Authors Jacob & H.P. Holo
Hey, y’all! The Halfling and the Spaceman is one of our favorite podcasts, and today they’re chatting Heinlein, Dune, Star Wars, Star Trek, David Weber, and all the other fandoms that got Jacob into writing. Go give it a listen! 😄
by Jacob Holo
• • •
NEW GORDIAN DIVISION NOVEL: When a top engineer on Saturn commits suicide, Detective Isaac Cho and Special Agent Susan Cantrell are called in to review the case. But what seems like an open-and-shut case spirals into the strange. And if Cho and Cantrell don’t solve the mystery soon, they may be the next ones to wind up dead.
The Atlas Corporation was all set to tear apart the planet Mercury—converting its resources into a swarm of solar-collecting megastructures—when Esteban Velasco, lead Atlas engineer, is found dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.
Detective Isaac Cho and Special Agent Susan Cantrell, both eager to return to active duty despite close calls on their last case, are sent in to assess the situation. Their superiors expect a simple declaration of suicide, but Velasco’s death proves anything but typical.
The detectives soon find themselves embroiled in a mystery far more complex—and strange—than anyone expected, leading them to a church for Mercury-loving weirdos, a “nudist” colony open to Saturn’s unbreathable atmosphere, an exclusive park for hunting dinosaurs, and a ghost town where forgotten machines wage war over condo floorplans.
What was meant to be an easy return to duty for the detectives takes a sudden dark turn when ruthless mind-hackers ambush and nearly kill them, making one fact crystal clear:
If they don’t solve this case soon, it’ll be their corpses that turn up next.
Curious to hear more about the book? Join us for our Virtual Launch Party THIS SATURDAY, November 11th @ 8pm as we chat … and give away some signed copies!
We had not intended to get a new cat. Not this soon.
For me, the loss of Nova was still so raw that the idea of adopting any new cat felt like a betrayal of her memory and all the joy she’d brought us. Like an ungrateful dismissal of a near-decade of blessing.
But this past Friday, my mom received a text.
See, my family has an unofficial Cat Network. None of us actually try to find cats, but cats find us, and together we get the cats to the places where they need to be.
In keeping with family tradition, my cousin’s boyfriend found an abandoned kitten on one of his construction sites. Cousin then went to rescue kitten … much to the surprise of her mom, who declared “You’re not getting ANOTHER cat!” (Cousin already has two, from similar origins. It’s A Whole Thing. 
)
But cousin had A Plan, and picked up her phone.
“I know it’s soon, but …”
It was soon. I told mom I’d think on it, and perhaps meet the kitten the next day since I was going to be in town anyway.
Then I showed Jacob the text.
We visited the cat that very evening.
And, well, you see the result. 
The thing is, y’all, this cat’s absurd.
He cuddles.
He flops for scratches.
He squeaks.
He carries on conversations.
And he loves on sight.
There is so much of Nova in this random abandoned kitten that his every move makes me cry in her memory.
But it’s a happy cry now, because it feels like she had some part in sending him. Like she couldn’t bear to see us sad, even from her next life, and did what she could to help.
We named him in Nova’s honor, after the Dazzling Skies through which she fell.
Meet our new blessing, Dazzle.
I’ve long called Nova a serendipitous cat.
Appropriately, there was serendipity even in her passing.
We know we’re not the only ones grieving. So y’all need to hear the story of how she passed, and perhaps I need to tell it.
The past several days have been some of the worst of my life – largely because, Nova’s kidney numbers being what they were, there was nothing we could do except keep her comfortable and watch to decide when caring for her was no longer a mercy.
It’s the worst decision we’ve ever had to make, made even worse by the fact that her spirit was still as strong as ever. Her distinctive, wide eyes never lost their luster, and she never lost her loving, sassy expressions.
But she’d lost everything else.
Nova was a vocal enough cat that Jacob and I routinely carried on “conversations” with her, and she responded like she understood. She had a distinctive, delighted “prrt” she’d make when we surprised her with scritches. She had a ritual flop that she’d do whenever she wanted to be scratched on a certain part of her back, and she’d always do it during Jacob’s morning stretches, because his free hand was always perfectly positioned to give scratches. When Jacob sat down, she’d be in his lap in two seconds flat. (My lap was subpar, so she only sat in mine when he was at work.)
She’d done increasingly fewer of those things in the week leading to her fateful checkup.
The turning point was her tail flick. Nova has a distinctive tail flick that she does when she hears us say her name. She’ll do it in her sleep. It’s only for us. She does it with vigor even when she doesn’t feel well.
There came a point yesterday where she didn’t have the strength to flick her tail.
There were other, more conspicuous points, too – breath smelling like ammonia, cooling body heat, irregular breathing. I suspected that if we didn’t act that day, she’d suffer in the night from one of the dramatic results of kidney disease, and we wouldn’t be able to ease her suffering until the morning when the relevant services reopened. That’s no way for a cat like Nova to go.
But here’s where it gets serendipitous.
I’d sat down to write with her earlier that day, hoping to grant her what normalcy I could – and perhaps needing to have one last writing day with my cat. Once I suspected how the day would end, I burst into a hot mess of tears (a common theme of the past few days).
At which point – despite her weakness – Nova looked up at me with a distinct expression I see frequently on the writing porch. Only she knows what it means in her cat brain, but I interpret it as her “MA’AM, YOU SHOULD BE WRITING” look. And that day it came across as “Ma’am, I’m still your boss. My dying is no excuse for you to not be writing.”
I laughed, because well, it was so Nova.
But also, it felt like permission.
I talked to Jacob. He’d suspected the inevitability longer than I had, largely because Nova spends more time with him, and he could feel the nuances in her suffering before I could. He’s also the more realistic of the two of us, and I am an incorrigible shonen anime optimist who thinks I can solve every problem if I just yell and cry and fight hard enough to unlock my next power level. It works for most things. In cases like this, it’s my most painful trait. And I didn’t want my selfish optimism to be the thing that prolonged Nova’s suffering.
Thus, we made the appointment. We’d intended to have her put to sleep at home for her comfort (and because there’s only one thing in the world that she hates, and it’s cars), but the service our vet recommended wasn’t open that day. So we took her to her vet.
Which was another bit of serendipity.
See, Nova is beloved at my vet. A while ago, I learned that when they board her, she doesn’t get a little cat condo. If they have a free examination room, they give her the whole room. If any of the vets had a period where they needed to work in their offices, they’d let her hang out with them because they knew she enjoyed the company.
When we brought her in, every single vet and tech that we passed offered their condolences, and some cried. We weren’t the only ones losing her. They were losing her, too. We had people to grieve with, and Nova would be sent off by even more people who loved her – something that wouldn’t have happened if we’d gone with an at-home service we’d never used before.
But that was not the end of the serendipity.
See, I remember reading that sometimes, before cats pass naturally, they get a burst of energy so extraordinary it can trick their people into thinking they’ll recover. Perhaps it was that. Perhaps it was simply the change in environment that invigorated her curiosity.
But while we waited for the vets to make their preparations, she got it.
She explored the room. She sat in both our laps. She flopped for both of us. She prrted at our scritches. She squeak-talked as we spoke to her, in full conversations.
She flicked her tail every time we said her name.
We got to see every bit of the old Nova before the vets even returned to the room.
Again, it felt like permission.
Like she was comforting us, and ensuring that our last memory of her was a blessed one.
I held her in her blanket as she passed. Even then, she looked like herself. Her eyes sparkled so brightly, full of galaxies.
Jacob and I told her we loved her, and her last act on this earth was to flick her tail.
To know she was loved, and return it.
***
Our house is quiet now.
And I find reminders of Nova in my very muscle memory. Her stair step to our bed is no longer there, but my feet still avoid it in the dark. I went to my office to lure her from her nightly hiding place – the one she specifically goes to because she knows we’ll get her out by offering treats – before I realized she wasn’t there to hear the treat bag.
There’s not a single corner of our house she doesn’t inhabit.
But also – there’s not a single corner of our house she doesn’t inhabit.
She still lives there.
She just doesn’t have a body.
And, well, Nova was *always* more spirit than body.
It’s been a rough day at House Holo, y’all.
I took Nova to the vet this morning expecting to hear about early-stage kidney disease, but it turns out that between her two most recent checkups, she advanced from “let’s keep an eye on it” kidney stats to Stage 4 Kidney Disease, the physical symptoms of which have become increasingly obvious in the past week, like an awful string of falling dominoes.
The single worst part is that her spirit is still there. She still flicks her tail every time she hears her name, and her eyes still go wide and brilliant whenever Jacob and I come to pet her.
But her body is increasingly unable to keep up with her spirit, such that Jacob and I will soon have a decision to make.
For now, Nova’s getting all the sunbeams and scritches she desires.
But I already know my next book dedication:
“To Nova, in her next life.”
Ever wondered what it’s like to be part of an author couple? So did The Halfling and the Spaceman, so they invited us on to chat just that!
Never in my life did I think I’d enjoy a book about accounting adventures on a distant planet, but if anyone can change my mind, it’s D.J. Butler.
In Abbott in Darkness, John Abbott is drowning in academic debt, but has a solid chance to pay it off through his new job with the interstellar Sarovar Company. Trouble is, that company operates in a solar system forty light-years from Earth, and he and his family have given up everything just to get there. He has to make this job work, or else they’ll be stranded light-years from home with little hope of ever going back.
But making the job work will be more dangerous than anyone expected.
John might be a humble forensic accountant, and he might have been assigned to secretly investigate corruption and theft at an isolated outpost—but the trouble he uncovers is far more complex than simple careless greed. It’s a plot that could shake human presence on this planet to its core, and thus his family with it. With those kinds of stakes, leaving the problem for someone else just isn’t an option—but none of the solutions presented are simple ones, and soon John must decide whether he wants to do what’s best for his family … or do the right thing.
It should be noted: Epic space opera and rip-roaring adventure, Abbott in Darkness is not, so set those genre expectations aside right now. What Abbott in Darkness is is a refreshingly grounded science fiction novel that takes a realistic look at what it might be like to uproot one’s family to the other side of the galaxy, and then have to deal with the ramifications of a political situation one didn’t even know to expect. There is resultant action and adventure—and parts of the novel are quite intense—but it’s not adventure sci-fi so much as the tale of a normal guy trying to make his way through a potentially deadly situation using normal guy means, and the way it balances these elements makes it one of my favorite novels of the year.
On the sci-fi end, Butler has crafted a planet that is both familiar enough to support Earthly life, but alien enough to seem genuinely foreign—especially in terms of the aliens themselves. The Sarovar Company’s success in the solar system hinges upon the production of Sarovari Weave, an intensely durable fabric produced by the native Weavers. From a human perspective, the Weavers are familiar only in that they’re vaguely crab like; they are barely capable of human language, with mouths only able to form simple words in the local pidgin, such that all trade is conducted through combinations of pidgin and pantomime.
Sarovari Pidgin itself plays a substantial role in the novel, too; since John eventually wants to make his fortune as a trader in Weave, he naturally must become versed in the language—and it ends up having lifesaving usefulness when his investigation leads him to have several dangerous run-ins with some Weavers. It’s not merely a cosmetic conlang, either. There was a part of the climax where I had to keep zipping back and forth between the page and glossary to keep up with the specifics of what was going on, and I loved seeing the language put to such essential use. (There were context clues in the scenes, of course, but anyone who’s familiar with my reviews by this point knows that I would shoot fictional languages into my veins if it were not more practical to just, you know, read them. 😂)
Avoiding spoilers, by the end, the entire book hinges upon John’s ability to wield this language (if inexpertly), gain a new and thus-far-unheard-of understanding of the Weavers’ needs and challenges, and bend all those things under the power of compromise. It’s an exciting book, and there are some wildly exciting and heroic moments near the end, but the heart of the book’s conflict is solved by unexpected (nonviolent) means, and this was one of the things I enjoyed most about it.
Another of my favorite elements is how present John’s family is in the story. It’s very easy for novels of this nature to say “The hero arrived with his family” and then push the family off to the background so the protagonist can do hero stuff—but John’s wife Ruth, his daughters Ellie and Sunitha, and even the family dog Animoosh are all visible and active elements in the story. Ruth is a stalwart pillar of support in John’s life, unafraid to ask pointed questions when necessary, and their precocious, curious daughters provide a vehicle by which to transmit useful exposition to the reader, while also charming the reader—while also reminding John of what he’s fighting to protect, especially when subtle dangers began to creep into the mundane corners of their lives.
There are more than a few scenes where the family gets involved in the dangerous action—namely during a field trip gone awry, and especially during the second half of the climax—and seeing them work together for survival as a unit without becoming an adventure movie stereotype became one of the most delightful elements of the novel (once I got my heart rate back down).
Finally, John himself is an admirable regular guy hero, fiercely loyal to his family—but also the sort of man who will look situations that benefit them in the face and ask “Is this right?” The Sarovar Company’s presence in the Sarovar solar system is one predicated on the Weave trade, rather than imperial expansion of territory, but in the course of his investigation, John uncovers some problems that echo those that usually emerge in the process of colonization. The Company doesn’t interact much with Weavers outside of trade, so they’re not being actively exploited—but non-Company-affiliated human residents (which are something of a mystery in themselves) tend to be denied opportunities to succeed in the same way Company transplants do, in a way that ensures John’s own earnings stay high, and also contributes to one of the many complex conflicts bubbling under the surface of this generally quiet world. The company’s reasoning isn’t nefarious so much as practical, but it is a situation that makes someone with John’s moral character take a step back and say, “There has to be a solution where all parties can benefit without harming each other”—and then use the resources at his disposal to seek it out when all the conflicts threaten to bubble into actual violence.
John Abbott is very much a character who doesn’t want to be a hero, but sees when things need to be done and takes it upon himself to do them. That he does so while struggling with the complex morality of it makes him an even stronger character, and frankly one I’d like to see more of in fiction in general.
All this to say, Abbott in Darkness is a refreshingly grounded tale of a common family facing the worst on a planet far from home, and rising to the occasion. It’s a must-read for fans of reluctant heroes in extraordinary situations.
I’ve been looking forward to this book since the moment I heard it described as Pokemon Go meets Monster Hunter—and by the standards both properties inspire in my brain, it does not disappoint. 😄
In John Ringo and Lydia Sherrer’s Into the Real, Lynn Raven is a shy couch potato of a teen who would rather stay home and play WarMonger 2050 than go be around people. Even her narrow circle of IRL gaming friends—all guys—are generally unappealing, because the alpha nerd of the group is of the “girls can’t play video games” variety and would become insufferable if he knew the truth of her gaming hobby. See, through the power of near-future voice modification technology, a lot of intense forum research, and a lot of practice, she moonlights as the grizzled military veteran Larry Coughlin, an absolute legend in WarMonger’s multiplayer circles, a well-paid in-game mercenary-for-hire, and most importantly, routine kicker of Ronnie’s in-game butt.
So legendary is she as Larry Coughlin that, when Tsunami Entertainment rolls out the invite-only beta for its upcoming augmented reality game, TransDimensional Hunter, she’s invited by the head of the company himself to test this new game. It’s a tremendous honor and testament to her skill … but stepping outside her home, into the real, to conspicuously play this highly-anticipated game means she risks revealing her online identity. It also means she’ll have to deal with, eew, people.
But it also presents an avenue for her to earn more real-world money through gaming, and things haven’t been easy for her and her mother since the death of her police officer father. So Lynn takes on the opportunity—and with it, the challenges of navigating adolescence, competitive gamer boys, savage popular girls … and maybe something even bigger than that.
In recent years, I’ve become a huge fan of the LitRPG/GameLit genre (obviously, since I now write in it), and while Into the Real lacks some of the more iconic qualities associated with indie LitRPG (detailed stat blocks, for example), it’s entirely worth a read for LitRPG fans, especially those looking for something a little more complex than the usual power-fantasy adventure that dominates the genre.
Into the Real stands out for many reasons. The most conspicuous one for me was that it not only follows a female main character—uncommon in LitRPG—but that it depicts the specific experience of being a female gamer in a male-dominated competitive hobby, while also exploring the challenges inherent in simply being a teenager.
There is a definite power fantasy element—Lynn’s masquerading as Larry Coughlin can’t be anything but—but in a clever subversion of the trope, it’s also presented as the mask she wears to cope with her very teenage insecurities. She’s self-conscious about her body and about being a girl gamer amidst a bunch of immature boys, while potentially having a crush on one of those boys. She also has to deal with socially vicious popular girls, even on the gaming front, when the local rich queen bee (and popular streamer) has her father pull some strings to get her into the closed beta-test for TD Hunter … and proceeds to harass Lynn in the process (sometimes violently). Larry Coughlin and WarMonger 2050 are the shields she hides behind when being Lynn Raven becomes too unpleasant—but in playing TD Hunter, she can only be Lynn Raven, and participation in the game itself forces her to face those hurdles and thus grow as a person.
All this to say, while I don’t think it was necessarily written for a YA audience, this is definitely a novel that teen gamer girls in particular can relate to.
And the experience of being a gamer girl is intrinsic to the story. One of Lynn’s greatest social challenges is Ronnie, alpha nerd of her friend group and firm believer that “girls got no game.” When a high-stakes TD Hunter competition is announced—requiring four-player teams—Ronnie begrudgingly lets her fill the fourth spot on the group’s team and then, despite insisting upon being the leader, fails to give her serious consideration when forming the team’s strategies (i.e. completely fails to act like a leader). A non-gamer might look at his character and view him as a stereotype … but anyone who has ever spent time on a gamer girl forum will recognize him instantly. Discussions on these forums are overwhelmingly dominated by girls trying to find other girls to game with, and it’s largely because of the disrespect and sexist harassment they receive in chat from players like Ronnie. It’s a genuine problem in gaming culture at large and Into the Real completely nails it with this storyline. Lynn has to overcome her difficulties with Ronnie if she—and her team—are to succeed in competition, and the way the story handles it is both realistic and wholly appropriate to its coming-of-age theme.
What makes this book succeed, though, is that alongside the strong realization of its themes, it’s a whole lot of fun, and it particularly nails the unique fun of gaming culture, while also presenting a genuinely cool view of what gaming could look like in the near future.
Lynn’s is a future where augmented reality glasses are common and used in daily life even outside gaming contexts, where smart fabrics can mold to fit individual body shapes, and where games as complex as TD Hunter not only have special shape-changing peripheral controllers, but virtual AI assistants to help manage in-game data. TD Hunter itself is a game that I found myself wanting to play as I read, largely because it reminded me so strongly of some of my own favorite games. The AR component of Pokemon Go makes it an obvious comparison, and given the game’s goal, Monster Hunter feels like an obvious comparison, too … but (speaking as someone who takes days off work to play new Monster Hunter games), it’s also wholly appropriate. TD Hunter is a game that understands the pleasure of tracking and discovering new monsters, gathering new data on them with each encounter, and heck, gathering loot in general. For that matter, it’s also not inaccurate to compare it to Larry Correia’s Monster Hunter International series, given that modern-style weaponry is used in the game (and that there’s at least one MHI easter egg for sharp-eyed readers).
Also notable is how seriously the novel takes the physical aspect of the game. Lynn’s mom is a medical professional, and there are moments where she delivers advice that made me go, “Oh, one of those authors definitely played ridiculous amounts of Pokemon Go” (I say as I look at my own dedicated gaming bag of sunscreen, bottled waters, emergency protein snacks, and UV-blocking clothes). TD Hunter, of course, is on a whole other physical level, requiring players to jump around and physically exert themselves as if fighting real monsters, and while Lynn’s mom is cautious about the general safety of Lynn’s endeavor, she’s also refreshingly supportive and offers detailed dietary and general health information to enable her daughter to succeed without overwhelming her body. It’s a nice realistic detail in a genre that usually doesn’t pay attention to such mundane details. (Plus, it’s also great to see a parent in a teen-led story who isn’t an absolute idiot.)
The only place where Into the Real slips for me is the literal last set of paragraphs. These include a twist that sharp-eyed readers will see coming, and serve more to set up the next book in the series, rather than contributing anything significant to this one—but then, ultimately this first novel is about Lynn’s personal struggle, more so than the coming wider struggle that’s implied in the twist. Taking that into account, the book becomes a strong setup for what is sure to be a unique, fun series.
Ultimately, the thing that stands out most about Into the Real?
Many books about gaming get me so pumped to game that I stop mid-read to do just that—but Into the Real was so hypnotic I couldn’t bring myself to put it down, despite wanting to boot up my console for some Monster Hunter every other page. (And y’all know how I feel about Monster Hunter.) That said, it’s a must-read for gamers, but also for anyone who wants a fun, smart story about a shy teen finding her way through an exciting technological future.
Hello, everyone! It’s been two years since my last Gordian Division book with David Weber released, so I’m very excited to say that the Book 3, The Janus File, is here – and shows an entirely different part of the Gordian multiverse.
by David Weber and Jacob Holo
• • •
NOTHING IS SIMPLE—NOT EVEN TIME ITSELF
The fates of universes aren’t the only things time travel can impact. Sometimes the effect is a lot more mundane and closer to home. And when that happens, it’s up to the cops of Themis Division to make time turn out right.
It was supposed to be a routine trip for the members of the Gordian Division, both human and AI: fly out to Saturn, inspect the construction of their latest time machines, then fly back.
But when the division’s top scientist and chief engineer are killed in the same freak accident, suspicions of foul play run deep. Detective Isaac Cho is sent in to investigate, but he has more on his mind than just a new case. His superiors have saddled him with an exchange officer from the neighboring Admin—Special Agent Susan Cantrell—whose notion of proper “law enforcement” involves blowing up criminals first and skipping questions entirely.
Despite his objections, Cho is stuck with an untested partner on a case that increasingly reeks of murder and conspiracy. The unlikely pair must work together to unravel this mystery, and soon they discover their unique combination of skills might just provide the edge they need.
But nothing is ever simple where the Gordian Division is involved.
Not even time itself.
Why the jump from time travel alternate history to sci-fi police procedural?
Well, that’s something David and I will be covering in more depth at The Janus File‘s Virtual Launch Party this Saturday @ 8pm EST! Join us on YouTube and Facebook to hear about what went into the writing of our newest book … and maybe win some signed copies of The Janus File along the way! 😄
Sometimes you find a book that, against all odds, ends up being a surprise favorite. For me, By the Grace of the Gods, Volume 1 by Roy is one of those books.
The novel starts out as a standard isekai/reborn-in-another-world story, with the main character dying and appearing before the gods of a fantasy world, who determine where he’ll be placed in his afterlife. The thing that sets this character, Ryoma, apart from others, is that when he learns he’s died, he’s pretty chill about it. His response is essentially, “Welp, I’m a 40-year-old Japanese salaryman and even younger coworkers have died from the stress of our job, so honestly I’m just glad I made it this long.”
To which the gods say, “OMG That’s sad. We’re going to give you a good life.”
Ryoma is thus reincarnated as a 10-year-old boy who lives out in the woods away from all human contact and just spends his time chilling and researching slime monsters. When he finally does encounter people – by accident – they’re good people, and they take him to the city, where he finds that, by the standards of this world, his slime research is actually pretty revolutionary, such that he’s able to use it to save the city from a pandemic!
The storytelling is very relaxed; even the climax where he saves the city is hilariously chill. There’s no anime-style action here. Ryoma literally realizes the presence of a potential disease by noticing that the disease resistance of his cleaning slimes has risen – a consequence of exposure and adaptation – and saves the city from that illness by using his slimes to clean the public toilets where it’s thriving.
Yes, the whole climax of the book is “Main character cleans toilets.”
And yet, the utter chillness of his book is what makes it so appealing. This was my nighttime before-bed read, and the leisurely pace of the plot and charming positivity of the characters made it one of the most stress-relieving books I’ve ever read.
It’s also absolutely wholesome. General kindness of the entire cast aside, there’s not even a hint of a scantily clad character or sexy thought (in contrast to most other light novels), which makes it a safe recommendation for preteens and younger.
Finally, for those who enjoy LitRPG and stats, its stat system is simple and easy to keep up with, and Ryoma’s slime research is truly interesting to read about. (Different slimes serve different functions, and he uses them to interesting effect.)
All in all, By the Grace of the Gods, Volume 1 is a delightful surprise of a novel, and I recommend it highly to anyone looking for an easy, relaxing read.