Madison Twelve Requiem
Genre: Hard / Military Science Fiction.
Hart weil ich glaube das Menschen 300 Jahre in der Zukunft immer noch USB-sticks, Helikopter, Tacker und Feuerwaffen benutzen.
Und keine Laser. Das Genre ist absichtlich grob umrissen damit das Buch im Verlauf der Handlung sich selbst einordnen kann.
Altersfreigabe: Ab 16 sollte man mit den Themen im Buch klarkommen können. Erwachsene Themen aber nichts Exzessives.
Achtung! Das komplette Buch ist derzeit in der Originalfassung nur in Englisch verfügbar.
Kurzbeschreibung:
Eine Gruppe Wissenschafter und Soldaten fliegen zur Madison 12 Wetterstation auf einem Dschungelplaneten um ein Datenbackup zu sichern. Bei dieser Konstellation gibt es natürlich Potenzial damit was ins Auge gehen kann.
Auszüge weil man nicht die Katze im Sack kauft:
Prolog:
Kate wondered how history would remember her name as she limped out into the open. The sunlight was harsh and hurt her retinas. She kept her left hand on the gunshot wound on her thigh. The other hand firmly gripping the pistol. After a few steps, the pain was too much and she stumbled, falling face down into the mud. It had started to rain again. The winding forest dirt path was turned muddy. She had to continue crawling. One hundred and ten more meters to the helicopter. She could see it in the distance. The loading door at the back was wide open.
Parker woke up with the most supreme headache since mankind discovered drinking. At least that was how it felt to him. What was confusing to Parker was the intensity of his drunkatude. He could not remember what he had to drink or how much, but it must have been the devil's private reserve of jet fuel. He could also not figure out why he was lying next to his bed and not in it.
He felt something tug on his shirt, and without looking at it, felt for it with his left hand. Paper, wrinkled, he thought. It was attached to his shirt with a staple. The profound realization that someone had stapled a piece of paper to his shirt intrigued him enough to want to stand up. Whoever did this was at least nice enough to not staple it onto his chest.
He felt something tug on his shirt, and without looking at it, felt for it with his left hand. Paper, wrinkled, he thought. It was attached to his shirt with a staple. The profound realization that someone had stapled a piece of paper to his shirt intrigued him enough to want to stand up. Whoever did this was at least nice enough to not staple it onto his chest.
http://www.amazon.com/Madison-Twelve...twelve+requiem
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