Terror is heading to Newearth, and Cerulean is determined to find the one person who can save the planet. Allies living at home, investigating a distant planet, and flying through the universe must coordinate their efforts to fight off hostile enemies. Can humans and aliens protect their own yet build a future together?
Genre: FICTION / Science Fiction / GeneralBest Sellers Rank: #10,567,357 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
#10,462 in Colonization Science Fiction
#21,348 in Exploration Science Fiction
#45,271 in Post-Apocalyptic Science Fiction (Books)
Customer Reviews:
5.0 5.0 out of 5 stars 6 ratings
Prologue —Mirage-Reborn— Truth Cerulean awakened flat on his back, weary and struggling to remember recent events. He blinked at dust-speckled sunrays slanting before him. He wanted to move, but his body felt weighed down, practically attached to the structure under him. Swallowing back panic, he inhaled a long, calming breath. His chest barely budged, as if gravity had increased threefold. Too weak. Forcing himself to concentrate, he faced practical reality. Since he couldn’t move, he must lie still and listen. Surely, there was a good explanation. A sharp ache in his neck reassured him. At least, I’m not dead. Murmuring voices traveled overhead. A woman— no—two women. Arguing. Depressed, he closed his eyes. Clare and Justine. At it again. They argued on Newearth. They argued aboard ship. Now they were arguing here—Wherever that might be! He imagined bellowing, shut up! And seeing their reaction. He tried to form words. Nope. Not anytime soon. A shadow hovered nearby and blocked the warm light. A gentle hand caressed his forehead. “Cerulean?” Using every ounce of energy at his disposal, which wasn’t much, Cerulean pried his eyes open. Directly above him, a towering figure stared down, a lean figure with a clean-shaven face, bright green eyes, and a shock of thick, white-blond hair. Concern emanated from those eyes, despite the upturned creases in the corners, which matched the 2 smiling mouth. “So good to see you awaken naturally. I was ready to rouse you, but it’s usually better to let nature take its course.” Swallowing a desert dryness, Cerulean attempted to form words. “Where—?” Justine’s flowing black hair and sculptured face rose into view, crowding out the other figure, her eyes wide and her tone authoritative. “You’re on Mirage, Cerulean.
