Book ONE: THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO SLIPSTREAM
2071 and the world is rocked by a Solar Crisis. Earth’s temperatures skyrocket—rain forests shrivel
until the foliage is charred and dead.
Polar icecaps melt away, drowning most of Canada and Europe. Nearly all bodies of fresh water evaporate,
leaving the survivors of the Crisis to tear each other apart over a stake by a
boiling lake.
Water wars. Territorial clashes. Splitting skin.
An uncertain future.
2079. An archangel appears in the form of a man and his young daughter. Geniuses both, they seem untouched by the Solar Crisis of ’71. Her hair is golden, her eyes bright flares of blue. He is tall and certain, his clothes are of fine silk.
Their skin is wondrously pale.
“How?” clamor the masses, their skin blistered and boiled by a pitiless sun. A smile shimmers across the man’s face. He taps his wrist and, like a mirage, a force field flickers around the father and his daughter and disappears. She winces for a moment, assaulted by the sun, but he remains stalwart—as unrelenting as the star that plagues them.
They are alabaster gods.
“Please!” beg the onlookers. “Share with us your magic! The sun burns us, boils us, tears the sight from our eyes! We cannot take this world any longer!”
And the man, who is named Trinidad Compton, beckons the people with his arms. They fall into him, their cankered nails and bubbling fingers clamoring, crying, craving the magic. His daughter recoils at their touch.
“Now, Coin,” says Trinidad, watching his daughter. “You mustn’t look on with disgust. These are our people now. This is what we’ve slaved so hard for.” He raps his wrist and the force field expands, melting over the crowd like a cauldron tipped. The horde exhales in unison—a great, collective wind—as instant relief sweeps through them. Some burst into tears, others are shocked into silence. Several have never known repose. A great many bow before Trinidad and Coin.
Coin watches them rejoice, their pain forsaken. Trinidad’s face is frozen in a knowing grin.
“This is what we’ve worked so hard for,” he says again, and for a moment Coin believes her father is about to weep. But his fingers, agile and strong from decades of work, clasp around her shoulder. Not a tear is shed.
“The world is ours,” he whispers.
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Jump to...
BOOK TWO -- BOOK THREE -- BOOK FOUR -- TRINIDAD
Water wars. Territorial clashes. Splitting skin.
An uncertain future.
2079. An archangel appears in the form of a man and his young daughter. Geniuses both, they seem untouched by the Solar Crisis of ’71. Her hair is golden, her eyes bright flares of blue. He is tall and certain, his clothes are of fine silk.
Their skin is wondrously pale.
“How?” clamor the masses, their skin blistered and boiled by a pitiless sun. A smile shimmers across the man’s face. He taps his wrist and, like a mirage, a force field flickers around the father and his daughter and disappears. She winces for a moment, assaulted by the sun, but he remains stalwart—as unrelenting as the star that plagues them.
They are alabaster gods.
“Please!” beg the onlookers. “Share with us your magic! The sun burns us, boils us, tears the sight from our eyes! We cannot take this world any longer!”
And the man, who is named Trinidad Compton, beckons the people with his arms. They fall into him, their cankered nails and bubbling fingers clamoring, crying, craving the magic. His daughter recoils at their touch.
“Now, Coin,” says Trinidad, watching his daughter. “You mustn’t look on with disgust. These are our people now. This is what we’ve slaved so hard for.” He raps his wrist and the force field expands, melting over the crowd like a cauldron tipped. The horde exhales in unison—a great, collective wind—as instant relief sweeps through them. Some burst into tears, others are shocked into silence. Several have never known repose. A great many bow before Trinidad and Coin.
Coin watches them rejoice, their pain forsaken. Trinidad’s face is frozen in a knowing grin.
“This is what we’ve worked so hard for,” he says again, and for a moment Coin believes her father is about to weep. But his fingers, agile and strong from decades of work, clasp around her shoulder. Not a tear is shed.
“The world is ours,” he whispers.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jump to...
BOOK TWO -- BOOK THREE -- BOOK FOUR -- TRINIDAD