Fly a ship. Save the Milk. Try not to blow up suns.
Registered Smuggler Polla's Ottrava's grown fond of her trio of desperate war criminals. She's even fallen in love.
But her life is still supernova-shaped... and it's all Ledas Starfire's fault, the dead woman who CAUSED a supernova three years ago.
Polla tries to keep lightyears between herself and Starfire's reputation, but that's tough when she's flying the dead woman's ship, employed by the dead woman's twin, and on a mission to kill the dead woman's husband.
Starfire's crap keeps blowing back, forcing Polla to relive that genocidal murderer's memories in the woman's living ship. And every time she tries to do something good, atone for her own past mistakes, people try and kill her!
Fond as she is of her war criminals, she can't help but think this might be their fault.
A reckoning is coming, and Polla's about to find out there's only two people in the Milk who can truly understand. One is Starfire's ex-husband, the madman who's reshaping planets with a shapeshifting biophage--the man they're on a mission to kill. The other's a pregnant farmgirl. also named "Polla Ottrava." And, funny thing? Them sharing a name is no coincidence...
In her own words:
That day of my first murders, I sent Therion out for ice cream and took off in Dancer, abandoning my partner of seven years to the wrath of our Syndicate for a crime we’d committed together. In the months that followed, I blew every cent of our blood money. Told myself Therion had it coming when I heard he got arrested, but it wasn’t only him who deserved to get caught. Months later, I dumped those antifungals and ran home to my folks, but that day in the stockyards was the day I broke.
Given the suffering that’s past and the trials yet to come, my shame must seem like a dot in the black. For all I know, New Liberty Syndicate rescued those kids right after we left, sold ’em to a childless throuple on a country planet, and they’re growing up beside a lovely lake, with ducks and swans, and all the seed corn they want.
That was Barb’s fate, my favorite rooster, the year I was seven.
In the tale yet to come, I’ll save billions—yet those stinking, star-crossed kids—oh, blessed Bene, just let ’em be living by a lake.
You’re a god, right? Give me this. One tiny lie...