The Saga of Seven Suns: Veiled Alliances Read Online Free PDF Page B

only enrage them more.
    She felt moisture on her face, thought it might have been tears rather than sweat, and realized that her finger wouldn’t fire.
    “Damn, I can’t shoot my own crew.” She dropped the weapon on the deck.
    The mob grabbed her and hauled her out of the conference room and into the corridor. A few people kicked her or roughed her up, but Chrysta had expected them to tear her limb from limb. Maybe they had a glimmer of respect for her after all. . . .
    Dario Ramirez stood in the hall, hands on his hips, wearing an expression of defiant triumph. Full of himself.
    Chrysta coughed, felt blood on her tongue. One of her teeth was loose, and her lip was split, but she raised her head. “I did as good a job as anyone could. What will this accomplish?”
    Ramirez chuckled. “Maybe I’ll lead by example, Captain. I’ll impose some austerity measures of my own.”

    Chrysta sat inside a small brig cell, bruised, aching, as annoyed with herself as with her turncoat crew. This holding chamber had originally been designed for temporary use—to separate squabblers or detain unruly people until they came to their senses. The colonists setting forth from Earth had been an optimistic lot, assuming that there would be no hardened criminals among all of their crew for generations; the Burton simply did not have the resources for long-term confinement.
    Chrysta didn’t think she’d be here long either.
    Out in the corridor, Dario Ramirez strutted back and forth, speaking loud enough that she could hear him through the grate that let in light from the outside corridor. He let ideas roll off his tongue, knowing she was listening; he seemed to like the sound of his own voice.
    “Maybe we should just dump you out the airlock to save supplies. I have to think of the whole ship now, Captain, and what’s best for the crew.” He leaned close, putting his eye against the grate to peer inside. “On the other hand, we could use your body for fertilizer in the greenhouse domes. Why waste it out in space?”
    “Good to hear a little innovative thinking, Mr. Ramirez,” Chrysta said, controlling her sarcasm. “You should review the plans in my log. You’ll find some good ideas there—to help pull the crew together.”
    “Oh, we’re going to pull together. We’ll survive long enough to reach a habitable planet.” The mutineer leaned closer so that she could see his smile. “It’s a shame that you won’t.”
    “Don’t you have anything useful to do, Mr. Ramirez?” She sneered at him. “As captain, my duties kept me busy all day long.”
    “You’re right. I’d better get back to the bridge.” He had had his fun and walked away down the corridor, whistling.
    Chrysta leaned against the cold metal wall and wrapped her arms around her chest to keep warm. The brig cells were kept chilly in order to conserve energy. She let out a long sigh. “Now what?”
    She saw no way out of this . . . unless a miracle happened.

    Out in space, after more than five years of intense searching, a group of Ildiran warliners picked up the signal, tracking down the last of Earth’s eleven generation ships.
    In a colorful and imposing swarm, seven alien battleships closed in around the battered generation vessel and broadcast, in English, that the Burton was rescued.

6
    COREY KELLUM
    The gas giant Daym was a swirling soup of clouds. Gaseous mixtures rose in fluffy strata of lavender, gray, and white from the planetary cauldron.
    From the Ildiran warliner delivering a group of human refugees from the generation ship Kanaka , Corey Kellum saw the gas giant as a planet-sized opportunity, a business venture that just might become the greatest boon ever to his clan—if they could pull it off.
    And it was about damned time for a lucky break. The Kanaka colonists had tried several different ventures already over the course of their long journey. They did well at making do. For decades, the clans had kept the Kanaka functioning with liberal