E.M. Hamill has a new queer women-led space western out (pan, lesbian, aro/ace), Team Huntress book one: Whiskey and Warfare. And there’s a giveaway!
Running on caffeine and spite with nothing left to prove. GOLDEN GIRLS meets FIREFLY in this rollicking space opera adventure.
Maryn Alessi retired from mercenary service after her last assignment went horribly sideways and settled down on a quiet planet with the love of her life. Unexpectedly widowed, Maryn must fulfill a promise to return her mate’s ashes to zer home planet for funeral rites, but a brutal civil war has destabilized space travel.
Former Artemis Corps sisters-in-arms and their sassy ship, the Golden Girl, are up to the task, counting on luck and their rather sketchy cargo business to get Maryn passage through the contested star lanes. But when the crew of the Girl rescues survivors of a ruthless war crime, Maryn and her ride-or-die friends must take up their old profession to save the lives of innocents from a genocidal dictator.
Warnings: violence, genocide, aging, chronic illness, grief (death of spouse), PTSD
Praise for the Book:
“This is the story we all need now — filled with so much love and respect and genuinely fun adventure.” –KD Edwards, author of The Last Sun
“Every element of it just SANG. The story was *chef’s kiss*. This book is truly special.” –Sarah Chorn, author of The Necessity of Rain
“A fantastic read, a thoroughly delightful romp through space with an all-female main cast that blends crazy action scenes with deep reflection on what it means to grow older. This isn’t your parents’ Golden Girls.” –J. Scott Coatsworth, QueerSciFi.com
Giveaway
E.M. is giving away a $10 Amazon gift card with this tour:
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Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47318/
Excerpt
Jac regarded Col with an arched eyebrow. “What happens to your species as you age? I don’t see you looking any different than the last time we got together.”
“You can’t tell?” Col stroked her furry cheeks. “I have more hair on my face.”
“Don’t we all?” Maryn gave a shaky laugh. “I look like I just hit puberty. I think my moustache is glorious.”
“I have also developed lower breasts,” the Boshi said, revealing her catlike teeth in a silent snarl of disgust.
“Mine are heading south too.” Jac cupped her tits, staring at them in contemplation.
“No. Lower breasts.” Col motioned to mid-abdomen beneath her tunic when it became clear they did not follow. “My second set.”
All three humans stared at her with varying degrees of curiosity. “What are they for?” Scylla asked.
“In my society I would be expected to help nurse the litters of my children. If I had any.” Col’s furry ears flapped as she shuddered. “Mewling, damp little things. Why anyone would want them is a mystery.”
“Ours turned out okay, and I didn’t have to get cozy with anything but a syringe,” Jac said with a laugh. “But I’m pretty sure Maya doesn’t expect me to breastfeed our grandkids.”
“Don’t look at me. I got rid of the plumbing a long time ago.” Scylla slapped her flat chest with both hands.
“How old is Maya now?” Maryn was chagrined to realize she hadn’t asked after her honorary niece.
“Twenty-one. She finished her first degree and she’s in medical residency on Telluride Station.” Jac beamed with pride. “Her gene dads still practice in New Denver, so she’s living with them. They’ve been trying to convince us to settle down there, where it’s safe and boring, but we’re not ready for that.” Something Maryn couldn’t name flitted through her expression before Jac’s face softened. “She sends her love, by the way.”
“Sweet kid. I owe her a graduation gift. What a lousy aunt I am.” She sniffed and wiped her nose with a tissue.
“You’re not.”
“I haven’t even seen her since she was six, when you came to visit.”
“She gets it, Mar.” Jac’s voice was gentle but firm, trying to head off Maryn’s slide into self-recrimination, but it was too much.
“I hate this. All of it.” She balled up the soggy paper in her fist. “I have six days left to take Andelek to Xyri before the scheduled rites and I have got to pull my shit together. I could check interplanetary express freight pricing, I guess. They’ve probably raised the rates because of the war, but I can afford it.”
Her eyes grew hot again. “But it just seems so wrong. Ze isn’t a box of supplies to be shuffled off world by a robotic pilot like so much cargo. But I don’t know what else to do.” Maryn made a frustrated noise as her voice snagged on the words. Tears came again whether she wanted them or not, and she swept the back of her hand over her eyes. “I’m running out of time.”
“About that.” Jac exchanged a long glance with Scylla before she continued, “We were talking. We want to take you to Xyri.”
The warm burst of astonished gratitude faded against an electric-jolt corkscrew of anxiety drilling into her chest. Shame came next, as always, and self-disgust filled her mouth with a sour, acetic burn.
“Are you sure?” she stammered. “It’s such a dangerous flight plan right now. It won’t complicate your business?”
“Nah. We’re still freelance.” Scylla shrugged. “Mostly private transactions. We’re our own bosses.” Her husky voice softened. “And you know the Girl would love to see you.”
“I miss her too.” Golden Girl was the well-loved privateer cruiser they’d pooled their end of tour bonuses to purchase when they left the Corps. The ship had been their home, their means of independence, and she had a definite personality. Its AI learning interface had picked up more human nuance with every mission until they treated it like a fifth crew member.
“The Girl’s small enough she doesn’t attract much attention on sensor sweeps. We need to go through Konecthedot system anyway on … business.” Jac traded another secretive nod with Scylla, and Maryn wondered what they weren’t saying.
“That is next to the front.” Col wasn’t fooled by the innocence act, her peridot eyes narrowed.
“Doesn’t mean it won’t be risky, but we can get you there in plenty of time for the remembrance rites.” Scylla cocked her head and her deep brown eyes, so dark they were almost black, glinted with hope and mischief. “Whatcha think, Mar? We can make it a girls’ trip if Col wants to tag along.”
“Yes!” the Boshi exclaimed in her sweet, breathy voice. “I have been bored out of my skull. I can work anywhere since CosBank gave me remote branch equipment.”
What her friends offered was too generous to turn down. She took a deep, steadying breath. “I don’t know what to say, except—” she gestured helplessly. “Thank you.”
Scylla gulped the rest of her wine, her enthusiasm building. “Konecthedot sector might be close to the front, but we haven’t had any issues yet. It’s less dangerous than anything we did when we were mercs. We’ve got two stops to make on the way, but after that, we head straight for the wormhole and Xyri. We can transport you faster without picking up passengers at every station like the star liners do.”
“Globney said the Qetish fleet is blocking the Pashni.” Maryn twisted her fingers together to keep them from shaking.
“They don’t bother flights that originate anywhere other than Khepra, from what we heard,” the pilot assured her, and amended with a skyward glance, “Leastways, not much.”
“I haven’t been off world since …” she faltered.
Terror. Black, endless space. Isolation. The memory threatened to overwhelm her already fragile composure.
“We know.” Jac stroked her forearm.
Of course they did. They’d saved her life.
Author Bio
E.M. (Elisabeth) Hamill writes adult science fiction and fantasy somewhere in the wilds of eastern suburban Kansas. A nurse by day, wordsmith by night, she has sworn never to grow up and get boring.
Frequently under the influence of caffeinated beverages, she also writes as Elisabeth Hamill for young adult readers in fantasy with the award-winning Songmaker series.
She lives with her family, where they fend off flying monkey attacks and prep for the zombie apocalypse.
Author Website: https://emhamill.wordpress.com
Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/EMHamill
Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words 