QSFer Jacqui Greaves has a new queer sci-fi book out: Sondrine: Ghost Assassin of Bijou.
Climb aboard for a murderous journey through the known universe with the cantankerous menopausal ghost assassins of Bijou and their sometimes fickle partners, the belosa, sentient cuttlefish-like spaceships, in a series of fun, character-driven space operas.
Ghost assassin Sondrine and her belosa partner Alta land on the planet Polemor, only to be caught in the crossfire of a local rebellion. Fuck! Alta is injured and the pair are forced to hide in the blue desert while she recovers. If they’re to have any hope of leaving the planet alive then Sondrine will have to drag a damaged thruster across the desert for repair.
Rescued by the strange, tattooed ‘second sisters’, Sondrine is delivered to the engineering workshop of Enris, where the routine repair turns into a fight for survival. Sondrine isn’t sure she can trust the enigmatic Enris, but what choice does she have?
Sondrine: Ghost Assassin of Bijou is perfect for fans of Martha Wells’s Murderbot Diaries and Becky Chambers Wayfarers series.
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Excerpt
I’m monitoring Alta’s landing checks when the first missile hits. Despite being safe within our forcefield, I flinch.
‘Fuck.’ Protected in the cuttlebone deep within Alta’s body, I can’t see what’s happening outside. ‘Are we secure, Alta?’
‘Yes, Sondrine. It appears we have landed in the middle of a military skirmish. We are caught in their crossfire. They are unable to see us but the forcefield is stopping missiles mid-air and may raise suspicions. Shall I power up and move?’ Alta’s voice is calm and reassuring.
I know Polemor is a planet at war but hadn’t expected to experience their conflict first-hand so soon. We’ve landed on the largest continent, Verdor, at the coordinates given by the client. I have to trust they know what they’re doing. What kind of impression will I make if I fly off at the first sign of danger?
We assassins of Bijou are known across the worlds and moons, not only for our discretion but for our ability to get the job done with little fuss and negligible collateral damage.
‘No. Let’s wait to see what happens. Let me know if you sustain any damage or need to recharge to maintain the forcefield.’
‘Of course,’ Alta replies.
I’ve already sent a message to the client alerting them to my arrival, so for now all I can do is wait for their reply and hope the missile fire stops.
I complete the final landing checks, release myself from the seat’s harness and stretch. Despite the cutting-edge design and ergonomics of the bridge, nothing makes the physical discomfort of punch flight any easier.
It takes several moments for my left knee to unlock itself enough for me to walk without hobbling. I’m not the youngest of the assassins, but I’m far from the oldest. How some of the older women manage these flights I’ve no idea. I hope to live long enough to learn their secrets.
Five local minutes pass and the client still hasn’t replied, so I set about doing my usual set of morning exercises to loosen up. It’s good to stretch out my cranky ligaments and muscles. The never-ending whir and thud of missiles trying to penetrate our protections set a strange rhythm to move to. I succeed in releasing a satisfactory crack in my spine when Alta speaks.
‘We have received a reply from the client. It reads: Sorry about the unexpected artillery. Please hold your position and wait for further instructions.’
‘Alta, please send a response stating we’ll hold for one local hour, after which our agreement will be voided and their deposit forfeit.’
‘Done,’ said Alta.
I hate these types of landings; they upset my routine. It means I’m forced to remain in my flight-suit, ready for any eventuality, so no shower. There’s no point in preparing a meal, which I’ll no doubt have to abandon half-cooked or half-eaten, but I can make a caffee. I turn on the machine and wait for the steamed water to percolate through the measure of ground beans, extracting caffeine and the rich bitter flavour as it goes.
Caffee is one of the most fantastic discoveries we assassins ever made. It grows on a primitive blue and green planet at the far edges of the known worlds and moons. Our biologists adapted the plant to flourish on Bijou, making the lives of assassins and the planet-bound so much better.
I’m still savouring my second sip of hot caffee when the ship vibrates. An alarm buzzes.
‘Something made it through the forcefield. I am injured.’ Alta’s voice has lost its usual calm melody.
Shit. With profound regret I hurl the caffee into the recycler. I run to the bridge and scramble back into my seat. The harness deploys at the push of a button. This planet isn’t supposed to have ordinance superior to our defence system. Something is very fucking wrong here.
‘Time to leave, Alta.’
‘Start-up initiated. Departure in…’ Her body shakes again, she’s taken another hit, stronger this time. ‘Sondrine, I have sustained significant mechanical damage. Brace for departure…now.’
Alta doesn’t do her usual graceful take-off, instead, she bursts into the air with violent speed. If it wasn’t for my flight suit and harness, I’d have severe internal injuries. She must have left behind a significant perimeter of damage. Has she just obliterated my client? Hmm. Does my client deserve to be obliterated? I’ll have to worry about that later. We’re still within the planet’s atmosphere, so we have more immediate problems.
‘Alta, how bad’s the damage?’
‘I am unable to reach sufficient velocity to leave the atmosphere, and even if I could, I have some concerns about life-support systems. I can self-repair but will need two local days to regrow the components.’
Shit. The advantage of having belosa, a sort of enormous cuttlefish, as living, sentient ships is their self-healing abilities. The disadvantage is not carrying replacement parts for their mechanical modifications. Repairs take time.
‘Can you find us a quiet spot to hide?’
‘There is a series of canyons at the edge of a desert on Sablor, the other continent. All indications are there should be caves large enough to accommodate me. We will be there in thirty local minutes. Sondrine, please remain in your harness.’
I hope Alta’s request is based on an abundance of caution and not from actual concern for our capacity for flight and safe landing. My palms are sweaty and my mouth’s dry. I wish I hadn’t jettisoned my caffee.
‘Alta, do you know what hit us?’
‘No, Sondrine. It was not a physical ordinance and yet caused physical damage. It does not meet any of the parameters of weapons I know, nor does it meet any of the parameters of biological or chemical threats identified in our intelligence about Polemor.’
Fuck. This isn’t the first time the background material I’ve been provided has been missing information, but this is by far the worst.
Author Bio
Jacqui Greaves is a former marine biologist. She has self-published novellas and a collection of short stories, and had numerous short stories and poems published in anthologies, websites and e-pubs. Jacqui writes speculative fiction and is a three-time finalist in Aotearoa New Zealand’s Sir Julius Vogel Awards. Find out more at: https://www.jacquigreaves-author.com/
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