Defiant

Informationen zum Autor Brandon Sanderson Klappentext Spensa needs all the knowledge she gathered in the Nowhere to end the Superiority's quest for galactic dominance, but first she must determine how far she's willing to go for victory. Leseprobe Five hours later, I stood at parade rest on stage. I'd survived innumerable starfighter battles. I'd escaped the destructive power of the lifebuster bomb by a fraction of a moment. I'd traveled the nowhere itself, teasing out the memories and wisdom of the ancients. I'd looked straight at the delversthe terrible, eldritch monsters that lived outside of time and spacemeeting their eyes and refusing to back down. I was Spensa Nightshade, warrior. Which meant, I had come to learn, that I was an important political tool. And so today, instead of being out fighting, I had to wear something far less comfortable than a good flight suit. My chest was laden with medalsI was pretty sure they'd invented a few new ones to give me, just to make me look more impressive. Despite that, today's ceremony wasn't about me. I was, like the medals themselves, an ornament. A way to lend credibility to what was happening before me. Jorgen Weight being named Defiant Defense Force admiral of the fleet. And, since the National Assembly had been destroyed, we were under martial lawmeaning that as the DDF admiral of the fleet, he was also provisional head of our government. Until something else could be arranged. Even with my glimpses of what had happened in my absence, I felt like I was behind. Still struggling to catch up. Jorgen leaned forward as one of our elders placed the appropriate epaulettes on his shoulders, conferring his new rank. Then he stood up tall. Looking at his strong, determined features, you'd never have known that he'd broken down a few days ago, crying in my arms over the death of his parents. They had been Assembly members. A part of my soul echoed with the cry of pain he'd made as the blast had killed them. What a fool's errand that had been. I couldn't believe the Assembly had really tried to make peace with the Superiority. They'd walked right into that trap. Still, I tried not to blame them. While I'd never gotten along with the Assembly members I'd met, for Jorgen's sake I mourned. It was a major blow to all of us, not just those who had lost family. It blared out an insult loud as the galaxy itself: we weren't even worth negotiating with. Applause erupted in the long, broad hall where we'd gathered for the event. I stood to the side of the stage, along with Kimmalyn, FM, and several other distinguished DDF officers. My spot gave me a good view of the audience, which was strikingly varied. Despite what I'd seen, it was hard to believe that in my absence, my friends had accomplished so much. Two entire planets had joined with us in defiance. Prominent among them were the kitsen, who stood on an array of floating platforms, with speakers to magnify their chirps of approval. In rescuing their long-lost cytonics, we now had a force of people with powers like my ownif more compact, in their fifteen-centimeter-tall furry frames. Alanik's people, the UrDail, were also therethough in smaller numbers. They had violet skin and prominent bone-white facial protrusions. The ones I'd met this week treated me cordially, but I could sense the awkwardness there. Alanik herself was near the front of their group, and although she and my flight had become good friends, she avoided my gaze. Fair enough. I'd impersonated her, and had done quite a bit in her name. Though she said she understood why . . . well, I wouldn't have liked the idea of anyone running around impersonating me. Jorgen stood before the crowd, accepting the applause. I could tell from that strained, too-responsible look in his eyes that he didn't think he deserved...

Auteur

Brandon Sanderson

Échantillon de lecture
Five hours later, I stood at parade rest on stage.

     I’d survived innumerable starfighter battles. I’d escaped the destructive power of the lifebuster bomb by a fraction of a moment. I’d traveled the nowhere itself, teasing out the memories and wisdom of the ancients. I’d looked straight at the delvers—the terrible, eldritch monsters that lived outside of time and space—meeting their eyes and refusing to back down. I was Spensa Nightshade, warrior.

     Which meant, I had come to learn, that I was an important political tool.

     And so today, instead of being out fighting, I had to wear something far less comfortable than a good flight suit. My chest was laden with medals—I was pretty sure they’d invented a few new ones to give me, just to make me look more impressive. Despite that, today’s ceremony wasn’t about me. I was, like the medals themselves, an ornament. A way to lend credibility to what was happening before me.

     Jorgen Weight being named Defiant Defense Force admiral of the fleet. And, since the National Assembly had been destroyed, we were under martial law—meaning that as the DDF admiral of the fleet, he was also provisional head of our government. Until something else could be arranged.

     Even with my glimpses of what had happened in my absence, I felt like I was behind. Still struggling to catch up.

     Jorgen leaned forward as one of our elders placed the appropriate epaulettes on his shoulders, conferring his new rank. Then he stood up tall. Looking at his strong, determined features, you’d never have known that he’d broken down a few days ago, crying in my arms over the death of his parents. They had been Assembly members.

     A part of my soul echoed with the cry of pain he’d made as the blast had killed them. What a fool’s errand that had been. I couldn’t believe the Assembly had really tried to make peace with the Superiority. They’d walked right into that trap. Still, I tried not to blame them. While I’d never gotten along with the Assembly members I’d met, for Jorgen’s sake I mourned. It was a major blow to all of us, not just those who had lost family. It blared out an insult loud as the galaxy itself: we weren’t even worth negotiating with.

     Applause erupted in the long, broad hall where we’d gathered for the event. I stood to the side of the stage, along with Kimmalyn, FM, and several other distinguished DDF officers. My spot gave me a good view of the audience, which was strikingly varied. Despite what I’d seen, it was hard to believe that in my absence, my friends had accomplished so much. Two entire planets had joined with us in defiance.

     Prominent among them were the kitsen, who stood on an array of floating platforms, with speakers to magnify their chirps of approval. In rescuing their long-lost cytonics, we now had a force of people with powers like my own—if more compact, in their fifteen-centimeter-tall furry frames.

     Alanik’s people, the UrDail, were also there—though in smaller numbers. They had violet skin and prominent bone-white facial protrusions. The ones I’d met this week treated me cordially, but I could sense the awkwardness there. Alanik herself was near the front of their group, and although she and my flight had become good friends, she avoided my gaze. Fair enough. I’d impersonated her, and had done quite a bit in her name. Though she said she understood why . . . well, I wouldn’t have liked the idea of anyone running around impersonating *me.

•      Jorgen stood before the crowd, accepting the applause. I could tell from that strained, too-responsible look in his eyes that he didn’t think he deserved it. I was proud of him for accepting it anyway. He had ne…