By Lois McMaster Bujold
Kibou-daini is a planet enthusiastic about dishonest demise. All good and stable, as long as they saved to themselves. yet now the Kibou-daini are trying to franchise out their Fountain of teenybopper wares to the remainder of the galaxy and the Barrayar Galactic Empire is none too happy with the implications.
Cue Miles Vorkosigan, malformed royal troublemaker—but additionally inheritor and savior of empire. On Kibou-daini, Miles finds a struggle of generations because the parents responsible refuse to die and their descendants threaten outright patricide, matricide and perhaps even genocide—the prize being a huge fats slice of the immortality pie. Bribery, corruption, conspiracy, kidnapping–something is rotten on Kibou-daini, and Miles is as much as his neck in hassle and event as soon as more.
“Fans were clamoring for Hugo winner Bujold to pen a brand new Vorkosigan Saga novel. . . her deft and soaking up writing simply corrals the complicated plot.”—Publishers Weekly
About Lois McMaster Bujold’s Vorkosigan Saga:
“Bujold mixes quirky humor with motion [and] fantastic personality development…[E]normously satisfying.”—Publishers Weekly.
“One of sf’s impressive abilities . . . a great series.”—Booklist
“. . . an clever, well-crafted and punctiliously enjoyable mixture of event, sociopolitical remark, clinical experiments, and coffee perils . . . with that additional spicing of romance. . . .”—Locus
About Vorkosigan sequence access Diplomatic Immunity:
“Bujold is adept at world-building and gives a witty, character-centered plot, filled with beautiful grace notes. . . enthusiasts could be completely gripped and sure to complete the ebook in one sitting.”—Publishers Weekly
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Additional info for Cryoburn (Vorkosigan Saga, Book 14)
That's a good story," she said after a while. "It isn't mine. Domino Vitale tells that story to James Bond in Thunderball. " He also remembered that the ship, the Palestine, had spent a month and a half blockaded in Ras Tanura, in the midst of an international crisis, with the planks of the deck burning beneath a vicious sun and the crew flat in their bunks, suffocated by heat and boredom. The Palestine was a bad luck ship, one of those where the men turn hostile and hate each other and lines get tangled.
Ponytail s hand froze, its rings glittering in the light, his mouth open to say something to the woman... or maybe because he didn't know where this character in the navy-blue jacket and sneakers had come from, with his sturdy shoulders and wide, hard hands hanging at either side with feigned casualness, fingers at the side seams of his well-worn jeans. " said the man with die ponytail. He had a slight, unrecognizable accent, something between Andalusian and foreign. He stared at Coy, surprised and curious, as if trying unsuccessfully to place him.
That was his second mistake. It was at odds with any sailor's common sense, which counseled maintaining sea room at any cost, or danger ahead. THE man with the gray ponytail looked furious. At first Coy couldn't hear what he was saying because he was talking in a low voice. He did, however, observe that one hand was raised, with a finger pointing at the woman, who was standing stock-still, facing him. Then the finger moved, jabbing her shoulder with more anger than violence, and she retreated a step, as if frightened.