Havok Publishing

Jane Maree

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Survivor

Surrounded by the bustle of the Holuvian Interstellar market, I finally admit how bad of a pickle I’m in.
No, not just a pickle. This is worse. It’s a situation.
This situation has left me stranded on an unknown planet with nary a coin nor friend to my name. I grip my hat,

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Slave of the Eclipse

I clutch the chest of stardust, staring at the space battle raging above. My crew on the Nebula is almost overwhelmed by Nova Alliance soldiers, even with the space-kraken crumpling their boarding vessel in its tentacles.
Breathless, I scoop up a handful of the glittering stardust, heedless of the blood on my skin

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Guardian of the Stardust

I check my star-compass and adjust the Nebula’s course, following the needle toward a small, oddly shaped moon. The double suns to our stern stretch my shadows across the deck as I lean around the mainsail to see. At first, stardust seems to glow around the rock, but as we approach,

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Bard of the Interstellar

“A bard here sells stardust?” I tug my top hat low and flip up my collar, adjusting my oxygen mask as I scan the dock.
Mister Kieffer drops from the rope ladder hanging from the Nebula’s railing. “Aye.” Maskless, he’s only a little breathless in the oxygenless Holuvian atmosphere.
It’s risky to let a prisoner

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Peddler of the Galaxies

The prisoner still refuses to talk.
Hands clasped behind my back, I pace my cabin. Shutters dim the starlight lanterns on my desk, but the wide, paned window reveals the sparkling view of a myriad of stars to our stern. I can’t bring myself to pull the blinds, lest I miss some glimpse of pursuit.

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Tyrant of the Void

I savor the moment as our cannons fire on the bustling trade ring. The void of space swallows any sound as red flashes shoot from our guns and streak for the alliance’s heart. The time for my vengeance has come at last.
The blast turns the huge ring-shaped trade station into space dust

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Captain of the Nebula

All pirates are dirty liars and murderers, but none worse than Captain Dolion of the Nebula. His aim is as sharp as his tongue, and his neck scarf as red as the blood of his victims.
Stardust parts around the bow of the Nebula and swirls in our wake as we forge toward

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