Runnin' Hot - Wigton, H. L.
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The ship'r community has had it up to their collective eyeballs. Coalition trackers were bad enough. Now there's a new infestation, one decidedly more dangerous; infinitely small, infinitely dense gravity pockets are suddenly cluttering mapped space, origin unknown, existence categorically unwelcome. Popping into existence with terrifying unpredictability, they're turning the lanes and the in-system regions into a dangerous game of dodge-'em and wreck-'em. To top it off, perfectly sane and (mostly) sober ship'rs are starting to see things out of the corners of their eyes while alone in their…mehr

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Produktbeschreibung
The ship'r community has had it up to their collective eyeballs. Coalition trackers were bad enough. Now there's a new infestation, one decidedly more dangerous; infinitely small, infinitely dense gravity pockets are suddenly cluttering mapped space, origin unknown, existence categorically unwelcome. Popping into existence with terrifying unpredictability, they're turning the lanes and the in-system regions into a dangerous game of dodge-'em and wreck-'em. To top it off, perfectly sane and (mostly) sober ship'rs are starting to see things out of the corners of their eyes while alone in their rigs. That presumably one-off encounter with an alien sentiency seemed to have kicked off a cascade of unexplainable weirdness, and everyone is starting to get a bad feeling that nothing will ever be the same again. Join Ship'r Bax and her hitchhiker Daniel as they navigate this strange new reality they find themselves in, where spectral rats dart into corners, people keep popping in and out of existence, and hauling cargo isn't as simple or clear cut as it should be. Now if they can just avoid blowing themselves up or falling into a singularity, that would be just fine. Whatever's watching them in transit will have to take a number, unless it would like to lend a hand in cleaning up the mess or take a turn dealing with those infuriatingly persistent cultists they keep tripping over.
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Autorenporträt
If you were to look for me, you would find me hovering on the edges, where the sand turns to surf, the forest to meadow, and the madding crowd grows sparse and scattered. Turn your head fast enough, and you may see my shadow slipping around a corner. If you wish to lure me out, leave a stack of books, preferably of theoretical physics, at my last known location. I will slink through the door to fetch them, and an offering of coffee, hot and black, will snare me faster than any bear trap. The promise of a long road trip, where we barely leave the highway, will have me lingering, intrigued and agonizing over routes, day vs. night travel, and if I'll scare you too badly with my cruising speeds. Don't expect much conversation, but be assured that my playlists are top-shelf, as is my audio soundstage. Let's roll.