**WINNER, 2014 CYGNUS AWARD FOR BEST MILITARY SCIENCE FICTION NOVEL**
So here's the pitch. The name's Ethan Riley and I guess you could call me a merc. An underpaid, hyper-stimmed gun-for-hire. I spent over a decade piloting an APEC rig in countless proxy wars and clandestine hit jobs. In those days, I was a trash-talking heartbreaker, and could take a punch a whole sight better than I could throw one.
Bottom line. I was working a freelance hit on Mars, and everything went south. Next thin...
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**WINNER, 2014 CYGNUS AWARD FOR BEST MILITARY SCIENCE FICTION NOVEL**
So here's the pitch. The name's Ethan Riley and I guess you could call me a merc. An underpaid, hyper-stimmed gun-for-hire. I spent over a decade piloting an APEC rig in countless proxy wars and clandestine hit jobs. In those days, I was a trash-talking heartbreaker, and could take a punch a whole sight better than I could throw one.
Bottom line. I was working a freelance hit on Mars, and everything went south. Next thing I knew I was a prisoner of Lunaris, a ruthless moon-mining corporation that'd stop at nothing to undercut their competition. They gave me a choice. I could face criminal charges or take on a suicide mission to ghost a rival company's claim. Either way, I was screwed, but I at least wanted a fighting chance.
With a skeleton crew that could barely get along, I got sent to Triton – the coldest moon in Neptune's orbit. All I had to do was make the drop, waste the target, and get back to my ship alive. If I could pull it off, they'd let me walk.
I should've known better.
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