Latest ten days of posting

Weblog | I don't like the word blog, it's ugly. Anyway, new content happens here. (Swedish dito)

About me and the site | Twenty-something male who likes text. Obsessed with things such as books, reality, communication, and one or two tv-shows.

Archives | Things written here since... well, 2001. Some of it is good, some is utter shait.

Books | Books read, not books written. So far I've struggled to maintain unpublished.

Photo | I like my camera and it likes me.

Links | Outwards, away, flee.

e-mail | J. Nicklas Andersson

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2002-03-10

I’ve written about it before, but I myself has shunned it like the plague. Reminiscence of the teaser chapters from the last book still freshly in mind, I tried to steer clear from that place. I didn’t want to go there again. In the end, it won me over, I couldn’t stop myself as I typed in www.baen.com in the address bar.

I clicked on Schedule and then I got a shock, twenty thousand volt straight into my spine. Miles Errant? Has she been forced to change name on this book too? Then I looked at the date and got another shock, forty thousand volt into my left kidney. September?! What the fuck?

I scrolled down to May and there it was: Diplomatic Immunities by Lois McMaster Bujold. Thank you $Deity. It still had the same name and was to be published in May as planned. I could breath calmly once again. Oh, and I read the sample chapters. Damn me to hell.

But the name Miles Errant haunted me. I fired up Google but found nothing about this book except a clean slate pre-order on Amazon.com. Nothing at all. I think it is an omnibus of previous novels, but I’m not entirely sure. I both hope so and I don’t.

“Seems damned odd to go to all that trouble to remove the body but leave the blood, though. Timing? Tried to get back to clean up, but it was too late? Something very, very strange to hide about the body?”

Maybe just blind panic, if the murder had not been planned in advance. Miles could imagine someone who was not a spacer shoving a body out an airlock, and only then realizing what poor concealment it really was. That didn’t exactly jibe with a subsequent swift and handy outside pickup, though. And no quaddie qualified as not-a-spacer.

He sighed. “This is not getting us much forwarder. Let’s go talk to my idiots.”

My brother has a great theory about how those big reptilian primates normally called Dinosaurs where wiped out from the face of the planet.

A giant Sloth beat them to death with a pointy stick.

So, now you know.