QSFer Jack Davies has a new FF sci-fi book out: 944 Hidalgo.
Two female androids in love, an immigrant with a secret, an alien doctor, an astronaut on a mining ship, a man with hands of fire, a young woman with Xray eyes, a griefstricken robot, a Venetian executioner, a woman with foresight in a tower, and a delivery driver with a cargo of children all come together to save the planet from destruction when an asteroid plummets toward Earth, threatening to kill everyone.
Roiling with themes of modern slavery and racism, as well as AI and the malaise of a modern world half asleep and blind to violence and destruction not to mention a love affair, a father-son relationship, and android lesbian lovers Jack Davies’s thought-provoking, emotional storytelling is brought together in a shattering conclusion.
Get It At Amazon | Publisher
Excerpt
Saturn is less dense than water. It’s the only planet in the Solar System like that. Its Greek name was Cronus. It was on its day, Saturday, that Ingrid wrote. By Saturday, two weeks later, a piece of asteroid 944 Hidalgo, near Saturn’s ring, was heading towards Earth. Three days later it would kill everyone.
Cronus was the son of Mother Earth, in Greek mythology,
who castrated his father, Uranus, and threw his testicles in the sea. Aphrodite appeared from the white foam from Uranus’s testicles. Cronus ate all his children thinking they might depose him, except Zeus, who forced his father to throw up his brothers and sisters, and castrated him. Family can be tricky at the best of times.
Love is an even rockier road. I knew the mountains and lows of love’s fetid canals, the leaking refrigerator in the plum
tree of blossom. All of that I understood, all that mattered was Ingrid’s letters, which I, a man with fire for hands, scooped up like Fabergé eggs rolled down Ladbroke Grove, and
I had a hat as big as a bus to catch them.
The mining space station in orbit around Saturn revolved, so
that even if she wanted to, it was impossible for Ingrid Bester to see her home of London, England as the timing was all off. This was Ingrid’s first trip in space. She wrote to me every day. We were in love.
She wrote to explain, “The viewing platform is on one side only, the side that faces away from Earth we see through our scopes. Sometimes I sit and peer out just to catch a glimpse, but as Europe comes into view, we turn another inch, and England is lost.”
She said all the other employees could see home, but not
her. They were from different countries, different backgrounds, she was having a hard time fitting in. There was a gap in her understanding of who she was, without seeing where she came from. That gap was like the gap of not knowing her parents, or of falling over a waterfall and in mid-fall knowing that as the whirling pool below came up to meet her, she was alone, never moving forward.
She said she was hating space. Hating the repetition. But finding time to not hate. To be herself, despite herself. She said the mining corporation she worked for had identified a new near-earth asteroid, 944 Hidalgo, in the belt near Saturn and they were planning to launch a mining ship soon, on an intercept; to mine diamonds which had been detected was the purpose of the mission, of all space missions, wealth. Of course, she wasn’t involved in manning the ship, her job was purely admin, though she knew more than anyone really how these things worked, she had studied hard and gained her degrees and a PhD in astrophysics; it was just, things got in the way of her progression, mostly other people and their attitude.
Why did they feel the need to compete all the time? She never felt the need. But, anyway, she felt good to be part of the mission, in any capacity.
She wrote, “The time for knowing is past, what the future brings is shaped by the destiny we bring to our future. I wish I could have found love, but then, for what purpose? The purpose of me never depended on you. That purpose is more than the shame you talk about.”
She wrote, “You have such good qualities. Up here the weather is always the same. But I am changing. Maybe I am becoming what you want, docile and placid. That is not what I want. No one wants that.” She said that when the world comes around we are always pointed in a different direction.
She wrote later, “Thank you for your message, I am glad you are happy now, I hope you do not give up your thoughts, your actions. I feel that I have given too much. I had a dream about the shell from the Jokaca Sea. The material to coat inside, the green moss that grows only on the Kerselsha mountainside. The locksmith, Teraxa, you talked about. I constructed my own box. I have it here with me. I am not alone. I store my shame, word by word.”
She said life on the station, in the black night or in the light of the blinding awkward sun or hazy glow from Jupiter, had helped her to contain all her thoughts, and she was careful not to let them leak out like a stray tear. She wrote that she was exercising and meditating, that work was exciting now the launch date was close. She said she had set aside time to reflect on herself, as though she was standing on a mountainside and far below she could see herself, her actions, her thoughts, and not judge them. Words no longer hurt. Impatience was becoming less and less. She had time to allow other thoughts in. She said she could now confront herself like a stranger. As the mining lander launched she felt anger melting away. She had let go of herself, like a large balloon pricked and deflating and happy to see it float heaven-wards.
Author Bio
Jack Davies has been writing for many years and is an award-winning Writer/Director/Producer based in London. Writer of published short stories, film scripts and poetry.
| Author Website | https://www.jackdaviesauthor.com |
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