{"product_id":"black-chamber-isbn-9780399586231","title":"Black Chamber","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe first novel in a brand-new alternate history series where Teddy Roosevelt is president for a second time right before WWI breaks out, and on his side is the Black Chamber, a secret spy network watching America's back.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e1916. The Great War rages overseas, and the whole of Europe, Africa, and western Asia is falling to the Central Powers. To win a war that must be won, Teddy Roosevelt, once again the American president, turns to his top secret Black Chamber organization--and its cunning and deadly spy, Luz O'Malley Aróstegui. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn a transatlantic airship voyage, Luz poses as an anti-American Mexican revolutionary to get close--very close--to a German agent code-named  Imperial Sword. She'll need every skill at her disposal to get him to trust her and lead her deep into enemy territory. In the mountains of Saxony, concealed from allied eyes, the German Reich's plans for keeping the U.S. from entering the conflict are revealed: the deployment of a new diabolical  weapon upon the shores of America...“A rollicking spy thriller set in a familiar WW1, but with a 'what might have been' America racing to cope with a far deadlier, more desperate Germany.”—Taylor Anderson, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eRiver of Bones\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “A slam-bang spy thriller with an engaging female protagonist.”—David Drake, author of \u003ci\u003eDeath's Bright Day\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Nobody carries a bigger stick in the alternate-history game than S. M. Stirling. As always, he comes up with inventive twists that keep your mind racing and the pages turning. Bravo!”—Robert J. Sawyer, Hugo Award-winning author of \u003ci\u003eQuantum Night\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Once again one of the best story-tellers in the world takes you on a wonderful ride. Great tale, great characters...love it.”—David Crosby, of the Byrds and Crosby, Stills \u0026amp; Nash\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “The nice thing about getting a Steve Stirling book in the mail is that you know for a few hours you can fly on dreams of wonder, travelling to a world so much more than this angry reality.”—John Ringo, author of \u003ci\u003eUnder a Graveyard Sky\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “It's a great feeling being in the hands of an alternate history master. \u003ci\u003eBlack Chamber \u003c\/i\u003eis a wonderfully fun transcontinental spy romp, and a great beginning to a new series.”—Django Wexler, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Infernal Battalion\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Stirling packs a mighty wallop in this high-spirited alternate WWI history…Stirling’s lavish historical, linguistic, and cultural detail...enhance well-rounded figures to make this a highly enjoyable espionage romp.”—\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Too many Alternate History stories have become sadly routine. Riding to the rescue is S. M. Stirling's \u003ci\u003eBlack Chamber\u003c\/i\u003e. This novel provides a desperately needed infusion of courage and originality. How appropriate that Penguin, publisher of the James Bond novels, launches a hard edged new spy series with Stirling. How appropriate that Ace, famous for classic science fiction, is onboard for the adventure. Beware the Breath of Loki.”—Brad Linaweaver, Prometheus Award winning author o\u003ci\u003ef M\u003ci\u003eoon of Ice\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“\u003ci\u003eBlack Chambe\u003c\/i\u003er is one mighty fine read—sexy, action-filled adventure in a thoughtful alternate history.  Enjoy!”—Lawrence-Watt Evans\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“\u003ci\u003eBlack Chamber\u003c\/i\u003e is one of the most intriguing and entertaining adventures to come along in years. If you like alternate history, you will appreciate Stirling’s take on what Teddy Roosevelt could have accomplished if he had been allowed. If you like steam punk, you will enjoy elegant inventions that are firmly based on science. If you like derring-do, you will thrill to car chases and combats of all kinds ( there is one scene that anyone with acrophobia might want to avoid). And whatever your gender,  if you like a feisty, sexy, intelligent heroine, meet Field Operative Luz O’Malley Arostegui!”—Diana L. Paxson, author of \u003ci\u003eSword of Avalon\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“There’s something very exhilarating about watching somebody at the peak of his powers attempt something extremely difficult and pull it off with apparently ridiculous ease. This is a sheer joy of an alternative history, featuring probably the most interesting and talented President ever in a term he never served and a new and darker view of the First World War.”—Patricia Finney, author of\u003ci\u003e \u003ci\u003eGloriana’s Torch\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eS. M. Stirling\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of many science fiction and fantasy novels. A former lawyer and an amateur historian, he lives with his wife, Jan.One\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e American National Airways\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Dock One, Manhattan Airship Harbor\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e New York City\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e September 1st, 1916(b)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Point of departure plus Four Years\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I've never flown before, Senior Field Operative Luz O'Malley      Ar—stegui thought.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She looked up at the docked airship, a study in light and shadow      beneath the glare of the hangar's banks of lights, silver-bright      above and reflected off the rippling water of the berth below.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And my first trip . . . three thousand miles over an ocean, to a      continent at war!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e At seven hundred fifty feet from nose to tail and a hundred forty      across at its broadest point, the great silvery whale-shape of the      San Juan Hill was the pride of American National Airways-four      months out of the yard at Lakehurst and with its three sisters the      only dirigibles in the world capable of routine transatlantic      trips. The Battle class were a leap even for the brilliant, daring      young engineering wizards of the National Aeronautical      Administration, with a more advanced teardrop shape than any      zeppelin and bigger too, larger even than the one that had spent a      hundred hours in the air recently to reach German East Africa from      Bulgaria despite the Entente air patrols.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And fortunately not one of their occasional brilliant daring      failures, like that six-engine flying boat that kept crashing and      sinking, or bursting into flames . . . and then crashing and      sinking.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The airship above her was so large that its floating over the      water seemed utterly unnatural, as if the giant silvery-gray thing      were in an eternal mid-fall ready to topple down on you . . .      though it was also a fragile lacework of aluminum covered in      fabric, when you thought of Atlantic storms. The interior was      vast, millions of square feet, but most of that was bags full of      hydrogen and gas fuel for the ten engine pods.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She couldn't tell if the stirring she felt and the shiver on the      back of her neck was excitement or apprehension. Not fear,      certainly not that. Luz inhaled deeply; that smell of brackish      harbor water, fuel oil, lubricants, and the doped cotton covering      the giant flying machine was a new thing in the world. A coughing      roar sounded as the engines began to turn over; the four-bladed      aluminum propellers started to spin and the breeze of them went      washing over her and tugging at her hat and skirt and fluttering      cool fingers into her hair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Excitement, verdad. Fear I leave for others . . . I left it behind      with my childhood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Luz wasn't afraid of much; she had never been timid, and what      remained had been scoured out the night Pancho Villa's men burned      the hacienda where her family had been staying, back before the      Intervention.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her face changed as she remembered, and for a moment her      midnight-blue eyes might have been black, as the lighter streaks      around the iris vanished. Remembered waiting in the back of the      wardrobe in the dark, with the muzzle of the pistol pressed under      her chin. Listening to the Villistas kill her parents while she      swallowed her sobs, then crawling out on her belly like a snake      below the worst of the smoke, past their machete-hacked bodies and      through the sticky pools of their blood. Five years ago now . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Miss?\" the ticketing officer behind the counter of his kiosk      said, alarm in his voice and a startled look in his eyes at what      he'd seen in hers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Sorry,\" she said, blinking back to reality.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The stabs of uncontrollable memory were rare now. Now that every      man involved was dead, including Villa. She'd watched most of them      die, the ones she hadn't killed herself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The agent was still puzzled by what he'd seen, frightened without      knowing why. She gave him a charming smile as she handed over her      passport along with the ticket.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The passport was forged in the name of one Elisa Carmody de      Soto-Dominguez; there were more formalities to travel these days,      what with the war, but the Black Chamber's documents section was      on the job. Mexicans who wanted to travel abroad also had to get      U.S. passports to do it, but that and the requisite dual      citizenship were fairly easy to acquire for wealthy ones in good      odor with the American authorities who ran the Mexican      Protectorate now. Elisa had been one such, until the Chamber found      out she was also a secret member of the Partido Nacional      Revolucionario and conspiring with the German Empire against the      United States.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e While Luz traveled under her name, the luckless actual Elisa was      either dead of what the file would say was heart failure-a .45      slug in the back of the head did make your heart fail very badly      indeed-or still undergoing a series of exquisitely unpleasant      experiences in El Palacio Negro de Lecumberri. The Black Palace of      Lecumberri was a hulking ill-omened pile northeast of Mexico City      that had been built as a prison by President Porfirio D’az back      around the turn of the century, and one that made her skin crawl      every time she came near.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It had been the sort of place where you went for offending one of      The Indispensible One's jefes pol’ticos and slept tied upright to      the walls because there were five thousand inmates in cells      theoretically designed for seven hundred fifty. And there you      stayed until you died or some guard made fifty pesos under the      table by selling you to a labor agent from the tobacco estates of      the Valle Nacional, which was about the same thing with fresh air.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It was still a prison for the Protectorate today, though much more      select in its client list. It also housed the Black Chamber's      southern headquarters, a Federal Bureau of Security station, and      representatives from what she thought of as the Heinz 57 Varieties      of military intelligence.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The ticket agent visibly relaxed under the beacon of her smile,      dismissing the unguarded emotion he'd just seen in her eyes.      Charming smiles were something Luz did well, along with other,      hidden talents. She was in her mid-twenties, with straight fine      hair the color of raven feathers, so black that it had      metallic-blue highlights in the sun. It was done in the bobbed      style the French actress Polaire had recently made fashionable      among the daring, and framed a comely straight-nosed, full-lipped,      olive-skinned oval face with high cheekbones under a round      turban-style hat with a single peacock plume and a scarflike silk      fall that was looped under the chin and fastened on the other side      with a silver clasp.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her clothes were modish but a little more conservative than the      bobbed hair, a dark maroon tailleur outfit of jacket and      lower-calf-length skirt of light worsted suited to the humid heat      of New York's summer, with a cream silk shirtwaist and a few small      pieces of day jewelry in the popular southwestern style. She'd      picked those up in Santa Fe while debriefing from her last mission      in a Black Chamber safe house.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Being obviously a bit of a dashing New Woman of the era of the New      Nationalism was one thing, but she didn't want to stand out as a      full-scale flapper with a cigarette in an ivory holder and a      whiskey flask tucked into her garter. That would be bad      tradecraft, both because it would attract attention and because it      would be another layer of pretense she'd have to keep track of. It      was much easier to disguise who you were than what you were. Like      most of her generation and class Luz regarded the old Victorian      conventions of Mrs. Grundy and her ilk with a degree of amused      contempt and enjoyed herself without qualms, but she wasn't      basically a frivolous person.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Thank God the corset is dead, though, she thought. My luck!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She'd just barely missed the period when you were a hopeless      eccentric or a free-love advocate in odd-looking William      Morris-style aesthetic gowns if you didn't start corseting by your      late teens. The change had been very swift. Nobody her age wore      one now, except dowdy lower-middle-class provincials who hadn't      gotten the news or a few pinch-mouthed conservatives in enclaves      like Beacon Hill in Boston where they tried to pretend the      twentieth century hadn't started yet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And thank God that looking active is fashionable now, too,      everyone living Uncle Teddy's \"Strenuous Life\" or pretending to.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her honorary uncle approved of strenuous women, too. Luz knew he      meant it because she'd visited the Roosevelts often since      girlhood; her father had been a Rough Rider and, as an MIT man who      made his living as a consulting engineer in wild and woolly      places, was just the type of scientific modern buccaneer the      president admired.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I'd have been out of luck in the era of the tight-laced swoon and      interesting pallor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The middle-aged man in the blue uniform behind the booking booth's      counter concealed any annoyance at her carefully calculated      last-minute arrival and looked at the baggage the sweating porter      had piled up behind her with his dolly. There were two expensive      Vuitton steamer trunks in yellow leather with brass corners to go      into the hold, and a large ostrich-hide suitcase and a hatbox by      the same maker for the eighty-odd hours of the journey. They were      plainly visible, since an airship boarding process wasn't the mob      scene you'd get at Grand Central or Penn Station, especially when      you were the last passenger to arrive. In fact there were several      hundred people in the hangar, but they were mostly ground crew      lost in the hugeness of it, disconnecting the lift gas and fuel      gas and ballast water pipes and electric power cables and standing      by the mooring lines.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e None of them were paying her any special attention, except the      corporal in charge of the very bored but reasonably alert Federal      Bureau of Security squad in their new turtlelike steel helmets,      baggy olive-dust-brown-green uniforms, and buckled gaiter boots.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He'd been giving her a few uneasy glances, his knobby      narrow-chinned hillbilly face puzzled. He had a long scar over his      sandy eyebrows, a very deep tan, an Arkansas toothpick tucked into      his boot, and a drum-fed Thompson gun with a use-pitted muzzle in      an assault sling across his belly. The rest carried the light      self-loading rifles Browning had developed and Colt manufactured,      or battle shotguns. The Bureau got their pick of the new toys, of      which there were many these days since Uncle Teddy loved gadgets      and inventions, particularly those that shot bullets. Or flew, or      better still flew through the air shooting bullets.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His hand worked on the grip of the machine pistol as he frowned at      her in puzzlement, and he was obviously listening to instincts      that had kept him alive. She disarmed him with a brilliant smile      and he flushed and looked away scowling, unable to match the inner      prompting with what his eyes told him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You're traveling alone, then, Miss, ah, Carmody?\" the ticketing      officer said, grizzled brows rising on a face like the map of      Ireland.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She nodded casually. Even in these enlightened modern days-and      when years of war and Roosevelt's Equal Rights Amendment had      changed many things-it was still just a little risquŽ for an      obviously well-born young woman not to have even a maid with her,      or an older traveling companion. Her mother's family, those      stiff-necked birth-proud Cuban hacendado sugar barons, would have      fainted in shock. But then they'd cut off her mother as if she      were dead for eloping with the dashing young engineer Patrick      O'Malley a quarter century ago, and she'd been raised very      differently from the gloom and almost Oriental seclusion her      mother had endured. Mima had enjoyed that adventurous tomboyish      girl's life vicariously, even when she felt her daughter and only      child was going too far and insisted on spells in finishing      schools.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And besides, the Black Chamber doesn't have enough female agents      to waste one playing my maid.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"If you'll stand here on the scale with your things, miss, we need      to have the exact weight . . . ah, your cabin baggage is a bit      over the maximum . . .\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She paid the stiff extra charge without a qualm; it fit her      persona as an arrogant headstrong rich girl, which Elisa Carmody      had been . . . though being a secret revolutionary had been      arrogantly headstrong and very, very foolish. This was on Uncle      Sam's nickel anyway, through the clandestine budget the Treasury      funneled to the Secret Service and they to the Chamber, though she      could have afforded it herself. Her father had left her the house      and real estate in Santa Barbara and the ranchland near Los Olivos      and enough income from conservative investments to finish her      education at Bryn Mawr College and live very comfortably for the      rest of her life, if not enough for the Upper Ten Thousand's      social whirl. She'd chosen the Black Chamber instead because she      wanted it. First for revenge, and then because . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Well, it would have been very dull to have nothing important to      do. Even in Santa Barbara, where you can spend a month ambling      around without noticing whether it's Friday yet. And I had to show      Uncle Teddy he was right to trust me, and not let the other women      in the Chamber down either. Peace someday . . . but not today.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A stamp on her passport ended the process. \"That'll be cabin A-12,      Miss Carmody . . . Miss de Soto . . . Miss . . . Dominguez . . .\"      he said, gradually running down as he ran through the names,      mangling the Hispanic parts with a nasal big-city, East Coast,      dese-and-dem accent probably acquired growing up in the Bronx.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"All three, technically, but Carmody will do,\" she said patiently.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her own natural accent in English was pellucid General American of      a Californian variety with a very faint western tinge, though she      could have donned one that would make her sound like the man's      younger sister. She was letting a very slight hint of both Mexico      and Ireland into her speech, to match the report of Elisa      Carmody's patterns.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He continued, with obvious relief at not having offended someone      who could afford to spend better than his yearly salary on a      ticket.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Dinner will be served from seven, Miss Carmody. Welcome to the      friendly skies of American National Airways, and have a swift and      pleasant flight. Please follow the steward who will carry your      cabin baggage.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She turned and strode with a gracefully springy step up the ramp      that led to the gondola entrance, ignoring the passengers looking      down at her disgracefully late arrival through the inward-curving      windows of the lounge above; the three-level inhabited part of the      airship was built into the bottommost curve of the hull save for      where the semicircle of the flight deck jutted out like a chin      near the underside of the prow.","brand":"Ace","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304622837989,"sku":"NP9780399586231","price":22.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780399586231.jpg?v=1767722684","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/black-chamber-isbn-9780399586231","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}