"An audacious storyline... More than a few bombshell plot twists..."

"Everything about this novel is polished to a shine, particularly the tightly plotted narrative."

"Powered by a courageous and endearing heroine at world's end, like Ender's Game for the 21st century."

"This impressive debut novel—the first installment of the Gryphens duology—is a highly palatable blend of alien invasion thriller, apocalyptic fiction and military sci-fi."

— Kirkus Reviews

"Rising sci-fi author R. L. Akers spins a story that appears more real than fiction."

"Akers keeps his storyline constantly fluid by alternating between character scenes filled with everything military (both good and bad), back stories, and subplots that are laced with a bit of romance and comedy amid alien attacks and mysterious figures bent on sabotage."

IR Verdict: "The first book in The Gryphens Duology, PROMETHEUS REBOUND is a fast paced tale of unsuspected twists and turns that is bound to be a favorite among sci-fi readers."

— IndieReader
Prometheus Rebound garnered a 5-star review and is
one of IndieReader's Best Books for December 2014

"Akers' fast-paced science fiction thriller is far from boring. In fact, it is a vastly entertaining and engrossing read that is almost impossible to put down."

"Deftly blending elements of the movie "Independence Day" with the pace of Tom Clancy and David Weber's scientific explanations of future technology, Akers has crafted a well-written tale of military science fiction that will keep readers begging for more."

— The US Review of Books
Prometheus Rebound is RECOMMENDED by the USR

"The amount of actual scientific knowledge and data the book contains is amazing."

"Very well structured, skillful dialog and plot building with amazing character development."

"Any reader who enjoys science fiction or military genre type books won't be disappointed..."

— Reader's Favorite

• Gray Tones – 1 excerpt (3 chapters)
• Atlantis: Twilight of Mankind – 4 excerpts (11 chapters)
• Prometheus Rebound – 5 excerpts (9 chapters)
• Prometheus Rising – 2 excerpts (from 2 short stories)
• Prometheus Revealed –1 excerpt (1 partial chapter)

The blood spatter glinted colorlessly on the faux wood paneling, distinguishable only by the way it reflected the elevator's flickering fluorescent light.

Grayson Gaynes, NYPD detective third grade, hiked up the legs of his suit pants and sat carefully on his heels. He stared at the grisly scene, trying in vain to picture how it should look, how it would have looked to him just one short month before. Blood was supposed to be red, dammit! The most vibrant stripe of the rainbow, the color of life and death. But these days, he couldn't see red even in his mind's eye, much less splattered all over this elevator car in which he crouched. The crime scene was devoid of all color. It was... drab.

The sun had been hinting at its impending arrival for perhaps an hour when it finally appeared over the mountains to the west. The fiery orb was magnificent in its splendor, instantly dispelling what predawn gloom remained in the small valley where the Setines made their encampment.

Yefet gazed over the collection of ramshackle buildings and the flocks at pasture, now easily visible from his vantage at the opening to the mountain pass. But even in full light of day, there remained no sign that his wayward brother was even moving yet.

He made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. An hour of daylight already lost; how much longer would Chem delay them?

H'phaest'm was something of an oddity among the gods. One of the Six, he nonetheless stood outside the normal power structure of the Pantholon. His unique talents were in demand by all of the others, and thus he had managed to carve out a niche for himself in City politics; he remained at the heart of things, without paying tribute to any one of the Four.

He was... unusual.

He alone among the gods was indifferent to the worship of mortals. He was architect, inventor, creator — programmer, as he preferred to style himself. He exercised power in the form of direct control over nature.

D'Akaio's first task took him to a farming community northwest of the City. It seemed the villagers there had been plagued for some time by a great lizard of particular ferocity; at intervals no man could predict, the beast would emerge from Lake Qual to swoop down upon men and oxen in the field, slaughtering the men and making off with the choicest oxen clamped in its huge jaws.

The moment R'zuus had told him of this 'dragon' — for that was what the locals called it — D'Akaio had felt the excitement of a great challenge burn through him; no doubt a beast of this sort would make for an exceptional foe, and there was great glory to be won in defeating it...

... A child rushed up then, one Adana knew, a boy just beginning to sprout whiskers. He was out of breath and couldn't speak at first — but from his expression, Adana knew immediately that something was terribly wrong.

"What? What is it?" she demanded.

"Fire," he finally managed to say. "Fire. At the Castle. Kids trapped."

Adana paled. "Go! Take us there!"

The room is stark, sterile. Row upon row of 4-inch white tiles cover each wall, stretching from floor to ceiling. The floor itself is waxed to a high shine. Medical machines line the periphery, beeping, whirring, blinking, and an analog clock reads 10:27. Everything is white.

The patient perches at the center of the room.

Stock-still, sitting on the very edge of the small bed, the patient stares at the floor... then explodes into motion.

The bike cop helps muscle the body into the back of the ambulance, then climbs inside with two of the EMTs before pulling the doors closed. For a long moment, no one speaks. Then:

"That was close."

"Way too close," the ersatz cop agrees.

More silence, until one of the EMTs growls, "How long is he gonna let this go on?"

The cop can only shake his head. "He puts way too much faith in her ability to protect herself. Obviously."

"She's dropped off the grid. All our efforts to reacquire have failed."

The man on the other end of the line blows out his breath disgustedly. "One of the other interested parties?"

"Yessir, must be. She couldn't have disappeared so completely on her own."

"But you don't know who took her?"

"Her trail ends at the Vegas airport. Surely that means—"

"I don't pay you to make guesses, I pay you to surveil. You lost her."

(contributed to Space.com's Expert Voices)

The monitors begin winking on around her as Kara settles into her acceleration couch for the training exercise. Each hand on the opposite wrist, she squeezes an activation switch for three seconds to initiate her VR gloves, then flips a switch on the integrated goggles. She leans back in her chair as the program's calibration routine launches.

The control sphere materializes bright green in front of her, semi-transparent and a bit ghostly looking. Following the instructions of an ethereal female voice, she grasps the yoke with her right hand, spins it a few times in varying directions, then throws her arms out in a sequence of test maneuvers.

Brigadier General Carl J. Grant's steady eyes hold hers for a long moment. When he speaks, he sounds exhausted. "Have you ever heard of Rendlesham Forest?"

Kara shakes her head.

He sighs. "About thirty years ago—no, almost thirty-four years now—a spacecraft crash-landed in a forest in Suffolk, England. An honest-to-goodness unidentified flying object. Between the heightening tensions of the Cold War and the growing number of UFO claims worldwide, the Air Force had dedicated immense resources to investigating any reports of airborne phenomena. I was team leader for one of several commando units that would respond to these reports—and it was my team that was assigned this one."

Lt. Carl J. Grant was a quarter way through a bottle of scotch when the call came—the call that would change his life and set into motion more than three decades of military and political intrigue.

He ignored it.

Setting his glass back down on the table, Grant poured another three fingers, then took up the glass again—all one handed. His other hand stayed wrapped around his service pistol, a Browning HP.

The annoying ringing finally stopped.

Gladys DeMaria closes the front door behind the two visitors, turns the deadbolt quietly—there's no need to be rude, after all—and leans momentarily against the door. She looks up the staircase, wondering how long it will take Donald to offer an explanation if left to his own devices. He doesn't get many visitors, and Gladys wonders what the woman and the man in uniform wanted with him. She heaves a sigh and starts up the stairs, her knees creaking slightly. Best not to leave Donald to his own devices when it comes to communication.

She knocks lightly on the door. "Donald, dear?"

Briefly lifting up his helmet visor's VR overlay, Lt. Trey Drogosch of the Orbital Defense Corps squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he could rub at them with his hand, the old fashioned way. He blinks a few times in the pitch dark, then pulls the overlay back down and watches the virtual displays reappear. He's barely into the second hour of his shift, but he's already having problems staying awake. He missed his morning coffee, and now that he's trapped inside his vac suit inside a Destrier for another six and a half hours, there's little he can do about it.

Sighing, Trey pulls the virtual control board into his lap and keys for two-handed input, repositioning the yoke to his right to get it out of the way. He cycles through each of the craft in his immediate vicinity...