Archangel

Archangel is the second installment of the explosive, pulse-pounding Spectre War science fiction series. An enemy you can’t kill. A soldier who can’t fight. An interstellar war that can’t be won . . . until now. As a soldier of the Celestial Expanse, Guardian First Class Michael Sorenson knows better than anyone that when the Spectres invade, there are only two options. Run or die. However, his defensive war takes on a whole new spin when he’s recruited into Division 7, a Research & Development facility with the ultimate mission: to create a large-scale weapon that can kill Spectres en masse. Here Michael joins a team of military elite who have the daring--and dangerous--task of taking new weapons prototypes out into the field for testing on enemy troops. Yet the closer they come to developing a working WMD, the more it becomes clear: There’s a saboteur in R&D. With all signs pointing to a massive Spectre attack brewing on the horizon, the creation of a new weapons system yields an opportunity to end the threat once and for all. As the days count down toward its launch, Michael must hunt down the saboteur . . . before the saboteur hunts down him.

Praise for the Spectre War series:

"Nova grabbed me from the first chapter, and never let go. What a ride! Unforgettable, fast-paced and original, this book kept me guessing to the end." —Amie Kaufman, New York Times-bestselling co-author of These Broken Stars

"Lia is a genetically-engineered bad-ass." —The MarySue

"A super start to what looks like a fine series; readers will be eager for the next installment." —Booklist

"This is an excellent debut...creative and surprising." —RT Book Reviews

"This book definitely scratched my kick-ass teen heroine itch, and it did it in SPACE. That’s a perfect combo if I’ve seen one." —BookRiot

“Lia’s story is entertaining and fun, with many elements of daring and suspense…. It’s a fun science fiction novel that does not rely on the genre to be interesting, making a good choice for both genre and casual fans.” —Bibliofiend

Auteur
Margaret Fortune wrote her first story at the age of six and has been writing ever since. She lives in Wisconsin. Nova is her first novel.

Échantillon de lecture
1

“GO, GO! C’MON, people! Let’s move it!”
 
Footsteps pound against the hard metal decking, and I stop to wave a couple of scientists on. “Pick it up, everyone!” I exhort them once more. “The docking bay is still half a station away!”
 
At the back of the group, Madison shepherds the stragglers while ahead Tabs leads, aero- launcher at the ready as she keeps her nose alert for any scent of the enemy. Her pace, no more than a light jog for me, might as well be an out-and-out sprint for the civilian scientists cordoned between us. Already several are gasping, clearly out of breath though we’ve hardly covered half a klick, and I can see the pace starting to lag. Some of the greatest minds of the century they might be, but these people are no athletes. Nor are they exactly spring chickens.
 
We reach the end of the hallway, and Tabs pauses to unlock the door. I jog in place as she slaps the universal de-keyer on the lock. One of the squatters managed to trigger the station locks, securing every door in the place at once. Tabs can get through it with her device; it’s just a question of how long it will take.
 
And who might catch up with us in the meantime.
 
I scan my eyes back over the hallway behind us, though I know it won’t do any good. Our enemy can’t be seen, can’t be touched, can’t be heard. Like terrible ghosts, the Spectres are incorporeal, aliens with the power to take any human being as a host. And once they bond with a human to become a squatter, there’s no way to get them out.
 
Short of killing the host, that is. Talk about one hell of a cure.
 
“Corporal?” I ask through my helmet mic.
 
“Working on it, Sorenson,” Tabs answers. “Madison, how are the civvies doing?”
 
“Holding up so far.”
 
“Good! Sorenson, keep an eye on the fences for me.”
 
“On it.”
 
I key the map display on my helmet, scanning the projection on the left side of my face shield as it enlarges. A miniature layout of the station appears before me, red dots indicating the positions of all the force fences in the habitat. Over half of them are blinking, a sign that they’ve been triggered by ghouls—Spectres that haven’t bonded with a human yet. I count the number of intact fences between us and them.
 
“Four fences,” I bark tersely into the mic, then take a deep breath. Four—that’s good. We could still make it. As I watch, the farthest one begins blinking. Slag.
 
“Three fences, Corporal!”
 
“I got it,” she yells back as the door in front of us springs open. “Take point, Sorenson. I’m going to clamp it in case any squatters are behind us.”
 
I automatically shift to the head of the group as Tabs stays behind to secure the door. “Let’s go, people! There’re only three fences between you and infection. C’mon, move!”
 
I set an even tougher pace than Tabs did, but either the short rest or the threat of permanent enslavement did the trick, because everyone is up and running now. We sprint down the corridor, turn down another hallway, and come through an archway into the main courtyard.
 
Zipping around the tubs of trees and beds of flowers interspersing the room, I head for the exit at the far end. We’re two-thirds of the way when several station security officers burst out of another entrance. They shine crimson in the setting light of the red dwarf star beaming through the high dome above us. More escapees? I wonder as I dodge a park bench on my line toward the exit.
 
A burst of light whizzes by my left ear as one of them shoots his pistol at me.
 
Nope.
 
Shoving my aero- launcher under my arm, I pull out my stun pistol and fire back. “Corporal, we’ve got squatters!”
 
“I see them!”
 
From over my shoulder, I see Tabs swing around from her position at the rear to cover us from the side while Madison covers us from the middle of the pack. Their pistols whine in short, sharp bursts as they exchange fire with our attackers. I see one squatter go down and can’t help wincing. For all that this man is firing at us, he doesn’t truly know what he’s doing. No doubt the Spectre in his head has made him believe we’re the infected ones. To shoot him is pitiable.
 
It doesn’t make him—or his cronies—any less dangerous, though.
 
More shots ring out. A light starts blinking in the corner of my eye, but I ignore it, intent on herding my charges through the firefight to safety while Tabs and Madison lay down cover. A scientist just behind me lets out a cry as he’s hit, clutching his shoulder as he starts to fall. Barely pausing, I heave him up against me, shielding him with my body as I pull him along.
 
Reaching the far archway, I usher him into the arms of two of his comrades on the other side. Then I’m running b…