This lauded work of science fiction and New York Times Notable Book of the Year explores a universe where genetic mutations have allowed certain individuals to traverse the stars.  It is the second stage of human colonization—the first age, humanity's initial attempt to people the stars, ended in disaster when it was discovered that Earth's original superluminal drive did permanent genetic damage to all who used it—mutating Earth's far-flung colonists in mind and body. Now, one of Earth's first colonies has given humanity back the stars, but at a high price—a monopoly over all human commerce. And when a satellite in Earth's outer orbit is viciously attacked by corporate raiders, an unusual young woman flees to a ship bound for the Up-and-Out. But her narrow escape does not mean safety. For speeding across the galaxy pursued by ruthless, but unknown adversaries, this young woman will discover a secret which is buried deep inside her psyche—a revelation the universe may not be ready to face.... Praise for  This Alien Shore "C. S. Friedman borrows some big ideas from writers like Cordwainer Smith, Frank Herbert, and Samuel R. Delaney, and runs with them. Instead of stumbling under the burden, she succeeds in making the material her own." — The New York Times "Friedman keeps her tale moving at a vigorous pace that's boosted through an abundance of well-chosen details.... It is likely to hold readers' interest tenaciously." — Publishers Weekly "Once again Ms. Friedman offers us great richness in both concept and detail, ingeniously weaving together two strong plotlines and piquant characters into a superior reading experience." — Romantic Times "A wide-ranging, action-packed space opera.  This Alien Shore  is guaranteed to entertain those who like to be swept up in an adventure with lots of characters, dangers, and revelations." — Science Fiction Chronicle "Concept and culture-building wise,  This Alien Shore  is brilliant." —Little Red Reviewer "In many ways, C.S. Friedman's work reminds me of William Gibson's—unique settings, complex and fascinating (though not necessarily likeable) characters, cool ideas and technology, a smart and savvy style." —Fantasy Literature "Friedman depicts a vast galaxy filled with diverse human kinds." —James Davis Nicoll "There is so much of interest here and rather than spend paragraph after paragraph describing it all, which I could easily do, I will simply tell you to read it. It is a great book and well worth your time." —Worlds Without End An acknowledged master of dark fantasy and science fiction alike, C.S. Friedman is a John W. Campbell award finalist, and the author of the highly acclaimed Coldfire Trilogy , New York Times Notable Book of the Year This Alien Shore , In Conquest Born , The Madness Season , The Wilding,  The Magister Trilogy and the Dreamwalker series. Friedman worked for twenty years as a professional costume designer, but retired from that career in 1996 to focus on her writing. She lives in Virginia, and can be contacted via her website, www.csfriedman.com. EARTH ORBIT SHIDO HABITAT   The voices woke her up.   For a moment Jamisia just lay in the darkness, neither dreaming nor fully awake yet, listening. Whispers of sound trickled through her brain, coalescing into words for an instant or two, then breaking up again. Frightening words.   Danger.   Betrayal.   And one was almost a scream: Run!   Shaken, she sat up in bed. Her room in the Shido Habitat was reassuringly familiar, filled with all the comfortable relics of her teenage years. Tickets from a concert over at Mitsui Habitat. Flowers-real flowers!-from her coming out at Microtech's Grand Pavilion. Homework chips piled up on one corner of the dresser, along with the headset that would feed their contents into her brain. All of it-her things, her life-familiar, comforting. It wasn't always that way. Sometimes she awoke to find things on her dresser that didn't (couldn't!) belong to her. Sometimes there were pieces of jewelry in her slideaway that she knew she had never bought, so alien to her taste that she could hardly imagine herself wearing them. Sometimes there were worse things, frightening things, and she threw those in the trash chute with shaking hands, wondering who had left them there in the middle of the night, in the room she locked so carefully before she went to bed. She kept waiting for the rightful owners to say something about their stuff, to yell at her for having chuted it without asking them . . . some kind of reaction, anything. But no one ever yelled. No one ever said a word, and her tentative queries to the habitat database yielded no explanation for the strange offerings, or any hint of their purpose.   It wasn't like that today; at least today everything in the room was really hers, and that should have been comforting. Only it wasn't. The voices were still clamoring inside her head, even though the act of waking up for good should have banishe