Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from The Fist of Memory by Wole Talabi, which releases on October 27th 2026.

When a non-communicative alien spacecraft suddenly appears in the sky, global powers are thrown into turmoil.

But for Tope, a principled Nigerian assassin with a talent for lethality in the employ of the mysterious witchdoctor known as “Baba,” it’s all just business as usual. At least until a job goes wrong, and Tope is caught in the scramble—a high stakes game of power and politics for the future that is to come. Joined by Itumeleng, a South African astronomer plagued by mysterious dreams, they must find a way to survive, navigate their complicated pasts, and come to understand how they, and all of humanity, are connected to the alien craft before it lands and the world changes forever. But it won’t be easy. There are sinister forces marshalled against them, including a strange assassin obsessed with a single memory.

The Fist Of Memory is a first contact thriller unlike any other; a meditation on the nature of reality, memory and connectedness.

EXCERPT

THE GREAT WALL OF LAGOS

Lagos, Nigeria

Tope

It’s noon when I wake up, curtain‑ filtered light kissing my eyes.

After six glasses of double‑ oak whiskey, I’d finally drifted off into dream‑ filled slumber. Didn’t really work though. Same dream, as always. Now, I find myself nursing a light hangover and thinking of the men I killed on the road this morning. There is an uncomfortable emotional resonance between the dream, the call from Lolade, and the act of killing those men that I don’t want to dwell on. Thinking too much would lead to drinking too much, and as much as I like the blissful wooziness of being drunk, I can’t afford to incapacitate myself right now, so I get up. Go outside. Think about something else.

Lagos is particularly hot today— weather predictions say it is . . . [39 degrees Celsius,] but it feels like more when I open the sliding glass door and step onto the balcony of my air‑ conditioned, 19th floor studio apartment wearing a blue wrapper tied above my breasts. It is like stepping out of a fridge and into an oven. Oily exhaust fumes float on gusts of humid air. Lagos is the grip of another heat wave, but this has always been a city of extremes, even before climate change made it more so.

Mine is one of the ninety‑ five flats in this high‑ rise building along Kudirat Abiola Way and just one of my many hideouts in this sprawling, disorganized city. Chinedu, my real estate agent, has proven to be astute at obtaining good, discreet accommodation. This high rise with its silver solarskin exterior and rooftop pool like several others around Ikeja, sprouts out of a cluster of older, lower buildings, a network of legacy power lines propped up on wooden poles still running between them. Mostly two to three stories high. The electric cables hang slack, and older towers are beginning to buckle under the sun. Drones buzz high overhead like vultures, and holographic billboards remind people to bring water. The city was not built for this heat. Truth be told, the city wasn’t built for anything at all. Nothing about Lagos was planned. It’s evolved like an organism. Adapting to environmental, social, and political pressures in a desperate bid to survive. Like I have. The city is uncertain of itself, always changing rapidly and unevenly, giving it the quality of a patchwork place, a city assembled from neighborhood pieces that exist in different periods, income brackets, levels of development, security, a place of superposition.

Sweat‑ stained and agitated pedestrians scurry along the roads. It’s not quite lunch time but some early eaters are already leaving their offices, moving along the sidewalks, tending toward a tarpaulin‑ and‑ zinc shack mama‑ put in the corner of an open‑ air car park at the junction. Two heavy‑ set women in black blouses and ankara wrap pers steadily scoop up the soft lumps of eba, fufu and amala, loading them with generous helpings of thick egusi, ewedu or gbegiri soups and meats as customers take seats on the plastic chairs nearby under a crude green holographic projection from a circling ad‑drone. Across the road, there is a competing autonomous food cart selling both jollof and fried rice with chicken, plantain, coleslaw and other accompaniments. Despite the heat, the length and diversity of the queue developing in front of the mama‑ put is impressive. Damn. Now I’m hungry. Haven’t eaten in almost twenty hours.

I close my eyes and lift my face up to the sky, for a few seconds, feeling the sun tighten the skin on my face, and then I reenter the cool air of the apartment.

I can’t run away from my own thoughts forever.

“Ori,” I say, “search for pictures of Lolade Adejuwon.”

[Search results ready. Five hundred and three pictures found. I have prioritized them by resolution and visibility of facial features. Would you like them projected from the quovision panel?]

“ Yes.”

Hololines whizz in front of me resolving into a grid of images. The first ten results are images of Lolade with her husband the Brigadier General, at various state functions and ceremonies, taken by professionals. I pick the first one where she is alone. . It’s a profile shot, taken with a holoscanner so that it can be rotated 360 degrees. She has an oval face, full cheeks and a broad smile that doesn’t extend all the way to her eyes. Pearly white teeth. I rotate the holo‑ image a few times. Dimples on both cheeks. Her hair is bound up in a towering and intricate red and gold gele that matches her red lace blouse and gold jewelry. She looks like she is in her late thirties or early for ties, just like me, even though we look nothing alike.

“Ori, search for all addresses in Nigeria registered to Brigadier General Olatunji Adejuwon or Lolade Adejuwon.”

A list of twenty‑ seven addresses bubble into the air next to the pictures of Lolade.

“Run Spyder.”

The projection background darkens as Ori activates the connection to the darknet through a back door in the carrier network. “Enhanced search. Cross‑ reference with compromised police surveillance and shopping order drone deliveries. Last 6 months. Buyer profile: female, wealthy, age‑ range thirty to fifty.” Addresses on the list shuffle up and down as the program extracts information from a passive malware code embedded in the operating systems of billions of network base stations; it computes and assigns probabilistic matches based on the data. When complete, the top ad dress is in Garden View Estate, Ikoyi. A luxurious suburban area.

I examine the holographic eyes of the woman I am going to meet. Those bright eyes that remind me so much of my mother’s are hiding something. Desperate pain? Or a trap?

I’ll find out soon enough.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘The Fist of Memory’ by Wole Talabi appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from All the Hidden Places: Stories by Cadwell Turnbull, which is out now.

Fourteen stories. Unseen places that lie just within, beneath, beyond our reality.

A father and daughter traverse postapocalyptic America seeking safe haven and the truth about why the world ended. Three siblings write intimate letters as their society slips ever deeper into dystopia.

On an island where locals use cooperative AI to survive hurricanes, a journalist returns home to cover their story and reconnect with her past. A wayward god sets out to find the source of all gods. But can they survive to tell the tale?

After a whimsical attempt to teleport proves successful, a couple finds that their conflicting feelings about the event are threatening their marriage. In a world where multiple souls can inhabit the same body, a recovering addict confronts his family about a terrible secret.

A monster who lives on human blood finds her undoing in the loneliness she carries within her heart.

In his debut collection, acclaimed novelist Cadwell Turnbull takes readers across an omniverse of monsters, gods, and people, all trying to make peace with the parts of themselves they don’t want others to see. Until they are forced to face all their hidden places.

EXCERPT

IBAMWE AND THE MOUNTAIN BOX

“Who created you?” Asuneth asked Ibamwe.

“I’ve always existed,” said Ibamwe.

Asuneth gave Ibamwe a look Ibamwe had never seen before, the kind of look you give to someone who doesn’t have a clue. Ibamwe did not know what it was like not to have a clue.

Asuneth elaborated: “The sentient beings you’ve created have no recollection of their own beginnings. But when they are born, they have witnesses who can tell them the when and the where and the how. But . . .” Asuneth appeared uncertain. More than that. Nervous.

Ibamwe leaned forward on their throne—they had a nice throne: gold-adorned, glimmering with jewels, the whole package—and said, “Go on.”

Asuneth did: “But if they didn’t have a witness, who would tell them these things?”

The implication was clear. Ibamwe pushed it away out of stubbornness. “Get to your point.”

“Well . . .” More hesitation. “Couldn’t it be that you don’t remember your beginning, simply because you didn’t have a witness? Couldn’t it be that you were simply created by someone you’ve never met?”

Ibamwe considered this.

Asuneth the angel waited.

Finally, Ibamwe said, “I don’t know. I will have to give this some more thought.”

After Asuneth left, Ibamwe searched their mind, trying to remember the precise beginning of their existence. All they could manage was the first moment of self-awareness: Ibamwe floating in void, Ibamwe considering themself in that void, Ibamwe desiring not to be alone in that void. And if there was a moment like this to wake to, a void to rouse from, it did imply a before.

This thought was very unsettling to Ibamwe, and it was made worse by the inability to escape it: no valve, no button, no secret door.

When Asuneth visited again, she asked, “How can you know you were the first thing?” In her eyes: a desperate wildness. “Please answer me.”

But Ibamwe had no answer. “With this question, you’ve imprisoned us both.”

Time passed this way, the question wreaking havoc across heaven. As this happened, Ibamwe refused visitors.

The thought came during that period of isolation, rose from some hidden place in Ibamwe’s mind: What if I make another? Like myself but separate, in its own realm?

And because Ibamwe was a god, and gods have no limits except their own imagination, Ibamwe made it so.

This new god did not stir to life instantly. That would take time, as it had with Ibamwe. They would have to wait.

To pass the time, Ibamwe threw parties.

At one such party, Asuneth approached again.

“I am still working on an answer,” Ibamwe said. “Come back later.”

Asuneth did not move. Behind her, all of heaven was raucous with laughter and dancing and debauchery.

“You have another question?” Ibamwe said, nervous.

“If you’ve come to the same solution I did,” Asuneth said, “the same potential answer, I suspect you will have more questions before we’re through.”

And Asuneth left Ibamwe on their throne, even more unsettled than before.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘All the Hidden Places: Stories’ by Cadwell Turnbull appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and cover from Expiration Date by Mikaela Bender, which releases on April 6th 2027 and is now available for preorder. PLUS you can check out artwork by Tina Marie Carbone of the two main characters, Iris and Jonas, at the end of the article.

But first, here’s what the author had to say about her release and cover, which was illustrated by Charlie Bowater!

“It was twelve years ago when I was sixteen that I started writing Expiration Date on Wattpad, and soon, for the first time ever, readers will have the option to read a physical copy of the story or listen to an audiobook version. For me, the readers have always been a main part of this series. They’ve witnessed not just the characters grow and change but the books themselves. I’m really excited for them to experience this new edition from Podium, and I hope new readers will come to love these characters just as much I and so many others do.

I love how Charlie portrayed Iris on the cover; she truly captured who Iris is. There are a couple “Easter eggs” on the cover as well. The twelve larger stars represent the members of the Order, and those who pick up the print edition will find the constellations of Libra and Orion (the two parts the first book is broken into).”

Iris is used to knowing when she’ll die, but she has no idea how to live—until the clock stops ticking—in the first book of a pulse-pounding sci-fi series.

The Society knows when its citizens are going to die and imprints the date on their arms at birth. Iris Levine was raised to fight back against them—until they burned down her home and executed her family, leaving her with nothing but a rapidly approaching Expiration Date. On what was meant to be her final day, she encounters none other than Erik Blackwood, the Society’s prodigal son, who’s desperate to change his family’s cruel ways. 

Erik volunteers to be with Iris when the clock strikes midnight—but she doesn’t die. She’s Expired. The revelation presents exactly the act of defiance he’s been searching for, but it will make them both targets. Meanwhile, just weeks into his rule as Preeminence, Erik’s cousin Jonas is unraveling under the weight of his own secrets. With Erik’s apparent defection and his younger brother, Colton, testing him at every turn, Jonas begins to worry his influence might be slipping away . . . especially when Erik returns with Iris at his side. 

Suddenly, Iris is thrust into a ruthless world of politics and family dynamics wrapped in a glittering facade of stars. Jonas offers her salvation at the cost of her soul, Colton is certain she’s a threat, and Erik has an agenda all his own. Now, she must decide who to trust and if revenge is worth risking the second chance fate has given her. Even as she feels her heart being stolen by the enemy, for the first time her destiny is in her hands, and she’s not giving that up without a fight.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mikaela Bender is the author of the Watty Award–winning Expiring series, which has amassed almost twenty-five million views on Wattpad. She has also won the Royal Palm Literary Award for her web novel Asleep. Her short stories have been published in multiple anthologies including Once Upon Now, and she has written for brands like General Electric, Amazon Prime Video, and MasterClass. Originally from Orlando, Florida, she now lives in New York City as a book publicist surrounded by a fairy village and an adorable puppy. Readers can follow her adventures on Instagram and TikTok at @mikaelabender. 

The post Exclusive Cover Reveal: Expiration Date by Mikaela Bender appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from A Plagued Sea by Kim Bo-Young, which releases on August 11th 2026.

While waiting for a train to Haewon, an isolated Korean seaside village, bodyguard Mu-young gets a disaster alert on her phone. TVs throughout the station report breaking news of a massive earthquake on the eastern coast. Despite the danger, Mu-young boards the train with her niece: she’d rather face the earthquake than leave the girl in her mother’s care. That choice haunts her for the rest of her life.

Three years later, Haewon Village is home to horrors. The earthquake unleashed an ancient plague that transforms its victims into fishy monsters, and the government’s lockdown has cut off any hope for help. Mu-young’s niece is dead, and all that’s left for her is to hunt villagers who break isolation. When an officious bureaucrat from Seoul arrives in the village, he stirs up even deeper trouble. Will Mu-young survive? Does she even deserve to?

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EXCERPT

Footsteps in the hall outside—both boys froze. Then a voice, Ms. Lowell’s. “No, I’ll meet you there, I’m just going to swing by and check it on my way to…”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Logan muttered. “We’ll never get out of here.”

“Out the window?” Jace suggested, circling the desk to stand in front of it.

“We’re on the fourth floor,” said Logan. “Shit, shit, shit! We need a distraction!” They were going to get booted. If they could come up with any reason to be in the director’s office other than stealing files, maybe they’d have a chance, but with the papers scattered everywhere, they needed a distraction, they needed the Bens, they needed something—anything—to keep Lowell from noticing what they were doing.

There was no time, no time, no time. The footsteps were right outside Ms. Lee’s door. She’d be inside the director’s office in seconds.

Logan despaired. They were getting booted. There was nothing they could do. He would get sent away. He would get put in Shalecrest like his parents. He would lose everything again.

His mind filled with exactly one thought. He did the only thing he could think of doing, the only stupid, useless thing.

He grabbed Jace with a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him.

Jace jerked back in shock, then some recognition sparked in his eyes. “God, that’s fucking brilliant,” he said. “Take the files and run once the coast is clear.” Then he put a hand on either side of Logan’s face and kissed him hard.

The world stopped turning. Logan forgot what breathing felt like. The earth must have turned upside down; all the blood was rushing to his head and his chest was bursting open and his stomach had disappeared. He didn’t even process that he was pulling Jace against him, doing his best to crush him; he just wanted to be closer, closer, closer.

“Oh—oh!” A woman’s shocked exclamation reminded Logan they weren’t alone, but he would’ve happily kept going, caught or not, if Jace hadn’t pulled away sharply.

The expression on Jace’s face when he jerked back was like a punch in the gut for Logan. He looked surprised at the intrusion, but also mortified, disgusted, completely unsettled. Jace glanced between Logan and Ms. Lowell where she stood in the doorway with her hand over her mouth, and desperate horror grew on his face. He tried to step away from Logan, his hands raised as if to signal that he hadn’t just been touching the other boy, but Logan’s hands were clenched on Jace’s jacket.

Jace slapped his hands away, something between fear and fury flickering over his face. “I—we—it wasn’t—” he choked out at Ms. Lowell. “It’s not what it—God!”

Lurching like he was on the edge of vomiting, Jace ran, pushing past Ms. Lowell and into the hall. Logan stood staring after him, every bit as stricken on the outside as he felt on the inside. Ms. Lowell shot him a baffled, unhappy look, then turned to follow Jace. “Mr. Evans?” she called. It wasn’t an angry tone; she sounded concerned.

As soon as she was gone, Logan remembered his task: get the files, get out. He scrambled to gather those they’d scattered, scooping them into a loose pile and throwing them haphazardly into his bag. He seized another handful from the desk and tossed that in too, then kicked the drawer shut and ran for all he was worth.

When he burst into the common room, he could barely breathe, both from the exertion of the run and the flood of emotions trying to choke him. He pounded up to his bunk and shoved the papers into the slit he’d made in his mattress. Heart hammering, he pulled the sheet down over his temporary hiding place, tore off his jacket and socks, and stowed them.

Someone snored to his right, and he wanted to shake them and demand to know how they could sleep at a time like this—the world was still upside down.

There was no question of him sleeping. He headed out of the room and settled in a common room chair, waiting for Jace. As the large wall clock above the fireplace ticked away second after second, the incessant rhythm of it made Logan want to crawl out of his skin.

Several long, torturous minutes later, the common room door opened, and Logan shot to his feet. Jace and Ms. Lowell entered together, her hand on his shoulder in a half-mother, half-jailer gesture. Ms. Lowell gave Logan a smile altogether too warm for having just found them doing something against the rules, but Logan’s eyes went straight to Jace.

Jace was a mess. His face flickered with expressions of fear and uncertainty, his eyes red from crying or near crying.

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Ms. Lowell said gently. When she spoke again, her voice held a bit more steel. “Do not let me catch you anywhere you’re not supposed to be again. I mean it. You have to be smarter than this.”

As soon as she shut the door behind her, every element of Jace’s demeanor changed. As he threw off his discontent like a costume, his shoulders straightened, his head rose, and his face split into a wicked, crooked grin. He lunged the distance between them and threw shadow punches at Logan’s torso.

“You are a genius,” he whisper-shouted. “That was some of the fastest thinking I’ve ever seen. Not many ways we could’ve thrown Lowell for a loop. God, I played her like a violin.” He adopted his miserable stance again but more exaggerated this time, a parody of himself. “‘Oh, Ms. Lowell, I’m just so confused…we just got so close and…well, there’s something exciting about being somewhere you’re not supposed to be with someone you’re not supposed to be with—’ She ate it up, Logan, I tell you what. ’Course, now she thinks we’re gay, but I knew she’d let that slide, and I’d say that’s better than being booted with no prospects.” His laugh bubbled over with genuine delight.

Logan’s stomach sank, but he tried to mimic Jace’s laughter. It came out strangely hollow. “Yeah…now she thinks…we’re gay. Funny.”

“And don’t tell me you can’t act, Homeschool. That was fucking brilliant. Probably the best I’ve ever seen. Your face! You had Lowell convinced. Hell, you had me convinced.”

All the pleasure drained out of the night like Jace had pulled a plug. Logan hated this. He hated how much joy Jace found in the idea that he’d been acting. It made his words more acidic than he intended. “Yeah, I had me convinced too.”

Jace hadn’t quite caught his mood. “Huh?” He was still grinning.

“Nothing. Forget it. Glad we made it out clean.” He pushed past Jace to the stairs.

“Whoa, hey!” Jace grabbed his arm and held him back. “You’re not nearly excited enough about this getaway. Take a moment and luxuriate in a good idea well executed!”

“It wasn’t a good idea, Jace,” Logan snapped. “It wasn’t an idea at all. I just…did it.” Seeing Jace didn’t comprehend his meaning, he continued. “I racked my brain to come up with a distraction but came up with nothing. I knew we were goners. So I stopped trying to think of distractions and I kissed you. Those were separate events.”

“I don’t understand,” Jace said, but Logan said nothing more to clarify. He just stared at the curly-haired boy.

Several ticks of the wall clock sliced up the long moment of silence between them. Some of Jace’s overzealous glee drained from him, leaving an expression that vaguely resembled the one he’d worn on his way into the common room. At length, Jace said, “What are you trying to say? You kissed me because…you wanted to kiss me?”

“Yes.” Logan couldn’t hear his own words over his heart. He felt like he was hoisting a huge weight over the edge of a ledge and waiting for gravity to take it. “I did what I’ve been wanting to do since the day I met you because I thought everything was over. I thought we’d be booted.”

Understanding dawned on Jace’s face like he’d just realized for the first time that night follows day. If Logan hadn’t been breathing so shakily himself, he might have heard the way each of Jace’s breaths came faster than the last.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Wanted Boys’ by S. E. McPherson appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from The Sixth Nik by Daniel Kraus, which releases on June 23rd 2026.

Deep into space, far past the triworld outposts, beyond range of the lethal trollbot internet, soars The Sickness: a ship woven from biomatter and capable of reacting to every need of its human crew. Sisilla, a nine-year-old cultist with a brain enhanced by arcane tech known as “niks,” has boarded to investigate the enigma of Fém—a plague-riddled planet that has abruptly gone rogue.

The mysterious crew includes a faceless assassin, a beautiful engineer jigsawed by plastic surgery, a peyote-addicted medic, and—most lethal of all—a rugged, NonModded captain with a score to settle with Sisilla. Other dangers abound. A hacked robot begins to believe Sisilla is its daughter. The Sickness itself is mutating, possibly even pregnant. And the secret of Fém is more horrific than anyone could have imagined. To survive, Sisilla will need to forsake her predetermined fate and embrace the unknown.

EXCERPT

2.0

2.1

They stood at the center of their cabin, waiting with the door open, either having guessed I would come or having been supplied that information by The Sickness. They were more striking in person than any images I had seen of their kind. They wore an all-white bodysuit as tight as latex but, from what I had read, made of a bulletproof, bladeproof polymer plastic. Their posture held a lioness watchfulness, left hip cocked like a gunslinger, muscular torso curved, head angled forward to stare through the bodysuit’s ice-blue lenses.

“A Niffakoq.” Their voice was slithery through the mouth slit. “How novel.”

“Usornaat. My name is Sisilla. I understand you are to be referred to in the plural.”

They shrugged. Their body parts rolled like ball bearings.

“We will not hurt you if you don’t.”

“Thank you. But I wish to be respectful. Shall I call you Murder 005 or just Murder?”

“On Earth, we might kill someone for neglecting our numerical honorific.”

“Murder 005 it is, then,” I replied quickly. “You are to be my bodyguard.”

“We wouldn’t be the first Murder to be given that role.”

“Tuula, Niffakoq 45, and Bibe, Niffakoq 52,” I confirmed.

“Then you know we can’t possibly hurt you. Furthermore, as hurting the other crew members might put you at risk, we won’t do that either.” Despite the skintight mask built into the bodysuit, a sly smile was transmitted. “Not even for neglecting our honorific.”

“On behalf of all of us, then, thank you.”

Murder 005 swayed like a cobra.

“You’re so small,” they observed.

My heart rate accelerated despite the bodyguard’s assurances of safety. When an adherent of the Murder Tenet notes your inability to defend yourself, it is time to run. Quick nikking, however, astonished me. Murder 005 was of purer purpose than anyone I had ever nikked, including the Nuna Naavoq, who were, after all, regular people with complex personalities. Murder 005’s mind was a jungle brutally cleared by machetes. I nikked little but intense curiosity.

The curiosity was mutual.

“I am 127 centimeters tall and weigh 26.3 kilograms. It is median size for my age and heritage,” I replied. “Is it true the 005 in your name indicates you have murdered five people?”

Murder 005 began to stroll, slowly, so as to get a look at me from different angles. They rolled their hips with each step, arched their back, watched me through half-lidded eyes. I became aware that the white bodysuit made Murder 005 all but naked. I had, of course, seen Nuna Naavoq unclothed in bathing situations, but they had stocky bodies suited for glacier living. Murder 005 was two meters tall, powerful and sinewy. The bodysuit gripped their breasts and abdominal muscles and emphasized the indents of backbone and linea alba.

I felt foolish for staring yet could not help myself.

Murder 005 seemed to enjoy my attention. I did not nik that I was the target of sensuality. The attitude was a by-product of the Murder Tenet. Murders were proud of their insight, ownership, and mastery of their physical bodies and were prepared, even excited, to use them in aid of their one true belief.

To help control the triworld population via murder.

“Do you doubt that we’ve killed five?” they asked.

“Only in that I nik no anger in you.”

Murder 005 circled behind me. I thought of the polar bear that had tracked Tûma and me to Ittoqqortoormiit. I took the chance to examine Murder 005’s cabin. No brain tissue to be found. It was, rather, a dark pocket of unspecified flesh eaten away by an oily ring of cancer with a tentlike overhang of flesh that, by its semitranslucence and hair follicles, I recognized as scrotal. The space provided did not exceed that of a fourposter tent. Yet it boasted along the floor a storage solution, what looked like two giant human nostrils right down to the nose hair. Inside one of the nostrils was what looked like a duffel bag. Weapons, I assumed.

“There is no anger in Murders,” they purred. “Only logic. Murder benefits humanity.”

“That is why Murders take the word as name—to drain stigma from it.”

“Very good.”

“If you were to kill another, your name would change to Murder 006.”

“I look forward to it. If you see us in black, take care.”

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘The Sixth Nik’ by Daniel Kraus appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from The Disco at the End of the World by Nathan Tavares, which releases on June 16th 2026.

In 1977 – a world in which America launched its space program shortly after WWII – Mitch Ward followed Flynn, the lost love of his youth, into the US Spaceguard. Now, he’s stuck on a backwater moon base with his only friend, Gloria, watching every shuttle in the hope Flynn will be on it.

After an inexplicable encounter with a strange, euphoric being, Mitch and Gloria find themselves dishonourably discharged, and stuck with no plans and no future in a USA rapidly sliding into fascism. There’s nothing for it but to move to Los Angeles to chase their dreams, and find their people in the discos of the city.

But when Flynn crashes back into their lives, claiming to be the host for an emissary of a utopian civilization approaching Earth, he offers Mitch the power to protect himself and friends across the queer community, so they never have to live in the shadows or face oppression again.

With the world on the brink of cataclysm, and Mitch and his friends being squeezed out of every space, it’s down to this community of disco-loving outcasts to stand up for what is beautiful and right.

EXCERPT

There’s no music in Kern’s speech. He rambles about how Watkins forgot we are at war with the Reds, same as if there are boots on the ground. How he treated us like friends and not soldiers in his care. And there are wars at home, too. President Reagan issued declarations, and emergency actions, and Presidential Orders for our great Country to win the war against immorality, and anti-Americanism, and depravity. I get that Reagan’s antsy. Presidents have got the shelf life of a gallon of milk, lately. Three of them got sworn in since I’ve been in the Guard. Ford got a bullet to the head in San Francisco in ’75, then his vice president warmed the seat until Reagan won in ’76. Men need a war to make them strong, I remember Reagan saying in some address, reminding the country how he served in World War II. He talked about his war service and not so much the shitty movies he starred in when I was a kid. Kern yaps about how all of us here can be strong, moral men if we win the war in our hearts between self and service.

I don’t hear much after that with how all the air seems to leak out of the room. Starmen around me sit up straighter and flash each other wide eyes. At my side, Powell drags in a wet, jagged breath.

Kern waves his hand and Bomer wheels the projector we use for movie night on over to the front of the mess hall. We swapped the old film projector out with a new one that Mayflower Studios made with tech from the space program. The thing looks like a curved white desk lamp attached to a vacuum cleaner. Six months back, Watkins first wheeled it in here, loaded up a big sequin-looking thing called an Opti-Disc in the back, and fiddled with some dials before Casablanca burst on the projector screen. So clear, so bright that I swear Humphrey Bogart’s cigarettes stank up the room. The remote-controlled surveyor rovers that the research unit rolls around outside to map the moon already had cameras stuck to the front. Kern said that all the other rovers and the big lunar schooners were getting Opti-Disc cameras to record everything. The hallways, too.

Bomer lowers the projection screen by the Miss Moonie mural. The Opti-Disc glints blue in his white-gloved hand when he loads the thing into side of the projector. Someone cuts the overhead lights and the big eye of the projector lamp blinks on, blasting red, white, and blue stars onto the screen as trumpets blaze the Guard Hymn. When the stars clear, Starman North in a red jumpsuit faces the camera with glinting eyes the color of service-dress blues. His hair is a pomaded blond side-part, his jaw square like old film cameras.

Behind him, buttons at grey control panels blink like stars, with lunar maps glowing on the computer screens.

I know the movie set—the Founding Fathers control room—from the last God’s Guardsmen flick. Whoever painted Starman North’s lips didn’t nail the color. His lips are too red, like he’s been sucking cherries. Still, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.

“Hwhy, hello there, fellow starmen.”

Fellow starmen, my ass. He’s an actor named Kit Caber— the third Starman North Mayflower Studios has cast in their God’s Guardsmen series. I’ve seen all twelve flicks. Everybody has. They brought in Caber two flicks back when the other guy got too long in the tooth. His voice stinks of that fake Old Hollywood accent that Ma and the Uncles would whip out when they were wasted, with Casablanca in the background, stretching out their ahs, adding in Hs where they don’t belong. Hwhy, get me a glaahss of hwine, daaaling. Always old movies on TV at home. Never the news, when all the anchors had to talk about was redrawn congressional district lines, new Supreme Court seats, and other crap we didn’t understand.

Starman North snaps out a perfect salute

“I’m here to share hwith you an important update to Guard protocol.” The camera follows him as he strides past other central-casting starmen at control panels. “And introduce you to the STAR System, hwhere you’ll find new opportunities for self-betterment as you serve your Country.”

“There’s sssomethin’ Kern’s not tellin’ us,” Powell slurs at me with his pie-crust-flecked mouth. Red creeps up his neck. “And somethin’ I t-tried to tell you all about. ’Cept you think all of us are off our rockers.”

“Powell.” I squirm. “Can it, will ya?”

Of course there’s somet hing Kern ain’t gabbing about. Everyone from here to Earth is a Washington mouthpiece. I look up and Kern glares our way, while Starman North swaggers to a chalk board with STAR System written across the top, over a bullet-point list of words.

“—hwould think. Yes, the STAR System. Now, hwe guardsmen aren’t spreading American might off in distant star systems quite yet. Though, soon enough!” He gives his best pomade ad smile. “Raaahther, STAR stands for Service.” He taps his pointer at the first block-lettered word in the list. “Trust.” Tap. “Allegiance.” Tap. “And Respect. Following the grand success of the STAR Citizen System in the Studio Zones of Los Angeles, it’s only right that we bring the STAR Soldier System here to our bravest. Thus, hwhen our citizens gaze to the heavens, hwhy, they’ll see us as shining stars!”

I need Gloria here to make me feel better with a can you believe this shit look.

“Do you Serve your Nation, and your fellow soldiers?” Starman North jabs his finger towards the camera, his eyes crinkling in concern for us, after all our time in the trenches together, decking Communists. “Trust it? Show Allegiance and Respect? The STAR System empowers you all to keep each other on the unhwavering path of American Righteousness, and—”

Powell slams me in the shin with one of his magboots when he wriggles off the bench. Starmen whisper and shuffle. Behind me, mag boots clomp, but my eyes jerk back up to the horror movie on the projection screen.

“—to increase recreational time, commissary privileges, and even pecuniary bonuses.” Starman North fans his hands at the three starmen bit players in the fake control room. “You might even get a personalized filmed ‘thank you’ message from one of Mayflower Studios’ biggest stars.”

“Hwhy!” one of the others burbles. “That sounds ahhwful swell!”

“All for doing our duty, anyhow?” another adds.

I don’t know that I got enough bourbon stashed here to convince Kern to keep me out of what ever the hell this is. I follow Kern’s eyes away from the screen and into the runway between the columns of mess tables.

“Take a seat, starman,” Kern says over the big trumpet fanfare. On the screen, Starman North and a whole squad of red jumpsuits line up in perfect rows.

“Tell them,” Powell yells.

Kern flicks his hand to Bomer, who nods and starts in for Powell.

The red jumpsuits sing the Guard Hymn as an announcer’s voice tells us, “To the STARs, Guardsmen!”

Jesus Christ. You can’t really run with mag boots on. Powell tries, anyhow, and I sink watching him lurching against the low gravity—spitting and jerking his half-dead legs—and fighting against the force that keeps his feet to the floor.

“You tell ’em what really happen’d at Puller,” Powell snarls. He launches his pie plate at Kern—unfazed, smiling, almost—and misses by ten feet. “You tell ’em, you goddam’d sonuvabitch.”

Maybe Gloria’s right and I should’ve kept a better eye on the goodies I gave him and the other Pulled starmen. I should watch. Like I owe it to him to see the mess I helped make. But my eyes blast on over to the screen where actors march in formation, as real starmen around me snicker. Pull him on outta here, someone yells. Maybe he’ll finally shut his yap.

Trumpets blast over red, white, and blue swirling stars as Bomer and two others drag Powell towards the blue hallways, his mag boot scrapes mashing up with his screams on the way out.

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Intrigued? Well we are delighted to be revealing the cover for As You Wake, Break the Shell by Becky Chambers!

Releasing on October 13th in the US and October 22nd in Australia, New Zealand, and the UK, As You Wake, Break the Shell is now available for pre-order:

• Australia
• New Zealand
• United Kingdom with signed and dedicated bookplate editions available from Portobello Books and Mr B’s Emporium
• United States, including Barnes & Noble, Amazon, Bookshop, Books-A-Million, Target, Walmart

Without further ado, read on to discover the synopsis and the UK and US covers!

The stars are waiting for you. We hope you will come find us there.

Life on Fortune is hard. The atmosphere is poisonous, the planet hardly fit for life. But for its inhabitants, it’s home.
Pilot Cora suffers from a rare and dangerous condition, brought about by her bond with Colibri, the alien animal she pilots to quarry vital water for the colony. If Cora seeks treatment, she risks losing her license – and her connection to Colibri forever.

Then she meets Signy, a brilliant but reclusive botanist, whose bio-printed medicine is the only thing that can save her. But to do so, Signy must break the rules that govern their lives, risking her livelihood and the other colonists who rely on her for survival.

As Cora and Signy navigate their balance of risk and trust, they are forced to confront what they owe to each other and to their community – and begin to question whether survival is enough . . .

Will you be pre-ordering a copy? Tell us in the comments below!

The post Exclusive Cover Reveal: As You Wake, Break the Shell by Becky Chambers appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from What We Are Seeking by Cameron Reed, which releases on April 7th 2026.

On the planet Scythia, plants give birth to insects and trees can drag you to your death. Artificial monsters stalk the desert, and alien basket-men have wandered into town.

John Maraintha has been abandoned here, light-years from the peaceful forests that he loves.

The desert is harsh and the people in thrall to a barbaric custom called marriage.

He must find some way to make a life here.

But on Scythia, survival means transformation—and not everyone is willing to change.

On the planet Scythia, plants bud off mobile creatures—animals—that detach to disperse their seeds. That’s the rule. In this scene, John learns about an exception.

“Now I’m going to show you something that you’ll wish didn’t exist. Remember to stay close to me.”

She led him around a small hill and then stopped; her raised hand told him he should stop too. “What do you see?”

At the base of an outcropping to their right, a litter of leaves without visible stems clung to the rocks. “What is that?” he asked, pointing.

“Just worms. They’re never anything to worry about. Notice anything unusual about that tree ahead?”

He examined it: a little gnarled insect, standing alone in the sand. “One branch is thicker than the others.”

“No it isn’t. Look again.”

“Is it two branches growing together?”

“Good guess, but not quite.”

“The lower branches are very crooked.”

“Yes. But you’re still missing something. Let me see if I can get it to declare itself.”

She chose a stone from the ground—a red one that fitted the palm of her hand—and with a good stance and good motion threw it toward the tree. As it passed by the branches he started. Something had twitched, he thought, but there was no animal to be seen.

“Did you catch that?”

“I thought something moved, but now I’m not sure.”

“That’s because my aim was bad. You try this time. Aim for the branch that looks thick. You don’t have to hit it—just come close.”

He hadn’t thrown anything to hit a target in years, not under gravity—and never under Scythian gravity. Nevertheless he found a rock of a suitable size and threw it as hard as he could. The stone flew too high, striking nothing, and yet the branch split. The top part of it swung toward them and stretched out straight, a long tube covered in green bark. It had eyes and they were open. It was trying to get to them, John thought, but its tail was trapped inside the trunk, and it was not long enough to reach. At last its body slackened, became a zigzag, then folded up tight. Slowly it crept out along another branch, a downward-angled one; the way it moved was liquid, like a trickle of water or oil. Its color and its pattern matched the plant’s bark so exactly that when it became still it was invisible.

“What was that?” he breathed.

“It’s called a snake-tree and it’s the deadliest thing in this part of the world. Luckily their venoms don’t work on humans, but they can still kill you. They’ll latch on to an arm, sometimes a leg. The teeth are curved backward like hooks, to hold on. They’ll pull you closer so you don’t have time to get away while they let go, then bite you in a different place. You noticed Ru’s arm, of course.”

“Yes.”

“She had to tear away three times before she got free. If you like all your limbs, I recommend not getting close to one in the first place. That means checking every tree before you get any closer than we are now. Snake-trees come in lots of species, different sizes, colors, shapes, some with leaves and some without, so you can’t go by any of that. What you can count on is that the main branches will be very crooked. That way the snake can lie along one and be fully supported, even though it’s long enough to reach beyond the tree. But there can be other limbs the snake doesn’t use, that help it mimic other plants. You can see this one has branches with fake buds and even fake seams, to disguise it as an insect.”

“What is it really?”

“Closest to reptiles, but a distant relative.” She answered offhandedly; she was studying his face and, he thought, making some judgment. “I’m going to tell you what I tell the boys who take my class, because you’re older than they are but I’m not sure you’re enough older. Seven people have been bitten by snake-trees since we got here and all but one of them were young males. Why, because either you’re doing something stupid to show off, or you’re trying to kill the snake to protect other people, which is also stupid and a way to show off. If you find a snake-tree, use your tag to mark the location—I’ll show you how later. If it’s in a bad place we’ll send out a team of at least four to remove it. If you want to kill snakes, the place for you is on that team, not lying half-eaten making them step over you to do their jobs. Do you understand?”

“Certainly. I would never approach something dangerous unnecessarily.”

“I’m glad the women on Essius raise sensible sons.”

“I should hope so. Our world is so full of poisons that a reckless boy would never become a man.”

“Hm. Well, keep that in mind when you get close to the Earthlings, because that riverbed they’re in has snake-trees on both banks. They like to live near springs or rivers, mainly because water attracts animals—the snakes don’t have to drink if their roots can suck up enough water. You’ll have to look for a gap wide enough to pass through safely. The river’s very low right now, so you should have room to walk along the water from there, but you do not want to be wrong about that, because a snake-tree near water will try to drown you. By the river they’re a lot bigger and stronger than this one, so they can push you in and hold you down, and their mouths are big enough to grab you by the throat when they do it. Every segment of the snake has spiracles to breathe through and they all share air, so they can keep you underwater as long as they need to. To stay safe you’ll have to find the snake, figure out how long it’s going to be when it unfolds, then multiply that by one point five, because it’s hard to judge exactly. If you can’t find a snake, it might have died and not regrown yet, but assume it’s just well hidden and it’s long enough to reach the end of the longest resting-branch. You’ll remember?”

“Yes.”

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘What We Are Seeking’ by Cameron Reed appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

I absolutely adored Cecile Pin’s debut novel Wandering Souls for its marriage of gorgeous, emotionally raw prose and complex, layered characterisation. You truly believed the story because you were so drawn in by these characters. Celestial Lights shows these are hallmarks of a talented writer with characterisation that is complicated and often unlikeable. Pin uses the vast unknown of space to zoom in on the fallacy of humanity with a smart social commentary running beneath. Oliver is allowed to be in this place through an interesting sequence of events and sacrifices that are made along the way, leaving some thought-provoking questions with this. As he moves through the dark, he reflects on the life he left behind on Earth. The passage of time is relentless and the decisions he has made may forever alter what could have been. Within this there is a poignant consideration of the limited time we have in life with space as a prism where your own mortality is tangible. This dovetails with a cutting look at capitalism that feels especially timely as the space-race rears its head once more.

This is a detailed portrait of chasing after our dreams and what sacrifices you may have to make along the way. It asks what legacy you want to leave behind and what winning really looks like. There is this forensic examination of ambition, its corrosive influence and the ripple effects of this through someone’s life. I was reminded of the butterfly effect as these decisions add up and change the trajectory of Oliver’s story forever. The echoes of the Challenger disaster are keenly felt throughout the pages and the narrative structure makes it feel like a refraction, a siren call and a warning alarm through Oliver’s life. He is drawn to the call of history and the stars above but it leaves you questioning his decisions. There is a pull between ambition and loyalty that sits at the heart of the story and we can all sit somewhere within that. After all, who knows what we may decide if placed into the same scenario?

Oliver is a complex character at the centre of this story’s universe. He is smart, determined and driven, wanting to move beyond the confines of the ordinary life he is born into and instead reach for greatness at any cost. We can all empathise with wanting to make something meaningful of your life and this mission is that central core for Oliver. It embodies his desire to leave a mark. Pin sketches this detailed portrait of a man caught up in the pursuit of his ambition but also delivers these heartfelt dynamics of shifting relationships. He is loved and loves, particularly with a focus on a certain romantic relationship and the relationship he has with his parents. It is tender and quietly beautiful but also torn asunder by wanting to chase that glory. Around his orbit is a supporting cast of well-drawn characters who all feel distinctive and three-dimensional. We may only get snatches of their lives but they feel authentic and believable in those glimpses we are privy to.

There is plenty of food for thought around the ways in which we want to honour our families and those we love but also the ways in which they sacrifice for our own desires. Every action has a consequence and Oliver’s story is full of those consequences as Pin moves between the narrative threads. I really enjoyed the thread around our relationship with parental figures, how that changes as we grow older and how that may be redefined even further with a change in ourselves. There are no easy answers here with Pin letting these moments breathe and inviting readers to sit in the moral dilemmas alongside the characters.

I have not been able to get Celestial Lights out of my head. It has everything I adore in a brilliant literary novel: sumptuous prose and characterisation that is layered and pulls you right in. This confirmed Pin as a must-read author.

Celestial Lights is available from Amazon, Bookshop.org, Waterstones, and other good book retailers, like your local bookstore, as of March 26th 2026.

Will you be picking up Celestial Lights? Tell us in the comments below!

Synopsis

A beautiful, heartbreaking novel about ambition, love and space from the award-winning author of the Women’s Prize longlisted Wandering Souls.

28 January, 1986: Moments after launch, the Challenger shuttle falls from the sky. At the same time, in a small English village, Oliver Ines is born.

Ollie spends his childhood in a bedroom covered in glow-in-the-dark wallpaper, bearing the planets and stars. Decades later, he has become one of the most renowned astronauts of his time. When an enterprising billionaire approaches him to lead a landmark, ten-year mission to the distant moon Europa, Ollie cannot resist the call of history.

As the mission advances deeper into uncharted territory, Ollie finds himself retreating into the past: his school days and years in the Navy, relationships found and lost, becoming a husband and father. But will the world he remembers still be waiting for him when he returns?

Celestial Lights is a breathtaking story of fate, love, and sacrifice that questions what we owe ourselves and our loved ones, when our ambitions and loyalties collide.

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