Escapee
Repelling the Invasion Book Two
By Edward Hoornaert
Genre: Science fiction romance
Publisher: MuseItUp Publishing
Date of Publication: April 19, 2016
The African Queen in outer space
Catt Sayer just wants to survive. The working-class fugitive delivers military supplies on her decrepit airship, but her hard-won livelihood vanishes when invaders overrun her harsh moon. Now an idealistic, upper-class officer wants her to risk her life on a hopeless voyage to attack enemy headquarters – manned by 10,000 soldiers.
Edward Hoornaert’s romantic space opera, Escapee, continues the saga of the Dukelsky family (begun in The Guardian Angel of Farflung Station). If you like The African Queen and the thrill of underdogs finding love while battling a hostile environment, you’ll love Escapee.
The books of the Repelling the Invasion series can be read in any order or as standalones. The first book of the series is The Guardian Angel of Farflung Station.
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MuseItUp Publishing iBooks BN Kobo
Catt Sayer just wants to survive. The working-class fugitive delivers military supplies on her decrepit airship, but her hard-won livelihood vanishes when invaders overrun her harsh moon. Now an idealistic, upper-class officer wants her to risk her life on a hopeless voyage to attack enemy headquarters – manned by 10,000 soldiers.
Edward Hoornaert’s romantic space opera, Escapee, continues the saga of the Dukelsky family (begun in The Guardian Angel of Farflung Station). If you like The African Queen and the thrill of underdogs finding love while battling a hostile environment, you’ll love Escapee.
The books of the Repelling the Invasion series can be read in any order or as standalones. The first book of the series is The Guardian Angel of Farflung Station.
Amazon Amazon Canada Amazon UK Amazon Australia
MuseItUp Publishing iBooks BN Kobo
“You see no bodies, Miss Sayer, because I buried them over the past seven days."
Catt waited for him to continue, but he didn't. “Oh yeah?” she scoffed. She knew he was lying, because she’d crawled over the twisted remains of the fortress’s backhoe, whose micro-explosives enabled it to burrow into Banff’s rocky ground. “You dug graves by hand in solid rock. Yeah, right.”
“Enemy bombs blasted the graves. I just filled the holes with bodies and rubble.”
For one body, that was believable. For more than a hundred, though? Catt bit back a retort. From anyone else she’d suspect sarcasm. From him, she didn’t know what to expect.
Then she noticed how red his skin was, as though exposed far too long to the moon’s corrosive atmosphere. Lighter patches marked where he’d worn goggles and a respirator. “You did all that without a bio-suit?” Like most people, she didn’t trust respirators for more than a few minutes at a time. The man was either suicidal or insanely devoted to duty.
“I’d left my bio suit here while I went on leave, and it was destroyed in the attack. As for leaving before the Proximanian army returns, I thought of that long before you did, which was why I hastened to finish my reports.”
The entire moon had fallen into enemy hands and yet this officer wrote reports? Her opinion must’ve shown on her face, because his flinty expression slipped, revealing exhaustion, despair, and a plea for understanding.
“I know I’ll never be able to send them, but…” He ran a hand over his eyes, and the unfeeling martinet was back. “The reports are letters to my men’s families, explaining how they died at their posts, defending New Ontario’s interests.”
Catt opened her mouth. Closed it. Felt her face flame. Facing Dukelsky was like staring into a furnace. She lowered her gaze. “I didn’t know…”
“Yet you assumed the worst of me.”
Without thinking, she had slumped into the submissive, hunched posture of a peasant being scolded by a patroon. Now, though, she straightened. Embarrassment warred with anger, yet she wouldn’t let him or any other patroon humble her, ever again. “Turnabout’s a bitch, eh?”
She expected him to ask what she meant. He didn’t, though a narrowing of his eyes told her he remembered his cheap prostitute comment. Their eyes locked. She refused to back down first.
Catt waited for him to continue, but he didn't. “Oh yeah?” she scoffed. She knew he was lying, because she’d crawled over the twisted remains of the fortress’s backhoe, whose micro-explosives enabled it to burrow into Banff’s rocky ground. “You dug graves by hand in solid rock. Yeah, right.”
“Enemy bombs blasted the graves. I just filled the holes with bodies and rubble.”
For one body, that was believable. For more than a hundred, though? Catt bit back a retort. From anyone else she’d suspect sarcasm. From him, she didn’t know what to expect.
Then she noticed how red his skin was, as though exposed far too long to the moon’s corrosive atmosphere. Lighter patches marked where he’d worn goggles and a respirator. “You did all that without a bio-suit?” Like most people, she didn’t trust respirators for more than a few minutes at a time. The man was either suicidal or insanely devoted to duty.
“I’d left my bio suit here while I went on leave, and it was destroyed in the attack. As for leaving before the Proximanian army returns, I thought of that long before you did, which was why I hastened to finish my reports.”
The entire moon had fallen into enemy hands and yet this officer wrote reports? Her opinion must’ve shown on her face, because his flinty expression slipped, revealing exhaustion, despair, and a plea for understanding.
“I know I’ll never be able to send them, but…” He ran a hand over his eyes, and the unfeeling martinet was back. “The reports are letters to my men’s families, explaining how they died at their posts, defending New Ontario’s interests.”
Catt opened her mouth. Closed it. Felt her face flame. Facing Dukelsky was like staring into a furnace. She lowered her gaze. “I didn’t know…”
“Yet you assumed the worst of me.”
Without thinking, she had slumped into the submissive, hunched posture of a peasant being scolded by a patroon. Now, though, she straightened. Embarrassment warred with anger, yet she wouldn’t let him or any other patroon humble her, ever again. “Turnabout’s a bitch, eh?”
She expected him to ask what she meant. He didn’t, though a narrowing of his eyes told her he remembered his cheap prostitute comment. Their eyes locked. She refused to back down first.
What kind of guy writes romance? A guy who married his high school sweetheart a week after graduation and still lives the HEA decades later. A guy who’s a certifiable Harlequin hero—he inspired Vicki Lewis Thompson’s Rita Award finalist Mr. Valentine, which is dedicated to him.
Ed started out writing contemporary romances for Silhouette Books, but these days he concentrates on science fiction romance. He’s been a teacher, principal, technical writer, salesman, janitor, and symphonic oboist. He and wife Judi live in Tucson, Arizona. They have three sons, a daughter, a mutt, and the galaxy’s most adorable grandson.
http://eahoornaert.com
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1237266.Edward_Hoornaert
http://www.amazon.com/Edward-Hoornaert/e/B001K8HWVQ/
Ed started out writing contemporary romances for Silhouette Books, but these days he concentrates on science fiction romance. He’s been a teacher, principal, technical writer, salesman, janitor, and symphonic oboist. He and wife Judi live in Tucson, Arizona. They have three sons, a daughter, a mutt, and the galaxy’s most adorable grandson.
http://eahoornaert.com
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1237266.Edward_Hoornaert
http://www.amazon.com/Edward-Hoornaert/e/B001K8HWVQ/
