By Thomas DePrima
A tender ensign, lately graduated from the Northern Hemisphere house Academy, is woke up all at once in the course of the evening via alarms, flashing lighting, and dire messages to desert send. The petite blonde pulls on a few outfits and races in the course of the spaceship in a determined look for an on hand existence pod-- however it seems all have already departed.
So starts the epic tale of Jenetta Carver. Get a decent grip in your ebook and get ready for a thrilling experience like few others simply because Jenetta is able to take names and kick butts from one finish of the galaxy to the opposite. She can be small, yet she has an mind as huge as Colossus of Rhodes and makes common Sun-Tzu seem like an novice army enthusiast.
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Extra info for A Galaxy Unknown (A Galaxy Unknown, Book 1)
At first he meant to delay, to put off obedience. He had schooled himself to be able to postpone the ritual for as long as a whole day, while hiding all outward signs of his inner torment. He could do that now-- but only by keeping his heart utterly cold. There was no point in that. Proper grief could come only when he had satisfied the gods. So, kneeling there, he began the ritual. He was still twisting and gyrating with the ritual when a servant peered in. Though the servant said nothing, Han Fei-tzu heard the faint sliding of the door and knew what the servant would assume: Jiang-qing was dead, and Han Fei-tzu was so righteous that he was communing with the gods even before he announced her death to the household.
They needed to hurry things. So even though they said they wanted to talk with him, even though they actually sat and listened as he spoke, he still couldn't speak freely to them. He couldn't talk about ideas; he couldn't speak in long, involved sentences, because by the time he got to the end his listeners would have lost track of the beginning. The human brain, Miro had concluded, just like a computer, can only receive data at certain speeds. If you get too slow, the listener's attention wanders and the information is lost.
No one would guess that even as Han Fei-tzu worshiped, his heart was full of bitterness that the gods would dare demand this of him even now. O Gods, he thought, if I knew that by cutting off an arm or cutting out my liver I could be rid of you forever, I would seize the knife and relish the pain and loss, all for the sake of freedom. That thought, too, was unworthy, and required even more cleansing. It was hours before the gods at last released him, and by then he was too tired, too sick at heart to grieve.