Embers of War - My review.

Embers of War by Gareth L. Powell

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


Let me put it this way: I'm really happy I bought the next book in the series at the same time I bought Embers of War because this is an amazing book.

Told entirely in first-person with each chapter focusing on a different character, Powell weaves a story of the crew of the Trouble Dog, a sentient former heavy cruiser who resigned to join the House of Reclamation, a rescue service that tends to attract cast-offs and people in need of rescue themselves.

When a passenger liner is mysteriously lost, the Trouble Dog and its crew are sent to rescue any survivors, picking up two burned-out intelligence agents along the way. Among the passengers on the liner is a renowned poet who is more than she seems.

This is a very human story. It's about people finding redemption, even the hybrid human/canine brain of the Trouble Dog has some issues. Once at their target, all the characters discover secrets that could bring peace to the galaxy. . . . or set it on fire.

Tightly writing, with characters you really get to know and cheer for, even as you learn their secrets, and everyone is tied to a war crime that happened in the past. A great read, and the follow-up, Fleet of Knives, has moved several places up on my to-read pile.



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COVID-19 and Me

Sometime in the very near future, kshandra and I will sit down with Legal Zoom and make out my will, along with a durable power of attorney and - after a long discussion - my end of life instructions. Because I am in the 10-ring for COVID fatalities. I'm over 50, have a poor immune system, and have a long history of respiratory issues. This IS the bullet with my name on it.

Don't worry, I'm not sick. The worst I'm dealing with is sinus irritation from pollen and my guts attempting to summon demons. At least that what it sounds like most days. But I have to face the hard facts. Surviving Stage IV-B Hodgkin's Lymphoma is all well and good, but that can and the fight leaves you badly listing and taking on water. Way back when, just around the time I finished chemotherapy, Kirsten was told I could expect to live 20 years, then people like me start falling prey to other cancers, organ failure, and infections. So we should have done this years ago, especially after my stroke, but you know, whistling past the graveyard and all that.

It's not like I have a complex estate to deal with. No home or real property. Kirsten gets it all, except for the gaming stuff, which will be handed off to various nieces (my ultimate revenge on my younger sister for cutting me out of her life: dumping all my D&D books on the Niece of Last Resort!) If they don't want it, donate it or sell it. The same goes for the books she doesn't want, most of them will go to the Santa Clara Library for either loan or to be sold in the bookstore or the regular book sales.

As for my body? Dump this damn thing in a ditch somewhere. I'll be done with it, traitorous bag of meat!

The really hard part is going to be crafting my end of life wishes. Obviously, if I'm in a vegetative state (more than usual) and being kept alive by machines, frag me. I've already departed to have some stern words with the Manager over Game 6 of the 2002 World Series. If there's still brain activity going on at a deep level, the question is how likely is a recovery, and how far will I come back? I mean, I'd accept spending my last year bedridden and blind so long as I could enjoy music and baseball on the radio, and be able to somehow communicate that I was still there and wanted to throttle our closer. The same goes for still being able to read if all I have left is sight. Take everything away, and I'll show myself out.

Here's hoping these documents won't be needed anytime soon, but at this point, we can't put it off anymore.