Mechanical Failure (1) (Epic Failure Trilogy)

Mechanical Failure (1) (Epic Failure Trilogy)

A smooth-talking ex-sergeant, accustomed to an easygoing peacetime military, unexpectedly rejoins the fleet and finds soldiers preparing for the strangest thing—war. The two hundred years’ (and counting) peace is a time of tranquility that hasn’t been seen since...well, never. Mankind in the Galactic Age had finally conquered war, so what was left for the military to do but drink and barbecue? That’s the kind of military that Sergeant R. Wilson Rogers lived in before he left the fleet to become a smuggler. But it turns out that smuggling is hard. Like getting-arrested-for-dealing-with-pirates-and-forced-back-into-service kind of hard. It doesn’t seem so bad—the military was a perpetual tiki party anyway—but when Rogers returns after only a year away, something has changed. These are soldiers— actual soldiers doing actual soldier things like preparing for a war that Rogers is sure doesn’t exist. Rogers vows to put a stop to all this nonsense—even if it means doing actual work. With an experienced ear for military double-speak, Zieja has created a remarkable and sarcastic adventure. “As sci-fi spoofs and humorous novels go, Mechanical Failure was a lot of fun. When I read parts of this book aloud to my husband, he chuckled and said, ‘Kinda feels like Terry Pratchett in space.’ Trust me, coming from him, that’s a great compliment. Personally, I think I would liken this more to something like Spaceballs.” ― ―BiblioSanctum “ Mechanical Failure is the perfect tonic for those missing the writing of the comedy sci-fi greats. It is as good as Harrison, Grant, and even Adams—highly amusing, clever fiction." ― ―SFBook Reviews “A funny story about a funny man in a funny universe." ― ―Amazing Stories “ Mechanical Failure often plays like a sci-fi riff on the 1961 satire Catch-22. It’s nice to be reminded that sci-fi can be supersilly and supersmart about it, and because sarcastic homicidal robots rule.” ― ―B&N Sci-Fi & Fantasy Blog Joe Zieja is an author with a long history of doing things that have almost nothing to do with writing at all. A graduate of the United States Air Force Academy, Joe dedicated over a decade of his life to wearing The Uniform, marching around in circles and shouting commands at people while in turn having commands shouted at him. It was both a great deal of fun and a great nuisance, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. Joe’s also a commercial voiceover artist and a composer of music for video games and commercials. He’s probably interrupted your Spotify playlist at least once to encourage you to click on the banner below and isn’t the least bit upset that you ignored him. Mechanical Failure Asses to Ashes “I don’t like the looks of this, Rogers,” Dorsey said in a sort of depressed whine. “There are pirates here.” “Of course there are pirates here,” Rogers said, looking out the window at the formation of ships floating in front of them. “I invited them. I invited two groups of pirates here. How the hell else do you expect us to make money off this transfer?” Dorsey looked at him, mostly expressionless except for the heavy-lidded stare that he seemed to have been practicing all his life. He punched a couple of the instruments on the panel and sighed. “I don’t like pirates,” Dorsey said. Dealing with intergalactic space pirates was difficult enough; dealing with intergalactic space pirates with the most cowardly copilot Rogers had ever hired was a whole new level of ass pain. “They don’t really advertise themselves as likeable people,” Rogers said. “And I didn’t hire you to like them. I hired you to help me make a lot of good money off a lot of bad people. So just keep the controls steady while I work my magic.” A beep on the panel told him that he had an incoming transmission, and Rogers keyed it in. A gruff, inarticulate voice crackled over one of his several independent communication systems—Rogers had it configured so he could hear everything at once but had to switch channels to transmit. He didn’t want either of the two groups to hear what he was saying to the other. “You sure this is the right place?” asked a member of the Purveyors of Vitriol, one of the pirate groups. “Of course I’m sure it’s the right place,” Rogers said with a practiced scoff of indignation. He wasn’t sure it was the right place. The military had trained him in navigation a bit, of course, but he was an engineer, not a pilot. The Fortuna Stultus galaxy had been humanity’s home for a thousand years or so—since they’d accidentally collapsed the Milky Way—but that didn’t mean he knew it like the back of his hand. If he was reading the charts correctly on his holosphere, this should have been a desolate little location on the edge of Meridan territory, just outside of an Un-Space drop point that nobody ever used because it led to absolutely nowhere. And if there was one place that Rogers preferred to do hard work—like brokering a deal between two of the system’s most d