Wednesday, June 3, 2020

Gravity Is Heartless (Heartless Series, Book 1) by Sarah Lahey

Release date: June 2, 2020
Subgenre: Science fiction romance

About Gravity Is Heartless

 

What will the world look like in thirty years’ time? How will humanity survive the oncoming effects of climate change? Set in the near future and inspired by the world around us, Gravity Is Heartless is a romantic adventure that imagines a world on the cusp of climate catastrophe.

The year is 2050: automated cities, vehicles, and homes are now standard, artificial Intelligence, CRISPR gene editing, and quantum computing have become a reality, and climate change is in full swing―sea levels are rising, clouds have disappeared, and the planet is heating up.

Quinn Buyers is a climate scientist who'd rather be studying the clouds than getting ready for her wedding day. But when an unexpected tragedy causes her to lose everything, including her famous scientist mother, she embarks upon a quest for answers that takes her across the globe―and she uncovers friends, loss and love in the most unexpected of places along the way. Gravity Is Heartless is bold, speculative fiction that sheds a hard light on the treatment of our planet even as it offers a breathtaking sense of hope for the future.

 

Excerpt:

 

A dark-haired woman waits for Quinn on the sand by the transporter. She says her name is Myra and she’ll be facilitating Quinn’s departure and arrival. Myra is six feet tall, thin, grim-faced, and jowly. She has lustrous dark skin and slick hair, and from the neck down she’s clad in black: a roll-neck ribbed jacket and gloves, and rippled leggings that morph into thigh-high boots.
Not exactly beach wear.
Myra’s smooth, jowly face pokes out of her jumper like a turtle- head. Her dark eyes are amethyst pools, almost aubergine in color, and she has an extremely high, pronounced brow that forms a ridge over her face. Myra is more reptile than human, there is something distinctly lizard-like about her, but it’s her eye color that gives away her species.
In the mid 2020s, legislation relaxed CRISPR restrictions and produced batches of sequenced embryos. Editing for disease was successful, but big problems arose when technicians attempted to add, or remove, human characteristics. The human genome was more complex and interconnected than anyone thought, and some freakish results were produced: people seven feet tall with turquoise eyes and IQs of two hundred. Emotional problems, like chronic shyness, indifference, and narcissism, were also detected. High IQs combined with facial symmetry were linked to excessive amounts of earwax, disjointed toes, and OCD. Global legislation subsequently banned deep gene editing and manipulation for “artistic” purposes, but dodgy labs and unregulated regimes continued to experiment.
Quinn studies her arrival and departure facilitator. Myra is young, a baby of the late 2020s, and her purple eyes and supraorbital-ridged brow are clearly the products of illegal sequencing.
On board Myra hands Quinn protective sunglasses and a climate suit. “Put this on.”
“Now?”
“No, next fucking week. Of course now.”
Geez, calm down.
Her new climate suit is pale yellow, dirty—it smells—old style, and pre-used. Climate suits are made from a mycobacterial thermal fabric and there are many brands: Solarise, ThermaFibe, Insulate. Quinn’s is a decade old. The newer versions are all microbial, self-cleaning, and fire retardant, and they won’t shrink, fade, pill, or warp. The exterior is a matte layered metallic coating available in an endless variety of colors and design. The inner lining is made from hollow manufactured fibers melded with a nonwoven substrate. They insulate by repelling heat; once the suit is sealed around the body, it repels 80 percent of the surrounding environmental heat for six hours. Not sealed, it works as a reflector, without the insulating qualities. For the wearer, it feels like standing outside under an umbrella; it protects from sunlight, but the heat penetrates.
After slipping the suit over her clothes, Quinn discovers a hole—a split seam. The suit is essentially useless.
“There’s a hole in this,” she says, pointing to the area.
Myra glares at her like she’s a small mouse, and Quinn’s left arm, without instruction, reaches out and feels Myra’s velvet skin and strokes her silken hair. Quinn reins it in and guides it into her pocket. Myra scowls like she’s about to devour the small mouse. Quinn thinks facilitating departures and arrivals might be the wrong job for Myra; she should stay away from living things.

 

Amazon

 

About Sarah Lahey:

Sarah Lahey is a designer, educator, and writer. She holds bachelor’s degrees in interior design, communication, and visual culture, and works as a senior lecturer teaching classes on design, technology, sustainability and creative thinking. She has three children and lives on the Northern Beaches in Sydney, Australia.

 

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