include the acclaimed sci fi novel Dalí, the snarky urban fantasy Nectar and Ambrosia, and several short works of fiction. Visit www.elisabethhamill.com for a full list of literary work.
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