By Simon R. Green
On a useless planet, a captain and his staff stumble upon an unknown evil
No lifestyles can live to tell the tale on Unseeli—at least, now not anymore. This little planet at the fringe of the Empire has no oceans, rivers, or lakes—only an never-ending wooded area of steel timber, tall adequate to scrape the stratosphere. Ten years in the past, the indigenous humans stormed out of the wooded area in uprising, and Captain John Silence used to be there for the bloodbath that left Unseeli’s natives extinct and the planet thoroughly dead keep for the engineers who mine its valuable metals. whilst the mining operation is going off the rails, Silence should be referred to as again to the realm that also haunts his nightmares.The miners have erected a strength protect round the planet and bring to a halt all communique with the Empire. subsidized up by way of a couple of expert killers, Silence lands on the mine in hopes of gaining knowledge of what’s long gone improper. stepping into Unseeli should be tough—but getting out might turn out impossible.
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Extra info for Ghostworld (Twilight of the Empire, Book 2)
I don’t remember my ident number. ” “We have been combing Earth for you for nearly a week. Now I find you at a gathering I reached only by chance! ” “Oh no,” Louis said softly. Teela stood up somewhat awkwardly. “I haven’t been hiding, not from you and not from any other—extraterrestrial. ” Louis stepped between Nessus and the girl. “Nessus, Teela Brown obviously isn’t an explorer. ” The kzin was sitting up. ” “Look at yourself, Louis. Barely two meters long, slender even for a human. Are you an explorer?
Surely the puppeteer would be easier to deal with than the racially paranoid Trinocs, or the Kzinti with their hair-trigger killer instincts, or the sessile Grogs with their ... disturbing substitute for hands. The sight of the puppeteer had jarred loose a whole attic-full of dusty memories. Mixed with data on the puppeteers and their commercial empire, their interactions with humanity, their sudden and shocking disappearance—mixed with these were the taste of Louie's first tobacco cigarette, the feel of typewriter keys under clumsy, untrained fingers, lists of Interworld vocabulary to be memorized, the sound and taste of English, the uncertainties and embarrassments of extreme youth.
All the irrationalities of place and time and custom, blending into one big rationality of City, worldwide, like a dull gray paste. Did anyone today speak Deutsche, English, Francais, Espanol? Everyone spoke Interworld. Style in body paints changed all at once, all over the world, in one monstrous surge. Time for another sabbatical? Into the unknown, alone in a singleship, with his skin and eyes and hair their own color, a beard growing randomly over his face ... “Nuts,” said Louis to himself. ” Twenty years ago.