By Greg Bear
A starship hurtles during the vacancy of house. Its destination-unknown. Its purpose-a secret.
Now, one guy wakes up. Ripped from a dream of a brand new home-a new planet and the lady he used to be intended to like in his arms-he unearths himself rainy, bare, and freezing to dying. The darkish halls are packed with monsters yet trusting different survivors he meets should be the larger danger.
All he has are questions-- who's he? the place are they going? What occurred to the dream of a brand new lifestyles? What occurred to Hull 03?
All could be replied, if he can live on the ship.
HULL 0 THREE is an edge-of-your-seat thrill trip during the darkest reaches of area.
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Additional info for Hull Zero Three
I’m in a floating pile of junk. Useless as I am, maybe I belong here. What original use the junk may have had is not obvious. Some of it seems to have been alive—animals of a sort, leaking life blood—but nothing I see is familiar. An odd feeling comes back to me, however. I’ve done this before. I know from weightless. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. I’ve practiced this sort of maneuver before, often—in Dreamtime. Large masses remain dangerous even when weightless—they can crush.
The team rearranges, and together, despite my clinging, desperate hands, they drop me into a roaring tunnel. I fly through. The tunnel opens like the bell of a trumpet to a bigger space. A moist, lateral wind has taken hold of me. I’m flying. I look back and see the team of three flow one by one into the chasm. I can’t see the girl, but the three are about fifty meters behind me. We move along at the same speed. The opening vanishes behind us in the murk. The bigger space is dimly illuminated. I can finally see that it’s a conduit—another curved, circumnavigating tube, but broader, deeper.
Finally, despite the bitter cold, we all just lie flat on the smooth floor, our weight increasing, giving us better purchase. Besides, the floor is warmer than the wind. I’m almost at eye level with the omnipresent little glowing beads that faintly illuminate everything. Glims. Glim lights. The whole chamber is spinning up—or the entire Ship. I don’t know which or why in either case. I’m sick of it. All of it. If this is the way life is going to be, then I’m ready to chuck it all and freeze. But my body disagrees.