Where was I supposed to go next, Artifarium or Maikersburgh?

“… Garnet.”

The way Mort had described them, they sounded pretty much the same.

“Garnet?”

Two planets entirely tapped out, creating mostly what passed for phones on the colonies. An enchanted phone, but still, it behaved like something from the 90s on Earth; a little heavy, just good for making calls and nothing else.

“Red!”

“Yes! I mean… what? Er…” Aw, shit. I mean, shoot! “Sorry, mom, I wasn’t listening.”

She made that noise.

“What were you saying?” I asked. What had I heard last?

She sighed. “One of our neighbors wrote a book,” she said. “Like those books you read when you were younger. Dragons and magic and all that… well, I suppose I can’t say it’s nonsense anymore. Someone featured it in a magazine. Let me send you the link.”

“Mom, I don’t need the—”

My phone buzzed.

I sighed, but not loud enough that she would hear it, as I put my mother on speaker and went to the text messages.

This monsoon? Where was I supposed to be, exactly? Anyway, ever since Galad had showed up on Earth, I’d had little time for reading. Fighting monsters, searching for ways to save humanity… they ate into my book time.

“Thanks, mom, but I don’t really have time for book recommendations.” I’d never known my mom not to have a book with her, and I’d had plenty of lonely nights on foreign worlds where a book would have been a welcome companion. Maybe I should take her up on the offer? Not that I had a shipping address, though I imagined Rocks had set up some kind of mailing system for those in the GL deployed on other worlds. Plus, I knew a little something about that book and its author.

“—he was such a nice man.” I realized I hadn’t been listening again. “And his brother has three boys, the oldest is your age. A doctor.”

Ohhh. Matchmaking. Gheez, mom. “Tell me more about this author, mom.” I knew he hadn’t written that book. Rocks had let me in on a little secret. SJMorris was a pen name for someone that worked for Elliah. I’d never met the actual writer… Matt, maybe?

“He seemed nice. Humble, a good listener… he looked fit for someone who sits in a chair typing all day.”

“Mmmm,” I groaned, a little suggestively. “He sounds yummy.”

Mom choked on the other end.

“He’s in his 50s,” she squeaked between coughs. “It’s his nephew that’s…”

“Fifties is okay. I’ve dated older.” Very true, but I admit I said it just for the apoplectic fit it invoked. “Plus, authors of fantasy need to be naturally empathetic." I had gained a whole new level of understanding about empathy of late. "And they have great imaginations. That’s gotta pay off in the bedroom.”

Muffled shuffling ensued at the other end of the phone. At a guess, she’d dropped it. I felt a pang of guilt, but I reminded myself that she deserved it for butting into my love life.

When she once again became audible, her words flew by faster than I could process. I didn’t even try to parse it, though I caught “God,” and “hell,” and variants of “sin.” Mom wasn’t born a Catholic, but I sometimes wondered if she’d married my dad just for the rights to its guilt-dom.

“Mom!” I shouted, quieting her. “I was kid-ding,” I said, emphasizing the syllables. “Stop trying to set me up with people.”

Truth was, Rocks wanted to get the word out about those books. I’d thrown the SJMorris guy under the bus. A high school friend’s father. So yeah, he’d been in my old neighborhood, and I hadn’t considered that my mom would meet him. Rocks didn’t think the world was ready for a goblin writer, so the pen name belonged to someone real.

“I just want what’s best for you,” my mom responded, her voice still a little edgy.

Best for me? A writer? Someone who only lived their adventures inside their heads? Mother of friggin’ Trees, no.

I made the noise.

Mom made it back.

“Okay, mom. I gotta run. Going to be off-world for a while. But if you like that book, share it with your friends. Make sure you write a review. I hear that’s the lifeblood for those Indie writers.”

“Authors, dear.”

I made the noise again. “Love you, mom. I’ll let you know when I’m back.”

“Love you, Tibs.”

Tibs. A nickname of a nickname that only my family knew. I held in my sigh until I hung up. I felt bad keeping information from my mother. We needed more GL supporters, and supporting that author might help.

My phone buzzed. The text from my mom read, “Let your friends know, he’s giving away an electronic copy of Book 1 just for signing up for his mailing list.”

I smiled, handed Gil my phone, and left the planet behind.

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