Outlast the Ages

Ancient Egypt

Atet stood by the small open grave, staring upon the face of her son. Ma’nakhtuf’s body lay crushed and broken, though his face remained unscathed by the falling stone. Only the frozen grimace of final anguish told the full tale. A sculptor by trade, but a dutiful son by heart, he had the gift of beauty in both body and soul.

Turning away, Atet faced the setting sun. The Pyramid’s glory shown more distinctly as the golden rays of the gods caressed its edges. For this, her son had lived, and for this, he had died.

The slender figure of her sister, Khumit, wrapped in a long dress, swayed across the cooling evening sands and approached with hands outstretched. No words needed, they embraced, and Khumit clung with devotion born of mutual suffering.

Pulling back, Khumit plumbed the depths of Atet’s despairing eyes. “They will come and set him to rest. His spirit—”

Atet jerked away; her eyes barren of dreams, her soul dead to hope. “The gods live on; the pharaohs live on; the glorious and the wealthy live on, but my son is dead to this world and to the next.”

With a swift wave, Khumit encompassed the mighty structure. “His work lives in the pyramid, the home of the gods. All who served faithfully will outlast the ages.”

A procession of men, women, and children wound serpentine fashion across the sands toward the gravesite. Clouds of incense floated before them, rising like an evening oblation.

Khumit gripped her sister’s arm and drew her back to the graveside. “It is time to say goodbye; allow your son to find a new abode.”

Atet stared at the grimaced face of her dead child, and like the incense floating aloft, she offered a prayer. What I see with my eyes destroys all joy, but what I hope with my heart offers my only strength. May you live on, my son, and take your beauty with you.”


Commander Rumson of Crestar, Reporting on the Third Planet—District 48.788.

There have been few significant changes since my last report, though I have seen Luxonian activity in the area. I also passed an Ingoti trader in close proximity. We’re not the only ones keeping an eye on this planet.

One point of interest—a new pyramid structure is now set in a vast desert. I came in for a better view and have attached the measurements and significant data. This is a surprising achievement considering their lack of tools. Circling above, I could detect no discernable purpose for the structure. Interested, I ventured closer for a more intimate view and discovered a funeral procession in progress. As I observed superstitious traditions typical of this species and of no particular value to us, I ended my tour.

My current analysis for the Crestonian Science Department—as a race obsessed with structures, humans make exceptional use of tools. Devotion to their dead, though motivational to some, remains useless to us. Perhaps, given time, they will join passion with purpose and develop something we can value. Until then, I recommend we maintain regular observation but take no further action. After all, their pyramids may last longer than they do.


Novels by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction

Last of Her Kind  http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Historical Fiction

ARAM http://amzn.to/2lTHVXR

Ishtar’s Redemption http://amzn.to/2kHKLtN

Neb the Great http://amzn.to/2kS1Ylm

Georgios I—Hidden Heritage http://amzn.to/2lscPWg

Georgios II—A Chosen People http://amzn.to/2lTK0mu

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd00 

Live Again

Mara braced herself against a pier draped with thick, wet rope and let the ocean wind whip her hair free from its tight bun. Her calico dress pressed against her thin legs, outlining her willowy shape. The salty spray reddened her pale cheeks.

A tall ship bounced on the rippling waves as men dashed about securing it in place, and merchants lined the shore with flapping lists hugged tight to their chests.

Wiping a splash from her face, Mara remembered the tears that she had so often rubbed away.

Parson Wells strolled by and lifted his hat in greeting. “Hello, Mrs. Samuel. Come to see the ship in again?” His raised eyebrows conflicted with melting pity in his eyes.

Mara nodded, though her gaze never left the sea. The glorious clear sky and pink sun set her heart beating with a vibrant, almost unrecognizable strength. Seagulls screeched and sent a thrill along her arms.

“Your husband’s been busy as a bee this season—what with all the new orders.”

Dropping her gaze, Mara remembered her place and peered softly at the elderly man. “Certainly, sir. Caleb is mighty grateful for the work.”

A beckoning in the distance offered the old man an escape. He tipped his hat. “My regards to your husband.”

Mara returned the proper nod and watched the parson hurry away. Soon her gaze roamed over the sea once more. She had to pull her herself away.

Townsfolk bustled along on their morning errands, unmindful of others’ preoccupations.

As she strolled toward her husband’s blacksmith shop, a little boy scurried past, brushing against her. Stopping in mid-motion, she gazed after the curly little head as it bobbed along, weaving in and out among the crowd of sailors and merchants. Gripping her nerves with a mighty will, she continued her journey and stepped into the front room of her husband’s shop. Her eyebrows rose. There stood the little boy, handing a paper to her husband.

Caleb read the note, then squatting down to the boy’s level, he spoke softly. The child answered and Caleb laughed—the first laugh Mara had heard in months. Reaching forward a tentative hand, Caleb tousled the boy’s thick curls, dug in a deep pocket, and tossed the boy a coin. The child, grinning widely, swooped from the shop like a sparrow setting off for a new adventure.

Mara stepped in, her gaze watching her husband’s eyes as he followed the departing figure.

Startled from his reverie, Caleb glanced over. “You see it in?”

Mara nodded. “Safe and sound. Looks like a good haul. The merchants lined the shore like hawks at hunting time.”

Caleb peered into the dying embers of his fire.

Mara circled around the glowing mass and came to stand next to him, not quite touching. “Why do you still have me go? You know Jamie will never—”

Slapping the bellows with a muscled arm, Caleb shouted. “He might. Someday.”

With a light touch, Mara laid her hand on her husband’s chest. “He’s gone where no ship can bring him home.”

Caleb swung around and began to work the bellows, firing up the flames. “If he be dead—so I be.” Without lifting his eyes, he nodded toward the door. “Let me work.”

A child’s shadow flittered passed the doorway.

Mara’s gaze lifted toward the rising sun. Turning in the doorway, she watched her husband’s muscles strain with a mighty effort. “For now, Caleb. For now.”

As she strolled outside, a woman’s song cascaded along the street. Mara’s face softened. “Someday—we’ll live again.”


Novels by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction

Last of Her Kind  http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Historical Fiction

ARAM http://amzn.to/2lTHVXR

Ishtar’s Redemption http://amzn.to/2kHKLtN

Neb the Great http://amzn.to/2kS1Ylm

Georgios I—Hidden Heritage http://amzn.to/2lscPWg

Georgios II—A Chosen People http://amzn.to/2lTK0mu

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd00

Intercept Course

From Chapter One

Oldearth ARAM Encounter

Mud seeped between Aram’s toes. He shivered despite the sweat trickling down his spine. A shower of drops splattered across his face as he beat back the forest’s dangling vines and springy saplings. Exhaustion sapped his last bits of energy. With the back of his mud-smeared hand, he wiped his face.

Visions of a warm fire and venison haunches sizzling on spits caused his heart to momentarily fail. His weary limbs demanded rest, but he only shook his head. Not yet—but soon.

His people staggered in stupefaction. Their flight seemed never ending, their search futile. Danger lurked in every dark motion of the forest.

As his muscular body plodded through the root-gnarled muck of the late rainy season, a new light grew in his mind. He could still see the tawny-colored fur and glittering eyes of the beast as it snatched its first struggling, screaming victim. When he had heard the throaty growls and the moon’s glow had cast uneven shadows on the beast, he had frozen with horror in the face of the cat’s great size.

It had struck in twilight when light danced with utter blackness. His wife, Namah, hunch-backed and morose, had been directing the meal preparations. Her orders rang out shrill and abundant—as usual. The other women had obeyed with their typical, sullen compliance.

He had glanced at Namah as the mighty feline landed on its victim, and though her wide-eyed terror had matched his, she had thrown a rock at the retreating creature. Despite her crooked spine, she showed a strength of mind—not unlike that of the cat.

Even when he had thrown his spear and others joined in action with cries of fear and anguish, he knew it was too late. The night was too dark and the cat too mammoth to hunt in the gloomy forest.

Aram had known the youth well and agony had gripped his heart, but his mind would not respond to his grief—only to fear. If he gave his clan time to rest, their anguish might turn to madness. If he kept moving, they might outrun both beast and terror.

But they were past exhaustion now. The lands of their forefathers lay far behind them. They had entered lands unknown to his memory. They had always gained life from familiar trees, made suitable shelters, and found peace beneath their branches. The ancient woods gnarled together in a forest of immeasurable depth. But their frantic travels had led them into a foreign land.


—Ingoti are large beings originating from the planet Ingilium and range from six to seven feet tall. They are heavy due to their extensive weight and girth but are very fast and extremely powerful. They are never seen outside of their bulky techno-organic armor and breather helms.

—On Board an Ingoti Trading Vessel

Zuri, an Ingoti trader renowned for his clever deals, braced for impact, but there was little he could do to protect his co-pilot. Gem crouched, covering his head with his arms and hoped that the restraints would hold. The small trading vessel carved a deep furrow into the lush dirt and plowed into an Earthen hillside.

Blinking awake, Zuri considered his biomechanical techno-armor, and seeing it intact, he sighed in relief. Hobbling to the main console, he reviewed the status of the ship. Various systems blinked offline status, but life support held firm. Glancing back at the cargo hold, he ticked off the needed parts in his mind and stepped forward.

Gem lay sprawled across the floor, unconscious.

Crouching by his side, Zuri made a quick diagnostic review of Gem’s bio-suit and life signs. With a chuckle, he lightly slapped Gem’s ruddy cheek. “Get up, lazy fool. We’re already behind schedule, and Cresta’s are not known for their patience.”

Rising on his elbow with a groan, Gem shook his head like a confused Ingoti bullock. “I thought I was done for. What happened?”

Zuri stood and rubbed his back. “That replacement Orbital Maintenance you bought blew and sent us spiraling right into the atmosphere. Should’ve guessed. It was too cheap to be an honest deal.”

“Blast! I’ll pay them back for this; don’t worry.” Gem rose and started toward the console. “How long before we’re ready to set off again?”

His gaze rising to the ceiling, Zuri crossed his arms. “It’ll only take a few hours with both of us working on it. But, I’ve heard about this planet—how about we take a little tour?”

Gem scowled. “I’ve heard about humans, too. Primitive and—”

“I didn’t say anything about humans. By the Divide, if I wanted to go to the zoo, I’d visit the one on Helm.” He stroked his chin. “No, how about scouting around a little? There might be resources we could use. The Ingilum would pay dearly….”

A crooked smile crawled across Gem’s face.


While struggling through dense woodland, Gem wiped his sweaty brow. “How does anyone survive here? It’s not fit for habitation!”

Zuri shrugged. “Not where I would have chosen to land—”

A low growl stopped them both in their tracks.

Slowly, they turned. Zuri raised his Dustbuster and aimed as a tawny, four-legged beast drew near.

Gem swallowed. “That thing’s enormous!” Turning at the sound of human voices. He grinned. “Ah, it’s tracking them.” He pointed to a clearing where a large group of humans had settled down for rest.

Crouching low, Zuri peered between the branches until he could see the throng.

Men, women, and children crowded around a central figure, a tall muscled man with long, black hair.

Peering back at Gem, Zuri shook his head. “They’re practically naked—without any techno-armor at all. Amazing they’ve survived! They must be brighter than they look.” After stepping back, he sent low-power beam searing through the foliage near the huge, stalking cat, frightening the beast into the thick woods.

Gem scowled. “What’d you do that for? Let the whole planet know we’re here, why don’t you.”

Zuri pointed the Dustbuster at Gem. “Is there anything left of you—on the inside—I mean? We were once naked and helpless too. If the Cresta’s hadn’t taught us—”

“They used us in their studies. They weren’t being generous.”

“But we learned from them! That’s what counts.”

Gem stared at the Dustbuster in Zuri’s hand. “So, what’s your point?”

Shoving the weapon into his armor holster, Zuri shrugged. “I’m just giving them a chance to live and learn.” He stalked back toward the ship. “It’s time we left. I’ve got enough data to make up for the time we’ve lost.” He grinned as he swiped a branch out of his way. “The Cresta can pay us for both the cargo and the information.”

Gem marched behind. “And the Ingilum Supreme Command? What’ll they say?”

Zuri turned and, clasping Gem’s shoulder, he lifted his eyes to the sky. “Contrary to my expectations, I foresee a day when humans and their primitive world will be quite useful. We’re on an intercept course. In any case—information always pays.”

Novels by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction

Last of Her Kind  http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Historical Fiction

ARAM http://amzn.to/2lTHVXR

Ishtar’s Redemption http://amzn.to/2kHKLtN

Neb the Great http://amzn.to/2kS1Ylm

Georgios I—Hidden Heritage http://amzn.to/2lscPWg

Georgios II—A Chosen People http://amzn.to/2lTK0mu

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Ringshttp://amzn.to/2lWBd00

A Beggar’s Choice

Chelsea faced the little hellions on the garage roof; her arms perched akimbo on her hips. “You get down here right this minute, or I’ll call your mama and daddy, and we’ll just see what they have to say about all your goings on!”

David and Susie grinned and climbed higher on the steep roof.

With a long shuddering sigh, Chelsea decided that there wasn’t enough money in the Fredrick’s bank account to pay her to babysit these twin wretches. Dusting her hands clean of the matter, she marched inside and picked up her plastic, pink purse—the one her daddy had given her before he left for his overseas assignment. The one he’d never returned from. She sighed again and perched on the couch waiting for the Fredrick’s return.


Ten years later, Chelsea landed a job at Mid-State University Library. She wasn’t a full-fledged librarian, but that hardly mattered since she spent most of her days sorting and cataloging files on the computer. She had her own cubicle—that was something. Since her scraggly brown hair always wafted over one eye, she habitually tilted her head as she worked. The crick in her neck had ceased to annoy her.

A tall, slender man in his early fifties leaned over the cubicle. “Hey, kiddo, I noticed that the coffee pot’s empty.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the lounge.

Blinking away a grimace, Chelsea nodded and scurried to the coffeemaker tucked into a gray corner. When the filter split and the wet grounds cascaded across the counter and onto the floor, she merely closed her eyes for a brief second and counted to three. Kneeling on the tiled floor, she started the laborious process of compiling the icky mess into a neat circle.

An elongated shadow slanted over the black spray.

Chelsea peered up, her hair falling like a theater curtain to one side.

A plump, young woman grinned and waved a handful of paper towels. “Personally, I think the company that makes these thin filters should be sued—and then drawn and quartered.” With lightning speed, she swiped up the mess, tossed the remains into the waste bin, and clapped her hands clean.

Chelsea stood and faced the energetic, little wonder-woman. She almost put out her hand, but as black grounds still stuck to her palms, she merely clasped them together and attempted a brave smile. “Thanks. Do you—?”

“My name’s Sue—just part-time—work-study to help pay the atrocious tuition—you know.”

“Ah.” Yes, Chelsea knew. Her student loans sucked any hint of joy out of her financial life since graduation. She unleashed a grimace. “I’ll take my debts to the grave.”

“Ha!” The young woman apparently enjoyed shared desperation. She stuck out her hand, unconcerned about coffee grounds or germs exchanging pleasantries. “Nice to meet you—?”

“Chelsea.” She slipped a new filter into place and poured a small mountain of grounds into the appropriate basket.

“Ooh, nice. I knew a Chelsea once.”

A shadow glided passed the doorway.

Sue’s eyes rolled. “The old geezer, he’s a fright, isn’t he? Told me to hurry you up. No mercy—”

As the coffee began to percolate, Chelsea shrugged. “Mr. Howe says I make coffee better than he does.”

“Oh, brother!” Suddenly, Sue’s eyes widened. “Hey, I think I might know you. Did you ever babysit an unruly set of twins—for the Frederick family?”

Chelsea’s throat constricted. She swallowed convulsively.

Pouncing, Sue reached over and gripped Chelsea’s arm in a vice grip. “Oh-my-gosh! This is amazing. I’ve always wanted to meet you again—”

A pronounced throat clearing turned the two women like marionettes.

“Ahem.” Mr. Howe stood in the doorway and tapped his watch, his eyebrows raised, lips pursed tight.

Chelsea started forward but Sue’s grip tightened. “After work, okay?”

At closing time, Chelsea slid into a worn brown jacket, shoved her purse strap over her shoulder, stacked files under her arm, and slipped along the bookcases until she was near the front door. She made a quick dash and—froze.

“Hi! I’ve been waiting for you.” Sue’s brows puckered. “What? You take work home?”

With a grunt, Chelsea bundled herself through the door into the blustery night.

Keeping a determined pace, Sue marched along at her side. “You know, I never forgot what you did. It meant a lot to me.”

Hunching her shoulders, Chelsea ducked her head against the chilly wind and the first splattering raindrops. “I quit.”


Chelsea stopped on the corner and looked both ways, though the street was deserted. “I quit babysitting. I can’t see—”

“But it was the way you quit!” Sue gripped Chelsea’s arm again. “Look, there’s the Corner Café. Let’s stop. I’ll buy.”

Smothering a groan, Chelsea let herself be dragged across the street into the tiny shop. They slipped into the first booth and wiped the wet from their clothes.

A tiny man wearing a bright smile slipped over. “What can I getcha’?”

“Two hot cocoas with plenty of marshmallows and the biggest cinnamon buns you got.” Sue grinned as she leaned back into the puffy red booth.

Chelsea’s mouth tightened into a firm line.

“So, you want to hear my story?”

Chelsea shook her head and laced her fingers together like a doctor about to give bad news. “Look. I think we’ve got some kind of memory discrepancy here. According to my data banks, I only babysat for you and your brother a couple of times and then I quit. No pleasant memories. No story.”

Like a released catapult, Sue flung her body forward, her hands slapping the table. “That’s why I gotta tell you what happened. I figured you never knew.”

Chelsea pulled her stack of files closer and played with the corner edge. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“The day you quit changed my life. You told mom that babysitting us wasn’t worth all the gold in Fort Knox. I had to look that reference up later. But at the time, I just figured we’d riled you pretty good, which was always our intention.”

The host returned and gracefully slid two hot mugs of steaming cocoa in front of the women. Mountains of marshmallows did indeed bob up and down on a foamy chocolate sea. The cinnamon buns looked like they could float a couple of aircraft carriers.

Chelsea’s eye rounded. “Good glory.”

After taking a deep sip and licking her lips, Sue nudged the bun plate across the table. “Business first. Anyway, I’d never seen my mom turn that shade of red before.”

“I remember. She called me a beggar.”

“Yes! But you remember what you said back?”

Chelsea shoved her cocoa aside.

Sue leaned forward, her long, blond hair splaying across the table. “You said, maybe beggars don’t have pleasant choices, but they still have choices.”

Leaning back and letting her eyes roam over the mottled ceiling, Chelsea exhaled. “So?”

Sue’s eyes brimmed with tears. “So—a few years later, my brother got killed drinking and driving. My parents blamed each other—and they split. I thought my life was over. But your voice came back to me, like some kind of movie voice-over, and I could hear you saying—even beggars have choices.”

Reaching out, Sue beckoned for Chelsea’s hand. “Some people said that David’s death was just an accident. But it wasn’t. He made a choice. And so did my parents. But after a while, I realized I had choices too. Even though I felt like a beggar with a ruined family, I could still decide how to live my life.”

Chelsea shoved her files aside and took Sue’s hands in her own.


The sky had cleared by the time Chelsea arrived at work early the next morning. In one hand, she held a Corner Café mug of steaming coffee, and with a light tap, she dropped her files on Mr. Howe’s desk. In a moment, she settled down to work, humming to herself.

Mr. Howe’s shadow fell over her. He shook an empty coffee pot in the air.

Brushing her hair from her face, Chelsea glanced from the pot to Mr. Howe’s face.

“Hey, kiddo. I think you forgot something.”

With a winning smile spreading from ear-to-ear, Chelsea lifted her mug of hot coffee in salute. “Not this time. My memory’s working just fine.”


Novels by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction

Last of Her Kind  http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Historical Fiction

ARAM http://amzn.to/2lTHVXR

Ishtar’s Redemption http://amzn.to/2kHKLtN

Neb the Great http://amzn.to/2kS1Ylm

Georgios I—Hidden Heritage http://amzn.to/2lscPWg

Georgios II—A Chosen People http://amzn.to/2lTK0mu

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd00

Now—I See

Planet Earth

A longhaired, square-shouldered man with a thin scar under his eye, wearing a short leather tunic and fibrous sandals, paced toward a rough cave entrance at the top of a steep rise. Gripping a carved walking stick in his hand, he pounded it against the rocky ground with each step.

A barefoot, slender woman with a pile of black hair coiled atop her head, wearing a thick, woolen tunic traipsed along behind. Tripping on a sharp stone, she yelped and reached out.

The man spun about and grabbed her hand. “Itali!” With a snort of caution, he nodded to her feet. “Careful. It gets rougher.”

Itali cupped his hand in hers and let him pull her closer, directing her to a smoother path. “Etum?”

Pulling her along the rise, he studied their path. “What?”

“Am I the first?”

Halting in mid-stride, Etum stopped and turned. Caressing her soft cheek, he grinned. “No one but you.”

Smiling from ear-to-ear, Itali dropped his hand and raced up the last steps to the cave entrance. With a rosy blush, she charged in.

A dark shadow falling across his face, Etum trotted after her and entered the cave.

The darkness beat the light of day to the edge of the cave entrance. A musty smell and a pile of leaves alerted Itali to the cold fireplace. Squatting, she stacked dry leaves with a practiced hand and laid twigs with strategic skill.

Etum knelt to her right and worked the flint, raising sparks, which soon kindled an infant fire. As the flames grew stronger, he trotted deeper into the cave and bundled broken branches into his arms. Laying three pieces in tripod fashion over the fire, he sniffed in satisfaction.

Itali caught his gaze and grinned in daring merriment. “Now?”

With a nod, he stood and clasped her hand. They turned and stepped to the right, facing a smooth wall. The flickering firelight illuminated a painting depicting a man with a spear before a large, horned animal. Itali gasped, sending a grin bounding across Etum’s features. Etum clasped his hands behind his back, his chest thrust forward and his chin rose. “You like it?”

In rapture, Itali clutched his arm and squeezed. “It’s beautiful. The best yet.”

Holding her close, Etum pointed to the place directly behind the painted man. “I’ll add you in if you’d like.”

Tilting her head, she scowled. “But how will anyone know it is you—or me?”

“I’ll tell them.”

“But when you’re not here. In the time to come?”

Etum considered the painting through brooding eyes.

Lifting a soft finger, Itali traced the scar on his face. Suddenly, she spun around, grabbed a stick from the fire, and knocked the flame dead, leaving only a sharp, smoldering tip. She handed it to him.

Etum frowned. “With this?”

“Draw—so all will know the master’s sign.” She pointed to a blank space near the man.

Leaning in concentration, Etum pressed the blackened stick against the cave wall, drew a face and seared it with a double wedge on the left side.

Itali took the stick and gestured to her hair. “When you draw me, add this, so all will know it is me.” She turned the stick so the wedge formed a peak at the top.

As the fire grew, so the gleam in Etum’s eyes brightened. “Now—I see.”


Planet Lux

Teal, a Luxonian light being in the form of a tall, angular, middle-aged man with thinning blond hair strode through his bedroom doorway and laughed at his wife. “You’re in bed already?” Plunking down on the edge of a curved couch, he clasped his hands together and sighed.

Violet, shimmering in her Luxonian light form as a lavender Bhuaci beauty with striking almond-shaped eyes beckoned with one finger. “You look terrible. Why didn’t you come home earlier? You know how exhausted you get with them.”

With a shrug, Teal shook his head. “I couldn’t leave. You’ll never believe what my artistic couple has discovered.”

Smoothing back the silky sheets, Violet rose and prowled to Teal’s side. Sliding herself under his arm, she snuggled in close. “You’re right; I’ll never guess. So tell me.”

Teal leaned back, pulling her tight against his chest. “Writing. They caught onto the idea. A signature today—tomorrow—who knows?” He ran his fingers through her sumptuous hair, smoothing it under his chin. “You smell delicious.”

Violet arched one raven eyebrow and tapped a scar along his chin. “Well, at least you’ve healed up. Those blasted barbarian—”

Kissing her palm, Teal chuckled. “It was an accident. They meant no harm. I approached too quickly and scared them.” Lying back again, his gaze rose toward the round ceiling window studded with brilliant stars and the glow of three moons. He sucked in a deep, cleansing breath. “They have remarkable qualities. No telling what they’ll learn—in a few thousand years.” His gaze met Violet’s. “I’m recommending to the Supreme Council that we continue our observations. I believe that this species has great potential; someday they may even be in a position to help us.”

Violet lowered herself onto Teal, purring as she slid snugly into place. “That’s why I love you so much. You always see the best in others—even humans.”


Novels by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction

Last of Her Kind  http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Historical Fiction

ARAM http://amzn.to/2lTHVXR

Ishtar’s Redemption http://amzn.to/2kHKLtN

Neb the Great http://amzn.to/2kS1Ylm

Georgios I—Hidden Heritage http://amzn.to/2lscPWg

Georgios II—A Chosen People http://amzn.to/2lTK0mu

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd00

2018 Short Stories

I don’t have a complete list yet of my 2018 short stories, but here’s a peek into what’s coming each Friday from January to May. 

My newest science fiction novel Newearth—Justine Awakens is slated for publication in early 2018. Many of the characters from my short stories really “come alive” in the Newearth books.


January 5th

Winter Irony

January 12th

Now I See

January 19th

A Beggar’s Choice

January 26th

Intercept Course

February 2nd

Live Again

February 9th

Outlast the Ages

February 16th

Ol’ Diablo

February 23rd

Edge of Life

March 2nd

You Don’t Look Dead To Me

March 9th

Not Natural

March 16th

Don’t Miss a Day

March 23rd

The Great Wall

March 30th

My Love Is Strong

April 6th


April 13th

So Blind

April 20th

Wait and See

April 27th

Alternate Universe

May 4th



Hating Libby Lawrence wasn’t just self-defense, it was an undiluted, adrenaline high with a clean conscience. In the fifth-grade, Libby personified a “mean-girl” before the term had become popular. From the first day when she ordered me with a sneer and a glare to sit on the left of our shared desk, promptly told the teacher that I smelled bad, and scribbled a black line through my book report, I knew she and I would never get along. Unfortunately, since I was short, thin, and timid, I didn’t stand a chance. To boot, I stopped growing that year. Thanks to some kind of miraculous providence, her parents moved away, and I started growing again.

But from then on, even into my adult years, the name Libby sent chills down my spine. I tried to control my fury when my brother decided to name his first daughter Libby after some relation on his wife’s side. I didn’t care how great the relation; no child deserved to be stuck with such a moniker. Despite my best on-my-knees entreaties, he went forward with his malicious scheme, but to my surprise, the child grew up to be a pretty decent kid.

Years later, when my dream-teaching job opened up in my hometown, I only paused for a brief moment when my eyes tripped over the principal’s name—Libby Macintosh. Couldn’t be the same. After all, the Libby I knew could hardly control herself, much less a whole school.

I steeled myself for the long-distance phone interview from California to Wisconsin. I had taught five years at LA Unified and felt that if I didn’t get an infusion of the four Midwestern seasons soon, I’d dry up and wither away. I also missed my family and Lake Michigan. What’s an ocean I hardly ever saw—much less touched—to a lake that’s got miles of open beachfront?

The interview went well. Ms. Macintosh was courteous and clear. She had a third-grade vacancy that needed to be filled for the autumn term. She wanted someone with experience who would be willing to take on a few extra duties as need be. The lack of specificity about the “other duties” worried me, but the school’s location—just five miles from my parent’s home and three miles from Lake Shore Drive—attracted me like a puppy to an untied shoelace. Daily runs along the lake and easy visits with my elderly parents would be worth a few extra duties. My spirits rising, I felt confident enough to ask a couple personal questions. “You’re a native of Wisconsin? Been a principal long?”

Yes and no was about all Ms. Macintosh had time for that day, but she kindly referred me to her Facebook page where we could connect—if I felt so inclined. Picturing myself on the cover of a Nancy Drew mystery novel, I quickly accepted the offer and gave her my email address so she could send me specifics on the school and the position. I would send my updated resume to her by return email. End of interview.

If it hadn’t been for a series of life crises involving a misfit kitten, an exploding dryer, and an elderly neighbor’s cries of distress, I would have put on my detective cap that same day. But as it was, it took me the weekend to get my life in order and my laptop to cooperate. Finding Ms. Macintosh wasn’t hard. What was hard was swallowing back was my horror at seeing those all-to-familiar green eyes, that pugnacious nose, and the jutting jaw that could clip a hedge.

If my mom hadn’t called at that moment, I would have turned off my computer and made a run for the nearest Dairy Queen—despite the fact that it was nearly eleven miles away.

My voice was a slight bit shaky, though I tried to cover myself. Still, moms have a way of noticing.

“You alright, honey? You sound out of breath.”

“I—I’m fine. Just—you know—busy. With stuff.”

Well, mom was never one to mess around on a long distance call even though she’s got a package deal that—never mind. She got to the point.

“Your father’s birthday is next week. And he’s not getting any younger.”

I could clearly drop my Nancy Drew persona. No detective needed here.

“Well, the plane ticket is pretty expensive, and I want to set up a few interviews before I—”

“Didn’t you have a phone interview this week?”

“Uh, yeah….”

“Well, then, just come home, check in on your poor, aging parents, and stop by the school. Never hurts to show a little interest. Besides, it’s a lot harder to turn someone down when you’ve met them in person.”

I pictured Libby’s furious glare framed by flapping, black ponytails as she pushed herself into my space with a whirling fist at her side. Somehow, I didn’t think she had any trouble turning people down. She probably arranged interviews for the sheer joy of knocking prospective hopefuls on their backsides.

“I bet she even sent you an invitation for an in-person interview. They do that, you know. Have you checked your email lately?”

As surprise and anxiety played touchdown football with my innards, my hand reflexively clicked to my email. A cold shock ran through my body when I saw the subject line— Invitation from Principal Macintosh.

I don’t remember much of the rest of the conversation, but I do know that mom had a list of airline specials for the coming week.

Getting home, celebrating dad’s seventieth birthday, catching up with my brother and his brood of three rapscallions, kept me busy over the weekend. I actually slept a few hours each night—after highlighting plans for a perfect revenge.

On Monday, I dressed in my most professional, intimidating gray suit with matching heels and I toted my very expensive, leather briefcase. I dearly hoped she was an animals’ rights activist and was deeply offended by my insensitivity. I sniffed back disdain till my sniffer was sore. I had a childhood score to settle, and I had not an iota of an intention of accepting the job. I wanted to see her in person, and after she reviewed my sparking work record, my laudable service in Peace Corps, my glowing endorsements, I would slap her offer into the dust. Only then would I remind her of her left-hand seatmate in fifth grade. And, yes, the past can come back to haunt you.

Why I felt the need to torture myself with a quick detour at the lake, I don’t know. I stood on the grassy shore, sucking in lung-fulls of invigorating lake scent and hoped that Libby hadn’t grown much taller since our last meeting. Her Amazonian height was still an issue to contend with. Reviewing the many trials and experiences I had had since fifth-grade, I wondered—briefly—if I wasn’t letting my childhood mini-trauma get the better of me.

When I saw a little girl and a bully of a big sister pull the child along like a rag doll—my burning resolve reformed itself. No! Justice demanded an honest accounting. I would face this haunting humiliation—or die trying.

Marching up the steps, I passed a group of middle school kids texting one another. I didn’t even shake my head. It wasn’t worth the effort.

I gripped my briefcase, tapped the intercom, got permission to enter, pushed open the wide, front door, charged down the green and yellow hall—my heels clacking officiously—and entered THE OFFICE. It was empty. Since it was going on five o’clock, I hadn’t expected a crowd, but I was surprised by the stillness.

There was a counter with a little bell. I looked around, cleared my throat, stared at the half-opened door labeled Principal’s Office, and tapped my fingers on the counter. Nothing. Finally, in sheer desperation, I tinkled the stupid bell. A call from the office informed me that Ms. Macintosh was in.


I squared my shoulders and straightened my back. Five foot four inches would only take me so far, but I had every intention of making the most of what I had. Deciding that I didn’t want to appear too interested, I strolled to the wall and glared at the bulletin board.

I heard an odd sound and a horribly familiar voice. “Oh, hi! You’re early. I like that. Thanks for coming, Grace.”

I turned, my eyes lifted high to meet those green orbs, but there was nothing there. Until I dropped my gaze. Sitting in an automated wheelchair was the shrunken visage of my childhood tormentor. I tried to control my intake of breath, but honestly, I could have sucked in the whole of Lake Michigan.

Adding a layer of bizarre on top of my shock, Libby Macintosh didn’t seem even remotely surprised. She just waved me toward her office. “Come on in. It’ll be more comfortable for both of us.”

Since walking was about the only way I could cross the room, and collapsing into a heap didn’t seem like a viable option, I followed.

With expert swiftness, she swiveled her metallic armature into place behind her desk, waved to the empty chair, and beamed at me.

“So how long has it been, Grace? Gosh, it’s got to be nearly eighteen years.”

Yes, my jaw did drop all the way to the floor. Stunned, I could hardly speak. Finally, trying to hide my shaking hands, I squeezed them into my lap, my shiny, leather briefcase forgotten on the floor where it fell when I landed in the chair. “You—you remember me, Ms.—?”

A waving hand and a disarming smile deflected my question. “Oh, not at first. Your mom came by my office a few weeks ago. She helps out in the library, you know. She’s the one who told me that you were looking to relocate. It wasn’t until she brought along a grade school yearbook and showed me your picture that I put two and two together.”

I honestly believe that my brain melted at that moment. I couldn’t think of a thing to say. The impulse to get up and walk out the door was the only idea that made even the slightest sense, but before I could arrange my synapses to fire coherent messages to my skeletal system, Libby chuckled.

With bubbling giggles, she wagged a finger at me. “Do you remember what a brat I was? Gosh, I was terrible. I used to go out of my way to make everyone miserable.” Suddenly, her laughter died as she dried her damp eyes. “But God got my attention.” She gestured to her emaciated legs and the wheelchair in a comprehensive sweep. “Car accident. Just a couple years later. My dad was killed and my mom never got over the loss—or my crippled legs. She took to drinking. I ended up living with my grandma.”

Blinking back sudden tears, I clasped my head with both hands before it exploded. “I doubt God wanted that.”

Libby nodded with a slow smile. “You’re right. He didn’t. But it changed my life. My parents were troubled people. I was a nasty kid, and I would have grown-up to make a lot of people miserable. But Grandma had a faith that could move mountains, and she taught me to use a wheelchair. She also taught me to think about others and to use my newfound understanding to better the world.”

Libby wheeled herself around the desk and arrived on my left. Reaching out, she clasped my hand in hers. “Can you forgive me for being such a wretched brat? I’m sure you must still carry some hurt for the things I did.”

I couldn’t wipe my tears way fast enough.

She scooted her wrecked body aside, pulled a clean tissue out of a hidden pocket, and handed it to me. “I always keep some handy. Never know.” She smiled through glimmering eyes.

Sniffing what was left of my composure under control, I met her gaze. “You know, I came here to teach you a lesson—to show you that I had always been better than you thought. I wanted—” I couldn’t go on. It all seemed so pathetic.

Libby squeezed my hand—comfortingly. “You know, when I realized who you were, I went out of my way to ask your mom to follow up with you. I was so grateful for this chance. There were a lot of people I hurt but thank God, there are a lot of people I help now. And I just thought it would be rather grand—if after our miserable past—that as adults we could work together for the next generation. Would you like to do that, Grace?”


I worked with Libby for twenty-two years until she had a debilitating stroke and had to retire. She asked me to take over as principal, and the school board unanimously agreed. During those years, and every autumn after, we’d start the term with an assembly, retelling the story of our fifth-grade animosity and how, in later life, we became good friends who loved kids and cherished the future.

In the end, loving Libby was the best high I ever had. I have no plans to come down.


Novels by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction

Last of Her Kind  http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Historical Fiction

ARAM http://amzn.to/2lTHVXR

Ishtar’s Redemption http://amzn.to/2kHKLtN

Neb the Great http://amzn.to/2kS1Ylm

Georgios I—Hidden Heritage http://amzn.to/2lscPWg

Georgios II—A Chosen People http://amzn.to/2lTK0mu

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd00