Ainadamar: A Best Seller

People keep requesting a copy of my satirical science fiction novel, Ainadamar. It makes sense. It’s sensible. That is, it’s not unreasonable someone should want to read about a vampire, lady barbarian and giant kitty going back in time to save Federico Garcia Lorca in order to arrest entropy and save the world. Is it? No. It is not. So contact me at curthopkins|@|gmail|dot|com if you’d like a copy.

Raquel photo by X-Ray Delta One

Chapter One: Point of Origin

[From Ainadamar: First Flight of the Madrugada]

When the Madrugada popped through the film, it was into a storm of color. At first, the crew thought the chaos was the result of the slip. None had been through a slip that long before. In fact, no one at all had ever been through a slip that long before, so far as any of them knew.

At the end of a normal slip, there was a momentary skidding of color as objects reassembled themselves in normal space. But this was different. For one thing, Weekiebye was, without diminishing, streaming colors like a Navajo sand painting in a hurricane. He stood at station behind the captain’s chair, waving his gloved hand to and fro, watching the particles of periwinkle, black and silver that rushed from the tips of his fingers fracture into billions of shining facets. Notwithstanding the broad-brimmed Spanish hat and dark blue mask he insisted on wearing even indoors, and even around people who knew perfectly well who he was, his eyes evinced an unusual aspect of surprise.
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Preface: “Ayn al-Dam”

[From Ainadamar: First Flight of the Madrugada]

Pablo de las Casas kneeled on the damp ground. He reached out and touched it with an open palm, then looked up to the Ayn al-Dam, the “fountain of tears.” The invaders had coarsened its name, like they had coarsened so many things, mispronouncing it Ainadamar. Its glassy music rang faintly in the near darkness. It too shall fail, he thought.

He paused, cocking his head and straining to hear. But the horse and rider jingling in the distance turned off the path below him, probably to a farm house stolen from its original owners.

We turned this land into a paradise, thought de las Casas. Already they were turning it back to desert.

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