The Wind after Time (Shadow Warrior Trilogy, Book 1)
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BLAST FROM THE PAST
Ten years had passed since mankind had won the Great War. The dreaded Al'ar, loathsome aliens who killed by mere sight or touch, had been vanquished. Now they were gone, forgotten, and humanity was free to expand throughout the galaxy.
But one man remembered. Joshua Wolfe had been a hero of the Great War. He had lived with the Al'ar first as a friend and then as a prisoner. He knew their ways, knew their disciplines, knew how to kill as they killed.
And Joshua Wolfe was the only man who knew that the conflict was not over.
Before the Great War, in a time of friendship, the Al'ar had given him a name: Shadow Warrior. Now he would fulfill its lethal promise...ile takeover that could put Cerebus's accounts deep in the red.
Christopher R. "Chris" Bunch (22 December, 1943 – 4 July, 2005) was an American science fiction, fantasy and television writer, who wrote and co-wrote about thirty novels.
Born in Fresno, California, he collaborated with Allan Cole on a series of books involving a hero named Sten in a galactic empire. Bunch served in Vietnam as a patrol commander. He also wrote for Rolling Stone and was a correspondent for Stars and Stripes. He died in his hometown of Ilwaco, Washington, after a long battle with a lung ailment. Cole married Bunch's sister, Kathryn.
He murdered an unarmed man, shooting him five times over an argument over dogs.
monstrosity came for him, but Joshua paid no attention to it or to the rifle the diorama had given him. Instead, he looked about the canyon he appeared to be in. He looked up at one crag. That was where the shooter, and pickup, had actually been. He smiled, real humor on his face, stepped away once more, and returned to Judge Penruddock's mansion. The judge was just entering the room, his wife behind him. He was a large, bluff man in his late sixties, white hair carefully coifed, body well tuned.
a well-known monetary sanctuary for criminals, tax evaders, and others who prefer that their financial business remain secret.' Mercy. How can they do something like that? Don't they know there's a war on?" "So we're screwed?" "Hmmph. Make yourself some more tea, Commander." "Oh, my. That's cute. That's very cute. They have a wonderful little booby trap set up so that anybody who tries to crawl his way in using an ANON password gets back blasted. "Very sexy," Davout said admiringly. "So let's try
finally. "Sometimes I think I am mad." "You are the first Al'ar who has been anything other than a... a worm turd to me." "As I said, there are those who think me mad. But you do not have my name. You may call me Taen. Perhaps that explains my behavior, for it would be, in your language, the One Who Stands Aside and Wonders." Joshua's eyes opened, and the ship noticed and brought the lights up slightly. He lay without moving for a while. "Now why," he mused, "didn't that dream bother me?" After a
Joshua turned to the gangplank and stretched like a great cat in the sun, then went up the cleated ramp. A man who, with his baggy multistriped pants and cotton shirt that reaffirmed that he really was on TRINITE, SO BEAUTIFUL GOD SHOULD HAVE QUIT HERE, could only be a tourist was staring into the back end of an elaborate camera. The camera sat on a tripod of absurdly thin and shiny metal that should never have supported its weight. The camera was focused on a woman at the edge of the dock. She
mummeries," Taen said. "This is the Al'ar way." He moved to one side, then back, and Joshua's eyes hurt. He looked away, then back. Behind Taen was a table, and on it was a vase. Now he could see the vase clearly. The air shimmered, and the Al'ar returned. "That is what I mean. It is harder when someone is looking directly at you, easier when their focus is set elsewhere and then they turn to you. But this is another thing you shall learn." Joshua smiled in the darkness. The Al'ar shuffled toward