Sunday, August 4, 2019

New - DAME AUDREY - New Medieval Romance by Aurora Springer


 Audrey

Travel to Chaucer’s England in this gritty Medieval romance with a touch of fantasy.
In fourteenth century Britain, Dame Audrey cherishes her independence as the widow of a wealthy cloth merchant. But several of the wealthier traders covet her profitable business and she fears they will invoke the Abbot’s authority to compel her to marry a man of their choice. Her worst nightmare is suffering under a cruel husband like the hateful jeweler, Henry Goldsmith, who has threatened to curb her lively spirits.
Audrey joins a pilgrimage to Glastonbury to pray for guidance. On the homeward journey to Redding, she aids the dying victim of a brutal robbery. She wins the stranger’s blessing and a gold brooch with a green dragon. Back in her hometown, the faerie brooch attracts trouble from thieves of all ranks and the attentions of a handsome yeoman, Selwyn Drake. As her nightmare looms nearer, she grows desperate to preserve her freedom.
Can the magic brooch help Audrey evade the schemes to force her into wedlock or must she submit to a husband’s will?


Chapter One

Glastonbury Abbey, the thirteenth day of July

In the summer of my twenty-third year, I made a pilgrimage to Glastonbury in Somerset, thereby proving my piety and enlightening my mind. Our parish priest had often advised a visit to a holy shrine as penance for sinful thoughts, especially for a widow like me. Regardless of the state of my soul, a pilgrimage suited me since I delighted in traveling to new places. Both my business and private affairs benefited from the direction and timing of the trip from my house in Redding.
Our company of pilgrims mounted on good horses made the journey to Glastonbury in five days of easy riding in the clement weather of early July. Glastonbury Abbey is a popular destination as the burial site of legendary King Arthur and other notable kings and abbots. In a further claim for the pious, Joseph of Arimathea sailed from Jerusalem and founded the first church on this site. The monks are well prepared for visitors of all ranks. Elite lords and ladies are accommodated in the Abbot’s house, while the rest of us must be satisfied with the hostel.   
When we reached the hostel in the middle of the afternoon, we were instructed to leave our horses in the stable yard and walk along the path to the Abbey gates. Cousin Margaret and I dismounted from our weary mares. My yeoman, John Holt, took charge of our three horses and my wolfhound. Margaret and I linked arms in the correct manner for two women unaccompanied by a male relative and joined our fellow pilgrims. We made a mismatched pair of widows. Margaret is short, plump and as meek as a mouse, whereas I am taller than most men and unafraid to speak my mind. My kirtle is deep blue, while she wears nothing brighter than tawny brown. Although she dislikes long journeys, my cousin had been my faithful traveling companion since my husband’s decease.
As we left the stable yard, the inner stone walls of the abbey came into sight. The paved road led straight to big iron gates flanked by armed guards. We gazed up at the splendid cathedral with its towers jutting into the blue sky. Sunlight glinted on the glazed windows.
Margaret squeezed my arm and breathed, “What a wonderful tribute to the good Lord Jesu.” 
My praise was more temperate. “It is an imposing building, and I believe the interior is superb.”
We walked toward the cathedral. Beggars in grimy russet tunics crowded on both sides of the path, stretching out their hands and pleading for alms. A scant three paces ahead of us, two lads ran into the road and tugged at the sleeves of an elderly merchant. He shook them off and bawled for help. The Abbot’s men-at-arms unsheathed their swords and shoved the boys away. No other paupers dared approach us.
The guards stood aside to let our line of pilgrims enter. Inside the tall gates, we were met by a young monk in the black robes of the Benedictines, our guide to the treasures. He bowed and accepted our donations as fees to enter the sacred places.
His voice rang with fervent devotion, “Gentlemen and ladies, welcome to our great church. Please speak softly or keep silent in reverence for God’s house.” He led us across the paved yard to the arched porch of the cathedral.
We stepped into the cool interior space, and halted in the side aisle of the great nave. The hushed silence was broken only by the shuffle of footsteps and the gasps of awe. Rows of slender columns reached up to the high vaulted ceiling. Bright beams of color poured through the beautiful rose window above the high altar.
Margaret was much impressed with the magnificent nave. Her mouth gaped open as her gaze swung from the ornate altar to the arched ceiling. She was not alone in her amazement. 
After a short interval, our guide directed us away from the main altar to the west end of the cathedral. We tiptoed into the Lady Chapel to view its collection of sacred relics.
Inside the chapel, Margaret halted before the glittering display of marvels arranged in the chancel. She breathed a sigh of wonder. Making the sign of the cross, she dropped onto her knees in front of the sacred objects. I stood behind her, estimating the worth of the abundant treasures. The interior of the chapel was so full of gold you could scarce distinguish the relics. My frugal heart rebelled at such abundance of wealth when beggars lined the road to the Abbey gates. In my opinion, our abbey in Redding housed as fine a selection of holy objects amid less ostentation.
Our black-robed guide was stationed at one side of the small chapel. Noticing the line of penitents waiting outside, I did not expect he would allow us to linger by the hallowed treasures. My unvoiced prediction was correct. Before Margaret had finished her fervent prayers, the monk interrupted and requested we return to the nave. 
After we were expelled from the altar of the Lady Chapel, Margaret and I wandered toward the east end of the main church. The tomb of King Arthur held a prominent place before the high altar. Cloths embroidered in red and gold thread draped over the tomb. Red and gold also decorated the wall behind the high altar and painted banners hung from the ceiling beams. The Abbey church in Redding could also boast of a king’s tomb, although Henry the first is less renowned and less romantic than King Arthur.
We strolled along the aisle to a pew near the altar and knelt on the cushions to pray. In my usual devotions, I offered prayers first for my deceased husband and two children, and then the living members of my family, especially my dear mother and sister. I paused for a moment to inhale the tranquility of the great nave. A shaft of sunlight struck across the pews in front of me, and high in the vaulted ceiling, a thrush trilled in joy. The golden sunbeam and cheerful birdsong seemed a sign of Christ’s mercy, a promise of hope.
I bent over my clasped hands and begged for guidance on my private troubles. For two and a half years, I had enjoyed the happy independence of a widow. But recently, I had come under increased pressure to take another husband. At Sunday Mass, Father Damon had stared straight at me when he preached on woman’s inborn sin. He ranted on her obligation to submit to a man’s authority. He adjured all women to bow to a husband or else enter a nunnery as the bride of Christ. Nor did the merchants of Redding favor a widow with a cloth shop. They envied my successful trade and coveted my shop and skilled weavers. At the midsummer festivities, Mayor Kent had joked he wished to see me wed before his term of office ended. I took his words as a threat as much as a jest. Nobody had spoken to me about any particular man. Yet, I was not free. The Mayor, the Abbot or Sheriff might bid me to wed a man of their choosing. If I refused, my sole option was the nunnery. Of the two, I preferred the idea of marrying again if I could find a good, kind man and preferably one who was younger than my first husband.
My husband had been kind. He had treated me well, though I knew many men were cruel to their wives. He never beat me and liked to give me fine gowns, books and jewelry. He had rejoiced in the births of our children and sorrowed at their loss. Yet, he was thirty years older than I, and grew fat and wrinkled during the seven years of our marriage. I performed my nightly duties without enjoying his touch.  
My prayers were more akin to a meditation on my options, when in reality I might have none. Thus, I asked a blessing of St Mary, that I might have a choice in my future. Satisfied with my prayers, I glanced at Margaret. She must have been waiting for me to finish. She looked up quickly and gave a slight nod. I rose and we walked together down the central aisle to the exit.
Once we left the abbey, we had to endure the supplications of the beggars again. They pushed into the paved path, crying in hoarse voices for pennies.
Margaret gripped my arm and pressed close to my side, frightened by the crush of unwashed paupers. Desirous of a barrier against purse snatchers, I angled our steps to position us between a stout yeoman and a brown-robed friar. The yeoman gave me a sympathetic nod and patted the hilt of his sword. 
I pitied the poor creatures, men, woman and children of all ages. Many of the beggars were crippled, missing one or more limbs. Some were covered in sores, and all wore dirty clothes. They had no livelihood or master to care for their needs. Did the abbey monks not offer food and housing to the poor at their gates? In my humble opinion, the monastery ought to use a portion of its immense wealth to succor the poor. We had paid well to visit the shrine and the Abbot must also receive tithes from the local households.
I had often given alms to the poor, yet I was cautious in my donations, especially so near to the shrine of Glastonbury. Not all beggars were truly destitute. Some of the most vocal supplicants might be greedy fakers, merely scoundrels hoping to benefit from the piety of the pilgrims.
As our party approached the hostel where we lodged, I caught sight of an old woman holding the hand of a small child. They stood apart from the majority of paupers. Their kirtles were neat, although frayed at the hems. The woman’s wrinkled face had a resigned expression. Her blind eyes stared straight ahead and she leaned on a stick. The child was a fair-haired girl of perhaps five years of age, the same age as my dear Ellen when the Lord took her from me. A pang of sorrow pierced my heart and I resolved to give this woman a pair of silver coins.
Beckoning to the blind woman, I said, “Old mother, come closer.”
She did not react, but the child fixed a forlorn gaze on me and tugged at the woman’s hand. With the child’s encouragement, the woman hobbled forward, tapping the ground with her cane at each step.
I held out my hand with two silver pennies on my palm.
Releasing her grip on the child’s small hand, the old woman touched my wrist lightly and felt her way to the coins. She curled her fingers around the gift, and bent in an awkward curtsy.
Her voice cracked with sincerity, “Good and gracious lady, I give thanks for your kindness. May the sweet Lord Jesu watch over your travels, may you bear healthy children, and may gentle Lady Bridda grant your dearest wish.”
A shiver of excitement raced along my spine at this strange mix of blessings, including the invocation of the unfamiliar Lady Bridda in conjunction with Christ’s holy name. The weight of their potency washed over me like a fragrant shower of rose petals. Bowing to the old woman, I thanked her from the depths of my heart.
A new group of pilgrims passed us on their way to the Abbey gates. The other beggars began to shuffle closer, hoping their pleas would reach fresh ears and generous hearts.
Nudging my elbow, Margaret urged in a shaky whisper, “Audrey, let’s walk on. We can’t give alms to everyone.” She glanced nervously at the crowd of paupers. 
“No. Just this one destitute woman.” As we turned away, I sighed, “The girl reminded me of Ellen.”
“Her hair is the same flaxen color,” Margaret agreed.
Walking faster, we evaded the incoming beggars and caught up with the rest of our company. When I glanced backward, the blind woman and girl were hidden behind the keener supplicants.
I asked my cousin, “Did you ever hear of Lady Bridda?”
Still clutching my elbow for protection, Margaret blinked at me and shook her head. “Mayhap she is a local saint favored by the blind woman.”
Giving a mental shrug, I said, “Doubtless she’s a Welsh saint, judging by our location near the West Marches.”
With the hostel in sight, my timid cousin felt safer. She smiled at me, asking, “Do you ever wish for another child?”
Tears filled my eyes, threatening to trickle down my cheeks. Surreptitiously, I wiped my knuckles over the corners of my eyes. “Oh Margaret,” I said, “children are both joy and sorrow in my experience. If I had another child, I would dread losing them.”
“You’ll need a new husband first. Have you thought of making a second marriage?” 
Amused by her down-to-earth question, I assured her, “I’m happy with my life as a widow.” In truth, I treasured my independence and had no desire to submit to a husband’s will. My cousin did not appreciate my dilemma. She seemed as contented with her subservient role in my household as she’d been with her husband. “It isn’t easy to find a good husband,” I said. “Do you imagine a handsome knight would see me at the fair, slip a ring on my finger, and carry me away to his castle?”
“Nay. You wouldn’t be so improper. Most likely, you’d scold him for impudence and send him running.” A hint of disapproval entered her voice as she remarked, “Though, you’re certainly fond of traveling.”
“But, Margaret,” I parried, “you haven’t remarried.”
“I’m older, not as comely and prosperous as you. Who would wish to wed me?”
“You are one of my best weavers, and a valuable assistant in the shop. Why, you’re still young enough to bear children.”
Margaret smiled at my compliments. “Very well, Audrey. When you are married, I’ll consider my prospects.”
Her complaisant words made me wonder if she had any suitors. I knew of none, although she often paid visits to our trading partners and friends in town. Also, she had relatives in the village where she grew up. Did she have an old beau, a patient man, waiting for her to leave my household? 
We entered the courtyard of the hostel. John Holt stood by the stables holding the collar of my wolfhound. Rufus, a fine big dog with distinctive fox-red fur, is my companion and protector. But he is not welcomed in churches. He demonstrated the reason when I signaled for John to release him. Rufus bounded to me, almost knocking over the stable lad crossing the yard. My dog has learned not to leap at me, but sometimes he forgets his manners with other people.  
John assured me our horses were in good hands with the hostler. I trust John’s judgment. He and his wife have served in my household ever since my marriage. I gave him some coins and gave him leave to visit the cathedral and admire the relics. He would spend the night in the stable with our horses, while Margaret and I had a bed in a separate room of the hostel. As extra security against intruders, I allowed my wolfhound to sleep beside our bed.
As we entered the hostel, I wondered if my cousin had the best solution to my dilemma. In the two and a half years since I had lost my husband, I had scarcely spent any time pondering remarriage. Instead, I focused on learning the cloth trade, fighting to appease Hubert’s contacts and retain his best employees. Marriage to the right man, a kind and loving man, would give me protection from unwanted suitors. I might retain a measure of freedom, depending on his wishes. A noble match was out of my reach. My cloth shop would not tempt a knight with a good estate, only a younger son without prospects would deign to marry a merchant’s widow. I had no desire to bestow my hand and property upon a penniless man.
I cast my mind over the men of my rank in Redding, unmarried merchants and craftsmen. Some disparaged my successes and I despised them for such shabby treatment. Others were courteous or even supported me in guild affairs. Yet, none of them stirred an iota of interest in my wayward heart. If I were serious, I would have to look further afield for a husband.


Releases on August 27th.
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Saturday, May 11, 2019

My Fifth Anniversary as an Indie Author of Science Fiction and Fantasy Stories


 SeriesStarters

This May, I’m Celebrating my Fifth Anniversary as an Indie Author

In the last five years, I have published a total of 14 full-length novels in four main series, 1 standalone novel, two novellas and a few short stories. These stories run the gamut from fantasy, science fantasy and superheroes to SciFi adventure and romance. It is still a struggle to find time to write because I have a family and a full-time job.

I write science fiction and fantasy adventures entwined with romances. You can find a list of my published stories HERE.

My Series

 GM Galaxy

SciFi Fantasy - Super psychics in space. One young woman challenges the super psychics ruling the galaxy, and finds an impossible love
Grand Master’s Pawn, Book 1  Amazon  iBooks  Kobo  B&N  GooglePlay  PRINT  - 99c SALE
Grand Master’s Trilogy, Boxset of Books 1-3 – Cheapest option  Amazon  iBooks  Kobo  B&N  GooglePlay
Cosmic Lock, Book 6, coming later in 2019


 Atrapako

SciFi Romance. Feisty scientist solves puzzle of scaly aliens.
The Lady is Blue, Book 1  Amazon  iBooks  Kobo  B&N  GooglePlay  PRINT - 99c SALE
Dragon Lady, Boxset of Books 1 & 2  Amazon  Kobo  Apple  B&N  GooglePlay


 Secret Supers

Fantasy adventure & romance. Superheroes with quirky animal sidekicks tackle murderous villains in three fun adventures with a dash of romance.
Secret Supers, Boxset of Books 1-3  Amazon  iBooks  B&N  Kobo  GooglePlay



 TaxyonSpace

Near Future SciFi thriller & romance. Daredevil scientist and scarred alien in perilous alliance
Europa, Book 1  Amazon  iBooks  Kobo  B&N  GooglePlay  PRINT
Jupiter, Book 3  Amazon  iBooks  Kobo  B&N  GooglePlay



 Colony

Standalone novel
For refugees from an overcrowded Earth, dreams of a better life on an alien planet transform into a terrifying battle for survival.

Anthology of my shorter works
Trudge over the rocks of Mars, trek through a hazardous alien jungle, or pop across the galaxy in a pirate ship in five fun tales of adventure and romance.

Novellas
Captured by the Hawk A space operetta, fun and fast-paced.
Rosemary’s Quest Young adult fantasy: teenage witch meets demon king and white wizard.

 Gifts

Gifts of Jangalore FREE short story set in the Grand Masters’ universe.

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Tuesday, February 12, 2019

Read the First Chapter of Trapped on Vkani


 Trapped
    

Marooned on a desolate planet, joining forces with the enemy is their only hope for escape.     

     Maya Pandita spent years preparing for an expedition to the Deadlands. But her dreams of unearthing ancient artifacts are shattered when her shuttle is buried by a violent sandstorm, and her team is abducted by the scaled inhabitants of the planet. Maya and her companions must try to outwit their blue captor and call for help before they die in the toxic atmosphere.  

     Sa Vittaran has a problem in his claws. Along with treasures from the ruins, he has retrieved three smooth-skinned foreigners. They will die if he leaves them in the desert. Yet the puny creatures have little value as slaves, except perhaps for the impudent woman who claims to be their leader. He plans to keep her. Her knowledge of the ancient texts will be an asset if she can survive the long trek to his house.
     An attack by marauders forces Maya and the Blue leader into a wary alliance. They must work together to thwart the bandits and reunite their company. Can Maya convince Sa Vittaran to help her team? If she fails, they are doomed to a short unpleasant life on the desolate, war-torn planet. 




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Chapter 1. Sandstorm in the Deadlands


     The sandstorm whirled out of the desert and plowed into the shuttle.
     Red grit rattled on the windshield. Maya flinched. Surely the transparent screen wouldn’t shatter? The prospect of a delay annoyed her more than the storm. Her team was ready to land and explore the ruins, remnants of an ancient civilization destroyed millennia ago in a nuclear catastrophe. She glanced at the tablet embedded in her armrest. Their instruments had detected the walls of a city under the sand, and she had pinpointed a landing site in the center of a large complex. But, they had overshot the outlined walls and were shifting further away.
     The shuttle bucked in the violent gusts.
     “Helmets on,” Jack yelled, struggling to control the shuttle’s erratic path. “I’m taking her down.”
     The four surveyors had discarded their headgear in the climate-controlled cabin. Now, they hurried to fasten their helmets, or more accurately, head masks with built-in goggles. They wore military-issue suits, provided by the Terran Space Authority for exploring dangerous environments like the Deadlands. Its heat and acrid atmosphere made the Deadlands unfit for life, but the high radiation levels posed the severest hazard. Their suits even had boosters to facilitate walking and lifting in the planet’s high gravity.  
     Rocked by the powerful winds, the shuttle lurched to starboard. The floor tilted. A cascade of rust-red sand blocked their view. The external monitors darkened under the onslaught of sand particles.
     Abruptly, screens blanked.
     The air recycler coughed to a halt.
     Lights flickered out.
     Maya froze in a flash of panic. Her first mission, the first she had led, might be her last. She fingered the bridge of the nose filters under her mask. If the air scrubber failed, she would need the filters to block the grit and toxic atmosphere. Her team must also be realizing their deadly peril. For the most part, they were handling the shock well.
     In the co-pilot’s seat, Hong gasped. She glanced over her shoulder at Maya, dismay written in her eyes, although the mask muffled her face.
    Seated next to Maya, their tech expert, Felix, cursed as he jabbed his fingers on his tablet.
     A beep announced the switch to emergency power. Spots of orange light illuminated the cabin. In the eerie silence, Maya surveyed her companions with a new clarity. The dim orange glow highlighted their goggles and special suits, giving them an alien appearance. The insulated suits were colored and patterned with scales to mimic the native inhabitants in case her team was spotted from the borders of the Deadlands. She had recruited her assistant, Hong Dinh, on Terra. Hong’s role was to make digital records of the ancient artifacts, and she had basic medical training in case of any accidents. Felix McCree was their tech expert, a genius with any type of machine, from electronic devices to mechanical engines. Lastly, Maya focused on Jack. Major Jarvi had been assigned by the Terran Space Authority as their pilot and expert on inhospitable environments. He would know what to do in this emergency.
     “Jack?” she prompted.
    “Felix, check the instruments,” he ordered, tapping the control panel. “Hong, call the station.” Their support staff, Lieutenants Kit Rangi and Ross Wu of the Security Division, were based in the orbiting station.
     His eyes fixed on the screens, Felix played his fingers over the keys.
     Grabbing the mike, Hong called, “Mayday, mayday. Come in Big Bird.” After repeating the call for the third time, she swiveled to face Jack. “There’s no answer.”
     He directed his laser beam at the windshield. The light reflected on a dull red surface with tiny glints of crystalline particles. “The shuttle’s buried under the sand. A thick layer. Too thick, I’d guess, for our radio transmissions to penetrate to the surface.” Twisting to look back at Felix, he asked, “What’s the damage?”
     “Bad. We’ve lost power. Engine’s jammed. Sensors indicate silica particles everywhere.”
     Pinpointing a critical factor, Maya asked, “How much oxygen do we have?”
     Felix punched the pad and groaned. “Enough for about three hours. Possibly longer if we don’t exert ourselves.”
     “Or less if the tank’s been holed,” Jack warned. “The oxygen was intended for our trips to the space station and not for consumption on the ground.”
     “Won’t Kit and Ross send a shuttle to search for us?” Hong asked.
     Maya said, “I’d signaled them the landing site we’d selected. But, the storm blew us way off course. They won’t know where to look.”
     “I saw mountains in the distance,” Jack volunteered, “just before the sand hit the screen. The shuttle might have landed near the border of the Deadlands.” The explosion creating the Deadlands had carved out a basin rimmed with high cliffs and mountains.
     She shook her head. “It doesn’t help. We’ve no way to signal the station and they could take days to locate us. We’ll have to manage alone.” Shooting a glance at Jack, she said, “Any suggestions? You’re our expert on hazardous sites.”
     “Okay.” Jack exhaled a slow breath. “Here’s my suggestion. We wait one or two hours. If we still can’t make contact, we’ll try to tunnel to the surface.”
     “Can we unload the digger?” Hong asked.
     “Won’t work,” Jack said flatly. “We’ve nowhere to dump the sand except inside the cabin.” 
     Swiveling to tap Maya’s arm, Felix said, “It’s your decision. You’re the boss.”   
     Weighed down by the responsibility for their lives, she nodded. “Okay, we’ll wait one hour.”
     Every ten minutes, Hong sent the distress signal.
     After trying for the fifth time to restart the engines without success, Jack said, “I reckon the intake’s clogged with sand.” 
     Felix unscrewed the base of the control panel and began to test the wiring.
     While they waited, Maya checked the storage lockers and made an inventory of their supplies. They had food concentrates and water to last five days, lasers, and miscellaneous detectors for the expedition. The bulldozer and sand blower were in the cargo hold. They had brought everything needed to excavate the underground ruins and explore the ancient site, including ropes for climbing into subterranean rooms. According to the scientists from Eden who fielded the earlier expedition, the underground levels of the buildings might be intact. But, they had expected to use the shuttle as their base, with its controlled temperature, filtered air, and generator to power the excavation tools. At this point, they must abandon the mission and concentrate on escaping the shuttle and calling the space station for help.
     Anger and frustration swelled inside her. They were trapped. Buried under the radioactive sands and low on oxygen. What a stupid way to end her first mission!

Tuesday, January 1, 2019

Atrapako on Eden - Characters


 Lady

Characters in Book 1, The Lady is Blue

Terran Colonists
Dr. Lucy Anne Stannis, chief biologist                   
Dr. Colin Murti, physician                                     
Roger Fourno, Lucy’s boyfriend
Dr. Trisha Duran, biologist                                              
Dr. Jun Danzhu, physicist                                    
Peter Angelino, actor                                           
Mossy Fairweather, governor                                         
Don Vargo, governor                                                      
Bernal Mathis, governor                                                 
Sammy Lee, curious boy                                                    
Sonia Conde, Lucy’s student
Anton Garin, Sonia’s friend and Jun’s student
Celia and Tom, farmers
Dr. Anne Winter
Alan

Terran Space Authority
Admiral Simon Sinclair, Lucy’s uncle

Atrapako

Sa Kamizan Veedak, Blue captain of their spaceship
Te Suzzaine Sukla, Green scientist
Te Tamarkis Varenne, Green scientist
Sa Radekis Volkin, Blue
Sa Marakur Zolan, Yellow musician
Venerable Lady Kamilla, Blue
Sa Varasek, Blue, Lady Kamilla’s son
Zora, mates with Sa Radekis

Note: Atrapako colors represent their caste.
Reds are given no names and do not speak to superior classes.



 Vkani

New Characters in Book 2, Dragons of Vkani

Edeners and/or Terran Stock
Asher, Lucy and Sa Kamizan’s son
Mrs. Lee, Sammy’s mother   
Pat Hammer, inept assassin

Space Traders
Jamie Stannis, Lucy’s brother
Elissa, Jamie’s wife
Eloise and Elliot, children of Jamie and Elissa

Atrapako on Eden
Zod and Vin Ziggurak, Red brothers, emancipated from caste system
Zoltan, son of Sa Radekis and Zora
Kamlin, Sa Varasek’s son
Sa Zorkin, Blue leader of anti-human faction
Sa Garmis, Green in Sa Varasek’s team
Sa Takanur, Blue in Sa Varasek’s team

Terran Space Authority
Annamarie Sinclair, Admiral Sinclair’s wife
Lieutenants Mike Barrat and Andrea Wintroski, liaisons for rescuers

Atrapako on Vkani
Lady of Ravenak, Te Kamizan Veela, Blue, Sa Kamizan’s sister
Raven/Ravenna, Blue, Veela’s daughter
Colonel Gunilaz, Green, Veela’s master of arms
Te Seekara Lallaine, Blue ex-lover of Sa Kamizan
Te Ziggurak Gistane, Yellow, Zod & Vin’s sister
Giri, Gistane’s son
Sa Mantikur Ilinuz, Green scientist
Te Mantikur Ilina, Yellow
Sa Volan Taran, Yellow mate of Te Mantikur