Promotional announcement for the Zombie Pirate Publishing anthology, “Raygun Retro”

I can finally announce this and I’m thrilled to do it. My retro science fiction short story “Buried in the Sands of Time” has been accepted for publication in the Zombie Pirate Publishing anthology Raygun Retro: A Science Fiction Anthology.

Here’s the formal announcement from ZPP’s Facebook page:

Congratulations to all of the successful authors for RAYGUN RETRO: A Science Fiction Anthology. Thank you to everyone who submitted, you made it a difficult choice.

Preorder your Raygun Retro Ebook now for half price at the link above.

Available in paperback May 1, 2020.

I’m especially thrilled, because I’ve tried to submit various earlier versions of this tale under the title “Arabia Terra” for nearly two years, and it’s been repeatedly rejected. The final version is a major retooling of the concept which, in this case, is (in my humble opinion) the perfect missive for retro science fiction that pays homage to SciFi movies, TV shows, and novels from the 1950s and 60s, plus illustrates what might happen if the past collided with the future.

Here’s a brief sample. Keep in mind, the final and edited version may read slightly differently:

Fifteen minutes later, Professor Bruno Tauber, physicist Lisa Horn, and reporter Arthur Fleming were again standing in front of the monitor of the spacecraft’s control center, watching Major Henry Moore and Alan “Kip” Corrigan, dressed in their heavy parkas, trudging on the Martian surface to the northeast, away from the ship.

Tauber mused, “Directive 97…why did those two men take laser weapons?”

“Did you get a load of that laser rifle Corrigan pulled out of the armory, Professor? Bet that thing has enough power to blast through a mountain.”

“That’s what worries me, young man. So do the two lasers mounted on the robot guarding us just outside this vessel.”

“For geological drilling, right?”

“I doubt that, Arthur.” It was the first time Horn had called him by his given name. “Why would it need a drilling laser front and back?”

“You think Directive 97 has to do with…say, that’s got to be it.”

“You may be right, Mr. Fleming.” Tauber’s eyes never wavered from the screen as the two pilots disappeared over the rim of a large crater.

“Wait. I see movement.” Kip’s voice on the speaker could barely be heard over the static.

“Get…lasers…” A screeching burst of interference wailed, cutting off Moore, and then a long, bloodcurdling scream burst forth, nearly deafening the listeners.

Tauber lunged for the radio controls and clutched the microphone. “Major Moore! Captain Corrigan! Can you hear me? Come in.” He was answered by a faint hum. Then there was another voice, an inhuman voice: the robot.

“Directive 97 confirmed. Extreme danger. Directive 97 confirmed.”