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Gary Starta

Gary Starta, Author

Gary Starta is a former journalist who studied English and Journalism at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst.

His love for science fiction compelled him to write his first novel What Are You Made Of?, published in 2006. Inspired by Isaac Asimov, the science fiction novel focuses on intelligent artificial life and whether sentient androids should possess the same rights as humans.

Starta cites Stephen King and Dean Koontz as inspirations for his novels Blood Web and Extreme Liquidation which are also reminiscent of the The X-files television/movie series. Contemporary authors Laurell K. Hamilton, Rachel Caine and Jim Butcher fuel his aspiration to create paranormal suspense.

Myopic continues Starta’s quest to write dramatic science fiction where characters are essential to the plot. An alien race demands humans clean up the earth, but tell only one man, an emotional, irrational author who must convince a logical, scientist girlfriend of their existence.

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Congratulations, Gary, on being a top ten finalist in the 2010 Preditors and Editors Readers Poll in Science Fiction with your novel, Gods of the Machines!   

2010 P&E Readers Poll top ten finalist, Gary Starta, Gods of the Machines

New Titles from Gary

      Myopic by Gary Starta  Gods of the Machines by Gary Starta 

Click here to order the Gods of the Machines in Print today!



Myopic by Gary Starta

When aliens contact suspense author Wilfred Diamond demanding he spread a message to his fellow humans to go green – or else-he confides in his new love interest, EPA scientist Sonja Hoffs. Learning a technology is available which would cure the earth’s pollution woes, Diamond urges Hoffs to help him bring it to the light of day. But there are many who want the technology to remain in the dark and these people are just as dangerous as any alien invader. Knowing the risks, Hoffs lets her heart-and not her brain-guide her to take the plunge into not only a new romance but the perilous waters of political conspiracy.

Word Count: 11,335
Pages to Print: 48
File Format: PDF                  Price: $.99



Reviews of Myopic

From Psychic Times International


Gods of the Maschines by Gary Starta

Detective Sam Benson, a native New Yorker, is brash, opinionated and candid. Transplanted to work on Earth’s first colonized planet, he envisions a relatively peaceful job. But Benson’s ruthless nature might bring it to the brink of annihilation when a series of murders begins. He suspects a non-human is responsiblean android who once shared engrams with a psychopathic human. However, the detective doesn’t know other non-humans once called his new worldtheirs. And as Benson obsesses with making a case against the android, he is oblivious to their return and the reason why they consider machines to be their gods.

Word Count: 88,000
Pages to Print: 295
File Format: PDF                  Price: $ .99


Gods of the MachinesORDER Gods of the Machines PRINT TODAY! (ISBN # 978-0-9844521-5-6)

Gods of the Machines Reviews  
  From Midwest Book Reviews
  From Books and Movies
  From Book Bum
  From At Your Fingertips
  From Readers Favorite
  From B. K. Walker
  From As The Pages Turn




     “Mr. Diamond, we know you’ve seen us. In fact, you are the only human on this planet able to do so. We have contacted you today to petition the human species for change. Please heed our directive, because if you don’t, every living organism on the planet will die a horrible death.”
     Wilfred Morgan Diamond, America’s most popular suspense novelist, immediately removed his glasses. He feverishly polished his lenses using the greasy cloth napkin that had enjoyed a home on his coffee table for the past two weeks.
     The words continued to scroll across his plasma television screen, plain as day. He should have been seated at a command console, riding aboard some galaxy-class starship. Instead, he slumped upon a lumpy couch riddled with salsa and ketchup stains.
     “Time is of the essence, Mr. Diamond. We currently work to rid your atmosphere of the toxic filth you have unleashed upon it. However, we cannot keep pace. Unless your race establishes an efficient ecosystem within the next five Earth years, an extraterrestrial species will visit your planet to devour all vegetation on your planet, resulting in the complete extinction of every living organism.”
     Wilfred attempted to compose himself for a response, his throat parched with anxiety. He swallowed the last sips of a tepid diet soft drink from the bottle that had been sitting on his coffee table for days on end. He whispered–in fear a neighbor might hear him, hoping this interaction was simply a hallucination or dream.
     He hoped the same for the visions that first appeared three weeks ago. Since then, tiny neon green specks briefly fluttered in front of his eyes every time he put on his latest prescription eyewear. Diamond desperately wanted to believe the sparkling specks of neon were a result of degenerative myopia, a condition where images come into focus in front of the eye. It was the most logical deduction.
     Every year Wilfred had undergone an eye exam his vision had worsened. The most recent test confirmed his myopia once again. He wasn’t surprised. Working fifteen hours a day writing manuscripts had taken a toll on the old eyeballs. But had all this writing also taken a toll on his sanity? Could whispering at a television screen confirm the fears nipping at the deep recesses of his troubled mind? Was he clinically insane?
     Or had he made contact with a new species capable of making dire predictions for either the continuation–or elimination–of the human race? In any event, he managed to utter two words to the beings invading his home entertainment center. He hoped he kept his voice down. He sure as hell didn’t need nosy Mrs. Willis eavesdropping on his last moment of sanity. He could feel her presence without gazing outside. Mrs. Willis spent the better part of her days perched on her balcony, fifteen meters across from Wilfred’s townhouse. She waited like a crow on a telephone wire. Empty air and the empty courtyard below formed the only buffer zone. Thanks to a pair of sliding glass doors, Mrs. Willis enjoyed a perfect view of Wilfred’s living room from her high-rise vantage point.
     The microscopic organisms attempted to answer Wilfred’s question––Why me? They utilized the broadband capability of Wilfred’s digital cable system, allowing two-way real time dialog. Wilfred cursed the day he upgraded from analog.
     He rushed to draw the curtains on pesky Mrs. Willis. He never appreciated her interest in his celebrity. She felt more like a stalker than a fan. Move on to somebody else, you whack job. Wilfred sarcastically mouthed I love you at Willis before closing the curtain on her show.
     He returned his attention to the TV screen. The scrolling began again. Words raced across the screen in vibrant blue.
     “Your brain operates differently. You have a unique condition which allows you to see us. When your species becomes telepathic, you will be able to hear us without the trappings of technology. But we can’t wait for that someday. A deadline is at hand.
     “That is why we chose you, Wilfred Diamond. Your thought patterns radically differ from the beings on the planet you call scientists. While we believe your scientists will one day discover us, their rational minds will condemn them to over-think the reason for our existence. We need a more emotional, reactive mind like yours so you will spread our message proactively. Besides, you have seen us with your own eyes.”
     “You mean the scientists haven’t discovered all of Earth’s species yet?”
Wilfred’s preoccupation with fiction was painfully obvious. If he had kept up with the news, Wilfred would have known scientists had recently discovered a transparent jellyfish-like creature known as salps. The scrolling resumed. It was as if Wilfred had a wealth of knowledge available only for the asking. The beings explained salps are tiny thumb-sized creatures that keep tons of carbon from reentering the atmosphere, thus reducing the harmful effects of greenhouse gases.
     “Mr. Diamond, the salps and organisms like us can only do so much to restore the planet’s damaged atmosphere. You must do your part. Find a way to stop the humans from dumping harmful emissions into the air. Convince them the threat is real, because if we fail to complete our task, a species known as the Purifiers will wreak havoc on your rainforests until they have eliminated all life on Earth.”
     “Why would they do that? Why won’t these Purifiers help us?”
     “They are helping––in their own way. The Purifiers will eliminate any chance your species has of contaminating other worlds with your disease and pollution.”
     “How could we spread this?”
     “You will soon find a way to colonize. Bases are under construction on the moon. The Purifiers are gatekeepers, programmed to protect the future, and they won’t let humans travel the galaxy just to escape their dirty world. Unlike the Purifiers, we are native to this planet. We awoke from a dormant state as a result of your pollution. Our only purpose is to cleanse the ecosystem. If we don’t succeed, our species–along with you and everyone else on your planet––will suffer death at the hands of the Purifiers.”
     Wilfred stumbled over empty pizza cartons and old newspapers to get a better look at his TV. “I don’t even know your name. How can I trust you?”
     “If an introduction encourages trust, then think of us as environmental restoration organisms.”
     “I’ll never remember that. How about I just call you EROs for short?”
     “You may use this acronym if you like. But if you fail in your quest, names won’t matter anymore. The Purifiers will not stop once they begin their feeding. We suggest you get to work. There are only 1,800 days remaining.” Back to Myopic

Gods of the Machines:

Chapter 1
    The survey mission gave Carol and Dean ample time to sample more than just soil and plants; they sampled one another. Neither had planned on the suddenness of their affair, at least not Dean Flavin. A professional geologist, Dean volunteered to scout out the next settlement for Ceres colonists. An influx of civilians from Earth precipitated expansion, preferably to an area that boasted healthy soil and not too much rocky terrain. Carol Walker, a botanist by profession, agreed to collaborate with Dean, citing the survey would provide an excellent opportunity to collect and catalogue new plant species.
    They were formally introduced three days before their departure. “I’m so glad to be taking the trip with you Dean. I’ve read all your journals and admire your work.” Carol, fawning over what Dean considered trivial accomplishments, held onto his hand, embracing it as if something more than admiration might be intimated. Dean was more capable of comprehending petrography—the study of rocks—than deciphering the desires of the female species based on a single handshake. Oblivious to Carol’s true intentions, Dean spent the next few days packing and prepping for rock collection.
    For him to be involved in this mission, Dean and his wife Cindy sacrificed a week’s time—time they might have spent conceiving their first child. Dean swallowed his guilt and told himself his involvement was for the good of his future children. Time passed so quickly. Dean’s thoughts were consumed by the mission and pondering his time away from Cindy. Before he knew it, he found himself bidding his wife goodbye and setting off in a rover with a mere stranger.
    All civilian couples were required to conceive a child within three years of their arrival date or face deportation back to Earth. They signed contracts agreeing to populate the planet as quickly as possible; in other words, the Earth’s governmental rulings mandated they be fruitful and multiply. Most Ceres couples went about this challenge with zeal; Cindy and Dean were having more than just frequent sex, and he missed her already.
    Dean, caught up in the prospect of authoring field journals, didn’t notice the alluring glances from his new mission partner, Carol. The rover was a large vehicle designed to accommodate field missions, equipped with beds, a kitchen, living room and bath. Carol could have kept her distance from Dean—but she didn’t. She found small excuses for keeping him company in the rover’s combination navigation deck and living room. Ignoring her presence, Dean alternated his attention between several manuals and the vehicle’s view screen.
    The rover was fast-approaching a majestic, purplish-colored mountain range. While the onboard computer navigated a course, Dean felt he needed to keep a personal watch on the rocky path ahead. Sensors blinking in ever more urgent patterns warned him a rough ride was imminent. The information both scared and encouraged him. He felt like a true pioneer. No other Ceres civilian or scientist had previously ventured this far from Reliance Point—the name of the first settlement—located about fifty kilometers away from the mountains. The initiation of a new settlement, beyond the mountain range, would place colonists forty kilometers from Ceres’ nearest ocean, in a southwesterly direction from Reliance Point.
    As the rover maneuvered closer to its destination, Dean stopped perusing his tech manuals and focused his eyes solely on navigational controls. Carol, pining to win Dean’s attention, became agitated. She attempted to draw attention to herself by combing her long blonde hair vigorously. Perhaps it would release some of her angst.
    Dean’s vigilance over the instruments was totally unnecessary. The onboard computer alerted the team of any dangers far in advance and make the required course corrections. Nevertheless, Dean kept watch not only on the rover’s view screen but on a small panel underneath it, which displayed data from infrared technology, showing radiation emanating from the soil. Dean Flavin hovered, he was a hands-on sort of guy, always excited to plunge his hands into soil or work diligently to pull a rock out of the ground using his might. His physical efforts were nonessential, yet Dean felt compelled to maintain a tactile touch with his work; to keep his heart in physical proximity with his desires, never to forget he was flesh and blood and that the exhilaration of touch often gave humans their most gratifying pleasures.
    As he watched, Dean prattled on about how rock dating might give scientists an idea of how old Ceres was; Carol did not fail to acknowledge the importance of Dean’s observations by moving closer and placing her hand upon his thigh to assure the scientist of her solidarity.
    “You’ll be a hero, Dean; your children will look up to you. You’re helping to find a new home for hundreds, possibly thousands, of people.” She paused to blush. “Oh excuse me for being blunt, Dean. I do assume you and Cindy are in the process of making child.”
Dean laughed with a nervous snort, his eyes darting between the two readout screens. She had gotten his attention. “Yes, we are. How about you and Tom?”
    “Certainly.” She paused again, the skin around her lips crinkling to offer the slightest smile. “It’s mandated, you know.”
     Dean did not laugh this time. He turned his gaze away from the screens for an instant, catching a mischievous look in Carol’s large brown eyes. They nearly twinkled. Her expression nearly made his heart skip a beat, and it began to stir some feelings in areas that had nothing to do with scientific analysis or topographical studies. With his mouth suddenly parched, Dean changed the subject.
     “So I bet you’ll be classifying some new plant life. I bet your children will be very proud of you too, Carol.”
     She dismissed his compliment with a wave of her hand.
     “No, no, Dean. Your work is much more consequential. You’ve got to make sure the area is free of radiation.” She didn’t have to remind Dean the entire planet had been bombarded with dark matter radiation a few years ago. The event resulted in some very unconventional solutions—solutions Dean didn’t dare even to daydream about. He grimaced.
     “Oh, I’m sorry, dear—I mean Dean—I hope I didn’t upset you. So tell me more about how rocks will help date our new planet.”
     Dean launched into an explanation. He resumed staring straight ahead at his view screens, unaware the sparkle in Carol’s eyes had lost some of its sheen.
     His raised eyebrows and broad grin oozed exuberance, as if he had quickly forgotten about the planet’s dubious past. “You know, Carol, history will list us as two of the first five hundred settlers of the Ceres, no trivial honor, mind you.” He turned to Carol, raising an index finger to add emphasis. But Carol, nearly launching into a yawn, had all she could do to stifle her disinterested response. It really didn’t matter if she had concealed her boredom; Dean seemed to be enjoying his self-serving dissertation. “The first planet in the Andromeda Nebula to become home to humans! A small Mars-sized satellite boasting a rich oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere. Just take a moment and imagine what we’ve begun, Carol. Earth space travelers had never found such a life-sustaining planet in the Milky Way, after hundreds of years of searching. Who would ever imagine our generation would taste the fruit of this new world?”
     “Well Dean, all I can say is that I hope humanity has time to savor that fruit. I’d hate for other things—other species—to acquire a taste for our new world.”
Dean didn’t inquire further. He replied with a grunt. Carol had been referring to the androids now residing on Ceres. Their creation had happened by chance and necessity when radiation poisoning threatened to end the colonization efforts.

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