1997, ISBN: 9780345412089

edizione con copertina rigida

New York Ballantine 1984. Good. 120 x 180mm. Paperback. 1984. 224 pages. Cover worn. <br>In 1914, when Jean-Marc Montjean, a yo ung French doctor, falls for the beautiful Katya, his… Altro …

New York Ballantine 1984. Good. 120 x 180mm. Paperback. 1984. 224 pages. Cover worn. <br>In 1914, when Jean-Marc Montjean, a yo ung French doctor, falls for the beautiful Katya, his love leads to devastating trauma, horror, and tragedy for himself and Katya' s family Editorial Reviews Review A most exquisite, elegant, in genious thriller. --New York Daily News A tour de force . . . A story that explores meticulously some of the darker corners of th e human soul. --Washington Post --This text refers to an out of p rint or unavailable edition of this title. About the Author Trev anian's books have been translated into more than fourteen langua ges and have sold millions of copies worldwide. He lives in the F rench Basque mountains. He is the author of The Crazyladies of Pe arl Street, Shibumi, The Eiger Sanction, The Loo Sanction, and Th e Main. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edit ion of this title. Excerpt. ? Reprinted by permission. All right s reserved. salies-les-bains: august 1938 Every writer who has d ealt with that last summer before the Great War has felt compelle d to comment on the uncommon perfection of the weather: the endle ss days of ardent blue skies across which fair-weather clouds toi led lazily, the long lavender evening freshened by soft breezes, the early mornings of birdsong and slanting yellow sunlight. From Italy to Scotland, from Berlin to the valleys of my native Basse Pyrenees, all of Europe shared an exceptional period of clear, d elicious weather. It was the last thing they were to share for fo ur terrible years-save for the mud and agony, hate and death of t he war that marked the boundary between the nineteenth and twenti eth centuries, between the Age of Grace and the Era of Efficiency . Many who have described that summer claim to have sensed somet hing ominous and terminal in the very excellence of the season, a last flaring up of the guttering candle, a Hellenistic burst of desperate exuberance before the death of a civilization, a final, almost hysterical, moment of laughter and joy for the young men who were to die in the trenches. I confess that my own memory of that last July, assisted to a modest degree by notes and sketches in my journal, carries no hint that I viewed the exquisite weath er as an ironic jest of Fate. Perhaps I was insensitive to the om ens, young as I was, filled with the juices of life, and poised e agerly on the threshold of my medical career. These last words p rovoke a wry smile, as only the conventions of language allow me to describe the quarter century I have passed as a bachelor docto r in a small Basque village as a medical career. To be sure, the bright hardworking young man that I was had every reason to hope he was on the first step of a journey to professional success, al though he might have drawn some hint of a more limited future fro m the humiliatingly trivial tasks he was assigned by his sponsor and patron, Doctor Hippolyte Gros, who emphasized his assistant's subordinate position in dozens of ways, both subtle and bold, no t the least effective of which was reminding patients that I was indeed a full-fledged doctor, despite my apparent youth and palpa ble lack of experience. Doctor Montjean will attend to writing o ut your prescription, he would tell a patient with a benevolent s mile. You may have every confidence in him. Oh, the ink may still be wet on his certificate, but he is well versed in all the most modern approaches to healing, both of body and mind. This last g ibe was aimed at my fascination with the then new and largely mis trusted work of Doctor Freud and his followers. Doctor Gros would pat the hand of his patient (all of whom were women of a certain age, as he specialized in the discomforts associated with menopa use) and assure her that he was honored to have an assistant who had studied in Paris. The widened eyes and tone of awe with which he said Paris were designed to suggest, in broad burlesque, that a simple provincial doctor, such as he, felt obliged to be humbl e before a brilliant young man from the capital who had everythin g to recommend him-save perhaps experience, compassion, wisdom, u nderstanding, and success. Lest I create too unflattering a port rait of Doctor Gros, let me admit that it was kind of him to invi te me to be his summer assistant, as I was fresh out of medical s chool, penniless, without any prospects for purchasing a practice , and burdened by a most uncomplimentary report of my year of int ernship at the mental institution of Passy. However, far from sho wing Doctor Gros the gratitude he had a right to expect, I courte d his displeasure by confessing to him that I considered his area of specialization to be founded on old wives' tales, and his pro fitable summer clinic to be little more than a luxury resort for women with more leisure than common sense. In sharing these obser vations with him, I am sure I believed myself to be admirably ope n and honest for, with the callous assurance of youth, I often mi stook insensitivity for frankness. It is little wonder that he oc casionally retaliated against my callow self-confidence with thru sts at my inexperience and my peculiar absorption with the darker workings of the mind. Indeed, one day in the clinic when I had been holding forth on the ethical parallels between withholding t reatment from the sick and giving it to the healthy, he said to m e, You have no doubt wondered, Montjean, why I chose you to assis t me this summer. Possibly you came to the conclusion that I was staggered by your academic accomplishments and impressed by the a ltruism revealed by your year of unpaid service at Passy. Well, t here was some of that, to be sure. Then too, there was the fact t hat you were born in this part of France, and your dark Basque go od looks are an asset to a clinic catering to women of a certain age and uncertain appetites. After all, having a Basque boy fiddl e with their bits lends to the local color. But foremost among yo ur qualities was your willingness to work cheap, which I admired because humility is an attractive and rare quality in a young doc tor. However, little by little, I am coming to the view that what I mistook for humility was, in fact, an accurate evaluation of y our worth. And, the truth be told, I wasn't of all that much val ue to him, as there was not really enough work at the clinic to o ccupy two doctors. My principal worth was as insurance against hi s falling ill for a day or two, and as freedom for him to take th e occasional day off-days he implied were devoted to romantic pre occupations. For Doctor Gros had something of a reputation as a r ake and a devil with the women who were his patients. He never bo asted openly of his conquests to the worthies of Salies who were his companions over a few glasses each evening in one of the arca de cafes around the central square. Instead he relied on the sile nt smile, the shrug, the weak gesture of protest, to establish hi s reputation, not only as a romancer of potency, but as a man pos sessed of great discretion and a finely tuned sense of honor. No r did Doctor Gros's particularly advantageous position in the str eam of sexual opportunity engender the jealousy one might have ex pected among his peers, for he was protected from their envy by a fully deserved reputation as the ugliest man in Gascony, perhaps in all of France. His was a uniquely thoroughgoing ugliness embr acing both broad plan and minute detail, an ugliness the total of which was greater than the sum of the parts, an ugliness to whic h each feature contributed its bit, from the bulbous veiny nose, to the blotched and pitted complexion, well warted and stained, t o the slack meaty mouth, to the flapping wattles, to the gnarled, irregular ears, to the undershot chin overbalanced by a beetling brow. Only his eyes, glittering and intelligent within their sun ken, rheumy sockets, escaped the general aesthetic holocaust. But withal there was a peculiar attraction to his face, a fascinatio n at the abandon with which Nature can embrace ruin, that lured o ne's glance again and again to his features only to have the gaze deflected by self-consciousness. Doctor Gros was by far the wit tiest and best-educated man in Salies, but the audience for his p ompous, rather purple style of monologue were the dull-minded men who controlled the spa community: the owners of the hotel-restau rants, the manager of the casino, the village lawyer, the banker, all of whom felt a certain reluctant debt to the doctor, for it was his clinic that was the principal attraction for the summer t ourist/patients who were the economic foundation of the town. Sti ll-even though Profit occupies so dominant a position in the mora l order of the French bourgeois mentality that vague impulses tow ards fair play and decency are easily held in rein-it is possible that the more prudish of Salies's merchants might have found Doc tor Gros's cavalier treatment of the lady patients offensive, had these pampered, well-to-do women been genuinely ill. But in fact they were robust middle-class specimens whose only physical dist ress was having attained an age at which fashionable society allo wed them to flap and flutter over women's problems, the clinical details of which they whispered to one another with that appalled delectation later generations would reserve for sex. So it was t hat I alone found Doctor Gros's sexual hinting and double entendr es medically unethical and socially distasteful, a view that my y outhful addiction to moral simplism required me to express. Looki ng back, I wonder that Doctor Gros put up with my self-assured ce nsure at all, but the peculiar fact was that he rather seemed to like me, in a gruff sort of way. He took impish delight in outrag ing my tidy and compact sense of ethics. Also, I was in a positio n, by virtue of education, to catch his puns and comic images tha t went over the heads of his merchant-minded cronies. But I belie ve the principal reason he was fond of me was nostalgic egotism: he saw in me, in both my ambitions and limitations, the young man he had been before time and fate reduced his brilliance to mere table wit, and eroded the scope of his aspirations to the dimensi ons of a profitable small-town clinic. Perhaps this is why his r eaction to my attitude of moral superiority was limited to giving me only the most trivial tasks to perform. And, in fact, I was n ot all that distressed at being relegated to the role of an eleva ted pharmacist, for I had just finished years of grinding work an d study that had drained mind and body and was in need of a lazy summer with time on my hands, with freedom to wander through the quaint, slightly shoddy resort village or to loaf on the banks of the sparkling Gave, overarched by ancient trees and charming sto ne bridges. I wanted time to rest, to dream, to write. Ah yes, w rite. For at that time in my life I felt capable of everything. H aving attempted nothing, I had no sense of my limitations; having dared nothing, I knew no boundaries to my courage. During the ye ars of fatigue and dulling rote in medical school, I had daydream ed of a future confected of two careers: that of the brilliant an d caring doctor and that of the inspired and inspiring poet. And why not? I was an avid and sensitive reader, and I made the commo n error of assuming that being a responsive reader indicated late nt talent as a writer, as though being a gourmand was but a short step from being a chef. Indeed, my first interest in the pioneer work of Doctor Freud sprang, not from a concern for persons woun ded in their collisions with reality, but from my personal curios ity about the nature of creativity and the springs of motivation. So it was that, for several hours a day throughout that indolen t, radiant summer, I wandered into the countryside with my notebo ok, or sat alone at an out-of-the-way cafe, sipping an aperitif a nd holding imagined conversations with important and terribly imp ressed lions of the literary world, or I lounged by the banks of the Gave, notebook open, sketching romantic impressions, my lofty poetic intent inevitably withering to a kind of breathless shatt ered prose in the process of being recorded-a dissipation that I was sure I would learn to avoid once I had mastered the tricks of writing. Then, too, there was the matter of love. As the reader might suspect, the expansive young man that I was had no doubt b ut that he was capable of a great love . . . a staggering love. I was, after all, twenty-five years old, brimming with health, a d evourer of novels, fertile of imagination. It is no surprise that I was ripe for romance. Ripe for romance? Is that not only the self-conscious and sensitive young man's way of saying he was hea vy with passion? Is not, perhaps, romance only the fiction by mea ns of which the tender-minded negotiate their lust? No, not quit e. I am painfully aware that the young man I used to be was callo w, callous, self-confident, and egotistic. There is no doubt he w as heavy with passion. But, to give the poor devil his due, he wa s also ripe for romance. I slipped into a comfortable, rather la zy, routine of life, doing all that Doctor Gros demanded of me an d nothing more. A more ambitious person-or a less blindly confide nt one-would have filled his time with study and self-improvement , for any dispassionate analysis of my future prospects would hav e revealed them to be most uncertain. I was, after all, without f amily and without means; I was in debt for my education; and I ha d no inclination to waste my talents on some impoverished rural c ommunity. Yet I was content to laze away my days, resting myself in preparation for some unknown prospect or adventure that I was sure, without the slightest evidence, lay just around the corner. As events turned out, I would have wasted any time spent in work and study; for the war came that autumn and I was called up imme diately. Romantically-and quite stupidly-I joined the army as a s imple soldier. Four years of mud and trenches, stench, fear, bru talizing boredom. Twice wounded, once seriously enough to limit m y physical activities for the rest of my life. Four years recorde d in my memory as one endless blur of horror and disgust. Even to this day I am choked with nausea and rage when I stand among my fellow veterans in the graveyard of my village and recite the nam es of those mort pour la France. Why did I submit myself to the butchery of the trenches when I might have served in the echelons as a medical officer? Even the most rudimentary knowledge of Doc tor Freud would suggest that I was pursuing a death wish . . . as indeed I was. I knew this at the time, but that knowledge neithe r freed nor, New York Ballantine 1984, 1984, 2.5, Del Rey. Good. 4.21 x 1.23 x 6.8 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 1997. 560 pages. Cover worn. Text tanned<br>At the bloody height of Wor ld War II, the deadliest enemies in all of human history were for ced to put aside their hatreds and unite against an even fiercer foe: a seemingly invincible power bent on world domination. n nW ith awesome technology, the aggressors swept across the planet, s owing destruction as Tokyo, Berlin, and Washington, D.C., were A- bombed into submission. Russia, Nazi Germany, Japan and the U.S. were not easily cowed, however. With cunning and incredible darin g, they pressed every advantage against the invader's superior st rength, and, led by Stalin, began to detonate their own atom bomb s in retaliation. n nCity after city explodes in radioactive fire storms, and fears grow as the worldwide resources disappear; will there be any world left for the invaders to conquer, or for the uneasy allies to defend? n nWhile Mao Tse-tung wages a desperate guerrilla war and Hitler drives his country toward self-destructi on, United States forces frantically try to stop the enemy's push from coast to coast. Yet in this battle to stave off world domin ation, unless the once-great military powers take the risk of ann ihilating the human race, they'll risk losing the war. n nThe fa tal, final deadline arrives in Harry Turtledove's grand, smashing finale to the Worldwar series, as uneasy allies desperately seek a way out of a no-win, no-survival situation: a way to live free in a world that may soon be bombed into atomic oblivion. n nEdit orial Reviews n nFrom the Inside Flap nWORLDWAR: BOOK 4 nAt the b loody height of World War II, the deadliest enemies in all of hum an history were forced to put aside their hatreds and unite again st an even fiercer foe: a seemingly invincible power bent on worl d domination. nWith awesome technology, the aggressors swept acr oss the planet, sowing destruction as Tokyo, Berlin, and Washingt on, D.C., were A-bombed into submission. Russia, Nazi Germany, Ja pan and the U.S. were not easily cowed, however. With cunning and incredible daring, they pressed every advantage against the inva der's superior strength, and, led by Stalin, began to detonate th eir own atom bombs in retaliation. nCity after city explodes in r adioactive firestorms, and fears grow as the worldwide resources disappear; will there be any world left for the invaders to conqu er, or for the uneasy allies to defend? nWhile Mao Tse-tung wages a desperate guerrilla war and Hitler drives his country toward s elf-destruction, United States forces frantically try to stop the enemy's push from coast to coast. Yet in this battle to stave of f world domination, unless the once-great military powers take th e risk of annihilating the human race, they'll risk losing the wa r. nThe fatal, final deadline arrives in Harry Turtledove's gran d, smashing finale to the Worldwar series, as uneasy allies despe rately seek a way out of a no-win, no-survival situation: a way t o live free in a world that may soon be bombed into atomic oblivi on. n nFrom the Hardcover edition. n nFrom the Back Cover nAt the bloody height of World War II, the deadliest enemies in all of h uman history were forced to put aside their hatreds and unite aga inst an even fiercer foe: a seemingly invincible power bent on wo rld domination. With awesome technology, the aggressors swept acr oss the planet, sowing destruction as Tokyo, Berlin, and Washingt on, D.C., were A-bombed into submission. Russia, Nazi Germany, Ja pan, and the United States were not easily cowed, however. With c unning and incredible daring, they pressed every advantage agains t the invader's superior strength, and, led by Stalin, began to d etonate their own atom bombs in retaliation. City after city expl odes in radioactive firestorms, and fears grow as the worldwide r esources disappear; will there be any world left for the invaders to conquer, or for the uneasy allies to defend? While Mao Tse-tu ng wages a desperate guerrilla war and Hitler drives his country toward self-destruction, U.S. forces frantically try to stop the enemy's push from coast to coast. Yet in this battle to stave off world domination, unless the once-great military powers take the risk of annihilating the human race, they'll risk losing the war . n nAbout the Author nHarry Turtledove is the award-winning auth or of the alternate-history works The Man with the Iron Heart, Th e Guns of the South, and How Few Remain (winner of the Sidewise A ward for Best Novel); the Hot War books: Bombs Away, Fallout, and Armistice; the War That Came Early novels: Hitler's War, West an d East, The Big Switch, Coup d'Etat, Two Fronts, and Last Orders; the Worldwar saga: In the Balance, Tilting the Balance, Upsettin g the Balance, and Striking the Balance; the Colonization books: Second Contact, Down to Earth, and Aftershocks; the Great War epi cs: American Front, Walk in Hell, and Breakthroughs; the American Empire novels: Blood and Iron, The Center Cannot Hold, and Victo rious Opposition; and the Settling Accounts series: Return Engage ment, Drive to the East, The Grapple, and In at the Death. Turtle dove is married to fellow novelist Laura Frankos. They have three daughters--Alison, Rachel, and Rebecca--and two granddaughters, Cordelia Turtledove Katayanagi and Phoebe Quinn Turtledove Kataya nagi. n nExcerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. nIn free fall, Atvar the fleetlord glided over to the hologram p rojector. He poked the stud at the base of the machine. The image that sprang into being above the projector was one the Race's pr obe had sent back from Tosev 3 eight hundred local years earlier. n nA Big Ugly warrior sat mounted on a beast. He wore leather bo ots, rusty chainmail, and a dented iron helmet; a thin coat woven from plant fibers and dyed blue with plant juices shielded his a rmor from the heat of the star the Race called Tosev. To Atvar, t o any male of the Race, Tosev 3 was on the chilly side, but not t o the natives. n nA long, iron-pointed spear stood up from a boss on the contraption the warrior used to stay atop his animal. He carried a shield painted with a cross. On his belt hung a long, s traight sword and a couple of knives. n nAll you could see of the Tosevite himself were his face and one hand. They were plenty to show he was almost as fuzzy as the beast he rode. Thick, wiry ye llow fur covered his jaws and the area around his mouth; he had a nother stripe above each of his flat, immobile eyes. A thinner la yer of hair grew on the back of the visible hand. n nAtvar touche d his own smooth, scaly skin. Just looking at all that fur made h im wonder why the Big Uglies didn't itch all the time. Leaving on e eye turret aimed at the Tosevite warrior, he swung the other in the direction of Kirel, shiplord of the 127th Emperor Hetto. Thi s is the foe we thought we were opposing, he said bitterly. n nTr uth, Exalted Fleetlord, Kirel said. His body paint was almost as colorful and complex as Atvar's. Since he commanded the bannershi p of the conquest fleet, only the fleetlord out-ranked him. n nAt var stabbed at the projector control with his left index claw. Th e Big Ugly warrior vanished. In his place appeared a perfect thre e-dimensional image of the nuclear explosion that had destroyed t he Tosevite city of Rome: Atvar recognized the background terrain . But it could as easily have been the bomb that vaporized Chicag o or Breslau or Miami or the spearhead of the Race's assault forc e south of Moscow. n nAs opposed to the foe we thought we faced, this is what we are actually dealing with, Atvar said. n nTruth, Kirel repeated, and, as mournful commentary, added an emphatic co ugh. n nAtvar let out a long, hissing sigh. Stability and predict ability were two of the pillars on which the Race and its Empire had flourished for a hundred thousand years and expanded to cover three solar systems. On Tosev 3, nothing seemed predictable, not hing seemed stable. No wonder the Race was having such troubles h ere. The Big Uglies did not play by any of the rules its savants thought they knew. n nWith another hiss, the fleetlord poked at t he control stud once more. Now the threatening cloud from the nuc lear blast vanished. In a way, the image that replaced it was eve n more menacing. It was a satellite photograph of a base the Race had established in the region of the SSSR known to the locals as Siberia, a place whose frigid climate even the Big Uglies found appalling. n nThe mutineers still persist in their rebellion agai nst duly constituted authority, Atvar said heavily. Worse, the co mmandants of the two nearest bases have urged against committing their males to suppress the rebels, for fear they would go over t o them instead. n nThis is truly alarming, Kirel said with anothe r emphatic cough. If we choose males from a distant air base to b omb the mutineers out of existence, then, will it truly solve the problem? n nI don't know, Atvar said. But what I really don't kn ow, by the Emperor--he cast down his eyes for a moment at the men tion of his sovereign--is how the mutiny could have happened in t he first place. Subordination and integration into the greater sc heme of the Race as a whole are drilled into our males from hatch linghood. How could they have overthrown them? n nNow Kirel sighe d. Fighting on this world corrodes males' moral fiber as badly as its ocean water corrodes equipment. We are not fighting the war that was planned before we set out from Home, and that by itself is plenty to disorient a good many males. n nThis is also truth, Atvar admitted. The leader of the mutineers--a lowly landcruiser driver. If you can image such a thing--is shown to have lost at l east three different sets of crewmales: two, including those with whom he served at this base, to Tosevite action, and the third g rouping arrested and disciplined as ginger tasters. n nBy his wil d pronouncements, this Ussmak sounds like a ginger taster himself , Kirel said. n nThreatening to call in the Soviets to his aid if we attack him, you mean? Atvar said. We ought to take him up on that; if he thinks they would help him out of sheer benevolence, the Tosevite herb truly has addled his wits. If it weren't for th e equipment he could pass on to the SSSR, I would say we should w elcome him to go over to that set of Big Uglies. n nGiven the sit uation as it actually is, Exalted Fleetlord, what course shall we pursue? Kirel's interrogative cough sounded vaguely accusing--or maybe Atvar's conscience was twisting his hearing diaphragms. n nI don't know yet, the fleetlord said unhappily. When in doubt, h is first instinct--typical for a male--was to do nothing. Letting the situation come nearer to hatching so you could understand it more fully worked well on Home, and also on Rabotev 2 and Halles s 1, the other inhabited worlds the Race controlled. n nBut waiti ng, against the Tosevites, often proved even worse than proceedin g on incomplete knowledge. The Big Uglies did things. They didn't fret about long-term consequences. Take atomic weapons--those he lped them in the short run. If they devastated Tosev 3 in the pro cess--well, so what? n nAtvar couldn't leave it at so what. The c olonization fleet was on the way from Home. He couldn't very well present it with a world he'd rendered uninhabitable in the proce ss of overcoming the Big Uglies. Yet he couldn't fail to respond, either, and so found himself in the unpleasant position of react ing to what the Tosevites did instead of making them react to him . n nThe mutineers had no nuclear weapons, and weren't Big Uglies . He could have afforded to wait them out . . . If they hadn't th reatened to yield their base to the SSSR. With the Tosevites invo lved, you couldn't just sit and watch. The Big Uglies were never content to let things simmer. They threw them in a microwave oven and brought them to a boil as fast as they could. n nWhen Atvar didn't say anything more, Kirel tried to prod him: Exalted Fleetl ord, you can't be contemplating genuine negotiations with these r ebellious--and revolting--males? Their demands are impossible: no t just amnesty and transfer to a warmer climate--those would be b ad enough by themselves--but also ending the struggle against the Tosevites so no more males die 'uselessly,' to use their word. n nNo, we cannot allow mutineers to dictate terms to us, Atvar agr eed. That would be intolerable. His mouth fell open in a bitter l augh. Then again, by all reasonable standards, the situation over vast stretches of Tosev 3 is intolerable, and our forces seem to lack the ability to improve it to any substantial extent. What d oes this suggest to you, Shiplord? n nOne possible answer was, a new fleetlord. The assembled shiplords of the conquest fleet had tried to remove Atvar once, after the SSSR detonated the first To sevite fission bomb, and had narrowly failed. If they tried again , Kirel was the logical male to succeed Atvar. The fleetlord wait ed for his subordinate's reply, not so much for what he said as f or how he said it. n nSlowly, Kirel answered, Were the Tosevites factions of the Race opposed to the general will--not that the Ra ce would generate such vicious factions, of course, but speaking for the sake of the hypothesis--their strength, unlike that of th e mutineers, might come close to making negotiations with them ma ndatory. n nAtvar contemplated that. Kirel was, generally speakin g, a conservative male, and had couched his suggestion conservati vely by equating the Big Uglies with analogous groupings within t he Race, an equation that in itself made Atvar's scales itch. But the suggestion, however couched, was more radical than any Strah a, the shiplord who'd led the effort to oust Atvar, had ever put forward before deserting and fleeing to the Big Uglies. n nShiplo rd, Atvar demanded sharply, are you making the same proposal as t he mutineers: that we discuss with the Tosevites ways of ending o ur campaign short of complete conquest? n nExalted Fleetlord, did you yourself not say our males seem incapable of effecting a com plete conquest of Tosev 3? Kirel answered, still with perfect sub ordination but not abandoning his own ideas, either. If that be s o, should we not either destroy the planet to make sure the Tosev ites can never threaten us, or else-- He stopped; unlike Straha, he had a sense of when he was going too far for Atvar to tolerate . n nNo, the fleetlord said, I refuse to concede that the command s of the Emperor cannot be carried out in full. We shall defend o urselves in the northern portion of the planet until its dreadful winter weather, Del Rey, 1997, 2.5<

1997, ISBN: 9780345412089

edizione con copertina rigida

Bantam. Good. 4.1 x 0.52 x 6.9 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 1984. 208 pages. Cover worn.<br>After discovering six gold Roman coins buried in the mud of the Devil's Dyke, Barn… Altro …

Bantam. Good. 4.1 x 0.52 x 6.9 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 1984. 208 pages. Cover worn.<br>After discovering six gold Roman coins buried in the mud of the Devil's Dyke, Barnabas Sackett enthusias tically invests in goods that he will offer for trade in America. But Sackett has a powerful enemy: Rupert Genester, nephew of an earl, wants him dead. A battlefield promise made to Sackett's fat her threatens Genester's inheritance. So on the eve of his depart ure for America, Sackett is attacked and thrown into the hold of a pirate ship. Genester's orders are for him to disappear into th e waters of the Atlantic. But after managing to escape, Sackett m akes his way to the Carolina coast. He sees in the raw, abundant land the promise of a bright future. But before that dream can be realized, he must first return to England and discover the secre t of his father's legacy. Editorial Reviews About the Author Ou r foremost storyteller of the American West, Louis L'Amour has th rilled a nation by chronicling the adventures of the brave men an d woman who settled the frontier. There are more than three hundr ed million copies of his books in print around the world. Excerp t. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter 1 It was my devil's own temper that brought me to grief, my temper and a skill with weapons born of my father's teaching. Yet without that skill I might have emptied my life's blood upon the cobblest ones of Stamford, emptied my body of blood ... and for what? Unt il that moment in Stamford it would have been said that no steadi er lad lived in all the fen-lands than Barnabas Sackett, nor one who brought better from his fields than I, or did better at the e eling in the fens that were my home. Then a wayward glance from a lass, a moment of red, bursting fury from a stranger, a blow gi ven and a blow returned, and all that might have been my life van ished like a fog upon the fens beneath a summer sun. In that yea r of 1599 a man of my station did not strike a man of noble birth and expect to live--or if he lived, to keep the hand that struck the blow. Trouble came quickly upon me, suddenly, and without w arning. It began that day near Reach when I slipped and fell upo n the Devil's Dyke. The Dyke is a great rampart of earth some si x miles long and built in the long ago by a people who might have been my ancestors. These were the Iceni, I have been told, who l ived in my country long before the Romans came to Britain. When I slipped I caught myself upon my outstretched palms to keep the mud from my clothing, and I found myself staring at the muddy edg e of what appeared to be a gold coin. Now coins of any kind were uncommon amongst us, for we did much in the way of barter and ex change. Merchants saw coins, but not many came our way. Yet here it was, a gold coin. Shifting my position a bit I closed my fing ers over first one coin and, then, yet another. I stood up slowl y, and making as if to brush the mud from my hands, I knocked and wiped the mud from the coins. In a pool of muddy water at my fee t, I washed them clean. They were old ... very, very old. No En glish coins these, nor was the wording English, nor the faces of the men upon them. The first coin was heavy, of quite some value judging by the weight. The second was smaller, thinner, and of a different kind. Slipping them casually into my pocket, I stood t here looking about. The hour was before dawn of what bid to be a gray day. Clouds were thick above, and during the night there ha d been heavy rain. It was a lonely place, where I stood, a place about half the distance from Reach to Wood Ditton. We had worked in the quarries at Reach, some of us, and slept the night on a ta vern floor to be near the fire. Long before day I awakened, lyin g there thinking of the distance I had yet to go, with the work n ow ended. So, quietly I had risen, put my cloak about my shoulder s, and took my way to the Dyke, the easiest route in any weather. It was a time when few men got more than a mile or two from the ir door, unless following the sea or the fishing, but I was a res tless one, moving about and working wherever an extra hand might be needed, for it was in my mind to save money, buy a bit more la nd and so better my position. Now I had come upon gold, more tha n I was likely to earn with my hands in a year, although it was l ittle enough I knew of gold. Had my father stood by me he could h ave told me what each coin was worth. I made a thing of brushing my knees, which gave me time to look more carefully about. I wa s alone. There were willows yonder, farther away oaks and a hedge , but nowhere in the vague light of beginning day did I see movem ent or sign of men. Carefully I studied the ground where I had fa llen. For where there had been two coins there might be three ... or four. Something had scarred the slope here, and rain had fou nd it, as rain will, gouging a small ditch to escape over the Dyk e's edge. Where the trickle of water was, I could see what appear ed to be the rotting edge of a leather purse, or sack. A bit of a search with my fingers in the mud and I held three more pieces o f gold, and a moment later, another. That was the lot. I kicked mud over the spot, turned about a couple of times, then walked sl owly on, plodding as if tired, stopping a time or two to look abo ut. At a pool of rain water I paused to wash the mud from my han ds. Six gold coins! It was a fortune. Two of the coins were Roma n. Likely enough some brawny legionnaire had come this way from t he fighting, and when about to be overtaken had buried them. It w as likely he must have been killed then, for he had never recover ed his coins. Such a strong leather purse, if well buried, would need years to rot away, and it might have been some later travel er. Whoever it was, his ancient loss was my present gain. Yet if I appeared with six gold coins, what would happen? By some mann er of means they would certainly be taken from me. A poor man, ev en a yeoman such as I, had small chance of maintaining his rights . There were many tricky laws, and the rascals would surely find one that would deprive me of my findings. I was a freeman living on a small freeholding at the edge of the fens, a bit of land gi ven my father for his deeds in battle. Actually, a great piece of the fens was mine, but it was of small use except for the eeling and occasional mowing. There was a small piece of land adjoinin g mine, of good, rich drained land that I coveted. Now I could ha ve it for mine, and more, too, if it were up for the selling. Bu t if I came forward with gold it would set to wagging half the to ngues in the shire, so I had best be thinking of a better way. I t was then I remembered the man from Stamford. An oldish man, and bookish. His name had been mentioned to me in the streets of Cha tteris. A curious man, he would go miles to look upon some old wa ll or a ruined monastery. His name was Hasling, and sometimes he had bought some ancient thing found by a workman or farmer. It w as said he wrote papers about such things and talked of them with men from Cambridge. He had the look of a kindly man with nothin g of the sharper about him, and I'd been told he paid a guinea fo r a bronze axe dug up in a field. So it was that I went to Stamfo rd. It was no great house I came to but a fine, comfortable cott age, early in the day. A cottage with fine old trees about and a deal of lawn behind. There were flowers planted and birds who mad e themselves at home. When I put knuckles to the door a woman in a white cap opened it, a pleasant-faced woman with a look of the Irish about her, but no friendly smile for me, in my rough dress . When I spoke of business with Coveney Hasling she looked doubt ful, but when I said it was an old thing I had to speak of, the d oor was wide at once, and the next thing I knew I was seated with a cup of tea in my hand, although I'd have preferred it to be al e. The room had papers and books all about, a skull with a cleft in it giving me the round eye from black and empty sockets. Clos e by a bronze axe ... the very one. It was in my mind to questio n whether the cleft skull and the bronze axe had ever met before when he came in, bowing a short bow and peering at me with tilted head. Yes, yes, lad, you wished to speak to me? Aye. I have hea rd you spoken of as one with an interest in old things. You have found something! He was excited as a child. What is it? Let me s ee! I'd have to ask your silence. I'd not be losing the profit o f it. Profit? Profit, do you say? It is history you must think o f, lad, history! History you may think of, who live in a fine ho use. Profit is my concern, who does not. You are a freeman? Wit h a small holding. I see. Come, come! Sit you down! You get abou t some, I take it. Do you know the Roman roads? I do, and the dy kes and walls as well. Some earth-works, too, and I might even kn ow a floor of Roman tile. Lad, lad! You could be of service to m e and your country as well! These things you speak of ... they mu st not be lost or destroyed. They are a part of our heritage! No doubt, but it is my own heritage I be thinking of now. I have yo ur silence then? You do. From my pocket I took the first coin, and he took it reverently to hand, going off to the window for li ght. He exclaimed with pleasure, You would sell this? I would. ., Bantam, 1984, 2.5, Del Rey. Good. 4.21 x 1.23 x 6.8 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 1997. 560 pages. Cover worn. Text tanned<br>At the bloody height of Wor ld War II, the deadliest enemies in all of human history were for ced to put aside their hatreds and unite against an even fiercer foe: a seemingly invincible power bent on world domination. n nW ith awesome technology, the aggressors swept across the planet, s owing destruction as Tokyo, Berlin, and Washington, D.C., were A- bombed into submission. Russia, Nazi Germany, Japan and the U.S. were not easily cowed, however. With cunning and incredible darin g, they pressed every advantage against the invader's superior st rength, and, led by Stalin, began to detonate their own atom bomb s in retaliation. n nCity after city explodes in radioactive fire storms, and fears grow as the worldwide resources disappear; will there be any world left for the invaders to conquer, or for the uneasy allies to defend? n nWhile Mao Tse-tung wages a desperate guerrilla war and Hitler drives his country toward self-destructi on, United States forces frantically try to stop the enemy's push from coast to coast. Yet in this battle to stave off world domin ation, unless the once-great military powers take the risk of ann ihilating the human race, they'll risk losing the war. n nThe fa tal, final deadline arrives in Harry Turtledove's grand, smashing finale to the Worldwar series, as uneasy allies desperately seek a way out of a no-win, no-survival situation: a way to live free in a world that may soon be bombed into atomic oblivion. n nEdit orial Reviews n nFrom the Inside Flap nWORLDWAR: BOOK 4 nAt the b loody height of World War II, the deadliest enemies in all of hum an history were forced to put aside their hatreds and unite again st an even fiercer foe: a seemingly invincible power bent on worl d domination. nWith awesome technology, the aggressors swept acr oss the planet, sowing destruction as Tokyo, Berlin, and Washingt on, D.C., were A-bombed into submission. Russia, Nazi Germany, Ja pan and the U.S. were not easily cowed, however. With cunning and incredible daring, they pressed every advantage against the inva der's superior strength, and, led by Stalin, began to detonate th eir own atom bombs in retaliation. nCity after city explodes in r adioactive firestorms, and fears grow as the worldwide resources disappear; will there be any world left for the invaders to conqu er, or for the uneasy allies to defend? nWhile Mao Tse-tung wages a desperate guerrilla war and Hitler drives his country toward s elf-destruction, United States forces frantically try to stop the enemy's push from coast to coast. Yet in this battle to stave of f world domination, unless the once-great military powers take th e risk of annihilating the human race, they'll risk losing the wa r. nThe fatal, final deadline arrives in Harry Turtledove's gran d, smashing finale to the Worldwar series, as uneasy allies despe rately seek a way out of a no-win, no-survival situation: a way t o live free in a world that may soon be bombed into atomic oblivi on. n nFrom the Hardcover edition. n nFrom the Back Cover nAt the bloody height of World War II, the deadliest enemies in all of h uman history were forced to put aside their hatreds and unite aga inst an even fiercer foe: a seemingly invincible power bent on wo rld domination. With awesome technology, the aggressors swept acr oss the planet, sowing destruction as Tokyo, Berlin, and Washingt on, D.C., were A-bombed into submission. Russia, Nazi Germany, Ja pan, and the United States were not easily cowed, however. With c unning and incredible daring, they pressed every advantage agains t the invader's superior strength, and, led by Stalin, began to d etonate their own atom bombs in retaliation. City after city expl odes in radioactive firestorms, and fears grow as the worldwide r esources disappear; will there be any world left for the invaders to conquer, or for the uneasy allies to defend? While Mao Tse-tu ng wages a desperate guerrilla war and Hitler drives his country toward self-destruction, U.S. forces frantically try to stop the enemy's push from coast to coast. Yet in this battle to stave off world domination, unless the once-great military powers take the risk of annihilating the human race, they'll risk losing the war . n nAbout the Author nHarry Turtledove is the award-winning auth or of the alternate-history works The Man with the Iron Heart, Th e Guns of the South, and How Few Remain (winner of the Sidewise A ward for Best Novel); the Hot War books: Bombs Away, Fallout, and Armistice; the War That Came Early novels: Hitler's War, West an d East, The Big Switch, Coup d'Etat, Two Fronts, and Last Orders; the Worldwar saga: In the Balance, Tilting the Balance, Upsettin g the Balance, and Striking the Balance; the Colonization books: Second Contact, Down to Earth, and Aftershocks; the Great War epi cs: American Front, Walk in Hell, and Breakthroughs; the American Empire novels: Blood and Iron, The Center Cannot Hold, and Victo rious Opposition; and the Settling Accounts series: Return Engage ment, Drive to the East, The Grapple, and In at the Death. Turtle dove is married to fellow novelist Laura Frankos. They have three daughters--Alison, Rachel, and Rebecca--and two granddaughters, Cordelia Turtledove Katayanagi and Phoebe Quinn Turtledove Kataya nagi. n nExcerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. nIn free fall, Atvar the fleetlord glided over to the hologram p rojector. He poked the stud at the base of the machine. The image that sprang into being above the projector was one the Race's pr obe had sent back from Tosev 3 eight hundred local years earlier. n nA Big Ugly warrior sat mounted on a beast. He wore leather bo ots, rusty chainmail, and a dented iron helmet; a thin coat woven from plant fibers and dyed blue with plant juices shielded his a rmor from the heat of the star the Race called Tosev. To Atvar, t o any male of the Race, Tosev 3 was on the chilly side, but not t o the natives. n nA long, iron-pointed spear stood up from a boss on the contraption the warrior used to stay atop his animal. He carried a shield painted with a cross. On his belt hung a long, s traight sword and a couple of knives. n nAll you could see of the Tosevite himself were his face and one hand. They were plenty to show he was almost as fuzzy as the beast he rode. Thick, wiry ye llow fur covered his jaws and the area around his mouth; he had a nother stripe above each of his flat, immobile eyes. A thinner la yer of hair grew on the back of the visible hand. n nAtvar touche d his own smooth, scaly skin. Just looking at all that fur made h im wonder why the Big Uglies didn't itch all the time. Leaving on e eye turret aimed at the Tosevite warrior, he swung the other in the direction of Kirel, shiplord of the 127th Emperor Hetto. Thi s is the foe we thought we were opposing, he said bitterly. n nTr uth, Exalted Fleetlord, Kirel said. His body paint was almost as colorful and complex as Atvar's. Since he commanded the bannershi p of the conquest fleet, only the fleetlord out-ranked him. n nAt var stabbed at the projector control with his left index claw. Th e Big Ugly warrior vanished. In his place appeared a perfect thre e-dimensional image of the nuclear explosion that had destroyed t he Tosevite city of Rome: Atvar recognized the background terrain . But it could as easily have been the bomb that vaporized Chicag o or Breslau or Miami or the spearhead of the Race's assault forc e south of Moscow. n nAs opposed to the foe we thought we faced, this is what we are actually dealing with, Atvar said. n nTruth, Kirel repeated, and, as mournful commentary, added an emphatic co ugh. n nAtvar let out a long, hissing sigh. Stability and predict ability were two of the pillars on which the Race and its Empire had flourished for a hundred thousand years and expanded to cover three solar systems. On Tosev 3, nothing seemed predictable, not hing seemed stable. No wonder the Race was having such troubles h ere. The Big Uglies did not play by any of the rules its savants thought they knew. n nWith another hiss, the fleetlord poked at t he control stud once more. Now the threatening cloud from the nuc lear blast vanished. In a way, the image that replaced it was eve n more menacing. It was a satellite photograph of a base the Race had established in the region of the SSSR known to the locals as Siberia, a place whose frigid climate even the Big Uglies found appalling. n nThe mutineers still persist in their rebellion agai nst duly constituted authority, Atvar said heavily. Worse, the co mmandants of the two nearest bases have urged against committing their males to suppress the rebels, for fear they would go over t o them instead. n nThis is truly alarming, Kirel said with anothe r emphatic cough. If we choose males from a distant air base to b omb the mutineers out of existence, then, will it truly solve the problem? n nI don't know, Atvar said. But what I really don't kn ow, by the Emperor--he cast down his eyes for a moment at the men tion of his sovereign--is how the mutiny could have happened in t he first place. Subordination and integration into the greater sc heme of the Race as a whole are drilled into our males from hatch linghood. How could they have overthrown them? n nNow Kirel sighe d. Fighting on this world corrodes males' moral fiber as badly as its ocean water corrodes equipment. We are not fighting the war that was planned before we set out from Home, and that by itself is plenty to disorient a good many males. n nThis is also truth, Atvar admitted. The leader of the mutineers--a lowly landcruiser driver. If you can image such a thing--is shown to have lost at l east three different sets of crewmales: two, including those with whom he served at this base, to Tosevite action, and the third g rouping arrested and disciplined as ginger tasters. n nBy his wil d pronouncements, this Ussmak sounds like a ginger taster himself , Kirel said. n nThreatening to call in the Soviets to his aid if we attack him, you mean? Atvar said. We ought to take him up on that; if he thinks they would help him out of sheer benevolence, the Tosevite herb truly has addled his wits. If it weren't for th e equipment he could pass on to the SSSR, I would say we should w elcome him to go over to that set of Big Uglies. n nGiven the sit uation as it actually is, Exalted Fleetlord, what course shall we pursue? Kirel's interrogative cough sounded vaguely accusing--or maybe Atvar's conscience was twisting his hearing diaphragms. n nI don't know yet, the fleetlord said unhappily. When in doubt, h is first instinct--typical for a male--was to do nothing. Letting the situation come nearer to hatching so you could understand it more fully worked well on Home, and also on Rabotev 2 and Halles s 1, the other inhabited worlds the Race controlled. n nBut waiti ng, against the Tosevites, often proved even worse than proceedin g on incomplete knowledge. The Big Uglies did things. They didn't fret about long-term consequences. Take atomic weapons--those he lped them in the short run. If they devastated Tosev 3 in the pro cess--well, so what? n nAtvar couldn't leave it at so what. The c olonization fleet was on the way from Home. He couldn't very well present it with a world he'd rendered uninhabitable in the proce ss of overcoming the Big Uglies. Yet he couldn't fail to respond, either, and so found himself in the unpleasant position of react ing to what the Tosevites did instead of making them react to him . n nThe mutineers had no nuclear weapons, and weren't Big Uglies . He could have afforded to wait them out . . . If they hadn't th reatened to yield their base to the SSSR. With the Tosevites invo lved, you couldn't just sit and watch. The Big Uglies were never content to let things simmer. They threw them in a microwave oven and brought them to a boil as fast as they could. n nWhen Atvar didn't say anything more, Kirel tried to prod him: Exalted Fleetl ord, you can't be contemplating genuine negotiations with these r ebellious--and revolting--males? Their demands are impossible: no t just amnesty and transfer to a warmer climate--those would be b ad enough by themselves--but also ending the struggle against the Tosevites so no more males die 'uselessly,' to use their word. n nNo, we cannot allow mutineers to dictate terms to us, Atvar agr eed. That would be intolerable. His mouth fell open in a bitter l augh. Then again, by all reasonable standards, the situation over vast stretches of Tosev 3 is intolerable, and our forces seem to lack the ability to improve it to any substantial extent. What d oes this suggest to you, Shiplord? n nOne possible answer was, a new fleetlord. The assembled shiplords of the conquest fleet had tried to remove Atvar once, after the SSSR detonated the first To sevite fission bomb, and had narrowly failed. If they tried again , Kirel was the logical male to succeed Atvar. The fleetlord wait ed for his subordinate's reply, not so much for what he said as f or how he said it. n nSlowly, Kirel answered, Were the Tosevites factions of the Race opposed to the general will--not that the Ra ce would generate such vicious factions, of course, but speaking for the sake of the hypothesis--their strength, unlike that of th e mutineers, might come close to making negotiations with them ma ndatory. n nAtvar contemplated that. Kirel was, generally speakin g, a conservative male, and had couched his suggestion conservati vely by equating the Big Uglies with analogous groupings within t he Race, an equation that in itself made Atvar's scales itch. But the suggestion, however couched, was more radical than any Strah a, the shiplord who'd led the effort to oust Atvar, had ever put forward before deserting and fleeing to the Big Uglies. n nShiplo rd, Atvar demanded sharply, are you making the same proposal as t he mutineers: that we discuss with the Tosevites ways of ending o ur campaign short of complete conquest? n nExalted Fleetlord, did you yourself not say our males seem incapable of effecting a com plete conquest of Tosev 3? Kirel answered, still with perfect sub ordination but not abandoning his own ideas, either. If that be s o, should we not either destroy the planet to make sure the Tosev ites can never threaten us, or else-- He stopped; unlike Straha, he had a sense of when he was going too far for Atvar to tolerate . n nNo, the fleetlord said, I refuse to concede that the command s of the Emperor cannot be carried out in full. We shall defend o urselves in the northern portion of the planet until its dreadful winter weather, Del Rey, 1997, 2.5<

1998, ISBN: 9780345412089

edizione con copertina rigida

Avon. Good. 4.19 x 1 x 6.75 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 1998. 400 pages. Cover worn. <br>He vowed he?d never marry. To Vane Cy nster, Bellamy Hall seems like the perfect place t… Altro …

Avon. Good. 4.19 x 1 x 6.75 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 1998. 400 pages. Cover worn. <br>He vowed he?d never marry. To Vane Cy nster, Bellamy Hall seems like the perfect place to temporarily h ide from London?s husband hunters. But when he encounters irresis tible Patience Debbington, Vane realises he?s met his match ... She vowed no man would catch her. Patience isn?t about to succum b to Vane?s sensuous propositions. Yes, his kisses leave her dizz y and his caresses made her melt; but Patience has promised herse lf she?ll never become vulnerable to a broken heart. Is this one vow that was meant to be broken? Editorial Reviews R eview To this second book of her Bar Cynster series, Stephanie La urens brings a thorough command of Regency style, as well as grap hic, uninhibited love scenes. Elegant, commanding Vane Cynster gr aciously bows to fate when he seeks shelter from a storm and meet s the woman he realizes he's destined to marry--Patience Debbingt on, the spinster niece of Vane's kindhearted godmother. Although her attraction to Vane is immediate and electrifying, Patience di strusts elegant gentlemen like her father, who broke her mother's heart by failing to return her love. To pursue Patience, Vane se ttles into his godmother's household, which consists of various p oor relatives and assorted hangers-on, and is caught up in the se arch for a petty thief and occasional Spectre who is harassing th em. It requires all of Vane's investigative abilities to catch th e criminal, and all of his considerable powers of persuasion--as well as many ardent couplings with Patience--to convince her that family, loyalty, and love come first for him. Laurens is especia lly skillful at capturing Regency males, aristocrats whose refine d restraint barely masks their powerful underlying urges. Appeara nces by others of the extended, devoted Cynster family ensures th at readers will become increasing attached to this ongoing series . --Ellen Edwards From the Back Cover He vowed he?d never marry . To Vane Cynster, Bellamy Hall seems like the perfect place to temporarily hide from London?s husband hunters. But when he encou nters irresistible Patience Debbington, Vane realises he?s met hi s match ... She vowed no man would catch her. Patience isn?t ab out to succumb to Vane?s sensuous propositions. Yes, his kisses l eave her dizzy and his caresses made her melt; but Patience has p romised herself she?ll never become vulnerable to a broken heart. Is this one vow that was meant to be broken? About the Author #1 New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens began wri ting as an escape from the dry world of professional science, a h obby that quickly became a career. Her novels set in Regency Engl and have captivated readers around the globe, making her one of t he romance world's most beloved and popular authors. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. October 1819 Nort hamptonshire You want to get a move on. Looks like the Hounds of Hell are on our heels. What? Jerked from uneasy contemplation, Vane Cynster lifted his gaze from his leader's ears and glanced a round, bringing Duggan, his groom, into view-along with the bank of lowering thunderheads sweeping down on them from behind. Blast ! Vane looked forward and flicked the reins. The pair of matched greys harnessed to his curricle stepped out powerfully. He glance d over his shoulder. Think we can outrun it? Considering the sto rm clouds, Duggan shook his head. We got three miles on it, maybe five. Not enough to turn back to Kettering, nor yet to make Nort hampton. Vane swore. It wasn't the thought of a drenching that e xercised his mind. Desperation dug in its spurs; his eyes on the road as the greys swept on, he searched for some option, some rou te of escape. Only minutes before, he'd been thinking of Devil, Duke of St. Ives, his cousin, boyhood companion, and closest frie nd--and of the wife fate had handed him. Honoria, now Duchess of St. Ives. She who had ordered Vane and the other four as-yet-unma rried members of the Bar Cynster not only to pay for but attend t he dedication service for the roof of the church in Somersham. vi llage, close by the ducal seat. Admittedly, the money she'd decre ed they surrender had been ill-gotten gains, their winnings from a wager of which neither she nor their mothers had approved. The ageold adage that the only women Cynster males need be wary of we re Cynster wives still held true for this generation as it had fo r those past. The reason why was not something any male Cynster l iked to dwell on. Which was why he felt such a driving need to g et out of the path of the storm. Fate, in the guise of a storm, h ad arranged for Honoria and Devil to meet, in circumstances that had all but ensured their subsequent marriage. Vane wasn't about to take unnecessary chances. Bellamy Hall. He clung to the idea like a drowning man. Minnie will give us shelter. That's a thoug ht. Duggan sounded more hopeful. The turnoff should be close. It was around the next bend; Vane took the turn at speed, then curs ed and slowed his cattle. The narrow lane was not as well surface d as the road they'd left. Too fond of his high-stepping horses t o risk injuring them, he concentrated, easing them along as fast as he dared, grimly conscious of the deepening gloom of an unnatu ral, too-early twilight and the rising whine of the wind. He'd l eft Sornersham Place, Devil's principal residence, soon after lun cheon, having spent the morning at church, at the dedication serv ice for the roof he and his cousins had paid for. Intending to vi sit friends near Leamington, he'd left Devil to enjoy his wife an d son and headed west. He'd expected to reach Northampton and the comfort of the Blue Angel with ease. instead, thanks to fate, he would be spending the night with Minnie and her inmates. At lea st he would be safe. Through the hedges to their left, Vane glim psed distant water, leaden grey beneath the darkening sky. The Ri ver Nene, which meant Bellamy Hall was close; it stood on a long, sloping rise looking down on the river. It had been years since he'd visited--he couldn't offhand remember how many, but of his welcome he had not a doubt. Araminta, Lady Bellamy, eccentric rel ict of a wealthy man, was his godmother. Unblessed with children, Minnie had never treated him as a child; over the years, she'd b ecome a good friend. A sometimes too-shrewd friend uninhibited in her lectures, but a friend nonetheless. Daughter of a viscount, Minnie had been born to a place in the ton. After her husband, S ir Humphrey Bellamy, died, she'd retired from socializing, prefer ring to remain at Bellamy Hall, presiding over a varying househol d of impecunious, relatives and worthy charity cases. Once, when he'd asked why she surrounded herself with such hangers-on, Minn ie had replied that, at her age, human nature was her main source of entertainment. Sir Humphrey had left her wealthy enough to st and the nonsense, and Bellamy Hall, grotesquely gargantuan, was l arge enough to house her odd menage. As a sop to sanity, she and her companion, Mrs. Timms, indulged in the occasional bolt to the capital, leaving the rest of the household in Northamptonshire. Vane always called on Minnie whenever she was in town. Gothic tu rrets rose out of the trees ahead, then brick gateposts appeared, the heavy wrought-iron gates left ajar. With a grimly satisfied smile, Vane turned his horses through; they'd beaten the storm-fa te had not caught him napping. He set the greys trotting down the straight drive. Huge bushes crowded close, shivering in the wind ; ancient trees shrouded the gravel in shifting shadows. Dark an d somber, its multitude of windows, dull in the encroaching gloom , watching like so many flat eyes, Bellamy Hall filled the end of the tunnel-like drive. A sprawling Gothic monstrosity, with coun tless architectural elements added cheek by jowl, all recently em bellished with Georgian lavishness, it ought to have looked hideo us, yet, in the overgrown park with the circular courtyard before it, the Hall managed to escape outright ugliness. It was, Vane thought, as he swept about the courtyard and headed for the stabl es, a suitably esoteric dwelling for an eccentric old woman and h er odd household. As he rounded the side of the house, he saw no sign of life. There was, however, activity in the stables, groom s hurriedly settling horses in preparation for the storm. Leaving Duggan and Minnie's stableman, Grisham, to deal with the greys. . . </div About the Author #1 New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens began writing as an escape from the dry world of professional science, a hobby that quickly became a career. He r novels set in Regency England have captivated readers around th e globe, making her one of the romance world's most beloved and p opular authors. ., Avon, 1998, 2.5, Del Rey. Good. 4.21 x 1.23 x 6.8 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 1997. 560 pages. Cover worn. Text tanned<br>At the bloody height of Wor ld War II, the deadliest enemies in all of human history were for ced to put aside their hatreds and unite against an even fiercer foe: a seemingly invincible power bent on world domination. n nW ith awesome technology, the aggressors swept across the planet, s owing destruction as Tokyo, Berlin, and Washington, D.C., were A- bombed into submission. Russia, Nazi Germany, Japan and the U.S. were not easily cowed, however. With cunning and incredible darin g, they pressed every advantage against the invader's superior st rength, and, led by Stalin, began to detonate their own atom bomb s in retaliation. n nCity after city explodes in radioactive fire storms, and fears grow as the worldwide resources disappear; will there be any world left for the invaders to conquer, or for the uneasy allies to defend? n nWhile Mao Tse-tung wages a desperate guerrilla war and Hitler drives his country toward self-destructi on, United States forces frantically try to stop the enemy's push from coast to coast. Yet in this battle to stave off world domin ation, unless the once-great military powers take the risk of ann ihilating the human race, they'll risk losing the war. n nThe fa tal, final deadline arrives in Harry Turtledove's grand, smashing finale to the Worldwar series, as uneasy allies desperately seek a way out of a no-win, no-survival situation: a way to live free in a world that may soon be bombed into atomic oblivion. n nEdit orial Reviews n nFrom the Inside Flap nWORLDWAR: BOOK 4 nAt the b loody height of World War II, the deadliest enemies in all of hum an history were forced to put aside their hatreds and unite again st an even fiercer foe: a seemingly invincible power bent on worl d domination. nWith awesome technology, the aggressors swept acr oss the planet, sowing destruction as Tokyo, Berlin, and Washingt on, D.C., were A-bombed into submission. Russia, Nazi Germany, Ja pan and the U.S. were not easily cowed, however. With cunning and incredible daring, they pressed every advantage against the inva der's superior strength, and, led by Stalin, began to detonate th eir own atom bombs in retaliation. nCity after city explodes in r adioactive firestorms, and fears grow as the worldwide resources disappear; will there be any world left for the invaders to conqu er, or for the uneasy allies to defend? nWhile Mao Tse-tung wages a desperate guerrilla war and Hitler drives his country toward s elf-destruction, United States forces frantically try to stop the enemy's push from coast to coast. Yet in this battle to stave of f world domination, unless the once-great military powers take th e risk of annihilating the human race, they'll risk losing the wa r. nThe fatal, final deadline arrives in Harry Turtledove's gran d, smashing finale to the Worldwar series, as uneasy allies despe rately seek a way out of a no-win, no-survival situation: a way t o live free in a world that may soon be bombed into atomic oblivi on. n nFrom the Hardcover edition. n nFrom the Back Cover nAt the bloody height of World War II, the deadliest enemies in all of h uman history were forced to put aside their hatreds and unite aga inst an even fiercer foe: a seemingly invincible power bent on wo rld domination. With awesome technology, the aggressors swept acr oss the planet, sowing destruction as Tokyo, Berlin, and Washingt on, D.C., were A-bombed into submission. Russia, Nazi Germany, Ja pan, and the United States were not easily cowed, however. With c unning and incredible daring, they pressed every advantage agains t the invader's superior strength, and, led by Stalin, began to d etonate their own atom bombs in retaliation. City after city expl odes in radioactive firestorms, and fears grow as the worldwide r esources disappear; will there be any world left for the invaders to conquer, or for the uneasy allies to defend? While Mao Tse-tu ng wages a desperate guerrilla war and Hitler drives his country toward self-destruction, U.S. forces frantically try to stop the enemy's push from coast to coast. Yet in this battle to stave off world domination, unless the once-great military powers take the risk of annihilating the human race, they'll risk losing the war . n nAbout the Author nHarry Turtledove is the award-winning auth or of the alternate-history works The Man with the Iron Heart, Th e Guns of the South, and How Few Remain (winner of the Sidewise A ward for Best Novel); the Hot War books: Bombs Away, Fallout, and Armistice; the War That Came Early novels: Hitler's War, West an d East, The Big Switch, Coup d'Etat, Two Fronts, and Last Orders; the Worldwar saga: In the Balance, Tilting the Balance, Upsettin g the Balance, and Striking the Balance; the Colonization books: Second Contact, Down to Earth, and Aftershocks; the Great War epi cs: American Front, Walk in Hell, and Breakthroughs; the American Empire novels: Blood and Iron, The Center Cannot Hold, and Victo rious Opposition; and the Settling Accounts series: Return Engage ment, Drive to the East, The Grapple, and In at the Death. Turtle dove is married to fellow novelist Laura Frankos. They have three daughters--Alison, Rachel, and Rebecca--and two granddaughters, Cordelia Turtledove Katayanagi and Phoebe Quinn Turtledove Kataya nagi. n nExcerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. nIn free fall, Atvar the fleetlord glided over to the hologram p rojector. He poked the stud at the base of the machine. The image that sprang into being above the projector was one the Race's pr obe had sent back from Tosev 3 eight hundred local years earlier. n nA Big Ugly warrior sat mounted on a beast. He wore leather bo ots, rusty chainmail, and a dented iron helmet; a thin coat woven from plant fibers and dyed blue with plant juices shielded his a rmor from the heat of the star the Race called Tosev. To Atvar, t o any male of the Race, Tosev 3 was on the chilly side, but not t o the natives. n nA long, iron-pointed spear stood up from a boss on the contraption the warrior used to stay atop his animal. He carried a shield painted with a cross. On his belt hung a long, s traight sword and a couple of knives. n nAll you could see of the Tosevite himself were his face and one hand. They were plenty to show he was almost as fuzzy as the beast he rode. Thick, wiry ye llow fur covered his jaws and the area around his mouth; he had a nother stripe above each of his flat, immobile eyes. A thinner la yer of hair grew on the back of the visible hand. n nAtvar touche d his own smooth, scaly skin. Just looking at all that fur made h im wonder why the Big Uglies didn't itch all the time. Leaving on e eye turret aimed at the Tosevite warrior, he swung the other in the direction of Kirel, shiplord of the 127th Emperor Hetto. Thi s is the foe we thought we were opposing, he said bitterly. n nTr uth, Exalted Fleetlord, Kirel said. His body paint was almost as colorful and complex as Atvar's. Since he commanded the bannershi p of the conquest fleet, only the fleetlord out-ranked him. n nAt var stabbed at the projector control with his left index claw. Th e Big Ugly warrior vanished. In his place appeared a perfect thre e-dimensional image of the nuclear explosion that had destroyed t he Tosevite city of Rome: Atvar recognized the background terrain . But it could as easily have been the bomb that vaporized Chicag o or Breslau or Miami or the spearhead of the Race's assault forc e south of Moscow. n nAs opposed to the foe we thought we faced, this is what we are actually dealing with, Atvar said. n nTruth, Kirel repeated, and, as mournful commentary, added an emphatic co ugh. n nAtvar let out a long, hissing sigh. Stability and predict ability were two of the pillars on which the Race and its Empire had flourished for a hundred thousand years and expanded to cover three solar systems. On Tosev 3, nothing seemed predictable, not hing seemed stable. No wonder the Race was having such troubles h ere. The Big Uglies did not play by any of the rules its savants thought they knew. n nWith another hiss, the fleetlord poked at t he control stud once more. Now the threatening cloud from the nuc lear blast vanished. In a way, the image that replaced it was eve n more menacing. It was a satellite photograph of a base the Race had established in the region of the SSSR known to the locals as Siberia, a place whose frigid climate even the Big Uglies found appalling. n nThe mutineers still persist in their rebellion agai nst duly constituted authority, Atvar said heavily. Worse, the co mmandants of the two nearest bases have urged against committing their males to suppress the rebels, for fear they would go over t o them instead. n nThis is truly alarming, Kirel said with anothe r emphatic cough. If we choose males from a distant air base to b omb the mutineers out of existence, then, will it truly solve the problem? n nI don't know, Atvar said. But what I really don't kn ow, by the Emperor--he cast down his eyes for a moment at the men tion of his sovereign--is how the mutiny could have happened in t he first place. Subordination and integration into the greater sc heme of the Race as a whole are drilled into our males from hatch linghood. How could they have overthrown them? n nNow Kirel sighe d. Fighting on this world corrodes males' moral fiber as badly as its ocean water corrodes equipment. We are not fighting the war that was planned before we set out from Home, and that by itself is plenty to disorient a good many males. n nThis is also truth, Atvar admitted. The leader of the mutineers--a lowly landcruiser driver. If you can image such a thing--is shown to have lost at l east three different sets of crewmales: two, including those with whom he served at this base, to Tosevite action, and the third g rouping arrested and disciplined as ginger tasters. n nBy his wil d pronouncements, this Ussmak sounds like a ginger taster himself , Kirel said. n nThreatening to call in the Soviets to his aid if we attack him, you mean? Atvar said. We ought to take him up on that; if he thinks they would help him out of sheer benevolence, the Tosevite herb truly has addled his wits. If it weren't for th e equipment he could pass on to the SSSR, I would say we should w elcome him to go over to that set of Big Uglies. n nGiven the sit uation as it actually is, Exalted Fleetlord, what course shall we pursue? Kirel's interrogative cough sounded vaguely accusing--or maybe Atvar's conscience was twisting his hearing diaphragms. n nI don't know yet, the fleetlord said unhappily. When in doubt, h is first instinct--typical for a male--was to do nothing. Letting the situation come nearer to hatching so you could understand it more fully worked well on Home, and also on Rabotev 2 and Halles s 1, the other inhabited worlds the Race controlled. n nBut waiti ng, against the Tosevites, often proved even worse than proceedin g on incomplete knowledge. The Big Uglies did things. They didn't fret about long-term consequences. Take atomic weapons--those he lped them in the short run. If they devastated Tosev 3 in the pro cess--well, so what? n nAtvar couldn't leave it at so what. The c olonization fleet was on the way from Home. He couldn't very well present it with a world he'd rendered uninhabitable in the proce ss of overcoming the Big Uglies. Yet he couldn't fail to respond, either, and so found himself in the unpleasant position of react ing to what the Tosevites did instead of making them react to him . n nThe mutineers had no nuclear weapons, and weren't Big Uglies . He could have afforded to wait them out . . . If they hadn't th reatened to yield their base to the SSSR. With the Tosevites invo lved, you couldn't just sit and watch. The Big Uglies were never content to let things simmer. They threw them in a microwave oven and brought them to a boil as fast as they could. n nWhen Atvar didn't say anything more, Kirel tried to prod him: Exalted Fleetl ord, you can't be contemplating genuine negotiations with these r ebellious--and revolting--males? Their demands are impossible: no t just amnesty and transfer to a warmer climate--those would be b ad enough by themselves--but also ending the struggle against the Tosevites so no more males die 'uselessly,' to use their word. n nNo, we cannot allow mutineers to dictate terms to us, Atvar agr eed. That would be intolerable. His mouth fell open in a bitter l augh. Then again, by all reasonable standards, the situation over vast stretches of Tosev 3 is intolerable, and our forces seem to lack the ability to improve it to any substantial extent. What d oes this suggest to you, Shiplord? n nOne possible answer was, a new fleetlord. The assembled shiplords of the conquest fleet had tried to remove Atvar once, after the SSSR detonated the first To sevite fission bomb, and had narrowly failed. If they tried again , Kirel was the logical male to succeed Atvar. The fleetlord wait ed for his subordinate's reply, not so much for what he said as f or how he said it. n nSlowly, Kirel answered, Were the Tosevites factions of the Race opposed to the general will--not that the Ra ce would generate such vicious factions, of course, but speaking for the sake of the hypothesis--their strength, unlike that of th e mutineers, might come close to making negotiations with them ma ndatory. n nAtvar contemplated that. Kirel was, generally speakin g, a conservative male, and had couched his suggestion conservati vely by equating the Big Uglies with analogous groupings within t he Race, an equation that in itself made Atvar's scales itch. But the suggestion, however couched, was more radical than any Strah a, the shiplord who'd led the effort to oust Atvar, had ever put forward before deserting and fleeing to the Big Uglies. n nShiplo rd, Atvar demanded sharply, are you making the same proposal as t he mutineers: that we discuss with the Tosevites ways of ending o ur campaign short of complete conquest? n nExalted Fleetlord, did you yourself not say our males seem incapable of effecting a com plete conquest of Tosev 3? Kirel answered, still with perfect sub ordination but not abandoning his own ideas, either. If that be s o, should we not either destroy the planet to make sure the Tosev ites can never threaten us, or else-- He stopped; unlike Straha, he had a sense of when he was going too far for Atvar to tolerate . n nNo, the fleetlord said, I refuse to concede that the command s of the Emperor cannot be carried out in full. We shall defend o urselves in the northern portion of the planet until its dreadful winter weather, Del Rey, 1997, 2.5<

1997, ISBN: 9780345412089

edizione con copertina rigida

Del Rey. Good. 4.21 x 1.23 x 6.8 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 1997. 560 pages. Cover worn. Text tanned<br>At the bloody height of Wor ld War II, the deadliest enemies in all of hu… Altro …

Del Rey. Good. 4.21 x 1.23 x 6.8 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 1997. 560 pages. Cover worn. Text tanned<br>At the bloody height of Wor ld War II, the deadliest enemies in all of human history were for ced to put aside their hatreds and unite against an even fiercer foe: a seemingly invincible power bent on world domination. n nW ith awesome technology, the aggressors swept across the planet, s owing destruction as Tokyo, Berlin, and Washington, D.C., were A- bombed into submission. Russia, Nazi Germany, Japan and the U.S. were not easily cowed, however. With cunning and incredible darin g, they pressed every advantage against the invader's superior st rength, and, led by Stalin, began to detonate their own atom bomb s in retaliation. n nCity after city explodes in radioactive fire storms, and fears grow as the worldwide resources disappear; will there be any world left for the invaders to conquer, or for the uneasy allies to defend? n nWhile Mao Tse-tung wages a desperate guerrilla war and Hitler drives his country toward self-destructi on, United States forces frantically try to stop the enemy's push from coast to coast. Yet in this battle to stave off world domin ation, unless the once-great military powers take the risk of ann ihilating the human race, they'll risk losing the war. n nThe fa tal, final deadline arrives in Harry Turtledove's grand, smashing finale to the Worldwar series, as uneasy allies desperately seek a way out of a no-win, no-survival situation: a way to live free in a world that may soon be bombed into atomic oblivion. n nEdit orial Reviews n nFrom the Inside Flap nWORLDWAR: BOOK 4 nAt the b loody height of World War II, the deadliest enemies in all of hum an history were forced to put aside their hatreds and unite again st an even fiercer foe: a seemingly invincible power bent on worl d domination. nWith awesome technology, the aggressors swept acr oss the planet, sowing destruction as Tokyo, Berlin, and Washingt on, D.C., were A-bombed into submission. Russia, Nazi Germany, Ja pan and the U.S. were not easily cowed, however. With cunning and incredible daring, they pressed every advantage against the inva der's superior strength, and, led by Stalin, began to detonate th eir own atom bombs in retaliation. nCity after city explodes in r adioactive firestorms, and fears grow as the worldwide resources disappear; will there be any world left for the invaders to conqu er, or for the uneasy allies to defend? nWhile Mao Tse-tung wages a desperate guerrilla war and Hitler drives his country toward s elf-destruction, United States forces frantically try to stop the enemy's push from coast to coast. Yet in this battle to stave of f world domination, unless the once-great military powers take th e risk of annihilating the human race, they'll risk losing the wa r. nThe fatal, final deadline arrives in Harry Turtledove's gran d, smashing finale to the Worldwar series, as uneasy allies despe rately seek a way out of a no-win, no-survival situation: a way t o live free in a world that may soon be bombed into atomic oblivi on. n nFrom the Hardcover edition. n nFrom the Back Cover nAt the bloody height of World War II, the deadliest enemies in all of h uman history were forced to put aside their hatreds and unite aga inst an even fiercer foe: a seemingly invincible power bent on wo rld domination. With awesome technology, the aggressors swept acr oss the planet, sowing destruction as Tokyo, Berlin, and Washingt on, D.C., were A-bombed into submission. Russia, Nazi Germany, Ja pan, and the United States were not easily cowed, however. With c unning and incredible daring, they pressed every advantage agains t the invader's superior strength, and, led by Stalin, began to d etonate their own atom bombs in retaliation. City after city expl odes in radioactive firestorms, and fears grow as the worldwide r esources disappear; will there be any world left for the invaders to conquer, or for the uneasy allies to defend? While Mao Tse-tu ng wages a desperate guerrilla war and Hitler drives his country toward self-destruction, U.S. forces frantically try to stop the enemy's push from coast to coast. Yet in this battle to stave off world domination, unless the once-great military powers take the risk of annihilating the human race, they'll risk losing the war . n nAbout the Author nHarry Turtledove is the award-winning auth or of the alternate-history works The Man with the Iron Heart, Th e Guns of the South, and How Few Remain (winner of the Sidewise A ward for Best Novel); the Hot War books: Bombs Away, Fallout, and Armistice; the War That Came Early novels: Hitler's War, West an d East, The Big Switch, Coup d'Etat, Two Fronts, and Last Orders; the Worldwar saga: In the Balance, Tilting the Balance, Upsettin g the Balance, and Striking the Balance; the Colonization books: Second Contact, Down to Earth, and Aftershocks; the Great War epi cs: American Front, Walk in Hell, and Breakthroughs; the American Empire novels: Blood and Iron, The Center Cannot Hold, and Victo rious Opposition; and the Settling Accounts series: Return Engage ment, Drive to the East, The Grapple, and In at the Death. Turtle dove is married to fellow novelist Laura Frankos. They have three daughters--Alison, Rachel, and Rebecca--and two granddaughters, Cordelia Turtledove Katayanagi and Phoebe Quinn Turtledove Kataya nagi. n nExcerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. nIn free fall, Atvar the fleetlord glided over to the hologram p rojector. He poked the stud at the base of the machine. The image that sprang into being above the projector was one the Race's pr obe had sent back from Tosev 3 eight hundred local years earlier. n nA Big Ugly warrior sat mounted on a beast. He wore leather bo ots, rusty chainmail, and a dented iron helmet; a thin coat woven from plant fibers and dyed blue with plant juices shielded his a rmor from the heat of the star the Race called Tosev. To Atvar, t o any male of the Race, Tosev 3 was on the chilly side, but not t o the natives. n nA long, iron-pointed spear stood up from a boss on the contraption the warrior used to stay atop his animal. He carried a shield painted with a cross. On his belt hung a long, s traight sword and a couple of knives. n nAll you could see of the Tosevite himself were his face and one hand. They were plenty to show he was almost as fuzzy as the beast he rode. Thick, wiry ye llow fur covered his jaws and the area around his mouth; he had a nother stripe above each of his flat, immobile eyes. A thinner la yer of hair grew on the back of the visible hand. n nAtvar touche d his own smooth, scaly skin. Just looking at all that fur made h im wonder why the Big Uglies didn't itch all the time. Leaving on e eye turret aimed at the Tosevite warrior, he swung the other in the direction of Kirel, shiplord of the 127th Emperor Hetto. Thi s is the foe we thought we were opposing, he said bitterly. n nTr uth, Exalted Fleetlord, Kirel said. His body paint was almost as colorful and complex as Atvar's. Since he commanded the bannershi p of the conquest fleet, only the fleetlord out-ranked him. n nAt var stabbed at the projector control with his left index claw. Th e Big Ugly warrior vanished. In his place appeared a perfect thre e-dimensional image of the nuclear explosion that had destroyed t he Tosevite city of Rome: Atvar recognized the background terrain . But it could as easily have been the bomb that vaporized Chicag o or Breslau or Miami or the spearhead of the Race's assault forc e south of Moscow. n nAs opposed to the foe we thought we faced, this is what we are actually dealing with, Atvar said. n nTruth, Kirel repeated, and, as mournful commentary, added an emphatic co ugh. n nAtvar let out a long, hissing sigh. Stability and predict ability were two of the pillars on which the Race and its Empire had flourished for a hundred thousand years and expanded to cover three solar systems. On Tosev 3, nothing seemed predictable, not hing seemed stable. No wonder the Race was having such troubles h ere. The Big Uglies did not play by any of the rules its savants thought they knew. n nWith another hiss, the fleetlord poked at t he control stud once more. Now the threatening cloud from the nuc lear blast vanished. In a way, the image that replaced it was eve n more menacing. It was a satellite photograph of a base the Race had established in the region of the SSSR known to the locals as Siberia, a place whose frigid climate even the Big Uglies found appalling. n nThe mutineers still persist in their rebellion agai nst duly constituted authority, Atvar said heavily. Worse, the co mmandants of the two nearest bases have urged against committing their males to suppress the rebels, for fear they would go over t o them instead. n nThis is truly alarming, Kirel said with anothe r emphatic cough. If we choose males from a distant air base to b omb the mutineers out of existence, then, will it truly solve the problem? n nI don't know, Atvar said. But what I really don't kn ow, by the Emperor--he cast down his eyes for a moment at the men tion of his sovereign--is how the mutiny could have happened in t he first place. Subordination and integration into the greater sc heme of the Race as a whole are drilled into our males from hatch linghood. How could they have overthrown them? n nNow Kirel sighe d. Fighting on this world corrodes males' moral fiber as badly as its ocean water corrodes equipment. We are not fighting the war that was planned before we set out from Home, and that by itself is plenty to disorient a good many males. n nThis is also truth, Atvar admitted. The leader of the mutineers--a lowly landcruiser driver. If you can image such a thing--is shown to have lost at l east three different sets of crewmales: two, including those with whom he served at this base, to Tosevite action, and the third g rouping arrested and disciplined as ginger tasters. n nBy his wil d pronouncements, this Ussmak sounds like a ginger taster himself , Kirel said. n nThreatening to call in the Soviets to his aid if we attack him, you mean? Atvar said. We ought to take him up on that; if he thinks they would help him out of sheer benevolence, the Tosevite herb truly has addled his wits. If it weren't for th e equipment he could pass on to the SSSR, I would say we should w elcome him to go over to that set of Big Uglies. n nGiven the sit uation as it actually is, Exalted Fleetlord, what course shall we pursue? Kirel's interrogative cough sounded vaguely accusing--or maybe Atvar's conscience was twisting his hearing diaphragms. n nI don't know yet, the fleetlord said unhappily. When in doubt, h is first instinct--typical for a male--was to do nothing. Letting the situation come nearer to hatching so you could understand it more fully worked well on Home, and also on Rabotev 2 and Halles s 1, the other inhabited worlds the Race controlled. n nBut waiti ng, against the Tosevites, often proved even worse than proceedin g on incomplete knowledge. The Big Uglies did things. They didn't fret about long-term consequences. Take atomic weapons--those he lped them in the short run. If they devastated Tosev 3 in the pro cess--well, so what? n nAtvar couldn't leave it at so what. The c olonization fleet was on the way from Home. He couldn't very well present it with a world he'd rendered uninhabitable in the proce ss of overcoming the Big Uglies. Yet he couldn't fail to respond, either, and so found himself in the unpleasant position of react ing to what the Tosevites did instead of making them react to him . n nThe mutineers had no nuclear weapons, and weren't Big Uglies . He could have afforded to wait them out . . . If they hadn't th reatened to yield their base to the SSSR. With the Tosevites invo lved, you couldn't just sit and watch. The Big Uglies were never content to let things simmer. They threw them in a microwave oven and brought them to a boil as fast as they could. n nWhen Atvar didn't say anything more, Kirel tried to prod him: Exalted Fleetl ord, you can't be contemplating genuine negotiations with these r ebellious--and revolting--males? Their demands are impossible: no t just amnesty and transfer to a warmer climate--those would be b ad enough by themselves--but also ending the struggle against the Tosevites so no more males die 'uselessly,' to use their word. n nNo, we cannot allow mutineers to dictate terms to us, Atvar agr eed. That would be intolerable. His mouth fell open in a bitter l augh. Then again, by all reasonable standards, the situation over vast stretches of Tosev 3 is intolerable, and our forces seem to lack the ability to improve it to any substantial extent. What d oes this suggest to you, Shiplord? n nOne possible answer was, a new fleetlord. The assembled shiplords of the conquest fleet had tried to remove Atvar once, after the SSSR detonated the first To sevite fission bomb, and had narrowly failed. If they tried again , Kirel was the logical male to succeed Atvar. The fleetlord wait ed for his subordinate's reply, not so much for what he said as f or how he said it. n nSlowly, Kirel answered, Were the Tosevites factions of the Race opposed to the general will--not that the Ra ce would generate such vicious factions, of course, but speaking for the sake of the hypothesis--their strength, unlike that of th e mutineers, might come close to making negotiations with them ma ndatory. n nAtvar contemplated that. Kirel was, generally speakin g, a conservative male, and had couched his suggestion conservati vely by equating the Big Uglies with analogous groupings within t he Race, an equation that in itself made Atvar's scales itch. But the suggestion, however couched, was more radical than any Strah a, the shiplord who'd led the effort to oust Atvar, had ever put forward before deserting and fleeing to the Big Uglies. n nShiplo rd, Atvar demanded sharply, are you making the same proposal as t he mutineers: that we discuss with the Tosevites ways of ending o ur campaign short of complete conquest? n nExalted Fleetlord, did you yourself not say our males seem incapable of effecting a com plete conquest of Tosev 3? Kirel answered, still with perfect sub ordination but not abandoning his own ideas, either. If that be s o, should we not either destroy the planet to make sure the Tosev ites can never threaten us, or else-- He stopped; unlike Straha, he had a sense of when he was going too far for Atvar to tolerate . n nNo, the fleetlord said, I refuse to concede that the command s of the Emperor cannot be carried out in full. We shall defend o urselves in the northern portion of the planet until its dreadful winter weather, Del Rey, 1997, 2.5<