{"product_id":"mirage-isbn-9780756415617","title":"Mirage","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe second book in the Web Shifter's Library series returns to the adventures of Esen, a shapeshifting alien who must navigate the perils of a hostile universe.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRelationships get complicated when you don’t know who—or what—you really are. Esen must find a way to rescue a hapless group of chimeras, beings who are a new and unique blend of species she knows, when she can’t become one herself. When Evan Gooseberry tries to help, he is shattered to learn he himself isn’t entirely Human and begins to suspect his new friend Esen isn’t what she seems.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eComplicating matters, a mysterious contagion has killed the crew of the ship that brought the chimeras—and Evan—to Botharis. Everyone’s been quarantined inside the All Species’ Library of Linguistics and Culture, including over a hundred disgruntled alien scholars.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The risks climb as Skalet and Lionel continue their quest to solve the disappearance of Paul’s mother’s ship, the \u003ci\u003eSidereal Pathfinder,\u003c\/i\u003e only to find themselves caught in a tangle of loyalties as Skalet is betrayed by her own Kraal affiliates, who infiltrate the Library.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll of which would be quite enough for one Web-being’s day, but Paul Ragem hopes to rekindle the romance of his first love. A shame Esen hasn’t told him who’s hiding in their greenhouse.Praise for the Web Shifter's Library series \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003ci\u003eSearch Image\u003c\/i\u003e is the guaranteed \u003cb\u003emost delightful and fun SF read\u003c\/b\u003e of the year.\" —Marie Bilodeau, author of the Aurora-nominated \u003ci\u003eDestiny \u003c\/i\u003eseries\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Julie Czerneda's novels \u003cb\u003eignite my sense of wonder\u003c\/b\u003e, from the amazing worlds she creates, to the fully realized aliens and likeable characters. I eagerly await her next.\" —Kristen Britain, author of \u003ci\u003eGreen Rider\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"As always, there are plenty of oddball alien hijinks, misunderstandings, and intrigues, all illustrating how badly the library is needed while providing \u003cb\u003eexcellent entertainment\u003c\/b\u003e.\" —\u003ci\u003eLocus\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Julie E. Czerneda is one of the leading SF writers of the 21st Century. A biologist by trade, she’s brought a unique appreciation for the far-ranging possibilities of extraterrestrial biology to her fiction, and the result has been some of \u003cb\u003ethe most joyously alien characters in all of modern SF\u003c\/b\u003e.\" —Black Gate\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003ci\u003eSearch Image\u003c\/i\u003e had \u003cb\u003eone of my favorite settings so far\u003c\/b\u003e (an all-inclusive alien library), and an abundance of interesting aliens. Czerneda’s worldbuilding and attention to biological detail is amazing, and something I always look forward to in her books.\" —The Obsessive Bookseller\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Once I started reading \u003ci\u003eSearch Image\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e I could not put it down.\u003c\/b\u003e I laughed, I cried; I’ll be honest, I hugged and smelled it quite a few times. I couldn’t help myself. I was so happy to have it in my hands.\" —BookGirl's BookNook\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This new fantasy is \u003cb\u003ewildly imaginative and suspenseful\u003c\/b\u003e.... A remarkable alien makes this new addition in the Web Shifter’s series one to enjoy.\" —Bookaholic Romance Book Club\u003cb\u003eJulie E. Czerneda\u003c\/b\u003e is a biologist and writer whose science fiction has received international acclaim, awards, and bestselling status. She is the author of the Clan Chronicles, the Species Imperative trilogy, the Stratification novels, and the Web Shifter series, among other works. She is a multiple Aurora Award winner, and has been a finalist for the John W. Campbell Award and the Philip K. Dick Award.\u003cp\u003eMakings\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShut the doors!\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"We can't-\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Get the nets!\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePounding footsteps smother the words from their mouths. Alien feet don't appreciate the correct response to alarm is to seek sanctuary. Alien mouths don't know silence is safer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHumans.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEvery Sacrissee knows better. She does, though her ears ring from the deafening concussion that shook the world moments before, filling the air with dust and stink. She struggles to move-suddenly can move as lights go dark, taking with them the strange blanket that had held her flat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFlat is wrong.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eStaying here is wrong.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen her feet find the floor, she runs.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNasal bulb rigid with distress, she cowers before the opening of what had been a wide doorway, hiding within piles of still settling debris, coated in dust.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOUT is dangerous, every Sacrissee knows.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut the IN behind her offers no safety, only distraught Humans and the too-big, too-bright room where she'd been before the flat and blanket. There'd been Sacrissee in the room with her, too many and all young and all wrong.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe isn't sure why she believes that, but it is true.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eToo much here is wrong, starting with the blue Human symbols where her fur thins over her hand. OOLA-TB333401. She tries-always tried, they all did-to rub them off. Her skin has grown red and sore. Leave it, Oola, as Humans called her, putting their creams on her skin, unable to say her proper name with their mouths. Easy, Oola. Lie down, Oola. You're doing well, Oola.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Make it quick.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA whisper from outside the once-door. Oola crouches lower, pulls in her tail lest it betray her. Are these more sensible Humans?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer first impression is favorable. These keep to shadows, are like shadows in their black garb, but keep talking, which isn't sensible. \"First corridor left, straight to the fourth door,\" says one. \"That's secure storage.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"And locked. Be ready to blow it too. Carefully.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey hadn't been careful with this door.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOne steps too near, flushing Oola into the open. She runs, dashing across the perilous OUT with its sunbaked stones. She isn't alone. Others run, too, this way and that, coated in dust and panting with distress. Some are younger, smaller. She pushes them out of her way.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSome are older, much larger. She dodges those, aims for the welcoming shadow cast by the aircar parked across the stone.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIs stopped by a warning \"Ssssuppptt!\" and tail slam, for the shadow is occupied.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere are three, large and mature enough to feel the rut and be angered by youth, and Oola freezes in place, as she should.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTails subside at her courtesy. \"Come with us, little one. We will take you to a good place. A new IN.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnother: \"We just got out ourselves-\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe third: \"Would you leave her?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen she hesitates, a hood is pulled back. The eyes regarding her kindly are yellow.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAND WRONG!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOola leaps away before she thinks. Others collide with her. She collides with them. She leaps and spins, heart pounding. Moves ever forward, toward the gate. They all are, all but the wrong three, clinging to their shadow.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThrough the gate is Rattisila, her beautiful city, with its comforting walls and arches, unlike this terrible, Human, place. Her IN. Sanctuary.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe is within the gate when a second explosion trembles the ground. She glances back. Smoke rises from the windowless building. They were not more careful. Giant words in Sacrissee and comspeak drop from their place over what had been the door, letters tilted and thus wrong, but she can read, and reads them as they fall.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Molancor Sacriss.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e1: Greenhouse Morning\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen the first snow stuck to the last leaves of fall, I'd found the effect charming and hauled Paul out to see. Multiple times. However, by this point of winter, snow in trees meant wet frozen lumps landing on my head if I wasn't careful or even if I was.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOh, I liked snow, under the right circumstances. Thinking of those, I held out a paw as I walked, catching plump snowflakes. My useful fingers were covered in warm purple knit, courtesy of Ally Orman who loved a creative challenge. I'd received an embarrassment of such gifts from the staff of the Library, who thought there were two of me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere were, as far as they were concerned. Esolesy Ki, who oversaw the Garden, cheerfully did vague non-important tasks and was the only Lishcyn on Botharis. My other identity here? Esen-alit-Quar the Lanivarian-also the sole representative of that species on this cheerfully backwater world, not that I'd planned it-and curator of the All Species' Library of Linguistics and Culture. Which I had.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWith Paul Ragem, who was himself Human, born here, and my first, best friend.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI scuffed my feet along the path, wishing his home planet had more to offer in boots than rubbery sock things meant for sick bovines.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere were far more mes, of course, none of whom I'd shown our staff. I'd particularly not shown them the real me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe real me? Esen-alit-Quar is my name, as Lanivarian is the form of my birth. Esen for short, Es between friends or in a hurry. My real nature-my species, if you will? Web-being.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNot an informative name, granted, unless you knew more about us, which very few did and if my web-kin, Skalet, had her way, no others would. On that, we'd come to an understanding.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI wouldn't tell anyone else, and Skalet had agreed, as if granting a great favor, that those who already knew of our existence-because of me-could continue to live. She'd even, in unguarded and rare moments, admitted Paul was an exceptional member of his species, which he was, despite being perilously curious.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAlong with compassionate, brilliant, stubborn-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOur colleague Lionel Kearn, on the other hand, seemed to have earned Skalet's respect. Something I'd been trying in vain to accomplish the past 554 Commonwealth standard years of my life. I wasn't sure Skalet's improved regard was altogether safe for poor Lionel, but he continued to breathe, so there was that.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhat were we? Descendants of Ersh, the first of our kind to leave our natal interstellar home and acquire intelligence. Ersh went from mindlessly gobbling the products of stars to develop an unfortunate taste for living mass, in particular that which could think and scream and pass along cultural nightmares to be a bother later.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter causing more than her share of mass extinctions, Ersh, no longer mindless, developed a conscience. More, she declared a purpose: to remember the accomplishments of those likely to become extinct.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTo assist in this purpose, she made us, the members of her Web, each budded from her flesh. Except for me, but no one expected me. Among Ersh's rules for us? Respect what lived and thought and, above all, remain hidden from it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA Web-being has perfect memory, including that of our molecular structure which we manipulate at will. It prevents aging tissues and dispenses with unpleasantries such as poison or disease-causing visitors, so we're essentially immortal. Ish. We share what we've experienced as individuals by biting chunks of flesh out of one another and assimilating the information stored therein.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePrecisely balanced chunks, of course. We're conscious of our mass at all times and it wouldn't do to be greedy. Ersh, as Senior Assimilator, taught us restraint while sorting our new memories through her own body first, deciding which to share. Rarely the fun ones.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs a bonus, we can become whatever living shape we, or another of our Web, have assimilated. For a while and with effort; otherwise there's an explosive, though local, release of accumulated energy. I'm getting much better at that.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAny living shape capable of thought, that is, because Ersh's personal evolution locked us into that requirement. It's safer for all that way.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOur ability is not only ideal for storing information about ephemeral species-for Ersh insisted we collect everything possible, from biology to poor habits-it's essential camouflage. Semi-immortal shapeshifting aliens who ate one another being awkward at best to explain, there was our bothersome lineage. Our kind, through Ersh, was responsible for consuming the life on entire planets, even if it had been ages past. Ersh had made sure I alone learned that troubling history.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere's a downside to being a Web-being, at least for me. When we cycle our flesh into that of another species? We remain ourselves. Who we are. Unique individuals of that species, down to the correct relative age.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSuffice to say my Human-self, Bess, elicits a distressing parental instinct in other Humans that's rarely helpful, a tendency to be dismissed that occasionally is, but, regardless, I avoid being one as much as possible.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eErsh avoided being Human too, unless for my education. As a Human, she was a terrifyingly ancient female missing most of an arm. Sacrificed, she'd remind me endlessly, to keep our existence secret from ephemerals.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA deeply disturbing example that hadn't stopped me rescuing and making friends with a curious Alien First Contact Specialist named Paul Ragem. Ersh knew I'd some issues with impulse control.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eErsh was gone, most of her, immured into the rock of her mountain on Picco's Moon. I'd some bits hidden away in a cryofreezer I really should assimilate and be done with, but as I'd already consumed several, her memories rising up to my shock and dismay at the worst times, the appeal was limited.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI'd thought I'd lost the rest of Ersh's Web. Lesy and Mixs to Death, an invading, non-sentient Web-being who gobbled them up, our own flesh the tastiest. Skalet when her favored form, the Humans called Kraal, had failed in their attack against Death. Ansky, my birth-mother, to her formssake at the time, the Articans.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf you see a theme about being careful what you are, it's true.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn the end, Paul and I found a way to stop Death. Because no good deed goes without dire consequence, as Ersh would say, Lionel Kearn and others pinned what Death had done to other species on me, the Esen Monster. To keep my secret safe, Paul didn't cut off an arm.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe did worse. He pretended to be dead for fifty years, severing himself from his family and friends, the future he'd thought to have. Now he was back, but the wound had yet to heal, if it ever could.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI paused, looked around to be sure no one was watching, then stuck out my tongue to catch a large, lazy snowflake. Unlikely to find anyone else in the Library Garden at this hour-or season, for that matter, most of the plants dormant or dead-but dignity mattered.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI tried for a second snowflake, only to miss. It came to rest on the tip of my nose. I stared cross-eyed down my snout until the flake melted, then licked off the drop.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere'd been snow the night Paul learned I wasn't safe, when I'd seen fear distort his dear face and known it was of me. I'd run from him then, not trusting him or the nascent friendship between us. Run straight to Ersh, as it happened, forced to share what I'd done.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFortunately for Paul, I'd an ability only Ersh among the others possessed: I, too, could sort the memories in my flesh. What my kin tore away in their jaws to assimilate contained what had happened, but not my friendship with Paul. Later, I became even better at sharing only what I wished.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUnfortunately, with Ersh now so much rock, this ability meant I was, though Youngest and least, now Senior Assimilator for the Web of Esen.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs for my dignity, I wasn't worried about Paul, or Lionel, catching me licking snowflakes, though the former enjoyed throwing balls of snow for me to chase that occasionally connected. Chasing was fine, but this me wasn't fond of being wet.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo, since I'd learned Skalet too had faked her own death, recently coming back to life to be part of the tiny Web of Esen, I'd avoided any behavior likely to reinforce her disdain for my callow youth. Such as snowflake licking.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFrozen stems and branches rattled in the freshening breeze. The wind heralded a forecasted plummet in temperature, and as clumps of snow began to plop onto the path, I stopped dawdling. Being on a secret errand.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe Garden's greenhouse was my destination, as it was every morning. The building was private and mine, not that Web-beings needed or cared for possessions, but we could, I knew from experience, grow fond of inanimate things. My Lishcyn-self had a great fondness for silk as well as fudge. Which wasn't a great combination of loves unless, like me, you could use a steadily increasing girth as an excuse for more shopping.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs for the Garden? To be blunt, as a Web-being with a conscience and friends, I needed easy access to living mass. What was encompassed by \"plants\" was an excellent, didn't-take-it-personally, source to assimilate at need. My Lanivarian-self had assisted Ersh in her greenhouse, but it was my Lishcyn-self who'd come to love growing plants.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTo indulge that love, I'd brought in hundreds of species from as many worlds, kept from venturing onto Botharis' own verdant landscape-itself hardly free of invasives, but I'd promised-by Skalet's Kraal bio-eliminator field overhead and underground. According to the Library's mission statement, our Garden was for the respite and comfort of visiting scholars. A bit of home, away from home.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt wasn't quite a lie.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe truth was no one had the time. Scholars arrived in a rush to learn if their offering of new information for our databases-which included the one in my flesh, not that we mentioned that-had been accepted. If yes, it was another rush to pose their question at one of the many species-specific inputs, conveniently located within their appropriate habitat zones. Receiving their answer-which I'd verify against my flesh if necessary, not that we mentioned that either-they'd have to hurry to catch the last train to the spaceport before their ship left.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTheir haste was entirely our fault. The Library wasn't designed for overnight guests or even much in the way of a linger. We'd cheerfully expected Botharis to build a proper shipcity, or at least stations in orbit.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut no. Not yet. Admittedly there was a ramshackle village growing between the train station and the field-the reliable profit to be made from gullible aliens coupled with the onset of winter inspiring several local entrepreneurs to dig in and stay put, adding whatever they could carry to shore up walls and roof their marketplace tents-but only Constable Malcolm Lefebvre appeared to notice, being called on occasion for over-festive behavior or theft of what shouldn't be there in the first place.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"DAW","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233393815781,"sku":"NP9780756415617","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780756415617_8b879015-fcda-403e-ae10-0ed398fc2406.jpg?v=1767732773","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/mirage-isbn-9780756415617","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}