My caretaker used to tell me stories, as caretakers do, of when the world was new. When the world was made up of continents and not islands; of nations, not cities; when people traveled in the air, outracing sound, over water; when healers worked not with their hands, but with machines.
She told me of the sun shining, of the snow burying the world in white, of animals kept as familyof families, not clans, tribes or corporations. Of a world without magic. Without gene modification. Without pollution covering the sky. Without people like me.
When the world was new.
But that, as she always ended every story, every phrase, every glance, was a very, very long time ago.
Secrets dominate Rue's life in post-apocalyptic Chicago. When her past comes and swings around old favors for Rue's help, Rue can no longer hide in the shadow pretending she is a powerless, normal humana dud. Instead, she will have to lose carefully earned control and cause some damage in order to save her new lover and old family.
She told me of the sun shining, of the snow burying the world in white, of animals kept as familyof families, not clans, tribes or corporations. Of a world without magic. Without gene modification. Without pollution covering the sky. Without people like me.
When the world was new.
But that, as she always ended every story, every phrase, every glance, was a very, very long time ago.
Secrets dominate Rue's life in post-apocalyptic Chicago. When her past comes and swings around old favors for Rue's help, Rue can no longer hide in the shadow pretending she is a powerless, normal humana dud. Instead, she will have to lose carefully earned control and cause some damage in order to save her new lover and old family.
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