By J. L. Doty
As a lifer within the Imperial army, combating in a struggle that has lasted for generations, York Ballin’s in simple terms desire at an honorable discharge is the grave. issues purely worsen while the emperor's daughter, princess Aeya, comes to a decision to perform a little slumming along with her entourage on a distant planet, and York and his fellow crewmen are pressured to rescue her. yet after returning her accurately into the empress' care in the world Dumark, the complete planet is hit via a tremendous Directorate attack. To evacuate the empress in addition to the remainder of the imperial embassy, York is ordered to commandeer the imperial cruiser Cinesstar, that's crewless and present process maintenance within the Dumark army backyard. And after a slim get away York unearths himself deep in the back of enemy traces, on a commandeered imperial cruiser and not using a informed group, commanded through an incompetent nobleman, with the empress and two hundred civilians as passengers, and the enemy, the Directorate, pulling out all stops to wreck them. yet, from a strategic or army perspective, the attack on Dumark used to be an unwarranted waste of the Directorate's assets, and it turns into transparent the empress, and a member or Aeya's entourage, are sporting a deadly mystery, so risky it threatens strength constructions of either the Empire and the Directorate, so even their very own comrades within the empire wish them eradicated. And with every body now hell-bent on turning Cinesstar and all these aboard her right into a cloud of radioactive vapor, it falls to York to save lots of all of them. yet he needs to make a choice from saving them, or saving himself, and he unearths his strategies are restricted to a decision of treasons.
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Additional info for A Choice of Treasons
What's the matter, Dr. " Ignoring the query, Forester peered sharply around the room. The few pieces of furniture were shabby but comfortable. A book printed in the strange characters of some ancient language of the first planet lay open on a little table, beside a tobacco humidor and a bottle of wine. Ironsmith himself, in unpressed slacks and open-collared shirt, looked guileless and friendly as the room, and Forester could see no evidences of his dealings with that inquisitive machine. " he insisted anxiously.
Swarming about the task in ever greater numbers, they began to remind him of some social insects. They worked silently, never calling to one another - for they all were parts of the same ultimate machine, and each unit knew all that any of them did. Watching, he began to feel a vague impact of terror. For they were too many. Glinting with bronze and frosty blue, their hard black bodies were too beautiful. They were too sure, too strong, too swift. Unlike any actual insects that he had ever watched, they wasted no time and no effort.
One was stirring a battered pot, which reeked of garlic. Ironsmith sniffed appreciatively, and the three made room for him and the child to sit on driftwood blocks by the fire. She leaned to warm her hands and Ironsmith smiled genially at the three, but Forester paused in the doorway, incredulous, as White presented the bold little band. For he could see no weapons; the three were only ragged vagabonds, in need of soap and barbering. The gaunt man stirring the pot was named Graystone. He rose stiffly, a gaunt and awkward scarecrow in rusty black.
A Choice of Treasons by J. L. Doty