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    Last Year's Moon
    Last Year's Moon
    Last Year's Moon
    Ebook31 pages28 minutes

    Last Year's Moon

    By Elle Hawken

    ()

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    About this ebook

    In a near future swamped by cheap products and castoff junk, a data scientist discovers the last thing on Earth worth saving.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherElle Hawken
    Release dateNov 6, 2015
    ISBN9781310561726
    Last Year's Moon

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      Book preview

      Last Year's Moon - Elle Hawken

      LAST YEAR’S MOON

      by

      Elle Hawken

      © 2015 Elle Hawken

      All rights reserved

      It didn't pay to scrap junk anymore. Wrecked cars and worn-out appliances sprawled outside the city in moldering roadside heaps. People photographed them and gave them names, like Turtle Crawling Sideways and Steeple Kiss. Decay was the new art. It had character, and not much did these days thanks to the surge in global mass production. Everything was brand new, and cheap. Dirt cheap. I lived in a penthouse I'd bought last November that looked out over the Hudson. And I was dirt cheap, too.

      Shadows cut stark lines across the railing and stairs beneath a burnt-out bulb. My session at the Paulsen-Krynor Institute started in less than twenty minutes, and I hustled. I had forgotten it was Friday. When I reached the lobby, I smoothed my long hair and tugged at the hem of my dress, pretending I was going somewhere nice. And who knew, maybe I would be. I could end up downtown at a glitzy bar nestled in an old bank vault, drinking sixty-year-old whiskey and basking in the glow of bronze turn-of-the-last-century deposit boxes. Or maybe I'd find myself chasing rats in the Holland Tunnel. Again.

      Friday nights meant tough competition for cabs, but I caught a break. The Institute didn't bother to send a car. Showing up was your responsibility, and if you broke more than three appointments there was hell to pay.

      I hadn't broken an appointment yet. But I thought about it every time.

      The door handle on the cab jiggled, bolts loose. Interior hinges groaned and professed their rust. The sedan was only a few years old. Nothing lasted.

      Factories employed more than a third of humanity, and they turned out crap products at an astonishing rate, but our government had given every high-tech contract to the arc-phens after the ISS incident. Too many high profile tourists had been cruising that deathtrap when it finally gave up the ghost in a blinding flash of incandescent plasma. Maybe one in a billion people could explain what had gone wrong with the new fuel grid. And those ten people were too knee-deep in their own elaborate endeavors to even tweet about it. Science had gotten that complex. We were manipulating structures we only

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