What do you think?
Rate this book
389 pages, Paperback
First published February 23, 2016
Sale moved over to check Mael, who’d gone green again. She handed him a sick bag. “You’ll be fine,” Sale said, and her voice was almost gentle. “The lines haven’t killed anyone yet. Not like this, anyway.”"
“He’d probably like some sandwiches, “Ean said, remembering back to his own earlier jumps. Food had helped.
Mael groaned and clutched the bag closer.
“Yes,” Ean said. “He needs sandwiches.”
Sale flicked on her comms. “Note to self. Sandwiches in the linesman’s survival kit.” She flicked off.
Ean looked at her, wondering if she was joking.
Fergus hid a snort of laughter. “Let’s hope they don’t carry the same set of sandwiches around for weeks.”
“You would be surprised at how long food can last in space, Fergus,” Sale said.
“I don’t think I would,” Fergus said.
He pressed something on his comms, and, a moment later, an aide came in with two glasses of tea--which he couldn't possibly have had time to make in between the order and delivery. The tea was hot. [She] left hers on the desk to cool. Like most spacers, she preferred her tea lukewarm, where if something untoward happened -like an unexpected gravity fluctuation--it wouldn't burn you if it slopped out of the glass. The admiral drank his hot. He'd been a long time out of space. Her tea wasn't cool enough yet, but she drank it anyway. It burned her tongue. "This isn't about decency. It's about politics." He finished his tea in one long draught although it must have been hot...