Synopsis

The PanTerran Nutritional Authority controls the food supply, and through it, the fate of every settled world. Its ships cross the galaxy carrying the nutrient gel that keeps billions alive, its officials regulate what can be grown, and its influence reaches into every colony, station and household. For most people, the Authority is unavoidable. For Captain Lorian Vance, it is simply an excellent target.

Aboard The Audacity, Vance and his mismatched crew make their living somewhere between legitimate courier work and carefully justified piracy. Their jobs are dangerous, their paperwork is questionable, and their survival usually depends on confidence, quick thinking and leaving before anyone notices what has gone missing.

But when a routine delivery takes them to an isolated mining colony, Vance begins noticing details that do not fit.

Drawn into a mystery far greater than any theft or smuggling run, Vance and his crew must follow a trail that leads beyond forgotten colonies, abandoned vessels and the hidden machinery of the Authority itself. Whatever is unfolding has already spun out of control, and the crew of the Audacity is the Rim’s only hope of stopping it.

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Excerpt

His hair caught the light from the forward screens, turning almost white at the edges. The rest of him moved with unhurried confidence, the kind that came from never admitting you were doing something wrong.

A tall man, Vance stretched out his legs, crossing one over the other, his toes just touching the forward edge of the helm. This was his usual posture when piloting The Audacity, but only when it was a casual flight.

As they got closer to the freighter, however, he pulled his legs under the pilot’s chair and leaned forward.

“Target in range,” Pip announced. The android’s voice was perfectly calm, pitched somewhere between exasperation and worshipful efficiency. “Freighter designation PNA‑Echelon Seven, vector stable. Shall I begin handshake?”

“Gently,” Vance said. “We’re pretending to be respectable today.”

Pip’s ocular sensors flickered. “I’ve cross‑referenced the credentials from our last respectable day. They were revoked.”

“That’s the beauty of recycling,” Vance replied. “No one looks at the old tags. They just see the badge and salute.”

Pip moved smoothly over to another panel, placed a metallic hand over a connection plate and stiffened slightly as a part of his mind took control of the communications system of their ship.

Vance waited a moment and then, silently counting down on his fingers, accurately cued Pip’s next announcement. He mouthed the words as they issued from the android.

“All systems ready. All credentials ready. Everything is a go.”

Behind him, Juno emerged from the maintenance shaft, covered in carbon dust and irritation. “If anyone salutes this ship, they need new eyes,” he muttered.

The stocky Haxian engineer dropped into a seat and began tapping commands into a secondary console. He rubbed a gritty hand over his red beard and said, “Are we running a clean copy or a dirty one?”

“Clean,” said Vance. “Let’s not scare them before dinner.”

Juno continued tapping away at the console with his thick fingers.

It always amazed Vance how good Juno was with intricate work like typing, fixing small devices and working in tiny panels. There were places his fingers simply wouldn’t fit, and yet somehow…

Almost as tall as Vance himself, Juno’s shoulders were at least twice as wide, and his arms were as thick as Vance’s legs. For all the man’s elegance in handling intricate work, he could bend a steel rod in half.

“Juno?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Was your father an erabus?”

“What the hell is an erabus?”

“Come on, you know what an erabus is. You shot one that was about to sweep me off my feet, and not in a good way.”

“Oh, yes, an erabus. You mean that huge, hairy beast that was eating all the livestock over on Haran Primus?”

“The very same.”

“Then, to answer your question: no. My father was not an erabus. He was a regular man like you and me.”

“I doubt that he was regular.”

“I’m going to choose not to take that as an insult to my heritage.”

In contrast, Vance himself was lean and muscled, but not thick. His face was clean-shaven, giving him a boyish charm that was only enhanced by the mischievous twinkle that so often played across his eyes.

Throughout his short but lively twenty-five years, Vance had been plagued by an inexplicable procession of women who seemed to be interested in him. They would tell him it was his white-blonde hair, or his grey eyes, or some other such nonsense. One woman even called him “irresistibly charming.”

Vance caught a glimpse of his reflection in the forward glass of the ship, and unsurprisingly he only saw Lorian Vance. As Juno had so eloquently put it, “a regular man.”

Adventurous, yes. Brash, absolutely. But otherwise, just a regular man.

He swivelled his chair toward Juno and leaned forward.

“Juno.”

Juno sighed.

“Yes, Vance. What is it?”

“Was your mother an erabus?”

Juno pulled a small wrench from his belt and tossed it at Vance’s head. Catching it, Vance stood and walked over to him. Proffering it to the large man, he gave him his most winning smile.

It was so winning because it was always so genuine.

“I’ve met your mother, Juno. She’s a lovely woman. I saw no evidence of her being a big, hairy beast.”

About the Author

Sebastian Howarth is a South African author, musician, and lifelong chaser of the next great story. His life has been shaped by travel, adventure, and more than a few on-a-whim escapades that have landed him in hot water. He believes in living deeply, breathing freely, and occasionally taking the road that sensible people would avoid. That restless spirit runs through his writing, where strange worlds, dangerous choices, dark humour, and unforgettable characters collide. The Synthetic Hunger is his debut novel.

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