Friday, July 17, 2009

Jeanne Barrack's Wonderful Week

It's been a wonderful week because:

~ "Bend in the Road" received Five Stars from Book Wenches

snipped: Ms. Barrack has a polished writing style that draws the reader right into the heart of the story. As I read Bend in the Road, I felt completely immersed in the world of these characters. I was so captivated that I barely took a break as I read and definitely did not want to see the end. When I was finished, not only had I been royally entertained, but I also felt like I’d learned something. And that alone would make this novel more than worth the read. Excellent job, Ms. Barrack. Thank you for sharing these stories with us....Link to review

Thanks so much, Bobby!
~ and, although it's not from MLR, The Sweet Flag, my first m/m erotic romance, also received Five Stars from Reviews by Jessewave
snipped: Jeanne Barrack weaves a wonderfully complex tale in The Sweet Flag with terrific characters that move from the past to the present without any loss of continuity. The emotion and romance in this unusual story of a love that survived centuries really captured my imagination... Link to full review

~ I was also interviewed at Reviews by Jessewave at this Link
Thanks, Wave for both the review and the interview!

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

I Am a Doll


By William Maltese

I am pleased to have, among my acquaintances, a whole array of truly artistic people. Actually, I’ve been drawn to artistic types for a very long while, maybe to do with envy, since I’ve never been able to draw, except stick figures. I did my "time" in and amongst the hoi-polloi of the Seattle, Washington, art community, collecting such Northwest stellar artists as Kenneth Callahan, Paul Horiuchi, Bill Ivey, Bill Cumming, Paul Havas, Bruce Selchov, Karl and Hilda Morris… Experiences from which I drew to write my bisexual murder mystery THE FAG IS NOT FOR BURNING (not to be missed, by the way!).



you have to be kidding!" Cord said after seeing what Morgan selected for him from one of several closets.
"Who would expect a cop to dress like one?" Morgan argued. "It’s perfect."
"I don’t understand the need for any of this," Cord said. "Why dress up like it’s Halloween, anyway?"

"Because you want to understand," Morgan insisted. "And dressing up is part of it. Besides, Don has someone here tonight who I’m sure you’d like to quiz about Horton. It’s this way, or no way."

"Who are we talking about?" Cord asked, still hoping to delay the inevitable. Having come this far, he wasn’t prepared to turn back or go forward. No matter that he’d feel right at home in a cop’s uniform. He’d worn one plenty of times before becoming a detective, although he’d never done so under such extenuating circumstances.

"You’ll see," Morgan assured, dropping the uniform on a bench that would have looked right at home in a school locker room. In fact, the whole place resembled a locker room. There were two private showers and a large, communal one. There was a urinal, three toilets, and a bidet, all lined up military style, and a couple of enclosed toilet stalls. Pretty extensive a setup for some guy’s basement.

Cord watched Morgan who, obviously knowing where things were, conjured motorcycle boots, a helmet, a billy-club, handcuffs, and what looked like a genuine police-issue revolver and holster.
"Oh, yes, the gun is real," Morgan guaranteed. "Don is a stickler for authenticity. It isn’t, however, as you’ve probably noticed, loaded. Don can’t know, as I do, that you won’t get carried away and shoot up the place in a fit of orgasmic excitement."
(end excerpt)
Of course, lately, I’ve gathered in talent from all over the world to contribute to my ARTISTS "DO" author WILLIAM MALTESE art collection, born of narcissism and the re-discovery of an old black-and-white publicity shot of me, naked as a jay, which I had filed away (Good God!) in the bottom of a dusty old trunk.

Someone who has come to be one of my very favorite artists is Star Urioste, doll-maker extraordinaire, who approached me a couple of years back with a query as to whether or not I’d like to see myself as "a doll" — since I "so obviously already" was one. How could I refuse? The result being the anatomically correct free-standing gold ("the author as jaguarspirit son") doll which I immediately placed at the doorway of my office and whose life-like appendage has grown exceedingly shiny over the past few months (like the snout of a bronze boar once spotted in a European town square and regularly stroked for good luck), from me and everyone else groping a feel on each and every pass by (I should be so lucky in real life).

As if that wasn’t enough, Star recently sent me another addition for my collection — the author, as an action-figure doll "the deer hunter" (just the first, I understand, of a series of "author as" action-figure dolls soon to be forthcoming as welcome additions to my collection).

What boy (young or old) hasn’t wanted his very own action-figure doll? What boy (young or old) hasn’t wanted to BE his very own action-figure doll? What boy (young or old) hasn’t wanted a cock hanging down to his knees? My only chance for the latter, having been my very own action-figure doll — now the reality.

Thank you, Star, from the top of my head, to the ends of my toes, to the tip of my dick!

Friday, July 10, 2009

Excerpt from Dark Robe Edges: Dark Robe Society 2

From The Edge of Desperation anthology

By Jason Edding

Toren laughed. “You can eat me, just don’t take any big bites.” He raised his ass off the cold metal floor, anticipating his lover’s next move. Tees of course had been planning that very thing.

He pulled Toren's pants down until his fully erect cock sprang free. In the coolness of the cabin, his hairy balls were shrunken tightly against his body. That could be remedied, Tees thought, giving the sac a luscious lick.

“I suppose you’ve measured this beauty?” Tees asked. Hadn’t every man?

“No, I never thought it mattered,” Toren replied. He raised his ass further off the floor, and made his cock jerk without touching it. “Does it?” Toren was teasing him.

Tees shook his head. “It’s... beautiful. Let me show you.” He kissed the head, moving his wet lips around the circumference, then closed his mouth around it, going down until his chin pressed against Toren’s cooler ball sac. Toren moaned and even though his cock was fully engulfed, he pushed further, his eyes closing in ecstasy.

He had put his hands on Tees’ head at some point. Arching his back, he pushed his cock deeper into the inviting mouth. Tees looked at him, then let the cock fall from his lips.

“Do you have something in mind?” Tees grasped Toren’s cock in his hand and tongued the shaft, watching his face contort with quiet bliss.

Toren bit his lower lip as Tees moved up the head to tease it. “We probably... don’t have much time. Ahh, tickle the slit. Drives me wild.”

“I know,” Tees replied, between slow tantalizing flicks with the tip of his tongue.

“Fuck me,” he said bluntly. “It could be the last time.” He craned his neck and looked toward the cockpit window. “I see the glow of Earth light is getting brighter.”

Win a FREE Copy of My Gay Erotic Romance Book, M4M!

So yesterday, the UPS man arrives bearing gifts (don't even go there; this is a wholesome story). He brought me my publisher copies of M4M, the new trade paperback of two inter-related gay romance titles that had previously been available only in electronic formats.

Both of those titles did very well: VGL Male Seeks Same and NEG UB2 both got rave reviews and both made it to my publisher's bestseller list for the month in which they debuted.

Now is your chance to win a FREE, signed copy of M4M, the paperback that collects the story of Ethan and Brian into one volume. All you need to do is:

1. Leave me a comment below. Say whatever you like, but be sure to include a way to get in touch with you so I can contact you about sending you a book if you win.

2. Become a follower of this blog (it's easy...see the "followers" over there on the right?). And yes, I do check.

That's it. Good luck! And happy Friday! I will announce the winner on Sunday.

Below is a little synopsis of the book and an excerpt from it, to whet your interest. If you want to skip the contest and just order a copy today, simply go to Amazon and pick up your copy for only $12.50.

Two great stories. One great love. Get between the covers with Ethan and Brian, the men whose hearts connected online and offline in the best-selling VGL Male Seeks Same. Follow them on their continuing journey in NEG UB2, where a shocking health diagnosis derails the couple’s blissful romance and teaches them both a lot about acceptance, forgiveness, and faith...especially when it comes to love.

Previously available only in electronic format, these twin novellas of gay erotic romance have now been combined for a paperback edition!

For years, Ethan had observed the hoopla surrounding the Internet and its supposed ease of getting people together for sex, romance, half price books, and even cut-rate psychotherapy, but never thought he would traverse its well-traveled highways to meet a man. Somehow, it all seemed too cheap and easy, almost tawdry. Ethan wanted to meet a man through a mutual friend, at a dinner party perhaps, where the assembled group (all attractive upwardly mobile professionals and artists) were enjoying paella and whimsical cocktails like sidecars or Tom Collins. Their eyes would meet over the olive tapenade and they would exchange phone numbers while waiting for the host to bring them their coats. Or, even better, they would meet in a bookstore (no, not that kind!) where they would both be reaching for a copy of the latest David Sedaris at the exact same moment and then would laugh and insist that the other take the shelf copy first. Or maybe he would discover his intended as he rode alone on Lake Michigan’s bike trail and his future beloved would help him when he got a flat tire. It was a story they would tell their grandchildren.

“Yeah, right.” Ethan blew out a big sigh and hit the TAB key to take him to the first box needing to be filled in. “That’s not the way it happens these days. These days, guys meet online. Period. Jane Austen would be appalled.”

Filling out the application to be a member of was not all that different than filling out a job application. Ethan shook his head. That wasn’t true at all! Filling out a job application was much easier. At least a job application didn’t ask you about your most intimate physical dimensions, or if you considered yourself a top or a bottom, or “versatile.” A job application would never ask if you considered yourself to have a swimmer’s build, or if there was “more of you to love.” A job application would never ask if you “partied,” although they might test to see if you did, if they became serious about hiring you. Filling out paperwork for a job would never require you to tell, in great detail, what you were looking for in a potential mate.

But Ethan supposed all this information, all this nosy prying, was for a good purpose, which was to match you up with other like-minded souls. And Ethan actually adored the idea of that. He was not one of these middle-aged men he saw wandering around Halsted Street dressed in head-to-toe Abercrombie and Fitch, hoping to find a “boy” of no more than thirty years or so.

Ethan wanted a companion, someone he could relate to, someone with a bit of a shared history. He wondered if this route could ever deliver such a bird.
He wondered if such a bird even existed, or if it had gone the way of the dodo.

Buy M4M.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Just a little something I'm working on.

No Title
by Jason Edding

I told Adrian I had a surprise for him if he would spend the weekend with me. It was just nine months since we'd graduated high school and he was a week from going off to college. I had even tried getting him to put that off for another year, but he was wishy-washy.

When he finally came over to my apartment, I had the lights lowered, the curtains closed and a triple X-rated gay porn movie going. One guy was busy slurping and sucking his buddies asshole like there'd be no tomorrow. Little did Adrian know that was exactly why I asked him to spend a couple of days with me. There were two things we hadn't done yet, sex wise. Fuck each other in the ass and lick each other in the ass. I had every intention of doing both, more the latter, and trying to convince him to hang around another year. Maybe my tongue up his asshole would do the trick.

I let him get comfortable in the living room. It wouldn't be hard since his eyes were glued to the tv. I had no doubt his pants were down and his fist clamped around his cock, pounding off. He knew better than to come though. I finished putting the last touches on the pizza. Diced green bell peppers and sausage pieces. I began humming to myself and thinking of what would happen soon. I wondered if he'd freak out when I offered to rim his asshole. We'd just barely talked about it before, but he was sort of skittish about ass play. I wasn't, but I sensed his trepidations and kept my desires to myself.

I tossed the pizza in the oven, pushed down my hard on and went and joined Adrian. Sure enough, his pants were down around his ankles and he was slowly pulling on his prick. I flashed him a smile and sat down next to him. Adrian leaned against me, but didn't look away from the scene on the screen. The blond guy was sucking hard on his friends asshole and I wanted to do the same to Adrian. I just had doubts at what he'd say when I asked him if I could lick his asshole. I didn't want to just lick his anus. I wanted to devour it. I wanted to push my tongue inside his asshole and suck it hard. My cock was raging as these thoughts flooded my mind.

I didn't want to fuck around and play coy though. He was still stroking his cock slowly, his eyes unblinking on the screen. I laid my hand on his bare thigh and squeezed. “So, that's pretty hot, huh?”

Adrian nodded his head, but didn't look away from the screen. “Yeah,” he finally said. He licked his lips and slid down into the couch a bit.

“Yeah, I've been wanting to try that sometime, actually.” I couldn't believe I managed to spit that out. My heart was thumping so hard in my chest as soon as I did, I thought for sure he could hear it.

He looked at me then, kinda cocked his head, swallowed hard, then went back to watching.
I decided to press my luck. “Yeah, I mean, with a friend I know, it wouldn't be too bad.” I shrugged for affect. “How bad could it be?” I chuckled, but it was forced.

Adrian shrugged now and let go of his cock. He stretched and slid down a bit more, spreading his legs as he did. “I dunno, depends I guess.” He pointed at the action going on. “Did those guys take a bath first?” He gave me a half grin. I noticed his face was flushed too.

I shrugged hard. “Well, if you look at it like it's real, they're probably friends, right?” I swallowed hard now. I rubbed Adrian's thigh up and down. “Friends, it shouldn't matter too much.” I bit my lip.

Adrian stared at me wide-eyed. “You're serious?”

“Sure,” I said. “I know you better than anyone. I wouldn't mind licking your ass.” I grinned wide.

Adrian's eyes got wider and he leaned closer. “Really?”

I nodded firmly. “Surprised?”

“Yeah, a little I guess.” He sat back and played with his balls, which were loose in the heat. The room felt like it was a sauna. He sat up then and said, “I haven't had a shower since yesterday morning, you know.”

I smiled and shrugged. “I don't care.” I stood up and pulled down my pants and underwear. My hard cock popped free and I turned so he could see it. “I'll lick your asshole anyway.”
Adrian looked at my cock. “But what about me?” I knew what he meant. We had always reciprocated in all the sex we'd had.

“You don't have to do it.” I said, frankly. I hadn't taken a shower for a couple days.

Adrian slowly smiled, then bowed his head a moment. He looked up quickly. “Well, what if I want to?” He grinned with all his teeth.

It was my turn to go wide-eyed. I thought he was joking. “Are you shitting me?” I knew that was an interesting choice of words, but I only realized it after I said it.

He laughed, then fell back and raised his feet in the air. “Pull these off!”

I snatched his pants and underwear and pulled, then flung them behind me somewhere. He raised his feet higher and spread his legs, exposing his asshole to me.

“Well?” He rubbed his asshole with the fingers of his right hand. “Gonna lick my asshole?” He grinned.

I didn't hesitate, but knelt on the cushion and held his legs. I lowered my head and buried my nose in his ball sac first. I inhaled his scent, then moved down until my nose was right above his asshole. I inhaled deeply through my nose, taking in the smell of his ass. Sweat and other things assaulted me, but it was a good assault. I buried my nose between his ass cheeks, then pushed my tongue against his moist asshole, tasting him immediately.

“Whoa.” Adrian said. He closed his eyes and arched his back. “Fuck, that's nice.”

I smiled, but he couldn't see it, as my face was hidden by his ass. I didn't want to speak then anyway, but went to work tonguing his asshole. The taste was incredible and it wasn't just the flavor of sweat. It was so hot, my cock felt like it was going to snap. I pushed my tongue into his asshole, harder, harder, until my tongue went inside. Adrian moaned when I did this and it only made me want to push my tongue inside his asshole even deeper.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Hawaiians Rock on the Fourth

Hawaiians Rocks (and North Korean Rockets) on the U.S. Fourth

By Raymond Gaynor (aka Gary Martine)

The Fourth of July is one of the strangest holidays in no-man's-land Hawaii.

On the outside, Hawaii looks very America, USA, thank-you-very-much: American streets, American stop signs and street lights, American police, American English. Well, that last one's not entirely true. English is the language of record, yes, but it’s not the main language spoken or used here.

Yep, it's the only state in the USA where Caucasians and their English are true minorities, right along with the Japanese, Chinese, Koreans, Filipinos and Hongkongese. Oh, and did I forget the Hawaiians? Well, everyone, including the good olde USA, forgets them, too.

This weekend I celebrated the holy Fourth by going out for an "all-American" dinner at a French restaurant, owned by an illegal Hongkongese, with a Thai chef trained at the Cordon Bleu, and with Filipino hostess and servers. The busboy was a young student from somewhere in China.

There were gabby people at 15 different restaurant tables and not a bit of English to be heard. Even the servers spoke local chop-suey pidgin: "You wanna me get chai-chai fo' amai wahine, eh?" one of the waiters asked with a toothy grin and sly wink (translation: "Would your partner like some tea?" the terminal "eh" is, I believe, Australia's contribution to our rainbow society). I love this place! I nodded, but my hoa pili, he shakka wiki-wiki and say iiea, he "takeah udda", meaning that that he wanted "the other" i.e. coffee. For dinner we had Thai vegetables on Chinese crystal noodles, spritzed lightly with a thin French-like Thai curry sauce. Afterwards, we lingered over the thick Thai iced tea laced with sugar and condensed milk (said to be a commercial spinoff of NASA's secret rocket fuel research). Ah, at last, something American! Though I've lived here for over 20 years, I still feel like I'm visiting a foreign country.

Of course, the languages spoken aren’t the only things unique to Hawaii. The Fourth of July is another.

First, there’s a general law banning fireworks, because of fire and safety reasons (implemented after Chinatown and a good portion of Honolulu was accidently burned to the ground; a fact that no one, even the foreign perpetrator realized until the next day and then no one really cared). It's a law which everyone, including the police who are highly trained to assist tourists in having a good time simply ignore.

The Chinese make certain that several megatons of fireworks somehow slip past customs and are used up between 9 p.m. and 10 p.m., not to celebrate freedom and independence, but to chase off any ill-spirited dragons that might still be lurking here after Chinese New Year (the really big firecracker holiday) that might in any way dampen business. The only thing louder than the firecrackers is the chink of money flowing from Hawaii to China to aide in China’s efforts for world domination.

The Japanese in Hawaii watch haughtily and mumble that the "fireflowers" are much better in Japan while sipping cold sake.

The Filipinos in Hawaii watch it all from the beaches while barbequing aromatic longganisa sausages over charcoal to the sound of their hordes of children squealing.

The Hongkoneses in Hawaii man their stores as they always do on holidays and inch themselves a little closer toward achieving the American dream.

The Hawaiians watch, shake their heads, and head out for the nearest surf.

I decided to do something different and went out on a private boat party with my old friend "Tiger", a Japanese fisherman who moved to Hawaii with one yen that was supposed to be the basis for making him rich (a popular international joke); he now owns six 60-foot boats and a major tourist operation. Tiger gets his name from his aggressive daily pursuit to achieve rock-star status. His wife Yoshiko-sama, though, believes he works for the CIA and that his R&R practice is simply a cover for a sound-based Star Wars missile protection program so advanced it keeps the North Korean rockets from getting too far out of NK airspace. Anyway, this all-American holiday, Tiger hosted forty friends and a gaggle of tourists to a Fourth of July Hard Rock N' Roll Cruise off Waikiki. I’d heard him perform, at sea, before, so I was sure to bring earplugs. Loud or not, damn he’s good! I would have sworn George Harrison was there on deck pumping out riffs while the boat rocked and rolled on the ocean swells, and the guests and crew danced themselves crazy while the sky thundered and lit up like a Michael Jackson concert in millions of colors. It was a party I'll long remember. Some say that the NK missiles actually made it all the way to Waikiki but couldn't break through Tiger's sound shield.

Anyway, that’s what I did over the good ole' American Fourth here in Honolulu. God bless America!

And, in the rainbow tradition, I would like to leave you with this Hawaiian blessing: May the ala waele always rise to your okole, may the trade winds always be at your back, may you never run out of 50 spf sun-blocker, may the sweet tongue of Hawaii always touch softly all over your naked body, and, until we meet again, may Pele quickly discover your endowments and bless you with ever-flowing rivers of explosive volcanic sex. Actually, I think the Irish (another definite minority here in Hawaii) ended this with something about being "held in the hollow of someone's hand", which is a nice touch, but it's still nowhere close, in my mind, to explosive volcanic sex.

Raymond Gaynor (aka Gary Martine) is the author of …
Author of the Kingsley & I Series from MLR Press
- "Kingsley & I"
- "Kingsley & I Together"

And the soon to be published TOTAL MELTDOWN, written with William Maltese

MLR Bookstore at
Author Website at
Author Blog at

Friday, July 3, 2009

Maltese Pulp Part 5


Part Five

by William Maltese

"…inform you it is imperative you change course immediately, rendezvousing with Starship 12B as quickly as possible. Your time for rendezvous has been approximated at three years and eight months. Your coordinates for such rendezvousing are: 002-4.3 21464-5 WSWTV2. You will reactivate freezing units to allow the trip’s completion without defrost of any member of the crew. You will defrost only Captain Peterson at the present, informing him of the situation, leaving the remaining members of the crew in freeze. You will hand Captain Peterson this directive with orders that he comply immediately. While he may attempt radioing us for verification, he is to change the ship’s course whether verification is received from this headquarters or not. I repeat: Captain Peterson is to proceed to rendezvous with Starship 12B whether or not verification for him to proceed is received from us. Starship 12B has been given proper coordinates for rendezvousing with you in Galaxy 4-5-21, Interstellar Chart 4. You will meet and join, utilizing Code Name Polar. In no instance shall this code name be made known to anyone else besides you, as radio operator, and Captain Peterson. You are warned — REPEAT: WARNED — that you may have on board one or more of the species of aliens mentioned in the first portion of this critique. The situation, as it has played out thus far leads us to believe they might well have had agents aboard all interstellar experiment ships leaving our ports after year 1978. Reports of destroyed and/or lost ships tend to verify this suspicion. Your rendezvous with Starship 12B has been programmed and analyzed as the only possible locking up of experimental ships in your segment of the galaxy. Three other spaceships have been scheduled for mid-space docking elsewhere, their coordinates to follow for your future reference. It is with the greatest possible regret that we here at Control inform you of such catastrophic interference by other beings, and we only hope that you will be able to carry on and survive where we have failed.

"Rendezvous scheduling of:

V-AcH-200 and P-DTU-4…"

The communicator module went silent. Lieutenant Margaret Masters adjusted her headpiece, switched dials, and attempted to clear the headphones of the galactic static that was suddenly rumbling in her ears. She eyed the decoded ciphers on the radio tape with a degree of horror and disbelief.

The ship seemed suddenly tomb-still.

She kept focused on the instrument panels. Everything seemed in working order. She re-inspected the series of messages which had been received by Charles Wilcox: Lieutenant Wilcox had been the radio communications man who had been defrosted to accept the last recorded message on file. All had been in order during his shift. He’d scribbled out a handwritten message to Margaret on the margins of that last decoded cipher sheet:

"Remember me in another three years, Margaret, baby. By then, this boy is going to be ready for a hot and sweaty fuck."

She had smiled when she’d remembered their last night on Earth together. Foolishly, he had screwed her without protection. Foolishly, she had let him. They’d both known what the results of that could have been, but the very danger of an unacceptable outcome had somehow added to the pleasure of the moment. She only thanked God that she hadn’t become pregnant. God knows what would’ve happened had she come out of deep-freeze and found an unborn baby in her suspended-animation cell. She discarded the horror of that particular scenario and, then, went back to dealing with the horror at hand.

She had defrosted right on schedule. At the time, the ship’s dials, coded forms, computerized data had given all indications that the experiment ship was progressing on course according to schedule. She’d made all the necessary routine checks before putting on the earphones. She’d checked the time, the date, and the other instruments which would assure that the message beamed from Earth would be picked up as scheduled. Her routine check of the ship’s operative components had taken her longer than she’d expected, and she’d taken her seat at the communications panel one minute prior to the moment of proposed interception of broadcast. She’d sunk back into the comfortable foam of the chair, wondering at how two years in deep-freeze had left so little tiredness within her bones. She’d engaged all necessary radio equipment and had waited. When the vacuum waves had still hummed nothing but static a minute later, Margaret had hastily re-checked her equipment. Everything had been operative. Everything had been in working order. Still there had been nothing incoming. She had again checked the time dials, running info through the computer to find any clue as to some undetected time lapse — a precaution she’d already taken earlier. Again the lights had blinked green, yellow, red; again the machine vomited out its tape.

Date: 23

Month: March

Year: 2003

Time: 2:15 p.m.

Date checked, re-checked,

Information accurate—


Panel 5C2.

Margaret had pressed panel 5C2, and again the same information had rolled forth. The day had been right. The month had been right. The year had been right. The time had been right. All equipment had been operative. Yet, there had been no message received.

Automatically she had turned to the recorder. She should’ve checked it before, but priority on awakening had stressed that she first assure that the ship was in operative condition. By the time she’d finished with that, it’d been time for the message to come in.

She had pushed the rewind button, noticing that there had been, in fact, a fairly long length of used tape. Nervously, she had waited for it to rewind. It had finished with a click; a red light had gone on to indicate readiness of replay. She had hesitated nervously, had checked one more time to assure that there was no message in over the other equipment, and had pressed the replay switch. The dire message had begun:

"When you hear this, we shall be dead, destroyed, murdered. It will be up to you to carry on the human race. There will be no more Earth, no more of its men, no more of its women, and no more of its children.

We therefore must…"

In discussion of the "freezing" process induced by pulseometer

A state of consciousness will return by degrees, as the subject is merely awakening from a deep sleep, or from the deeper realm sometimes induced by hypnosis. In fact, the subject has been under a sleep of sorts, one induced electronically, through utilization of the pulseometer, and the conduits of electroregulators as applied to both the duodenilenta segments of the brain cell pilota. And as electronically as the sleep was induced, likewise, electronically the sleep will be removed. During periods of "sleep" the subject’s body functions will be slowed down as in archaic "freezing" techniques utilized in the operating theatres of the twentieth century. Slowed to the proper level, the subject will still exist but at a level wherein what would ordinarily take place in seconds can be programmed to take place in years… —SECURITY: CRYTO-TOP SECRET.

Charles Wilcox returned to consciousness by degrees. It was, indeed, rather like awakening from a deep sleep but not a lengthy one.

One always had a tendency to regret such awakenings, thinking momentarily that one hadn’t really been given the rest actually needed. This phenomenon, labeled scientifically Brotumulla by the medical staff at Experiment Headquarters, was sure to appear whether the subject had been asleep minutes (as in initial experimentation), hours (as in intermediate experimentation), months (as during final experimentation), or years (as in actual flights into deep space).

The darkness in Charles’ brain lifted, giving way to a light gray, which faded into white, which turned opaque as he opened his eyes to let the reality roll over him.

The body was never cold, because, though the archaic terminology "freezing" and "defrosting" held over from the early beginnings of experimentation in suspended animation, freezing was never actually what occurred. There was no lowering of the body temperature whatsoever.

If anything, Charles was a bit warm, a resultant effect of his blood’s suddenly increased circulation throughout this body.

He lay there in his tube quietly, trying desperately to gather his senses (a process termed Bilotmea by the staff, and Muddle by the crew), and felt that something was desperately wrong.

He’d felt this very same way the time he’d had to fight his way back through the black, the gray, the white, the opaque, to actual consciousness to learn there’d been a machinery malfunction and he’d almost died. Two other subjects had died.

He sat up in his animation tube, glancing about the cabin. Everything seemed in working order. The right lights seemed to be blinking; the right noises seemed to be coming from the computers. But something still felt wrong.

He had defrosted: that was what was wrong! Either he’d defrosted prematurely or the others hadn’t defrosted per schedule. He’d been scheduled for revival only once during the course of the mission, and that time was over and done. When it had occurred, he’d received standard information on the communiqué beamed from Earth right on schedule. He’d activated one minor change in the ship’s course, according to received instructions, and had then gone back to his tube. His next revival was to be upon their arrival at Omego D, along with the whole crew. Presently, he sensed no re-awakenings in any of the pods grouped around him. In the tube immediately next to him, Corporal Kelly still slept on in his dream world; the dials of his pod set for revival mode in nine months.

"What in the hell is going on?" Charles asked aloud.

Suddenly, he heard muted sobbing.

He surveyed the room, more carefully this time, and noted each and every pod, its instrumentation, and its occupant, until he finally found one empty.


"Charles?" Her voice was weak and came from somewhere in the adjoining compartment. "Oh, God, Charles, help me."

She sounded so damned pathetic, so shook up, that he felt compelled to get to her as quickly as possible.

His legs were weak but operable.

"There will be a certain degree of physical weakness," the instructors had told them, "but that’s to be expected. Initial care should be taken that unused muscles are not strained, despite artificial stimulus, via biolatent froxexins, administered periodically during freeze state.


He found her huddled in a corner. Her eyes watered, and her face was screwed up in a grimace indicative of pain, fear, or a combination of the two.

End of Part Five -- taken from one of William's Greenleaf Classic pulps, long out of print, available only from collectors who demand big $$$, but serialized here as a free read by courtesy of the author.