It’s the dead of winter, and the Terrans hold the line as the Conglomeration is holed-up in a makeshift camp, prickly with nervous excitement, preparing for a massive offensive into wealthy Merriton—the gaudy Conglomerate city in which Sal was enslaved as a child. But the next battle will have to wait. Sometimes, things even more personal than war get in the way—like hormones.
Why I Can’t Have Nice Kings
Amateur Misanthrope. Legendary Coward. Occasional Ne’er-Do-Well. Writer of Swords, Sorcery, and Skullduggery. Constantly Misunderstood, Never Appreciated. All words used to describe Harry Olson. Idiot, however, isn’t one of them . . . OK, maybe sometimes, but nothing’s as idiotic as the show he’s in. He should know; he wrote the fantasy books it’s based on. But what can he do? He signed away the TV rights in his first publishing contract. He thinks . . . maybe . . . He probably should have read it. He also should have demanded a butt double and a cool hat.