Cryoburn (Vorkosigan Saga)
Lois McMaster Bujold
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
A New York Times hardcover bestseller, this is the long-awaited NEW installment in the hugely-popular, award-winning science fiction adventure series. Miles Vorkosigan, troubleshooter for the Barrayaran Galactic Empire, takes on the corrupt and dangerous ruling elite of a world where immortality is a commodity to be bought, sold and bartered for power.
Kibou-daini is a planet obsessed with cheating death. All well and good, so long as they kept to themselves. But now the Kibou-daini are attempting to franchise out their Fountain of Youth wares to the rest of the galaxy and the Barrayar Galactic Empire is none too pleased with the implications.
Cue Miles Vorkosigan, malformed royal troublemaker—but also heir and savior of empire. On Kibou-daini, Miles unearths a war of generations as the oldsters in charge refuse to die and their descendants threaten outright patricide, matricide and maybe even genocide—the prize being a big fat slice of the immortality pie. Bribery, corruption, conspiracy, kidnapping–something is rotten on Kibou-daini, and Miles is up to his neck in trouble and adventure once more.
“Fans have been clamoring for Hugo winner Bujold to pen a new Vorkosigan Saga novel. . . her deft and absorbing writing easily corrals the complex plot.”—Publishers Weekly
About Lois McMaster Bujold’s Vorkosigan Saga:
“Bujold mixes quirky humor with action [and] superb character development…[E]normously satisfying.”—Publishers Weekly.
“One of sf’s outstanding talents . . . an outstanding series.”—Booklist
“. . . an intelligent, well-crafted and thoroughly satisfying blend of adventure, sociopolitical commentary, scientific experiments, and occasional perils . . . with that extra spicing of romance. . . .”—Locus
About Vorkosigan series entry Diplomatic Immunity:
“Bujold is adept at world-building and provides a witty, character-centered plot, full of exquisite grace notes. . . fans will be thoroughly gripped and likely to finish the book in a single sitting.”—Publishers Weekly
presumably to keep him from bolting, but then found him harder to get rid of; Leiber hung on to the thick left arm that was trying to shake him off, turning and twisting and evading what looked to be a heavy-duty shock stick, just long enough for Roic to close the distance and aim his stunner between Oki's eyes at point-blank range. "Give it up, Oki," Roic advised genially. "It's been over ever since I sent your confessions off in a bottle. I'd have thought you people would have realized that."
on like that." Or else wake with the burden of his memories intact, hardly less a horror. Could Miles understand? Ensign Dubauer, I'm sorry. 4 Ivan. The state funeral ran for a grueling week. Ivan watched Miles mount the podium to present the eulogy. Gregor'd lent his best speechwriters; Miles had edited. Still, Ivan held his breath when Miles clutched the flimsies in a shaking fist and almost, almost cast them away to deliver his wounded words ex tempore. Till his eye fell on his
specialist from Escobar. Who works for me," Miles realized he'd better add. Explaining himself to her was going to be an uphill slog. "I saw him earlier." She swallowed-partly nerves, partly still getting used to being back in control of her body, he expected. "Where is here? They said I was in Northbridge." Her tone said she doubted this. Doubted everything, right now. Miles glanced around. The view from booth took in only the shadowed, deserted recovery room, which had no exterior windows,
crinkle with pleasure. Raven intervened at this point to run his still-new revive back to her bed, but he indulgently allowed the family reunion to go along. Miles watched through the glass, the children waving their arms and explaining their lives for the last eighteen months, Madame Sato looking dismayed as she struggled to keep up. Vorlynkin came to watch over his shoulder. "So glad to see her awake and cognizant. It solves several legal conundrums for me. Now I can actually protect those
or a pro job, but thinking back, he guessed a mix. The marksman who'd clocked him with the stunner had been cool enough, yet the mob of men assigned to control and cart away captives, well, they sure hadn't been up to Roic's idea of a standard-military, paramilitary, or youth scout troop. It had been a mass snatch, however, therefore not targeted especially upon Barrayarans-m'lord's ego would be wounded at that-but Roic wasn't sure if it made things more or less of a puzzle. The skinny man