By Timothy Zahn
Angelmass, a black gap deep in house, emits "angels," small debris that render people calm, moderate, and almost incapable of mendacity. The Empyrean, human colonies within the a long way reaches of the galaxy, has came across the angels and the facility they wield. All participants of Empyrean govt needs to hold an angel.The Earth-based Empire, the Pax, view the angels as an alien plot to subvert humanity. They dispatch Jereko Kosta, an blameless educational, to secret agent at the Empyrean and discover the reality approximately angels. With Chandris, a grifter who canine his steps, he enlists on an "angel-hunting" send. pack up, Kostas learns the angels could be extra risky than the Pax worry. sooner than he can react, the Pax dispatches their strongest warship to confront the Empyrean. Now, Kosta and Chandris, one of the few who recognize the reality concerning the angels, stand among the Empyrean, the Pax, and warfare.
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Additional resources for Angelmass
Mils here," a familiar voice answered. "This is Forsythe. " "Just doing the final lighting checks, High Senator-elect," the other replied, sounding his usual harried self. " "I hope so," Forsythe warned. " Mils chuckled. "Well, we'd better get cracking, then," he said, mock-serious. Mockserious, but with noticeably less tension in his voice than had been there a moment earlier. " "I should say not," Forsythe agreed. " He shut the intercom off. Perhaps that was it, he thought: the fact that Ronyon was so out of place here.
Chandris let him stroke it, continuing to smile on the outside even as she fought back a sudden nervous shudder on the inside. If Toomes ever suspected she'd been scoring him for a fool the whole time, or that his entire sexual performance with her these past two weeks had consisted of pawing her clothes off and then falling into a reek-induced stupor... Stop it, she ordered herself harshly. Of course he didn't know—how could he? Besides, he'd hardly have continued throwing money away on her this whole time if he had any memories that contradicted the coy but admiring hints she always dropped the next morning about his supposed performance.
Wondering uneasily if this was some kind of joke played on newcomers, he knocked tentatively on the panel. "Come in," a voice said almost in his ear. At least they had an external speaker system. Twisting the knob, he pushed the door open. Given the simplicity of the door, he should have been prepared for the woman smiling at him from behind the large wooden desk. He wasn't. Young middle-aged, perhaps, she was dressed in a neat but simple dress, her shortish hair completely unadorned by the sort of clips and frostsprays virtually all the upper-class women on the Xirrus had worn.
Angelmass by Timothy Zahn