~ Spotlight ~
Sometime in the not so distant future...
John Murphy knows a thing or two about lending a helping hand. As a bartender at Bulfinche's Pub, he's helped the troubled for years. But now a mad sea god is going to sink New York City. Nobody's going to believe it, which means millions will die. But thanks to a time traveling message and a prophecy, leprechaun Paddy Moran has gathered legends together with brave men and women to form the Startenders, a group like no other the universe has ever seen. They have built a space station and a fleet of barships and dedicated themselves to helping others. Murphy himself becomes the head honcho of the barship Fools' Glory and its crew of tricksters - Loki, Coyote, the daughter of Pan, a dragon demi-goddess, a golden melog and a sentient plant. But will even Murphy and the Startenders be enough to save the people of New York? Or prevent a genocide? Win a deadly game of spikeball? Help millions of aliens find their way home in time to spawn? Defend paradise? And most importantly, find the answer to the age old question - why did the chicken cross the galaxy?
Praise for Startenders from the cast and crew:
"One small book for my son, one giant leap for all bookkind." -Murphy's Mom
"These Startenders are good eggs." -Manuk Manuk, the blue cosmic chicken who laid the egg that hatched the universe
"It beats dying at Ragnorok." -Loki, Norse trickster god
- Excerpt -
A new ball dropped again from the ceiling. Loki transformed into some giant tentacled creature straight out of a Lovecraftian nightmare, scooped up the ball and oozed his way across the field. The warez moved against him, opening up with their energy weapons.
Loki wasn’t going to make it. We needed a new plan.
“Riga, fog up the field. Make it so thick nobody can see,” I said into my badge.
“What if they have radar or something like it?” she asked.
I crawled over to Thunder Jack. The god looked bad, bruised and bleeding. He didn’t have a badge shielding him, but his body had already started regenerating the power he lost. “Jack, I need you to put out enough electrical energy to charge the particles in the fog to confuse any of the robots’ sensors. Can you do it?”
The thunder god took a deep breath and nodded.
Riga was doing a great job. Jack was right in front of me and I could barely see him.
“Toma, I need you to whip up a pair of portals,” I said, explaining why I needed them.
“Murph, I’m spent. I do that and I’m going primitive too,” Toma said.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think we have a choice,” I said.
“Don’t worry,” came a voice from the fog. “I’ll take care of it.”
The killer robot with delusions of manhood passed within five feet of me. “Servant, maximize the ventilation and cooling system.”
The cyborg worked some controls and within moments the fog had thinned out enough to see through. Loki, in his monster form, was tripped by a pair of the robots. The ball fell from his tentacles and rolled away. The robot who fancied himself a man ran forward. It scooped up the ball and ran towards the goal on the side of the field we were defending and impaled the metal ball perfectly onto the goal spike.
“We win. All of you are now our slaves.”