Hello everyone!

Sorry for the prolonged absence; writing has been utterly consuming me.

But I don't want to leave you out in the cold, so I have a plan.

Every two weeks, Kendra sends out a newsletter. What I'm going to do is the Friday before a NL goes out, I plan to post here the opening of the PREVIOUS newsletter.

So today's post is the first part of the newsletter that went out on February 1st.

Sorry, it won't include the free books and sales announcements; just the intro from Kendra and the story. If you want the rest of the NL, make sure you sign up! You can do that right on this site - and this Sunday, I'm putting out a call for ARC readers for the next collection!

Anyway, with no further fluff, I turn the page over to Kendra!

When Things Change...

January did that thing where it pretended to be reasonable and then vanished in a blur of plans, deadlines, and half-finished cups of coffee.Y

ou look up, thinking you’ve got time. You blink. Suddenly it’s February, and the year has opinions.

So before we get carried any further, I wanted to pause long enough to hand you a few good things: a quiet turning-point story, two dangerously large free-book collections (one heavy on starships and consequences, one warmer and spiced), and a look at where we’ll be taking all this chaos out into the real world over the next few months.

There’s a theme running through this issue, whether Adam meant it or not: thresholds. Moments where things change. Decisions you don’t undo. Doors you open knowing full well you won’t be the same on the other side.

You’re going to step into one of those stories below, but that's not nearly the end of it. Oh, no.And because apparently we don’t believe in staying put, here’s where you can find us next—in person, caffeinated, and probably overexcited about whatever we’re working on that week:

Isekai Anime Con — Salt Lake City, UT - with Author/Illustrator Tanya Hales February 20–22 https://isekaianimecon.com/

Colorado Cosmic Con — Colorado Springs, CO April 25–26 https://coloradocosmiccon.com/

HallowScreamCon — Las Vegas, NV October 1–4 https://www.screenmastersint.com/hallowscreamcon

Wyoming Pop Culture Con — Dates TBA https://www.wyomingpopculturecon.com/

If you’re nearby, come say hi. If you’re not, I’ll bring you stories anyway.

All right.

Let’s get into it.

There’s a moment — right before you commit — where the world goes very still.

You’ve already said yes. The paperwork’s done, the decision’s been made, the path is technically locked in. But you haven’t moved yet. You’re standing at the edge of it, looking at what your life is about to become, and taking one last breath while it still belongs entirely to you.

Those moments don’t make the history books. They should.

This one belongs to Captain Kiri Stewart — right at the instant where command stops being theoretical and starts being hers. Before the orders. Before the consequences. Before the ship has a past. Just a quiet walk, a permission asked, and a future waiting very patiently to begin.

I’ve been holding onto this story for a while.

Now felt like the right time to let it go.

Permission to Board

“Hecate,” Kiri said, keeping her tone measured, “this is Captain-designate Stewart and Dr. Lorelei Stewart, requesting—”

“Oh! Hi!” Hecate cut in brightly. “Yes, hello, I see you both. I mean, I saw you before you arrived, obviously, but now I’m saying hi, which is different. Captain-designate Stewart,” the Beta AI added, her voice quick and delighted, like someone who’d been waiting for exactly this moment. “I was hoping it would be you. I mean—not hoping hoping, that would be inappropriate, but statistically pleasing. Also, hi, Dr. Stewart! I’ve reviewed your work on the collimation arrays and I have opinions.”

Lorelei smiled despite herself, dark eyes bright against her espresso-toned skin. “That sounds ominous.”

“They’re favorable opinions,” Hecate said cheerfully. “Mostly.”

Kiri suppressed the reflexive urge to straighten her shoulders. Captain-designate still felt unreal in her mouth. She was tall enough to carry authority without trying, long-limbed and still in a way that made people stop talking when she entered a room—but the title was new and weighed heavily on her. “Hecate.”

“Huh? I mean, yes, Captain-designate Stewart?” She almost sounded abashed, or at least as much as she ever could.

“We’re requesting permission to board Endeavour. Initial inspection only.”

“Granted!” Hecate said. “I’ll open the midship hatch. Try not to fall in love too fast. It happens.”

The deck plates hummed as the bay access unlocked. Kiri stepped forward, Lorelei at her side—shorter, solid, a compact coil of energy to Kiri’s stillness—and the unfinished bulk of the ship loomed ahead of them—sleek, purposeful, all clean lines and quiet intent. No scars yet. No history. Just promise.

Midship was all scaffolding and temporary lighting, but the bones were there. Kiri took it in automatically—routes, redundancies, how people would move when the ship was running hot and something had gone wrong.

Lorelei noticed different things. “They’ve kept the corridors wide,” she murmured. “Good sightlines. No stupid choke points.”

Kiri nodded. “They learned.”

From her.

“Bridge first?” Lorelei asked.

Kiri hesitated, then nodded. “Bridge first.”

They took the lift up, the doors opening onto a space that made Kiri stop short.

The Endeavour’s bridge was smaller than Enterprise’s, tighter, more focused. Three command chairs at the center—captain, XO, and a third reserved for visiting authority—surrounded by curved consoles that wrapped the space without crowding it. The helm sat forward and slightly down, tactile controls within easy reach. Engineering and tactical stations were recessed along the aft bulkhead, where they could see and be seen. The lighting was soft, adjustable, meant for long watches.

It was… right.

Lorelei let out a low whistle. “Oh. They did this properly.”

Kiri stepped forward, stopping just short of the center chair. She didn’t sit. Not yet.

This is mine, her mind supplied, unhelpfully. This is where you decide who lives and who doesn’t.

Lorelei glanced at her. “You okay?”

“I will be,” Kiri said. She rested a hand on the back of the chair, fingers long and steady against the cool composite. “I keep wondering if I can live with actually doing this.”

Lorelei tilted her head. “Command?”

“The decisions,” Kiri said. “The ones you don’t get to rehearse.”

Lorelei’s expression softened, but she didn’t contradict her. She never did that lightly. “You already make those calls. You’ve just had someone else sign the paperwork.”

They moved on before Kiri could talk herself into sitting down.

The captain’s quarters were unfinished, but the space was clearly defined—private head, small sitting area, viewport angled to give stars without glare. It was bigger than Kiri expected. Bigger than she wanted.

Lorelei lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, weight on one hip. “You’ll rattle around in here.”

Kiri frowned. “It’s standard.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s good,” Lorelei said, then hesitated. “You’re not going to be alone, are you? All the time.”

Kiri turned to look at her, something tight twisting in her chest. “Lore—”

“I know,” Lorelei said quickly. “I know how it works. I just—”

Kiri reached out, fingers brushing Lorelei’s wrist, brief and deliberate—the same touch she used in public when rank demanded distance and marriage didn’t get to speak first. “I won’t be alone.”

Lorelei searched her face, then nodded, trusting her even without context.

The laser installation took longer.

Lorelei circled the mounts slowly, curls brushing her jaw as she leaned in, eyes sharp, hands twitching with the urge to touch. “They’ve cleaned up the alignment,” she said. “Whoever signed off on this understood that precision here saves power everywhere else.”

“You designed the targeting system,” Kiri said.

Lorelei snorted. “I refined it. Anderson did the heavy lifting.”

Kiri shook her head. “You’ve shown you can work with her without compromising either your position or your authority. You’re a better engineer than you were a year ago.”

Lorelei blinked, surprised despite herself.

“And,” Kiri continued evenly, “you’re the reason this installation will work the way it’s supposed to.”

Lorelei’s mouth curved into a small, dangerous smile. “You’re laying it on thick.”

“I’m being accurate.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the whisper of dormant systems around them.

“This ship is going to see combat,” Lorelei said finally. “Against the Union.”

“Yes.”

“You’ll have to give the order to fire.”

“Yes.”

Lorelei studied her. “Can you?”

Kiri didn’t look away. “I can.”

The science lab shifted the air between them.

Lorelei slowed without realizing it, steps easing as she took in the space. She drifted toward one bench, then another, fingers brushing the edge of a console as if to confirm it was real. She leaned over a workstation, scanning the specs, then straightened with a soft, incredulous laugh.

“They didn’t lock anything down,” she said. “Look at this—full modular bays. You could reconfigure half the lab between shifts if you wanted.” She moved again, already three steps ahead, peering into an alcove. “And that’s field-containment rated for experiments, not demonstrations. Someone expects us to break things.”

She stopped, turning slowly, eyes bright with something close to awe. “This,” Lorelei said, voice pitched low, almost reverent. “This is why we’re out here. Exploration. Discovery. Poking the universe and seeing how hard it pokes back.”

Kiri smiled despite herself. Then the smile faded as a thought caught and wouldn’t let go.

“I won’t be going on away missions anymore,” she said. “Alley’s protocol.”

Lorelei’s brows knit. “That’s Alley’s protocol. Does it have to be yours?”

“It’s sensible,” Kiri said. “If something goes wrong, the captain stays with the ship.”

Lorelei studied her for a beat. “You’ve always been the one who goes toward the problem.”

“That was when someone else could tell me to stand down,” Kiri said quietly. “Or take responsibility if I didn’t.”

“It’s cautious,” Lorelei said, not unkindly. “And I understand why. But it’s your ship now. Within the rules, you get to decide what risk looks like.”

Kiri’s jaw tightened. “What rules?” she asked. “Half of this feels like it’s being made up as we go along.”

Lorelei huffed a soft laugh. “It is. Welcome to command.”

Kiri exhaled, a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I like rules,” she said. “They tell you where the edges are.”

“I know,” Lorelei said gently. “But sometimes not having rules gives you room to learn where they should be.”

Kiri looked at her, weighing that, then nodded once—sharp, decisive, the way she always did when she’d made a call she wasn’t entirely comfortable with yet.

“Come on,” she said, straightening. “Engineering.”

The doors opened and Lorelei stopped dead.

It was pristine. Advanced. Power conduits laid out with an elegance that bordered on obscene. Control stations designed for flexibility, not hierarchy. Space to work.

“Oh,” Lorelei breathed. “Oh, this is—this is beautiful.”

Then she was moving.

She crossed the deck in quick, eager strides, hands hovering just shy of contact as she circled a console, leaned in to peer at a diagnostic display, and spun toward a power junction with an incredulous laugh. “They actually thought about access clearance here. Look at this—Kiri, look—no crawlspace gymnastics. I could cry.”

Kiri stayed where she was, arms loosely folded, watching her wife light up like a kid turned loose in a candy shop. Lorelei crouched, popped back up, paced off a distance, then stopped short in front of a workstation with a low, reverent sound.

“This is obscene, but in the best possible way,” Lorelei declared. “I love it. Whoever designed this understood what engineers actually need. I could live in here.” She turned, eyes bright, breath a little quick. “Have you decided on your chief engineer yet? Or did they assign you someone?”

“Yes,” Kiri said.

“Yes, what? Yes, you decided?”

“Yes, I decided.”

Lorelei made a face. “I’m jealous of whoever gets it.”

Kiri met her gaze steadily, a hint of satisfaction curling at the corner of her mouth. “Funny, you being jealous of yourself.”

Lorelei froze.

“What?”

“There’s nobody I’d rather have with me,” Kiri said quietly, “a hundred light years from home.”

Lorelei stared at her, then laughed—a sharp, delighted sound that she didn’t bother to suppress. “A hundred? You’re thinking small. A thousand. Ten thousand—” She hesitated, the joy catching on something more careful. “Are you sure? Same ship. Same chain. That would’ve been… complicated.”

“In the NIN,” Kiri said. “It would’ve been impossible.” She paused, then shook her head, the smugness finally breaking through. “But not here. Not now.”

Lorelei searched her face, then grinned. “Different rules.”

“Exactly,” Kiri said. “See? That’s why I like rules. But you haven’t answered me.”

“Answered? You never asked.”

“You accept?” Kiri asked.

“Yes,” Lorelei said immediately, stepping closer, eyes bright with the reality of it. “Yes. Of course. Yes.”

They stood there, grinning like idiots for a heartbeat, surrounded by systems that would one day carry them farther than either of them had ever planned—and now, they’d be doing it together.

Lorelei exhaled, a laugh still caught in her chest. “We should celebrate.”

Kiri lifted an eyebrow. “We could finish the tour. There’s still half the ship we haven’t seen.”

Lorelei shook her head, smiling. “Oh, I’ll learn every inch of her. Every secret. I’ve got time for that.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “But tonight? Tonight I have other plans.”

Kiri studied her. “Should I be worried?”

“No,” Lorelei said, amused. “They involve you.” She leered, then added, “Maybe you should be worried.”

Lorelei slipped her hand into Kiri’s, just for a moment—the private gesture of two women who had signed papers years ago and still chose each other every day.

“My Captain. My Kiri,” she said softly.

“Both.”