After years of intergalactic conquest, cornered war criminal Khair surrendered and allowed her memories to be wiped to save her life. But as the former officer fights for survival, she will discover the war she canât recall isnât done with her yet.
With her Andromedan Khanate scattered by the bureaucratic United Oversight for Democracy, Khair finds herself drawn into a personal war between Taivan, a fleeing Khanate General, and the powerful UOD pursuing him. But the General, once a Khanate victim and now its greatest champion, will take the war to UOD or die trying.
As Khair joins Taivanâs perilous crusade, sheâs electrocuted for acts of violence by Chip, a UOD parole officer operating as an inner voice in her mind. And, as Khair relies on her skills and tenuous allies to avoid Chipâs punishments, it seems the unwanted guest in her head has their own hidden agenda.
As a new war with UOD dawns, Khair begins to question her Generalâs methods, and can only wonder: can they defeat the enemy without becoming tyrants themselves?
After years of intergalactic conquest, cornered war criminal Khair surrendered and allowed her memories to be wiped to save her life. But as the former officer fights for survival, she will discover the war she canât recall isnât done with her yet.
With her Andromedan Khanate scattered by the bureaucratic United Oversight for Democracy, Khair finds herself drawn into a personal war between Taivan, a fleeing Khanate General, and the powerful UOD pursuing him. But the General, once a Khanate victim and now its greatest champion, will take the war to UOD or die trying.
As Khair joins Taivanâs perilous crusade, sheâs electrocuted for acts of violence by Chip, a UOD parole officer operating as an inner voice in her mind. And, as Khair relies on her skills and tenuous allies to avoid Chipâs punishments, it seems the unwanted guest in her head has their own hidden agenda.
As a new war with UOD dawns, Khair begins to question her Generalâs methods, and can only wonder: can they defeat the enemy without becoming tyrants themselves?
She was drowning.
She didnât know who she was or why she felt suspended, weightless in a liquid so dense she couldnât move, but that came second to the drowning bit. With each breath, tasteless, knotty fluid flooded her mouth and stung her eyes.Â
A lock clicked.Â
âDonât free her,â a young woman said.
Her breathing sped. She swallowed more icy slush, sucked in more with each breath, but didnât drown. It must be oxygenated, but not nearly enough. If she controlled her breathing, the heterogenous jelly stung a little less in her dry sinuses, but her eyelids drooped and sound faded. She couldnât thrash or escape, but she kept her breathing raggedâbetter to be panicked and awake than return to the endless night.Â
What was out there?Â
Her prison grated against the floor without any vertigo inside. A ship? Spaceship or seaborne. Either way, something was wrong. Otherwise, there was nothing in her world but the pressing darkness so total it took on an amorphous off-black color that shined in the corners.Â
âLook at her heart-rate, sheâs suffering.â The man sounded old enough to remember the first intergalactic flight back when they drank recycled urine and couldnât travel at lightspeed, but deferent somehow. Not a family then, military, corporation?
âItâs a dream.â The womanâs voice softened. âRemember her as best you can and let her rest.â
The ship shook like a childâs present.
Where were her weapons? She should probably ask who she was, but that wouldnât matter if she suffocated or got vaporized. She had to bust out and hope she was in fighting condition: her mindâs voice was middle-aged, steady enough under pressure but that could make her anything from a mom to a manager so depending on how deep into that middle age thing she was, she might pop a hip or something. If not, sheâd capture the woman for leverage, break a few fingers, maybe killâ
She screamed but there was no sound, though thick bubbles popped centimeters from her face. Pain seared from the base of her skull into her brain, so intense that if she had known her name, she would have forgotten it again.
What makes your life more valuable than hers?
That robotic voice in her head must have been what electrocuted her. The watcherâs presence felt like a knife between her ribs; every thought irritated the wound.
My bad. She did not mean that whatsoever, but she wanted to send something instead of just being laid out for this stalker.Let me out safely and I wonât hurt anyone.Â
No answer.
No? Iâm supposed to be best buds with the people that stole my memories and locked me up so I canât even move, can barely breathe?
They didnât do that; it was me and my organization. Observe, listen, and hold off the assumptions. Your ship is breaking up in the atmosphere, if they release you, you donât have time to be wrong.Â
âLook, sheâs awake,â the man said. âAnd Taivan saidââ
âHe had a concussion, he wasnât thinking clearly,â the woman said.Â
The man said nothing, and her heart pounded.Â
Something beeped outside.
âIâm sorry, Jiao,â the man said.
Her cave exploded with static white light. Too much, too close. Passing shadows would have overwhelmed her as she regained her body, rejoined society, and became human again.
This body of hers was not in fighting condition. Despite appearing healthy, she was in a hospital gown, trapped in a doctube filled with snot colored plasma, metallic anklets on both feet, with no piercings, scars, or tattoos to indicate who she was. Chunky gunk receded into sidebars. The door opened. There was no difference in temperature or humidity as the goop slopped off, but this air had enough oxygen.
She floated toward the ceiling and bounced off to test over-eager muscles. Her hamstring cramped. How long was she imprisoned?
Nope, no time for introspection. Red lights flickered, and a shelf ripped loose from the wall, scattering edged surgical tools that bobbed in midair.
The man, unarmed and wearing an antiquated bubble suit with tinted mask, hit a button on his wrist-control link to electronic equipment, networks, and other wrist-cons. Her anklets magnetized to the ground. She bent her knees to soften the landing, but her heels bruised.
She raised her hands slowly, trying not to get distracted by the long windows around the beige infirmary, where the shipâs ginormous wings blocked any view of space. Fire burned over the wings. Was that supposed to happen? They werenât smoking, but maybe there was no smoke in space?Â
Whoever she had been, she certainly wasnât a scientist.Â
âGive me your wrist-con,â she said to the man, Sergeant Batu from his name plate. âIâll fly out on a life-pod, and youâll never see me again.â
âYouâre not leaving,â Jiao said.Â
Batu was average height and gaunt, leaned on his back footâshe could wrestle the wrist-con off him and use its map to find the life-pods.
Pain swelled in her head, burst, scattered down to her toes. She buckled and fell. When it stopped, the digitalized voice didnât say why she got zapped, but it clearly only appreciated its own violence.
She stood and measured herself against Jiao, an admiral by the golden rank on her chest. They were about the same height but she had fifteen kilos on Jiao, with broader shoulders and arms visibly muscled even at rest.
The admiral was far too young for her rank and looked like she forgot how to sleep. Still, she was beautiful: silky black hair pasted in a military grade bun, delicate features set in a frown, wearing a sleek pilotâs suit that showed off a sinewy frame, a classic Mustang Dragoon 2587 strapped in a shoulder holster under her right armpit.
A prism buzzed in her head when she looked at the pistol. All the pain originated from one place so it was probably hardware, something a bribed doc could slice out. Otherwise, itâd be a race between her pummeling Jiao, and Jiao drawing her revolver.
She bet on herself. Jiao was a lefty, a slight advantage. But the spring and coil of her muscles promised power and the flesh on her knuckles was new, hiding scars. If she picked her momentâ
Heat flashed. She blinked. Found herself on streaked sanitized tiles, elbow scratched, gown torn, heart racing as if to escape a black holeâs event horizon.
You just died. Next time, itâll be permanent. Do not attack anyone.Â
Tears welled in the corner of her eyes, but she blinked them back and tried to even out her breathing. Her chest throbbed.Â
She could mimic Hannibalâs double envelopment in three-dimensional space or instill Temujinâs discipline to prevent a weeklong feigned retreat from becoming a real loss. But whoever was in her mind could kill her at any time, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.Â
She understood Jiaoâs gun. So, she tried to clear her mind of violent escapes, though she couldnât scrub them all, and looked the admiral in the eye. Daring her. Jiao could kill her, but sheâd have to shoot a kneeling woman with green glob in her hair.Â
Jiao stared back, eyes hardening, lips pursed, thumb stroking her pistol. The admiral flipped the holster open.
She should probably beg, but if the shuttering, overheated cabin was any indication, they were goners anyway.Â
âYouâre needed at your post, Admiral,â Batu said.Â
Jiaoâs hand didnât move.
âShoot me or donât, youâll regret it either way.â Her voice wasnât nearly as authoritative as Jiaoâs but flecks of slime clung in her throat. Pretty badass last words, though. She was probably too old to care, but with hair shaved on both sides and short on top, clearly, she was the type of old that didnât realize it was old.Â
The original quotation was better, but youâre welcome. I can help ifâ
Definitely doesnât make us even.Â
âCuff her and keep her close,â Jiao said. âDonât bother finding a rebreather. Thereâs no time, and sheâs not worth your life.â
Maybe not. All she knew about herself was that her memories lay in a gray fog that should clear with sunrise, and if her memory was wiped she had accepted it as a stay of execution.
She drummed over her heart. âMercy, Iâve no defense against such wit.âÂ
Jiao didnât even roll her eyes. âHurry, Batu. Youâll be safest if you buckle up in the Haven within two minutes.â
âWhat about the life-pods?â A ship this big would have them, and they were much safer than the Haven emergency shelter.
âTaivan used them up to absorb missiles once our shield went down.â Batu waved her down a bland hall. He might be strolling through an absent neighborâs pasture for his haste, while the craft shuddered, gravity lapsed, and condensation dripped down the walls.Â
Fat help seatbelts would be when they blew up. âYou have anything to drink?â
He stopped at a custodianâs locker stuffed with everything from hammers, flysuits, comm parts, and a candy wrapper. âDo you need to drink?â
âNeed isnât the point.â But based on her tight bladder, she still had human requirements. She didnât feel modified beyond some chip in her head turning her to a shock toy, could walk and talk and trust her senses.
How do you know? To know anything with certainty, we first have to doubt everything we know.Â
When she burned, she wouldnât ask the flames if they were real. I know Iâll be an alcoholic by the end of your next sentence.
You act as if thatâs an accomplishment. And whether the sensations you view exist or are mental perceptions, youâ
Iâm about to sing off key, then learn to throat sing off two keys, and Iâll only get more annoying from there.Â
âWeâll drink on the ground.â Batu found handcuffs with a short chain that connected to the ankles. âMay I?â
âNope, not my style.â She winced, shocked on a lower voltage, and held out her hands. âBut Iâm adaptable. Just donât tie my ankles.â
He double cuffed her wrists with the ankle bracelets. Was all this necessary? Her mind had been executed, so sheâd been mediocre at best and incompetent enough to get caught. But hey, she had abs so not too shabby for forty-something. Maybe thirty-nine.Â
Batu led her to a narrow, waist high tunnel. She squeezed into it. The hot, thinly-carpeted floor blistered her knees and palms as she crawled. She pushed out, breathing heavily as she tried to expel hot air, and landed in the Havenâs circular room with padded walls. Air conditioning blasted over an obnoxiously peaceful symphony. There was nothing but a window roof and a medkit with emergency rations, but the shipâs walls were thickest here.
She claimed the medkit and lathered aloe on her knees. âWhyâs Jiao more concerned with me than blowing up? Did I kill her family or something?âÂ
Batuâs shoulders tensed, face inscrutable behind his dark helmet. âNo.âÂ
âAm I her mom?âÂ
He laughed.Â
Fine, she was only about fifteen years older than Jiao, darker skinned and with a vastly different face, but itâs not like she knew the father. Or if this was her unaltered face.Â
âThen what did I do? This is pretty extreme. Maybe it was a mistake, and it was supposed to be Jiao? Sheâs not one of us.â Taivan and Batu were Mongolian names, and she was Mongolian too if she recognized that. Jiao wasnât.Â
âYes, she is.âÂ
âSo, either I committed genocide, a stunningly impressive assassination, or I annoyed the wrong people.âÂ
âSit down!â Jiaoâs voice blasted over the shipâs intercom.
One vote for annoying.Â
Batu sat against the wall, metal straps unclipping to hug him. She tried to follow, but fell on her ass. The floor tilted and she slid until a seatbelt clamped around her.Â
âHow many people could I have possibly killed? Millions? Billions?â No reaction. âIt couldnât be trillions? Shiiiiiiit. Logistically, thatâs impressive, but⊠shit. Howâm I still alive?â
She couldnât remember anyone sheâd killed. So, her seething stomach worried about the super-heated cabin and not dead strangers.Â
What are trillions of people compared to your glorious self?
Who did this cheap chip of silicon think it was, prattling along, its ode to its own goodness hammering her head? Yet you make me seem the zenith of humility.
âI donât think I did that,â she said to Batu. âI must have just lost. A POW.âÂ
The last historical event she remembered was a Mongolian uprising against the Peopleâs Republic of Greater China. She didnât know who won. Jiao could be PRGC, but Batu wasnât a prisoner. Maybe Batu was a collaborator, and she was a nationalist.
Whose ship was this? Scum lines and water residue in swirling cleaning patterns stained its white walls, with no pictures. A military vessel, now without a shield or life-pods. Who was after them?Â
The intercom stayed dead.Â
âYou were not a great person,â Batu said, almost cheerful.Â
âThen why free me? If I was supposedly a great pilot, I donât live up to the hype.âÂ
The medkit flopped to the floor, bouncing so often it barely noticed the growing gravity.
He clutched his seatbelt. âI donât think so.â
Pressure built in her ears.
In the window, the pink sky darkened to a blood red and vibrant orange. They were inside a fireball.Â
Was that doubt thing a hint? Maybe Iâm not here? Fire glowed and its bands of different colors wrapped around the ship like flowered garlands. If this was a virtual reality, the simulation would end soon. If not, itâd still end soon. Get me out of here and Iâll give you an equal favor.Â
Why do you want to live, anyway?Â
Thereâd been nothing pleasant in her five-minute life: no colors but white and yellow-green until the fireball. She was hungry and stiff and barely dressed, with a taser in the head. Whatâs going on? These lunatics wouldnât wake me just to poof out.Â
It is absurd. The context makes perfect sense: gravity and pressure and fuel combustion are constant, but you need moreâ
Thank you for giving me my reason to live. Spite. Didnât seem enough. Not in some flimsy, moral, nonsense way, just not worth the effort.Â
âSo why wake me? What happened?â She meant, âwhy do I matter to you?â
âTaivan said so,â Batu said. âJiaoâAdmiral Junâwouldnât want to. Heâd only say it if it was necessary.âÂ
Jun Jiao was definitely a PRGC name. Maybe they were PRGC mercenaries and thereâd been some imperial schism? She waited for the rest, Taivanâs plan to save them for a long, profitable, stress-free life. But Batu was finished. âWhoâs Taivan?âÂ
âShut up!â Jiao yelled over the intercom as streaks of blue darted over the glass.Â
She rested against the trembling wall, though her head pattered against the soft panel. âWhatâs my name and the year?â
âItâs 532 DĂŹqiĂș HĂČu.â Half a millennium from Earth, and sheâd no knowledge of the last twenty-some years, but beyond that, only her personal history was lost. It would have been easier for the enemy to lobotomize her than to unravel her from history. If they hadnât, they wanted something from her. âYou went by Khair.â
Your nom de guerre, a mockery meaning âLove.â Leave that name.Â
I know my own language, thanks.Â
She wouldâve sensed the name was a lie, but it wasnât terrible. Certainly better than say, Sorghaghtani, and sheâd gone from a captured bride to one of the most influential people in Terran history.
Their trajectory snapped. There was no engine hum, no jolt of air as the wings shifted, just the whoosh of fire.Â
They spun down. The force pinned everything to the wall, pulled her cheeks back, pulled tears from stinging eyes as sweat gathered in a crease in her gown. Batu hummed, sounded like a choking motor. The light outside was only blue now, not crystal sky, but space waves, dark, ethereal, washing over their craft in time with the blood rushing in her veins.Â
It was beautiful. The pounding in her stomach waned, the remaining chittering only the nervousness of meeting an old friend after years apart. She never shouldâve left that dreamless sleep. Khair was ready for this reunion, though the road between was long and potholed.
Batu wretched. She fought a losing battle against nausea while gravity crushed her shoulders and spine.Â
Youâre not some avenging spirit, right? Khair was probably dreaming through doctube hibernation, but no harm asking. Iâm not about to go to hell?Â
It hesitated without demurring. The greatest suffering is to do evil.
Youâre one of the people that brought us down, arenât you?
âBatu?â Jiao said over the intercom, earlier arrogance evaporated. âIâm sorry.â
Their velocity halved, died.Â
The ship slammed the ground and wobbled as it skidded.Â
Khair lurched against the belt, bruised her ribs and bloodied her nose against her knees. Her ears buzzed, barely hearing echoing blasts.Â
Outside the windows lay solid ground. She laughed, muscles aching as they unclenched, delirious with pain and so dizzy she could barely see, but she kept laughing while she hiccuped and gagged. Then she saw Batu lay limp.
The only thing she felt was warm blood and relief.Â
I had a wonderful time reading The Little Time Allotted Us and wholly recommend it to fans of Ann Leckie, Martha Wells, and The Expanse series.
Laura Paquette has developed a story that is the definition of an 'explosive debut'. On page one we are thrown right into the pulse-pounding, fiery, and sometimes unsettling action that quickly becomes a staple of this work. I was hooked, and I loved the various unique plot devices and writing mechanics Paquette employs to relay information and worldbuilding, and to keep readers engaged. Nothing felt forced, and I found this to be an easy read, which is often difficult to achieve in the space opera / hard sci-fi genres.
As mentioned, The Little Time Allotted Us is a quick read with short chapters that doesn't only offer nonstop action (and just the right amount of blood and guts), but explores hints of real-world politics, and instances of family (and found family) dynamics, as well as characters' struggles with self awareness and responsibility, the horrors of war, and coming to terms with difficult pasts.
The heart of The Little Time Allotted Us - and frankly the reason I've rated this book so highly - is the relationship between our snarky main character, Khair, and the scheming, sometimes-helpful parole officer embedded in her head called 'Chip'. The back-and-forth between Khair and Chip is clever, humorous, and plainly unique, offering a plot device I haven't seen explored much in this setting. Other characters that Paquette introduces are well-rounded, quippy, and enjoyable to read, but Chip and Khair outshine them in most scenes. Other stand-out characters are Jiao and Taivan, but you'll have to read for yourself to find out why.
I think that Paquette does a decent job juggling the ever-increasing complexity of the world and events she's created, and although there are some very minor writing hiccups and unclear moments, I will be the first to read any further installments Paquette has planned for this series.