Title: Peacemaker
Series: A Dalí Tamareia Novel
Author: E.M. Hamill
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: March 2, 2020
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: No Romance
Length: 78000
Genre: Science Fiction/Fantasy, LGBTQIA+, genderfluid, interspecies, space opera, space travel, third gender
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Synopsis
Third-gender operative Dalí Tamareia
thought their life as an ambassador ended when they joined a galactic
intelligence agency. When they’re yanked out of the field and tapped to
negotiate the surrender of deadly bio-engineered warriors who crashed into
hostile territory, Dalí is thrust headfirst back into the tumultuous world of
galactic diplomacy.
Dalí has faced Shontavians before, but
not like these. The stranded mercenaries are highly intelligent and have an
agenda of their own. Dalí can’t afford to be distracted from the negotiations
by their own demons or the presence of a charming diplomat with a mysterious
past.
As a brewing civil war threatens to
derail the entire mission, Dalí must use all their skills to bring this
dangerous situation to a peaceful end—but the Shontavians may not be the
biggest monsters at the table. Someone is determined to see Dalí and their team
dead before they discover the brutal truth hidden in the wreckage.
Excerpt
Peacemaker
E.M. Hamill © 2020
All Rights Reserved
I keep ending up in labyrinthine mazes.
There’s a psychological diagnosis in there, somewhere.
On the surface, Bariish displayed its
harsh beauty in jagged mountains undulating in parti-colored heaves of red,
yellow, and white. But beneath the planet’s landscape lay a hostile, ugly
environment. Valuable ore streaked the planet’s crust in tight wires, a coveted
material bringing astronomical prices in the open market. Danger lurked in the
greed of fellow miners who would just as soon steal the ore someone else coaxed
out of the rocky matrix to increase the weight of their own day’s take, and
thus the credits received at the end of their stint. Guards maintained a
presence in the shaft, but the dark, noisy area contained warrens of tunnels
which couldn’t all be patrolled at once.
The heat in the mineshaft stifled me.
Vibration from the pneumatic hammer pounded my bones as I chiseled out narrow
fragments of rare metal and dropped them into a half-full bucket anchored
between my boots. Sweat rolled off my back underneath the protective coveralls,
burned my eyes behind the goggles I wore, and noise-canceling headgear formed a
swamp around my ears. I didn’t look forward to removing any of it.
Bitter dust rimed my mouth as I leaned
the hammer against the stony wall and dug a water ration out of the deep thigh
pocket of my coveralls. Heads-up informatics in my goggles displayed the depth
from the surface, the air quality, and the time remaining on my shift. Fifteen
minutes, all conditions green. I was ready to get out. The claustrophobic
awareness of two kilometers of rock overhead remained a constant companion and
pressed as heavily as the still atmosphere in the tunnel. I finished the water
and picked up my hammer again.
For more than two months, Ziggy and I
had been undercover in this illegal mining operation. The first couple of
weeks, I did little but register my take with the clerks, go back to our ship
on the sandy apron where the rest of the itinerant miners camped, and pick
blistered skin off my hands before collapsing into an exhausted coma. The hard
physical labor on a planet where gravity was denser than my accustomed Gs
proved a new conditioning challenge. My endurance increased each day, but there
were limits on the number of hours we were allowed to scrape our take from the
mine, and the sound of the warning klaxon brought a sense of relief.
Many Nos, Cthash, and Tolkish drifters
worked on the day shift: humanoid, oxygen-breathing species like mine, all
drawn by the promise of galactic credits, having left their home systems for
reasons of their own. I was the only human in the shaft, night or day. The only
one in camp at the time. I kept a low profile, but oddities tend to draw
attention.
I hate it when that happens.
A shove to the middle of my back sent me
off balance. The powerful excavator danced in an uncontrolled frenzy across the
rocks, and I spun, the container of ore threatening to spill. I managed to
right it with one heel and shut off the hammer.
Two Nos stood behind me, sneering
beneath steamed-up goggles and safety helmets. Tracks of sweat traced pale
lines against their grime-covered, glacial skin. The taller of the two thrust a
quarter-full ore bucket at me and pantomimed I should empty my take into his.
I’d seen these assholes before. They’d
performed the same act with other workers that week, beating the shit out of
anyone who refused.
A quick glance around showed no guards
close by—not that they would have heard anything over the din of mining
activity. I leaned the equipment against the rock wall and capped my ore
canister, leaving it inside the alcove where I worked. Empty-handed, I stepped
out.
My specialized senses can’t help me
where the Nos are concerned. They’re flat nulls, a blank broadcast muffling the
spread of my empathic nets, but I’ve come to learn from close work with a Nos
crewmate all I need to know is written in their body language.
Tall guy pointed to my bucket again and
then to his. Tense, jerky. The smug, shorter Nos behind him stood in a relaxed,
expectant slouch. So, he was the one in charge.
I shook my head and crossed my arms over
my chest. What are you going to do about it? Excitement sang through my
bloodstream, anticipating a fight. The pain of muscle beginning to shift in
response to my changeling hormones remained invisible under my coveralls. The
ache between my shoulder blades throbbed in a knot of eager, pent-up energy.
The taller Nos shoved his container at
the short guy, who calmly took it and stepped back. I used the time to move
into the center of the shaft, into the clear space between the magnetic tracks
upon which the crew carrier rode.
He swung at me. Here we go.
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Meet the Author
E.M. Hamill is a nurse by day, sci fi and fantasy novelist by night. She lives in eastern Kansas with her family, where they fend off flying monkey attacks and prep for the zombie apocalypse. She also writes young adult material under the name Elisabeth Hamill. Her first novel, SONG MAGICK, won first place for YA fantasy in the 2014 Dante Rossetti Awards for Young Adult Fiction.Website | Facebook | Twitter
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