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"A highly imaginative romp that well rewards the reading." —Gregory Benford.
In the hotel tropics, time slips by like the mysterious artificial cloud-forms scudding across the high ceilings of the Tropical Vacation Lagoon Room. Or the moon, whatever that was.
Nightglider had seen it last night for the first time ever: a mysterious white-gold globe that appeared way upon the ceiling. What was it for? In fact, what was it? Chief Fat Moon had explained to him that people kept track of time here by the moon, but Nightglider had been unable to follow him. Perhaps it was the effect of the initiation drug.
He remembered the moment when the superstrong painkiller Ricodan Four first hit as the turning point from hell into heaven. One minute and he was lying there throbbing with pain, having just been tortured to the brinks of insanity and death. And the next, he was just lying there throbbing with joy. He would never forget lying there shivering in ecstasy as a covey of the most luscious females of the tribe rubbed his body with Ultra Brown Tanning Lotion (with fast-acting stain to give you a head start). Then he had been blindfolded and escorted into the sun rooms.
Welcome to paradise...
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