Hey there!

One of the big reasons I wanted to put together the Bulari Saga Travel Guide was that I wanted an excuse to write another Starla story.

Starla's one of my favorite characters to write. She's just so well-adjusted, with a no-nonsense attitude that makes being in her head a joy. There are no complicated mind games or murky emotional traumas with Starla. She's the kind of woman who knows what she wants and goes after it, and she tends to have a lot of fun along the way.

Writing from her point of view is always a good time!

Plus, I wanted an excuse to hang out with her girlfriends Simca and Leti a bit more. They're a pure delight, and the girls' night scenes in the Bulari Saga were among my favorite to write. I'd love to go clubbing with those girls — though I'm not sure I could keep up with them on the dance floor.

Last week, I finished the draft of "Girls' Night," a brand new Starla story set a handful of years before Double Edged. I've included a sneak preview below — but first...

Kickstarter news

The Bulari Saga Travel Guide Kickstarter is in its final week!

The Kickstarter ends on Friday, after which I'll start wrapping up the draft of the Travel Guide and send it off to my editor. I plan to start shipping out physical books and emailing out digital books in September.

The Kickstarter won't be your only opportunity to grab a copy of the Travel Guide, but just be warned that I won't put the book up for sale until a month or so after all the Kickstarter backers have received their rewards. So if you want it sooner rather than later, now's your chance!

And speaking of Kickstarters, there are a bunch of cool sci-fi ones going on right now. Here are a couple to check out:

ENDING SOON!! The Complete Backworlds Series by MPax​

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COMING SOON!! Dead in the Water by Sean Wilson​

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BOOKFUNNEL PROMO!! Strong Women​

"Girls' Night"

A Starla short story

This is how music is meant to be experienced: rippling through a sea of bodies slick with sweat and bright with gaudy colors, jeweled eyebrows glittering and glowing neon filaments whipping in their hair, lights and movement pulsing in time to the beat hitting Starla’s chest.

The DJ plays the crowd like an instrument, drawing out tension and building up anticipation in a flurry of discordant tremors that agitate the sea of dancers. Spotlights wash them in light and plunge them into dark as the vibrations become more rhythmic, more insistent, more all-consuming until the DJ finally drops the beat and every single person on the dance floor breaks.

Heavy bass thrums through Starla in a manic pulse. Her hands shoot into the air and she screams as the rest of the crowd opens their mouths in primal passion, losing herself to move with the bodies around her in the one place she still feels safe in this city.

This crush of bodies should worry her. Enemies could be anywhere — and it had once felt that way. When she’d been fifteen and just fallen from the stars to land on New Sarjun, the mass of so many strangers and the gravity of the planet weighed her down. But now the gravity grounds her. The anonymous pressure of so many strangers uplifts her.

She couldn’t collapse here, even if she wanted to — the dance floor won’t let her.

She loses herself in the music until her the balls of her feet and her calves ache and the sensation of thirst becomes impossible to ignore, then politely extracts herself from the person who’s most recently become her dance partner, signing that she’s going to get a drink.

Not in USL, of course. This person wouldn’t understand her if she did. She uses the sign language of the noisy club, miming taking a swig and pointing in the direction of the bar, followed by a wave goodnight so her dance partner doesn’t misconstrue Starla’s gesture as an invitation. She didn’t need to worry. They’re still vibing with the music, and simply shift their focus to the next closest willing body in the crowd.

Starla pushes her way through glowing, parti-colored dancers, scanning for Simca and Leti. Simca’s already leaning against the wall with her high heels dangling from one hand. Her gold minidress bares brown thighs and shoulders rippling with muscles toned in the amateur wrestling circuits, and every inch of exposed skin gleams with sweat and glitter.

Starla catches Simca’s attention and raises a hand in Leti’s name sign, eyebrow lifted to make it a question.

Simca stabs a finger towards a shadowy corner; Leti’s unmissable in her chartreuse suit, her sleeves rolled up and black silk blouse unbuttoned well below the lower edge of her lacy orange bra. She’s been making new friends, her arm slung around the bare waist of one girl while the other leans in to giggle something in her friend’s ear, cleavage aimed at Leti.

Starla waves an arm until Leti looks up from the show. “I need a drink,” she signs, in USL this time. “Ditch the club trash.”

Leti doesn’t argue, of course. This night is for having fun with old girlfriends, not making new ones, and with a suave move and a mimed promise to come back later Leti extracts herself and leaves the two club girls disappointed in the corner.

Starla and Leti wedge into their favorite booth while Simca heads to the bar — it’s her round — and Starla leans down to rub her heel.

“I’m out of practice,” she signs when she straightens again. “But it’s nice to be back dancing.”

“I’m glad your godfather let you out of your gilded cage.” Leti accompanies that with a wink to let Starla know she’s just teasing, but there’s a bite of truth in it. It’s been over two years since the civil war in Bulari’s underworld ended with Blackheart ousted into exile, but only a few months since her godfather Willem Jaantzen has relaxed enough that Starla feels comfortable coming out.

She doesn’t blame him. It had been a bad time, the usual undercurrent of tension between neighborhood street gangs boiling over until the violence spilled into the lives of everyone in the city. Bodies in parks, bodies in the streets, and Manu —

No. She’s not thinking about her shattered family tonight. It’s girls night.

“Speaking of out of practicing,” Leti signs, “if you’re ready to brush up on your bedroom skills, that sweet snack in the corner has been eyeing you.”

Starla turns, curious, to spot a man sitting alone at the bar. He’s darker complexioned than even Leti, and with that charcoal suit he should be drinking in the light and obscured in shadow. Instead, he radiates a magnetism that draws attention, especially in this gaudy crowd. Something about the cut of his suit seems foreign; gold flashes at his unbuttoned collar and in his earlobes, glints on his wrist as he sips his drink.

He catches her looking and winks.

“He was watching you on the dance floor, too,” Leti signs. She accepts a cocktail from Simca, who sets the other two on the table and tumbles into the booth beside Starla.

Simca steals a peek over her shoulder. “The loner in the black suit?” she asks, then gives Starla a wicked look. “Delicious.”

Starla makes a face. “Go for it, then. I’m not in the mood.”

“Suit yourself.” Simca pretends to leap at the chance, her long black braids whipping across Starla’s chest. She laughs as Leti grabs her arm and tugs her back into the booth to fall against Starla, who shoos her away in unfeigned protest. She’s going to be washing Simca’s glitter off for days.

“Traitor,” Leti signs. “It’s girls' night.”

“And who have you been dancing with?” Simca points out.

Leti arches an eyebrow. “Girls.” Her gaze shifts past Simca’s shoulder, and Starla follows it. The gorgeous man lifts his glass in greeting. Starla rolls her eyes and pointedly turns away, club sign language for Not interested, buddy. “He’s still watching.”

“You want me to go tell him to fuck off?” Simca signs. Her fingers are as agile and quick as Leti’s or Starla’s because she grew up with deaf parents, but she and her brother El are hearing. Her smile grows conspiratorial. “Or do you want to have a good time tonight? Seriously. Nobody will stop you.”

“I might,” signs Leti.

“Last thing Starla needs is another overbearing man in her life,” Simca retorts, and Leti sticks out her tongue. “Jaantzen’s not here. Manu’s not here. Oriol’s not here.” Simca nudges Starla. “Unless they put a tracker on you.”

Not technically, no. Both her godfather and Manu can check her location via her comm, but that’s just for emergencies and she doesn’t need the others ribbing her about it. And she’d love to pretend she can just ignore their paranoia for the night, but the truth is if she goes home with the eye candy in the corner she’ll send Manu a message to let him know where she is so Jaantzen doesn’t flame into war crises mode.

She wishes she could brush it off as an overreaction. And, with the city this peaceful — thanks to Jaantzen’s brutal ending to the civil war — she’s probably not in any danger.

But friends are dead. Manu still walks with a cane. Jaantzen’s broad face is still gaunt and haunted from the people he’s loved and lost, and she’s not going to add her own weight to his shoulders.

“Not tonight,” Starla signs. “Anyway, he’s probably a creeper. Just ignore him.”

He’ll lose interest, eventually. Most do, once they see the girls conversing in sign. There aren’t a ton of perks of being deaf, but shrugging off strangers who can’t follow the conversation when the three girls are out clubbing is a big one.

“Nice to see the place so packed,” Leti signs, mystery man brushed aside. “I think business is finally starting to pick up again in this city.”

Leti’s in PR, and many of her firm’s clients are in the entertainment industry. So many clubs had been doing poorly these last few years, with locals and tourists alike either worried about Blackheart while she was still here, or worried about the instability now that she’s gone — though that’s bullshit. She was the one making everything so unstable.

“People are ready to do something fun,” Simca points out. “Like go see Veyda. How’s that going anyway?”

Leti scrunches her eyes shut in frustration. “A nightmare.”

“The show? I thought it was sold out?”

“The show’s sold out,” Leti confirms, “It’s Vedya who’s the nightmare. It’s her first time in Bulari and she wants to go out on the town before her show. Won’t take no for an answer. My boss thinks it’s a great idea — show how safe Bulari is these days. But Veyda’s refusing to let us hire a security service because she doesn’t want to feel babysat.” Leti winces. “And if some off-planet pop star gets kidnapped at the Maxa Club? Horror show.”

“Don’t take her there,” Starla signs in alarm. “That’s a Sixth Fingers bar.”

“I know, I know.” Leti lifts her hands in a shrug. “But that’s my point. She doesn’t know this town.”

“Then she doesn’t need a security service, just some local bodyguards,” signs Simca. She elbows Starla. “Who can blend in to the club scene but also won’t let shit through to her.”

Leti laughs. “And these bodyguards, I’m guessing they want backstage passes to her sold-out show?”

“Naturally,” Simca signs. “Plus the usual rate.”

Leti turns to Starla, who shrugs.

“Why not?” Starla signs. “Sounds fun.”

And it sounds easy enough. She and Simca have worked security for Leti’s VIPs a few times in the past. Normally that just involves bouncing drunks who want to say hello. Simca may be petite, but she can take someone down in second flat, and Starla’s height is intimidating. That, and enough people know who she is in this town. She doesn’t love falling back on Jaantzen’s name, but sometimes it’s the thing that works.

“You’re hired,” Leti signs. “Meet us at the Horus tomorrow afternoon.”

Simca claps her hands together. “We’re going to meet Veyda! Is she as glamorous in person?”

The question launches Leti into an anecdote about the pop star that gets Simca snorting laughter and even pokes holes in Starla’s uneasy mood. Veyda is from one of Bixia Yuanjin’s moons, with an ethereal pale beauty and a voice people say sounds like it’s drifting gently through the stars. Starla doesn’t know her music well, though. Veyda’s released some solid club remixes, but the dreamy cadence of her originals are lost on Starla.

Still, the idea of meeting someone from the remote Bixian moons is intriguing. She’s always dreamed of seeing the swirling colors of the gas giant in person, of floating through the glittering ice fields and dazzling light shows.

When she was a child on a remote station in Durga’s Belt, she’d listened to her parents’ stories of adventure and travel with certainty that she would soon join them and see the farthest reaches of the system. But she’d barely left Silk Station, only to be torn away by the Alliance when she was fifteen and dumped on this planet to be rescued by her godfather. Now, seven years later, she’s still on New Sarjun. Still in Bulari.

Maybe it’s time for a change.

She risks another glance at the bar to find the man in the foreign-cut suit still watching her, and wonders where he’s from. Leti’s right. He looks extremely pick-up-able, were she in the mood to play out a fantasy of ditching this sand-blasted town with an attractive drifter and soaring out among the stars where she belongs. The girls would rib her about it, but they’d forgive her.

But, no. She can dream about that later. Tonight, more than anything, she needs the company of her girlfriends. She’s about to give Handsome the universal sign to get lost when he sets his glass down and lifts his hands.

“You ladies want another round?” he signs in USL. The corner of his mouth curves into a smile when her jaw drops. “This ‘snack’ is buying.”

Starla’s pale cheeks flush in horror at realizing he could understand everything they’ve just said from across the room. On the other side of the table, Leti throws herself back in surprise, cackling so loud she attracts startled looks from other patrons. Simca — whose back is to the bar — frowns at them both. “What just happened?”

“The snack just asked if we want a round,” Leti signs, still gasping for her breath through laughter. “In USL.”

“Well then yes.” Simca whirls in her seat and signs their drink order. The man inclines his head and turns back to the bar. He’s speaking aloud to the bartender, Starla notes, nodding and replying when the bartender asks him a question. So what’s a hearing man who speaks USL doing here tonight?

He approaches their table with fresh drinks a moment later, correctly matching the new drinks with empty glasses. Starla expects him to ask to sit beside Leti — not that she’s made any motion to invite him — but he stands casually back.

“I’m Luc,” he tells them, giving a namesign along with the spelling. “I saw you chatting and wanted to say hello. It’s my first night in town.”

“In town from where?” Starla asks. Something about him seems familiar, but she knows most of the few USL-speaking men who frequent the club scene. She’d remember this one.

“Everywhere.” Luc smiles, a dimple highlighting his dark cheek. The copper flecks in his eyes catch the light like starbugs.

“You’re a drifter?”

His shrug is elegant, liquid, implying fine muscles Starla can’t help but wonder about.

“I suppose so.” He bows, a gesture that’s faintly Arquellian; Starla makes a note to ask Simca if she heard him talking and caught an accent. “It was nice to meet you all.”

At his surprise leave-taking, Leti relaxes her bulldog stance. “You can sit if you want,” she signs, but Luc shakes his head.

“It’s girls' night,” he signs. He tilts a nod to Starla. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

And he heads out the door, into the night. All three women watch him leave.

“He didn’t put anything in the drinks,” Leti signs after a stunned minute. “I was watching.”

“Well then,” Simca signs. “To the good ones, cheers.”

Starla smiles at them both. “To girls' night.”
​

***
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Starla’s late and bleary-eyed walking into Cobalt Tower’s lobby the next morning. She’s glad to have her own apartment these days, but one of the perks of living in the tower was that she used to be able to stumble down the stairs in minutes, rather than rushing the fifteen-minute walk from her new place.

But Jaantzen and Manu can’t check the security logs in her building to see what time she got home last night, or who with. And that’s worth everything.

The lobby’s filled with incoming office workers who are employed either by Jaantzen’s restaurant supply business, Rosco Kudra Enterprises, or one of the other companies that rents space here. Cobalt Tower could be any office building in downtown Bulari with its double-height glass facade, trendy couches, potted trees, and polished cream marble floors. Only its notorious owner sets it apart.

Buying a prestigious downtown tower was a power move for a kid who grew up on the streets of Bulari, Starla knows. It’s a visual reminder to everyone in town of how Jaantzen pulled himself literally out of the gutter to become a businessman this successful, and while his early revenue streams may not have been very legal, the wealth that bought Cobalt Tower came relatively honestly.

Jaantzen’s RKE supplies some of the biggest restaurants and hotels in Bulari. Partly because of his extreme reliability — vendors and street gangs alike know better than to disrupt Jaantzen’s supply chain — and partly because the city’s elite owed him an enormous debt after he removed Blackheart from power. He didn’t take their bribes, but he proudly took their business — and took advantage of the depression in downtown real estate values to buy two prime pieces of property: Cobalt Tower, which he made the base of his operations and living quarters, and the Jungle, which he turned into an absolute knockout of a restaurant.

Starla pulls on her jacket as she walks through the doors, waving to Nadhi at the reception desk. She’d normally walk around the desk to the private lift, heading to the fourth floor to check in with Toshiyo. But a familiar face catches her eye.

Absolon Chevalier is sitting on the trendy orange couches on the far side of the lobby.

Starla throws up her hands in greeting and diverts her path to meet him, throwing her arms around him for a hug.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“A meeting with Jaantzen,” Absolon signs, with a wave of his hand that means, It’s just business, nothing you need to worry about.

Because of course it’s nothing for her to worry about. Starla’s used to being shut out of secretive meetings with Bulari elite and foreign allies like Absolon alike. During the civil war she’d been a teenager, and they’d been trying to keep her safe. But now that she’s in her twenties and most of Jaantzen’s business is truly and absolutely boring, the patronizing pats on the head land harder and harder.

And anyway, Absolon isn’t here to sell Jaantzen’s new refrigerator units. The gadgets he peddles tend to go boom in interesting ways, and ever since Maribi Station, when Starla first saw the arsenal inside Absolon’s ship, she’s been dying to get her hands on some.

“Are you talking shop?” Starla signs. “Because I’d love to join you.”

“Later, later.” Absolon gives her a gentle smile, then his gaze shifts past her shoulder and the smile goes proud. “I’d like to introduce you to someone. My nephew.”

When Starla turns, her jaw drops open. It’s the snack from last night, the one with the gorgeous cheekbones and familiar copper-flecked eyes.

Luc grins at her.

“Hi, Starla,” he signs; he knows her namesign though she didn’t tell him.

“Hi, Luc.” She spells it; let him wonder if she’s already forgotten his.

*** To be continued... ***

I'm so excited about this story, and had a ton of fun writing it!

This story will only be available in the Bulari Saga Travel Guide. If you want to read the rest, go pick up your copy before the Kickstarter wraps up on Friday!

Happy reading!

P.S. Members of the VIP Crew get ebook copies of each new release (including the Bulari Saga Travel Guide) two weeks before anyone else as a thank you for their support of this newsletter. Want to know more? Check it out here!