Flying around a world battered by rapid climate change and struggling with economic collapse in a hi-tech airship, Lemmy encounters the remnants of our civilisation â the artificial intelligences searching for the singularity, a rocking bishop in his flying cathedral, the last climate sceptics, the technovegans and deep green terrorists, billionaire libertarians in their bubble, and much, much more. Not to mention the goats, the girlfriend with bots in her head and the elixir of life (which is cheese). "Part dystopian tome a la âMad Maxâ meets âWaterworldâ, part stinging indictment of the mendacious ongoing campaign to deny the threats of human-caused climate change, The Aviator delivers a winning combination of wit and insight as it depicts the perils we may bestow upon future generations if we choose not to act on the greatest threat human civilization has ever faced." - Professor Michael E Mann, climate scientist and author of The Hockey Stick & the Climate Wars. "A brilliant and wickedly satirical romp through a post-climate change world." - Sonny Whitelaw, author of Stargate SG-1 and Stargate Atlantis novels.
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|Title of Science Fiction eBook: The Aviator|
|Release Date: 08-23-2012|
|Publisher: (Indie Author)|
This eBook download is available in the following formats:
|Parent title||The Aviator|
|Devices||Samsung Tablet, Apple Ipad & Iphone, Barnes & Noble Nook, Kobo eReader, Aluratek Libre, Iliad, Nokia, Blackberry, Hanlin|
|Note||ePub, short for electronic publication is one of our favorites and should be yours for a couple of reasons. ePub offers reflowable text giving you flexibility to manipulate how the content is presented. Moreover, lots of cool features are now being developed for the reader like advanced video and audio. ePub is now an industry standard, so all of the "non-propreitary" hardware manufacturers are now supporting it.|
They call me Lemmy. My father gave me the name. He thought Lemuel would sound distinguished, laden with allusions to classical literature. Not in my world it isn’t. Everyone assumes I’m named after a musician in an ancient heavy metal band.
Tonight the blimp is creaking quietly over my head. It’s tethered to the last patch of high ground on Aitutaki, a coral atoll in the Cook Islands. The inhabitants were shipped off to Rarotonga years ago, but there’s one old man who refuses to leave. He’s playing a battered ukelele on the porch of his weatherbeaten house, singing something I don’t recognise. We had fish for dinner. We always have fish for dinner. The reef is long gone under the waves, but there are still a few fish and only one fisherman.
I’m the Admiral’s only visitor. I try to visit him when I’m crossing the Pacific, bring him a few cigarettes, a bottle of whisky and some tins of vegetables. He likes tinned peaches, but they’re hard to come by. I can’t call in very often, but I’m always welcome.
The last flight was the worst yet. I need some rest. Nobody knows I’m here. This is my escape from the world. I can stay as long as I want – the Admiral doesn’t mind, so I’ll stay here a while and write.