{"product_id":"ammonite-isbn-9780345452382","title":"Ammonite","description":"\u003cb\u003eWINNER OF THE LAMBDA AND TIPTREE AWARDS • On a planet where only women have survived a deadly virus, a researcher arrives to test a new vaccine and uncovers profound truths about gender, identity, and transformation.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“A knockout . . . Strong, likable characters, a compelling story, and a very interesting take on gender.”—Ursula K. Le Guin\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eChange or die. These are the only options available on planet Jeep. Centuries earlier, a deadly virus shattered the original colony, killing the men and forever altering the few surviving women. Now, generations after the colony lost touch with the rest of humanity, a company arrives to exploit Jeep—and its forces find themselves fighting for their lives. Terrified of spreading the virus, the company abandons its employees, leaving them afraid and isolated from the natives. In the face of this crisis, anthropologist Marghe Taishan arrives to test a new vaccine. As she risks death to uncover the women’s biological secret, she finds that she too is changing—and realizes that not only has she found a home on Jeep, but that she alone carries the seeds of its destruction. . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eAmmonite\u003c\/i\u003e is an unforgettable novel that questions the very meanings of gender and humanity. As readers share in Marghe’s journey through an alien world, they too embark on a parallel journey of fascinating self-exploration.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“A marvelous blend of high adventure and mind-boggling social speculation.”—Kim Stanley Robinson\u003c\/b\u003e“A knockout . . . Strong, likable characters, a compelling story, and a very interesting take on gender.”\u003cb\u003e—Ursula K. Le Guin\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A powerful story of connection, allegiance, and obligation. Read Nicola Griffith’s book—and keep an eye out for her name in the future.”\u003cb\u003e—Vonda N. McIntyre \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“A marvelous blend of high adventure and mind-boggling social speculation.”\u003cb\u003e—Kim Stanley Robinson\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eNicola Griffith \u003c\/b\u003eis a native of Yorkshire, England, where she earned her beer money teaching women’s self-defense, fronting a band, and arm-wrestling in bars, before discovering writing and moving to the United States. Her immigration case was a fight and ended up making new law: the State Department declared it to be “in the National Interest” for her to live and work in this country. This didn’t thrill the more conservative powerbrokers, and she ended up on the front page of \u003ci\u003eThe Wall Street Journal,\u003c\/i\u003e where her case was used as an example of the country’s declining moral standards.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e In 1993 a diagnosis of multiple sclerosis slowed her down a bit, and she concentrated on writing: \u003ci\u003eAmmonite\u003c\/i\u003e (1993), \u003ci\u003eSlow River \u003c\/i\u003e(1995), \u003ci\u003eThe Blue Place\u003c\/i\u003e (1998), \u003ci\u003eStay\u003c\/i\u003e (2002), \u003ci\u003eAlways\u003c\/i\u003e (2007), and \u003ci\u003eHild\u003c\/i\u003e (2013). Griffith is the co-editor of the Bending the Landscape series of original short fiction. Her multimedia memoir, \u003ci\u003eAnd Now We Are Going to Have a Party: Liner Notes to a Writer’s Early Life,\u003c\/i\u003e is a limited collector’s edition. Her essays and short fiction have appeared in an assortment of academic texts and a variety of journals, including \u003ci\u003eNature, New Scientist, Los Angeles Review of Books, \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eOut\u003c\/i\u003e. She’s won the Washington State Book Award, the Tiptree, Nebula, the World Fantasy Award, the Premio Italia, and the Lambda Literary Award (six times), among many others.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Now a dual U.S.\/U.K. citizen, Nicola Griffith is married to writer Kelley Eskridge. They live in Seattle, where Griffith is currently lost in the seventh century, emerging occasionally to drink just the right amount of beer and take enormous delight in everything.Marghe’s suit was still open at neck and wrist, and the helmet rested in the crook  of her left arm. An ID flash was sealed to her shoulder: “Marguerite Angelica Taishan,  SEC.’’ The suit was wrinkled and smelled of just-unrolled plastic, and she felt heavy  and awkward, even in the two-thirds gravity of orbital station Estrade.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She stood  by the airlock at the inside end of A Section. The door was already open. Waiting.  She rested the fingertips of her right hand on the smooth ceramic of the raised hatch  frame; it was cool, shocking after two days of the close human heat of A Section.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The sill of the airlock reached her knees; easy enough to step over. No great barrier.  The lock chamber itself was two strides across. The far door was still closed, sealed  to another sill, like this one. Four steps from here to B Section. Four steps. She  had recontracted with SEC, endured six months of retraining on Earth, traveled eighteen  months aboard the Terragin, and spent the last two days on the Estrade bumping elbows  with the three-member crew, all to take those four steps.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Well, Nyo and Sigrid  say good luck, but they’ll be out there for hours yet, fixing the satellite.’’ Sara  Hiam unclipped her headset. The slight, small woman with the atrophied muscles and  club-cut dark blond hair was matter-of-fact, using her doctor persona. In the two  days since she had come aboard Estrade, Marghe had learned that Hiam had several  distinct facets to her personality, facets she rotated to face any given situation.  It was a survival tactic, one way Hiam—and Sigrid and Nyo—had managed to spend five  years up here without going mad. Marghe knew there was a great deal of the doctor  she had not seen; she wondered what the real Sara Hiam was like.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Life support is  up and running in Section D,’’ Hiam said. “Are you ready?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Adrenaline, faster than  conscious thought, flooded through Marghe and she had to discipline her breathing,  decreasing her pulse and respiration rate, slowing blood flow and reducing the sudden  over-oxygenation of her long muscles. Her face pinked as the capillaries under her  skin reopened; her muscles stopped fluttering. It was a routine learned long ago.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I’m ready.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Very well.’’ Hiam’s voice was suddenly more measured, formal. “I’m  obliged to remind you that the vaccine FN-17 now offered is still considered experimental.  I also remind you that once you have taken it and once you step beyond this airlock,  you will under no circumstances be allowed back into Section A: nor, whether or not  you proceed as planned to Grenchstom’s Planet, will you be allowed to enter any other  uncontaminated Company installation until you have undergone extensive decontamination  procedures.’’ She sounded as though she was reading from a screen prompt. “These  procedures consist of—\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I know what they consist of,’’ Marghe said. She pulled on  gauntlets, closed her wrist seals. Was it her imagination or did the air coming from  the lock smell different?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “This is a taped record, Marghe. Let me finish. These  procedures consist of: isolation; the removal of all subject’s blood, marrow, lymph  and intestinal flora and fauna and its replacement with normal healthy tissues; reimmunization  of subject with all bacterial and viral agents commonly found in Earth-normal human  population; prior to return to home planet, further isolation at a location to be  decided upon to determine the efficacy of said reimmunization. Do you understand  these procedures?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Yes.’’ The lock was small but, unlike the rest of what she had  seen so far of Estrade, blessedly uncluttered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Further, I remind you that although  FN-17 is a development of the Durallium Company, the Company in no way holds itself  responsible for any adverse effects that may result from its use. Nor, though you  are to be offered the utmost cooperation aboard Estrade and on Grenchstom’s Planet,  are you to be considered an employee of said Company liable to the financial restitution  available to indentured personnel. Is this clear?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Yes.’’ She closed her neck seal,  hefted her helmet. “That’s everything?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Yes.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Will you help me with this?’’ She  should have put the helmet on first; the gauntlets made her clumsy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When the helmet  and shoulder ring clicked together, the suit air hissed on. It tasted hard and flat,  not like the warm, rebreathed air of the orbital station. She tongued on the broadcast  communications. “Can you hear me?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I hear you.’’ Hiam checked a workstation screen.  “You’re reading well enough.’’ She looked up. “You?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Loud and clear.’’ Through the  audio pickups Hiam sounded even more remote and doctorlike. And then the only sound  was Marghe’s own breathing and the faint hiss of the forced air. Blue and purple  readouts flickered in the lower left of her vision. Everything worked perfectly.  There was nothing else to wait for.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marghe stepped over the sill. Her boots clumped  and echoed in the bare chamber, and her breath sounded loud. She touched the amber  light on the control panel; the door slid shut. Hiam, arms folded, was visible through  the small observation window.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marghe studied the variety of lights, then tapped  out a command sequence. A display flared red: vacuum. Her helmet pickups were full  of a hard hissing, and readouts flickered, then steadied, showing zero pressure,  zero oxygen. When she moved, she felt vibration through her boots but heard nothing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The wall display changed: airlock systems routed to estrade main control prior to  decontamination procedures. To proceed, input sequence. Another last-minute reminder:  once she started on this, there was no turning back. Marghe tapped out the memorized  sequence. raise arms, raise chin, stand with feet apart. Marghe did. Blank visor  for fifteen seconds. Commencing. Even through her darkened visor and closed eyes,  she sensed the flare as the chamber was flooded with radiation.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eExterior decontamination  complete. Lock governance returned to interior control.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marghe cleared her visor,  opened her eyes, blinked away the dancing green spots. Hiam was still in the window,  watching. Then, suddenly, she was gone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marghe watched the blank window for a moment,  then took a deep breath and turned to the second door, the second panel with its  red light. She reached out to input the sequence that would open it, that would enable  her to take that last step over the sill that marked the boundary between what was  understood and controlled and what was dangerous.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Marghe, wait.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marghe whirled,  forgetting the two-thirds gravity. Hiam was back at the observation window, headset  at one ear. Marghe had to breathe slowly, in and out, before she could speak. “What?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Turn on your suit comm.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marghe tongued the channel on. “What’s wrong? What have—\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Nothing.’’ Over the closed channel, Hiam’s voice was quiet, intimate. No longer  the doctor. “This is off the record.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I don’t—\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Just listen. All those things I  said before, about isolation, about spending time somewhere unspecified before going  home . . . that’s not what really happens.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marghe listened to her heart kicking  under her ribs. She breathed, seeking calm. Never refuse information, her mother  had taught her when she was just six years old, you never know what you might need.  But her mother was dead. She managed a Go on gesture.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “If you leave the airlock,  if you take the vaccine, you’ll never go home. Not ever. I had a . . . a good friend.  On the planet. Was one of the initial batch taken off Jeep for study. She promised  to be in touch. I think someone else wrote her mail.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “How could you tell?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “It felt  all wrong.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “If she’d been ill—\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “No. Just listen. It seemed fine at first. I assumed  she just wasn’t feeling good. Decon’s not pleasant. Anyway, I didn’t pay close attention.  But once when I wrote back I put in a private joke we’d shared for a long time. A  very long time. When I got her response, I knew. It wasn’t her.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marghe said nothing.  She wished she had just taken that last step, not listened to Hiam—this new Hiam.  The real one?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Hiam watched Marghe intently, then laughed, a short, hard bark. “You  don’t believe me.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I’m wondering why you didn’t tell me this before. Why you let  me get this far.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Hiam stepped right up to the glass, close enough for Marghe to  see the pleats of her irises. “Because I couldn’t decide whether to trust you. But,  Marghe . . . this is real, and somebody has to know. I can’t prove any of it, but  that doesn’t mean it’s not happening. You seemed . . . I just thought . . .’’ She  laughed again. “I should have saved my breath.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marghe did not know what to say.  “You and Sigrid and Nyo have all been up here a long time. I know that must—\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Don’ t patronize me,’’ Hiam said wearily. “If you don’t want to believe me, then that’ s your privilege, but don’t patronize me.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marghe shook her head. “I’m sorry.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Silence.Winner of the Lambda Literary and Tiptree Awards","brand":"Del Rey","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304570474725,"sku":"NP9780345452382","price":17.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345452382.jpg?v=1767721458","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/ammonite-isbn-9780345452382","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}