Aeon: The Kismet Series, #1

By Stephen L. Nowland

Survival in a shattered world

 

Eight decades after the collapse of the colony world of Paragon, Zinada Fierro scavenges the ruins for relic technology and medicine to treat a terminal condition. Driven to search for answers to what caused the fall of civilisation, her life of daily survival is upended when the death of a friend and an unexpected discovery makes her the target of a vicious gang, scouring the land for a mysterious drug called Aeon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen L. Nowland
• Release date: Apr 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005963125

Stephen L. Nowland

I was one of those kids who daydreamed his way through school. All the little adventures I'd concoct in my mind were far more interesting than math or tests or sport. Somehow, I passed the important bits (art and english) and moved on, but always with a creative perspective to my life. It was around 1992 when the magic of reading really sunk into me, for it was then I discovered fantasy novels. Feist, Salvatore & Eddings showed me worlds that fired my imagination, and from that point on I knew I wanted to write the stories that flitted around the recesses of my imagination. Unfortunately, I spent most of the next fifteen years dealing with poor health, including resultant chronic fatigue syndrome which interfered with my life immeasurably, but gave me ample time for thought. An abortive attempt to create a story happened around 1996, but I look back on such things as stepping stones on the road to where I wanted to be. My first complete novel was actually done back in '03, but it was a derivative work based on elements from other stories, something I didn't realise until after I'd written it. The mind can do funny things if you don't keep it on a tight leash! Still, there were some unique points to the story I kept, so I scrapped the rest and began a completely new for Neverwinter Nights, that RPG video game thing you may or may not have heard of. The story was so successful (filled with rich, creamy character development) that I lamented that only people playing the game would ever see it. In 2009, with my health improving, I resolved to novelize the stories I'd written, in addition to developing the world in which they exist as the basis for a new fantasy series. I consider those stories to be merely the first iteration of the saga, for my novels have evolved far beyond the original scope, in terms of detail, plot and character building. Looking back on it now, I can see my style has evolved a very long way from those humble beginnings indeed. Oh, I also paint. You can expect to see more cover art with each title, becoming more technically sophisticated each time.

Book preview

Prologue

Decades of darkness and silence came to an end with a screech of rusting metal. Sunlight streamed through a gap which grew wider by the second, until the old hatch enclosing this place was entirely open. Silhouetted against the light was a young woman holding a crowbar, standing amidst lush foliage overgrowing exposed and crumbling concrete as she warily surveyed her discovery.

A room hidden from the world for decades, its entrance buried beneath a mound of wreckage and vines, beckoned. With silent footsteps, she crept down a short stairway through the cellar door to find the place empty, but for a large workbench laden with an assortment of potentially valuable relics, covered in a thick layer of dust. A musty stench that wrinkled her nose was heavy in the room – the smell of things long buried.

A thick strip of faded cloth tied over her nose and mouth concealed her features and protected her from both the accumulated dirt, and anything else that might be floating around in the old ruin. She crept into the room on sneakers eight decades old, found several weeks earlier sealed in their original box in the wreckage of a store. Stealth was key to her survival, and quiet footwear had saved her life on more than one occasion.

Barely visible in the dim and dusty conditions was a pair of desiccated corpses, clutching each other in their final moments, as whatever calamity befell this place took their lives. Although it was a common sight in ruins everywhere, it never ceased to be disconcerting to the scavenger who was intruding upon their eternal rest.

Eager to be done with this, her gloved hands began to quickly sift through the contents of the workbench for anything of value. Taking care to disturb the dust as little as possible, she found a number of small items of interest and looked at them closely. They were electronic devices of some sort, small enough to fit several of them in her hand at once. A small button on the side of each would ordinarily turn them on, but as she expected, pressing them did nothing. They were dead, like just about everything she found.

Carefully depositing them in her satchel for later study, the scavenger found a pair of steel tools that were only lightly tarnished, and would fetch a good price. She scooped a bunch of other random bits and pieces into her satchel, before a glint of something reflecting the sunlight caught her eye. She reached to the back of the bench to uncover the source, and after wiping away the dust, the object appeared to be rectangular in shape, twenty centimetres long and almost as wide, lightweight, flexible and very thin.

Recognising the object as an infopad, a small portable computer, the scavenger cleaned it with her forearm so she could get a good look at it. The sudden sound of voices speaking and laughing startled her, and she reflexively reached for the handle of a holstered weapon on her belt before realising the sound was coming from the device itself. Clutching it with both hands, she looked at a ghostly image displayed on its surface, of children playing in a yard under clear blue skies.

Both children appeared happy and healthy, playing some sort of game involving a rubber ball being kicked along the ground. Behind them in the distance rose a tower of glass and steel, gleaming in the sunlight as vehicles carrying people about their daily lives flew through the air. It was an astonishing sight, more so because the scavenger had never found a working infopad before. Most other devices from that time were usually non-functioning junk.

The view moved around a lot, held by one of the children's parents who was encouraging them in a loud voice. It was a slice of life from a world long gone, a moment in time that ended abruptly when a scream from someone outside of the camera's view changed it from a happy memory to a horror show.

A flash of light from above blinded the camera for a few seconds, and when it came back the person carrying it was inside the cellar where the scavenger now stood, the voice from decades ago calling out to the kids to come inside, right before a series of explosions blew the cellar door shut.

The movie ended there, and the scavenger noticed a little flashing red light on the top of the display, right before the infopad went dark. She shook it a few times and cursed under her breath, then whirled around at the distinct sound of voices from outside.

These weren't the joyous, playful voices of children from long ago, but raucous, rough and vulgar. Silently emerging from the cellar, the scavenger kept low, using the vegetation as cover and kept one hand on the handle of a nail gun beneath her jacket.

Three men were approaching the area, and weren't exactly being quiet about it. It was hard to make out their words, but whatever was being said wasn't pleasant. The smallest of them was being pushed around by the others, who accused him of taking something of value from them. The largest and loudest of the three grabbed a rock the size of his fist from the ground, and without warning bashed in the side of the smaller man's head with a sickening thud.

Momentarily shocked by the sudden brutality, Zinada Fierro removed her mask and prepared to run. There was no clear way out of the fenced-in area that didn't take her past the two men. They were busy sorting through their victim's equipment, but that might not prove enough of a distraction.

Quietly sifting through the concrete rubble in the thick undergrowth, she produced a small rock and tossed it over the fence to her right. It landed on something hard, producing a satisfying noise that startled the two savages before her.

Zinada started to move, keeping low and quiet as she skimmed the wall of the ruined house on her left. The two men remained quiet, listening for the sound of approaching danger, making Zinada's task all the more perilous as she crept through the bushes a few metres from them. Just a little further and she'd be out in the street and could at least make a run for it. Then, when she noticed neither of them had a weapon better than a rock, a better idea occurred to her.

Zinada stood up. The two men heard the rustle of leaves as she did so and whirled around to face her. They were unshaven, with rough hair and clothes that were dirty and torn. Their stench suggested they hadn't washed in weeks, and the look in their eyes was similar to hunted animals, desperate just to survive.

She only gave them a moment to react to her appearance, then opened her well-worn brown leather jacket to reveal the hilt of her nail gun, then rested her hand on it while levelling a meaningful stare at them with her dark eyes.

Wait, that's not a gun, one of them said, nudging his associate as if to say 'we can take her'. Zinada didn't give them a chance to act. In one swift move, she drew the nail gun and without taking her eyes off them, swung her arm to the right and shot at the wall of the ruined house. The eight-centimetre nail lodged into the wall with a resounding crack, startling both men, who immediately turned and ran down the street as fast as they could.

Knowing that others would be nearby, Zinada sheathed her improvised weapon and turned in the opposite direction. Before she jogged away, she glanced up at the remains of an ancient tower, the very same one depicted in the short video she just watched. No longer gleaming in the sun, it was little more than a rusting metal skeleton reaching into the sky, a giant tombstone for those that perished here decades ago.

Not for the first time, Zinada wondered how it all went wrong.

1

Zinada

After a week of travelling through the wilds, each step brought Zinada a little closer to home.  The sounds of the river had changed each day, from a rush of waters near the city, to a gently babbling brook here in the hinterlands. The sun was strong today, a sign that spring was slowly turning into summer, and the fine weather they'd had of late would soon turn into storms and heavy rain.

Ahead, she spotted a familiar bend indicating the town of Kismet was just around the corner. Although she enjoyed spending time on her own, three weeks on the road, scavenging in the dangerous ruins of Outer Solaris was more than enough for her.

She was young to be out on her own so much, having only just turned twenty a month earlier, but there were few employment options available. The locals had need of clothes, shoes, and whatever other useful items could be salvaged from the ruins of the sprawling city, and there were few people in town better at it than her.

Zinada ran a hand through her long, dark hair, tousling it to shake out some of the dirt she'd acquired on her journey, and trudged up the embankment that led up to the road. The old bridge was still standing, allowing travel over the river, and beyond that she saw the welcoming neon sign, 'Kismet', attached to a house made from wreckage, right on the edge of town.

It was the McVeigh's place, a farming family who worked the land to grow food for the town all year round. A few cows lazily chewed on grass in a paddock, and the farm owner Janus McVeigh was working on a hulking old robot with GU-55 marked on the side in faded black letters. It had a plough attached to the back, right behind its bulky tank treads.

Hello Mister McVeigh, Zinada called, leaning on a fence post for a moment's rest.

Zin, you're back, McVeigh responded. He was in his fifties, with thinning hair and a lean figure. Find anything good?

Always, she said with a smile. Old Guss giving you trouble?

Circuits can't stand the heat like they used to. I get about an hour of work and then he shuts down for a while.

Sounds like the capacitors are on the way out, Zinada mused.

You got any spares?

I might have found something. Check in with Helmut later today, once I get a chance to sell my haul to him. It was a mystery to Zinada how they kept the rusty old thing running, given it was easily ninety years old, and one of the few old machines to survive the event that destroyed an advanced civilisation. The Fall, the Event, the Apocalypse – they had plenty of names for it, but nobody really knew what had actually happened eighty-three years ago. They knew only that they were here, and countless millions of others were not.

She bid farewell to the farmer and trudged the final distance into town. Kismet was built after the Fall, stitched together from the wreckage of vehicles and ships that had fallen from the sky, their power plants exploding and laying waste to the surroundings and scattering debris and materials everywhere.

Although built with advanced engineering lost to the world, nothing lasts forever, and as old buildings made from junk gradually corroded away under Paragon's fierce storms, they were replaced by log cabins and other simple structures, as skills that had all but disappeared were rediscovered through necessity.

Zinada caught sight of two men and a woman approaching, dressed in old, patched up clothing scavenged from ruins, but also vests of body armour. The lead man was tall, well-built and in his early forties. His face set in its usual stoic manner, barely changed on any given day as he went about his duty, enforcing the law in a lawless land. The wide-brimmed hat he wore featured a star made from scrap metal, serving as an insignia of his status as the town sheriff.

While his two deputies carried crude hunting bows on their backs, the sheriff openly carried a relic laser pistol holstered on his belt, ready to draw at a moment's notice. More than anything else, that weapon was responsible for keeping the peace in Kismet.

Welcome back, Zinada, I see you've been busy, he remarked, gesturing at her laden backpack.

Hi Chris, Zinada answered sweetly, flashing him a broad smile.

That's Sheriff Ortega to you, young lady, he reminded her. Any trouble out there?

A bit of excitement back at the ruins, she explained, and then a few close encounters on the way home. A bit more than usual, actually, which has me wondering.

Yeah, we've had some unwelcome visitors recently, Chris told her. I'm stepping up patrols around the town so we get some advance warning. If you're planning on heading back out, just keep your eyes open.

I always do.

Alright. Well, you know the drill, Chris prompted, causing Zinada's cheery smile to vanish. With a roll of her eyes, she unstrapped her pack and satchel and emptied their contents onto the ground. Chris took out a small plastic box from his belt and waved it over each item laying on the ground. The small box clicked a couple of times, but for the most part it was silent.

I check everything before I touch them, she pointed out, taking out her own Geiger counter. 

They’re fine, Chris muttered as he looked at the readout. Safety first, you know? The last thing we want is a bunch of radioactive junk being passed around. Well, we'd better get back to it. Oh, and uh, welcome home, Zinada, Chris added, taking a bright red apple from a pouch on his belt and tossing it to her, as Zinada crouched to pick up her salvage.

It's nice to be home, she whispered to herself after they walked off, genuinely relieved to be back in the only speck of civilisation she had ever known. Zinada picked up her precious salvage and headed into town, taking a bite of the apple as she walked.

There were a few people about on the main street, each going about their daily lives, such as they were. Pretty much all of them wore ancient clothes found in ruins, like shirts, jeans, trousers and the like. A few wore newer garments made from cloth provided by a cotton grower further south. Rough, homespun shirts and dresses, dyed with whatever colours could be created from local materials, showed society was gradually re-learning old-fashioned techniques.

There were dozens of houses dotted around the place in a haphazard manner, built before any sort of town planning was considered. In the beginning, survival was more important. Zinada exchanged nods with a few locals as she walked by. They tolerated her presence, but there was an underlying disdain for scavengers in this world, and Zinada was no exception.

She rounded a corner and laid eyes on her own house, one of the first built, and most definitely showing its age. Welded together from an assortment of old cars and other scrap panels, Zinada's place was the colour of rust and probably wasn't safe to live in, but to her, it was home.

She unlocked a sliding van door that served as the entrance, ducked down a little and stepped inside. It was spacious enough for one person, but she had grown up here with her parents, and back then things had been quite cramped indeed.

Hi guys, she murmured, touching a rough sketch of her mother and father perched on a table near the door, all that she had left of them. Well, that, this house, and her nail gun. It was a rough world out there.

Zinada pulled the drawstring that parted an old tablecloth which functioned as a curtain over the only window, allowing light to flood into the room. She then offloaded all of her gear, sighing with relief after hauling it around for over a week. Finishing off the apple, she headed straight for the shower. The rainwater tank gauge was reading full, so Zinada 'enjoyed' a whole two minutes of cold running water from a hose.

After drying off, she flopped down onto her bed and relished in the expansive comfort of fourteen old pillows and cushions wrapped in duct tape. Weeks of sleeping on the ground made her appreciate her home just that much more.

She turned her head and took in her feature wall, covered in drawings, maps, old photographs and scrawled notes, linked together by string tied around nails hammered into the wooden backboard. Each item was a clue, a fragment of information found or put together by Zinada to try and figure out how things had turned out this way.

After pursuing leads and ideas for seven years, she had more questions than answers. Something that could plunge an advanced society back into the dark ages on a planetary scale, must have been some kind of attack, or perhaps a natural phenomenon of staggering proportions. She could only guess, based on the scant evidence she’d found over the last few years.

Remembering the image she saw on the infopad before its battery had run out, Zinada reached for a pencil, scrawled what she’d learned onto a piece of paper and stuck a new note to the board in the 'at the beginning' section, with the number 2743 above it, the year when it happened.

'Flash from above' it said, and while it was nice to have some confirmation of this, she was only one tiny step closer to figuring out what actually did happen. She unconsciously reached for a plastic pill container from her pack, and tapped out a single white pill, which she swallowed with a sip of water.

She peered into the container and noted with some regret that there were only four pills left, so she'd have to spend a good portion of the money she'd get for her salvage on a refill. It was something Zinada simply couldn't do without. 

Thinking of the salvage, she put on fresh jeans and an oversized t-shirt, then gathered up her stuff – including the precious infopad - and headed out the door.

Just across the street was the Kismet Provender, a shop that dealt with all manner of pre-Fall tech, and salvage in general. It was one of the larger buildings in town, second only to the hotel, and like all of the earlier buildings, made from old wrecks. This one consisted of two old buses parked side-by-side, with the inner walls removed to create a large internal space, and half of a third bus on top as a second storey.

It was a little cramped inside, with the walls and ceiling used to store all manner of bits and pieces, mostly salvaged from wrecks, traded with other towns or salvaged from ruins. There was a bench to the right of the doorway, behind which was a large, balding man who peered at the newcomer through cracked round spectacles.

Ah, Zinada, you're back, he said with a hint of relief.

Is that Zinada? a female voice added from further inside the store.

Hi Helmut, hi Annika, Zinada replied to both, waving to a small, grey-haired woman in overalls who poked her head around a corner just down the aisle. Are you okay? You both seem a bit edgy.

Oh, it's nothing, Helmut dismissed with a wave of his hand. The last trade caravan from Sankala that came through yesterday had some new guards who were a bit, uh, I'm not sure how to put it.

Thieving bastards, Anika called from somewhere within the store.

Yes, thank you, honey, Helmut chuckled. Sheriff Ortega sorted them out, but things were a little tense. I understand the two men involved were fired for stirring up trouble, and the merchant was a bit concerned they'd try to steal from him next. Not very professional if you ask me.

Sankala is right on the edge of Solaris, Zinada remarked. They're probably used to waltzing into the ruins and taking whatever they want. I ran into a couple of guys like that on my way out last week, little more than savages.

You got through it okay, right? Annika asked from down the hall.

Yeah, but I saw some things I'm trying to forget, Zinada muttered, remembering with a shudder the unfortunate man getting his head bashed in with a rock.

It's rough out there, Helmut said, nodding sagely. Your parents would be proud of you, and would also tell you off for risking your life like that.

What else am I going to do? Zinada protested, hands wide. Besides, they taught me everything I know, I'll be fine.

And they died out in the wilds, Zin, Helmut reminded her. Amaro and Eli were clever people, but it's an unforgiving world and you're lucky to still be with us. Zinada fell silent as the sting from the loss of her parents resurfaced. Helmut recognised this and softened his tone. Look, I can always use your skills here to strip salvage. Low risk.

And low pay, am I right? Zinada pointed out. Besides, where do you think all this comes from? Me and what, three others?

Stop making sense, it'll get you killed, Helmut grumbled.

I appreciate you caring, Zinada said with a wan smile. I miss them too, but don't worry, I can take care of myself.

"I can't not worry about you Zin."

Then let me take your mind off it with this, she said, reaching into her pack and laying out her finds on the bench, one by one. Helmut's expression didn't change as he scrutinised each item, playing his cards close to his chest.

Some quality tools here, he mumbled half to himself. I'll take them. Are those wireless earpieces?

Yep, though I have no idea if they work or not, Zinada confirmed.

Safe bet is they're long dead. Might be some good circuits in there. Oh, a robotic actuator, McVeigh might want that for old Guss. He continued musing over every little piece with mild enthusiasm, suggesting to Zinada he was hiding his disappointment. But he had yet to see the cherry she was about to put on top.

She pushed aside the pile to clear some space and placed the infopad onto the bench top. Helmut's eyebrows rose briefly as he peered at it through his makeshift spectacles.

You look disappointed, but don't be, Zinada remarked, leaning forward over the bench to whisper in his ear. "It works."

Bullshit, Helmut huffed, delicately touching the side of the device with one finger. When nothing happened, a look of cynical triumph crossed his features. Told you. Only one in ten thousand of these things would still be working after all this time.

I saw it with my own eyes, Zinada assured him. The battery gave out after a few seconds, but it worked alright. Give it a charge and try again. Helmut reached underneath the bench and produced a small round disk, as thick as his finger. He then placed the infopad onto it, and waited to see what would happen."

Well, at least there aren't any sparks, Helmut remarked after a few seconds with nothing to show for it.

Give it time, Zinada suggested patiently.

It might need a service, Helmut muttered as he wiggled the device on the charging plate. If it hasn't been charged in eighty years, the power cell might be shot altogether.

Is Silas around? Get him to have a look at it, Zinada prompted.

He's out hunting for his lunch, but I'll get him to take a look when he gets back. That is, if you're okay to leave it with me...?

I think I’m going to hang on to it for now, Zinada answered. No offence, it’s just worth a fortune.

That’s fine, I totally understand, Helmut assured her.

Speaking of lunch, I'm famished, Zinada said. Give me some money for this other stuff and I'll check back in later, after I've had something to eat. Helmut opened a box beneath the bench and counted out a number of small plastic discs, each of a different colour, denoting a different value. One of the legacies of the old world was a huge amount of physical currency still lying around, simply called credits. Whatever wealth was stored in computers at the time would have all been lost.

That's all? Zinada asked after staring at the small pile for a few seconds.

The tools are nice, but the rest is of dubious value, Helmut apologised. We'll see if Silas can crack some useful circuits out of these things, and if so, I'll double what I just gave you. Sorry, but as you can see, we've got a glut of barely useful stuff on the shelves already.

Okay fine, Zinada grumbled, but if the infopad works, I'm expecting it to rain credits in here, got it?

Absolutely, Helmut assured her. Hiding her disappointment, and with barely a hundred credits to her name, Zinada called out a farewell to Annika and left the shop, turning down the main street. A huge, misshapen building dominated her view, with a gaudy neon sign proclaiming it as the Starlight Hotel.

Large banks of solar panels on the roof gave it the electricity to power those lights, and a few other services the town needed. Even Helmut's shop was connected, via a long cable strung along the roof. The first major structure established after the Fall, it was set up in the wreckage of a star liner that had exploded above this area, an ideal choice for a hotel.

Inside the reception area was the main counter and bar, with a room behind the counter for staff, and stairs leading up into the second and third floors where the accommodation for hire was. The old ship might have been luxurious in its day, but the faded glory was mostly replaced with whatever chairs and fabrics the locals could get their hands on.

The place was half full at this time of day, around ten or eleven people, with an assortment of locals seated at tables eating their midday meal before heading back out to work. Life was hard in Kismet, as evidenced by the stoic resolve and quiet suffering visible on everyone's face. Nobody complained though, for here they had enough food, roofs over their heads and protection against marauders. It wasn't paradise by any measure, but it was more than most people had in this day and age.

Zinada approached the counter and caught the eye of the woman working there, preparing meals while keeping an eye on what was going on. She was a few years older than Zinada, slim, with long red hair tied into a bun, freckled skin and green eyes. Three long scars lined the left side of her face from just above the brow, down to her lips, a legacy of an encounter with one of the planet's native wildlife, years ago. When she noticed Zinada approaching, she smiled and waved.

Hi, Sera, Zinada greeted her with a wide grin.

Hello stranger, Sera responded with her husky voice. Two arms, two legs, head still attached – another successful trip, I take it?

It got a little hairy here and there, but yeah, nice to be back home.

"No doubt. So, was it a... lucrative venture?" Sera prompted awkwardly as she wiped down the bench.

It could be, Zinada suggested slyly. I'll know more soon. I'd love to ask you about what's been going on here lately, but I'm hungry enough to eat my own arm, so maybe we could just start with some lunch.

Not a problem, Sera replied, reaching out to grab a plate and some well-worn cutlery. Grilled cheese and tomato?

You know me too well, Zinada answered, eager for her first proper meal in three weeks. Is the drool apparent?

Yeah, I'm gonna need you to mop that up, Sera remarked evenly, drawing a laugh from Zinada.

Oh, and while you're at it, I need a refill, she added, taking out her pill bottle and placing it on the counter. Sera looked at the bottle, read the label and looked at Zinada with an inscrutable expression.

Look, Zinada assured her, I might be a tiny bit short on money just now, but like I said, I should have the rest by this afternoon.

That's fine, but uh, Sera hedged, sending a chill down Zinada's spine. Uncle Cas is two days overdue. He was bringing in a whole load of supplies from Mineros, and your Fibroxazine tablets were among them. I haven't had any in stock since the last lot you bought. I'm sorry.

Zinada suddenly lost her appetite.

2

Echo

He's missing? Zinada asked after taking a moment to compose herself. Did you hear from him before he left Mineros?

Yeah, we got a quick message over the comms, Sera confirmed, hiking her thumb over her shoulder to point at the assortment of random electronics bits and pieces, which had been integrated into a rudimentary communications system. He said he was running late, but it’s been two days. I've tried contacting him but I get nothing back. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried, she added, a degree of concern flashing across her normally stoic expression.

Then get Chris to send a patrol and look, Zinada exclaimed as if it were the obvious solution.

I tried this morning, but those idiots who came through a couple of days ago have him spooked, Sera muttered under her breath. He acknowledges Cas may be in trouble, but isn't willing to leave the town vulnerable.

Not even for family? That's cold. I'm not sure what you saw in him when you got married.

He has other redeeming qualities, Sera remarked dryly. Those two don't really see eye to eye any more, which is sort of understandable. Cas needs to deal with some shady elements up north to get the supplies we need, people Chris used to know and doesn't want anything more to do with.

Is that where he gets my medicine? Zinada asked curiously.

"Yes, it's not made any more so it has to be... acquired, in other ways," Sera explained delicately. Zinada rubbed her eyes as she figured out her options, but there wasn't much to think about.

I'll go look for Cas, she said in resignation, and as Sera's face brightened, Zinada added "If you cover the refill cost of my medicine."

If Uncle Cas is in a bind and you help him out, I'm sure he'll go easy on the price, Sera assured her. I'll cover the rest. But are you sure about this? Chris doesn't get nervous without good reason.

I'll be sneaky, Zinada promised with a wink. Plus, I'm not exactly unarmed.

It's still a good idea to have someone to watch your back out there.

I work better alone, Zinada responded, recalling the last time she had worked with people in the field. It was the last time she had seen her parents alive.

You'll die better alone, too, Sera said, suddenly realising Zinada's food was burning and turning to deal with it, before presenting a slightly scorched sandwich on a plate. Reluctant to admit Sera was right, Zinada started eating and glanced around the room, looking for a local she could trust.

Most of the people present were workers on their lunch break, more suited to ploughing fields than conducting search and rescue operations.

Not exactly a wide selection of experience to choose from, Zinada remarked in-between mouthfuls. I know they're mostly good people, but they don't really think much of me or my profession.

To be fair, you're basically a grave robber, Sera pointed out.

I prefer the term 'scavenger', myself, Zinada answered, noting that one of the men seated took a moment to scowl in her direction. Although she'd been back in town for less than an hour, Zinada suddenly felt the need to hit the road again.

Yes, I'm sure you do, Sera murmured. Well, I can see one person who wouldn't have an issue with you, she added while cleaning the bench. Zinada followed her gaze to the far side of the dining area, to a plain-looking man of indeterminate age, sitting with his back against the wall and his head bowed, eyes closed as if sleeping. Two cables attached to sockets on the wall snaked under his armoured vest, and his left arm was missing some skin, revealing a tarnished metal structure underneath.

"I said people," Zinada pointed out.

"Echo Nine is a person, or at least, a really good simulation of one," Sera replied.

He's pre-fall tech, Zinada said, so he could be a century old, too. Not sure how reliable his old circuits are going to be if push comes to shove. Also, I've heard he doesn't do anything for anyone without getting paid, and I can barely cover my own tab.

"I'll cover his charging costs for two

Reviews for Aeon

[Rianna Stahl · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I was blown away by this book and could not put it down! It starts with a bang and it's so exciting to read. The world-building is incredible, the aftermath of the "apocalypse" feels gritty and real. I'm now really grateful for my well-made house overhead because who knows what would happen if these roving gangs were out on the street! ;)

The story follows a small group of people who achieve incredible things, and the author does an excellent job writing realistic motivations for each character. I highly recommend this book to sci-fi lovers as it is filled with action and adventure!