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Using a converted space hotel as their base, Peri Fairchild and the other freelancers dive into the clouds of Baltuss to mine gases. Their activities are challenged by the extreme capitalists of Harvest Corporation who view them as pirates. With the illegal radio station Red Sky Radio providing free entertainment, follow Peri, her boyfriend Taz and the other miners as the final showdown with Harvest Corporation leads to irrevocable changes, both for the miners and Harvest.        

This was the part she liked the best: descending toward the scarlet clouds, all billowy and inviting like a forever wall of baby’s-bottoms.

Once inside the gas giant’s dense atmosphere, Peri’s view would be artificial, a conglomeration of sensory impressions assembled by the circuitry that resided in her utility belt and transmitted to receptors just under her skin. Her brain was augmented to handle this flood of foreign perceptions, sorting infrared scans and climatic pressure readings with the same ease as her brain digested visual, auditory and tactile sensations. The spectacle found in these clouds was breathtaking, but what Peri saw was an environmental assessment, not a representational image. It did not exist as a four dimensional realization, for her complete view involved a multitude of perceptual overlays ordinarily unfound in routine human senses. She tasted a particle’s quantum spin as vibrantly as she thrilled to the caress of its chemical composition. Electromagnetic pulses gave her a stomach ache, while X-rays stimulated her libido.

But before she plunged into that gaseous majesty, expanding her perceptions into a fractalized analysis, she liked to restrict the view of her fall to her visual cortex. That image was her favorite.

The forever wall rushed toward Peri as she plummeted into Baltuss’ massive gravity well. The cloudbanks seethed and roiled with turbulence, vast plateaus of cloying vapor bigger than moons surging and melting back into the intangible uniformity. There were so many shades of red--more than her heart could count, and each one tickled her retinal cones a different way.

This was the equivalent of Peri Fairchild’s commute-to-work.

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Last updated on September 9, 2007

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