wasn’t quite true, of course, Valatare’s atmosphere wasn’t infinite, but there was more than enough to crush and burn the Primes a thousand times over.
Her link to the Ursell floater was still working, which surprised her. She suspected the local immotile clusters were analyzing what was happening, trying to decide what action to take. Demoting her priority status.
She started downloading her personal memory store into the floater’s smartnet for safekeeping.
Which has to be the universe’s most desperate roll of the dice.
The floater was seven kilometers in altitude, and its wormhole 680 meters in diameter—and still widening. After analyzing the component loading factors, she’d settled on halting the expansion at five kilometers in diameter. The floaters should be able to maintain that indefinitely.
The Primes launched a barrage of mini-nukes up at the catastrophic incursion.
“Pissing in the wind, boys,” Laura called out with manic cheerfulness as she deactivated her force field.
Ten mini-nukes exploded simultaneously above her—
BOOK TWO
DEFENSE OF THE STATE
1
Captain Chaing, of the People’s Security Regiment, saw
her
in the crowd not twenty meters in front of him, and froze in shock. It was a joyful noisy crowd spread out along Broadstreet—thousands of people determined to enjoy the night’s festivities. Today was Fireyear Day: a public holiday for the whole world to celebrate the time when, 257 years ago, Ursell’s entire atmosphere burned and dear Mother Laura sacrificed herself to save Bienvenido. That was an event worth celebrating, and Opole’s residents were certainly going for it.
Chaing was new to the city; the PSR—People’s Security Regiment—had only reassigned him from Portlynn two months ago. He’d thought it a drab provincial town, and spent those grim months wondering if he’d somehow pissed off his superiors and been sent here as punishment. But today all that had changed. First there was the procession of big colorful floats through the city center; then as dusk came bands claimed the street junctions, playing loud and fast music, and unlicensed stalls miraculously appeared to serve the excited people some truly throat-killing liquors. Half the city had turned out in bizarre and wondrous costumes, singing and dancing along the streets. The grand civic firework display was about to start.
It was a perfect time for any clandestine activity, which was why he’d arranged to meet the undercover agent in the Nenad Café on LowerGate Lane. His route took him along Broadstreet, and there she was, his own personal ghost. But in the flesh. He stood there numbly as the merry singing people swirled around him, watching her. She was side-on to him, face heavily shadowed under her wide-brimmed hat, with her Titian hair braided into a neat tail that fell down her back. But he knew that profile; he could recognize her anywhere. Just to confirm it, she wore her brown leather coat, the one that came down to her ankles. And now she was walking away from him. That jolted him into action. He hurried after her.
Will I finally see her smile?
Chaing had seen her just once before, three decades ago, but that vision had haunted him ever since. He couldn’t stop it. Right from the start he’d been cursed with an excellent memory. And out of all the moments that made up his life, her face was the most vivid recollection…
He’d been five years old, playing in the filthy alley behind their tenement block, when he tripped to sprawl across a mound of earth that turned out to be a bussalore nest. He’d screamed in terror as the vile rodents emerged from the dislodged dirt, squeaking and spitting.
Tiny stars of many colors sparkled behind his eyes, merging to form the picture of a beautiful lady with red hair. And abruptly a voice told him:
Stand up, darling. Bussalores are intimidated by anything larger than themselves.
Chaing scrambled to his feet and stared down at the nasty
Her link to the Ursell floater was still working, which surprised her. She suspected the local immotile clusters were analyzing what was happening, trying to decide what action to take. Demoting her priority status.
She started downloading her personal memory store into the floater’s smartnet for safekeeping.
Which has to be the universe’s most desperate roll of the dice.
The floater was seven kilometers in altitude, and its wormhole 680 meters in diameter—and still widening. After analyzing the component loading factors, she’d settled on halting the expansion at five kilometers in diameter. The floaters should be able to maintain that indefinitely.
The Primes launched a barrage of mini-nukes up at the catastrophic incursion.
“Pissing in the wind, boys,” Laura called out with manic cheerfulness as she deactivated her force field.
Ten mini-nukes exploded simultaneously above her—
BOOK TWO
DEFENSE OF THE STATE
1
Captain Chaing, of the People’s Security Regiment, saw
her
in the crowd not twenty meters in front of him, and froze in shock. It was a joyful noisy crowd spread out along Broadstreet—thousands of people determined to enjoy the night’s festivities. Today was Fireyear Day: a public holiday for the whole world to celebrate the time when, 257 years ago, Ursell’s entire atmosphere burned and dear Mother Laura sacrificed herself to save Bienvenido. That was an event worth celebrating, and Opole’s residents were certainly going for it.
Chaing was new to the city; the PSR—People’s Security Regiment—had only reassigned him from Portlynn two months ago. He’d thought it a drab provincial town, and spent those grim months wondering if he’d somehow pissed off his superiors and been sent here as punishment. But today all that had changed. First there was the procession of big colorful floats through the city center; then as dusk came bands claimed the street junctions, playing loud and fast music, and unlicensed stalls miraculously appeared to serve the excited people some truly throat-killing liquors. Half the city had turned out in bizarre and wondrous costumes, singing and dancing along the streets. The grand civic firework display was about to start.
It was a perfect time for any clandestine activity, which was why he’d arranged to meet the undercover agent in the Nenad Café on LowerGate Lane. His route took him along Broadstreet, and there she was, his own personal ghost. But in the flesh. He stood there numbly as the merry singing people swirled around him, watching her. She was side-on to him, face heavily shadowed under her wide-brimmed hat, with her Titian hair braided into a neat tail that fell down her back. But he knew that profile; he could recognize her anywhere. Just to confirm it, she wore her brown leather coat, the one that came down to her ankles. And now she was walking away from him. That jolted him into action. He hurried after her.
Will I finally see her smile?
Chaing had seen her just once before, three decades ago, but that vision had haunted him ever since. He couldn’t stop it. Right from the start he’d been cursed with an excellent memory. And out of all the moments that made up his life, her face was the most vivid recollection…
He’d been five years old, playing in the filthy alley behind their tenement block, when he tripped to sprawl across a mound of earth that turned out to be a bussalore nest. He’d screamed in terror as the vile rodents emerged from the dislodged dirt, squeaking and spitting.
Tiny stars of many colors sparkled behind his eyes, merging to form the picture of a beautiful lady with red hair. And abruptly a voice told him:
Stand up, darling. Bussalores are intimidated by anything larger than themselves.
Chaing scrambled to his feet and stared down at the nasty