Category: Science Fiction Books

Excerpt from Lights Out

Standing at attention in the general's office at oh-three-hundred, Tornahdo maintained his silence. The smell of burning flesh clung to his clothing. Wails of the dying rang in his ears. He kept his gaze fixed on the star map opposite while the general paced.

"Master Sergeant." A civilian coat covered her. Her pink pajama bottoms and fuzzy slippers didn't paint as intimidating an image as her medal-covered uniform, but her voice still held command. "Can you not stay out of trouble for one full day?"

He knew better than to answer.

"You intervened for a human." She stopped pacing and turned to him. "Again."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And it wasn't your single death you caused this time. It was the death of two ghosts."

Not technically. Morally, maybe, but he'd tried to spare them. "Yes, ma'am."

"Irreversible death. Ultras don't come back from fire. Ghosts with Ultra blood don't either. They died because of you."

"Ma'am, they died because Ravenstongue is a certifiable crackpot who never deserved the uniform, let alone a weapon." The words hadn't left his mouth before he knew he'd overstepped. Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut like he'd been told his entire life?

The look of disdain on the general's face said far more than words. She resumed pacing, but then stopped again, not facing him. "That may be true, Master Sergeant." Her voice had gone quiet, all but gentle. "But that's not your call. Ravenstongue is being dealt with."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Don't thank me." Her gaze snapped to his. "You are not innocent. The bartender told us his side. According to him, you were trying to save him."

Same stuff. Different day. He took a deep breath. "Yes, ma'am."

"Do I hear annoyance in your tone, Master Sergeant?"

"Not my intention, ma'am."

"Didn't we have this discussion about humans?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Are you not tired of having it?"

Oh, for so many reasons. "Yes, ma'am."

She paced again. "The fire damage to the bar will be compensated out of Ravenstongue's salary." The general paused, slapped her hands behind her back and smiled. "And yours." She stared at him as if daring him to argue.

What would he spend it on? Why did they pay him? He could go nowhere and do nothing.

"Master Sergeant, if there were more than fifty ghosts, you'd be history."

Fifty? That was all they had?

How could fifty humans hope to defeat an army of nearly one million warriors who could never die?