Ian is a New York-based writer. Breathing Space is his first book.
Born and raised in Queens NY, creative fiction has always drawn Fydell. He had a varied career as a stockbroker, a caretaker for special-needs children, and a Post Office employee before becoming a full-time writer. While Fydell is not a scientist, his wide and varied interests keep him informed about science and contribute to the convincing details in his writing.
http://www.ianfydellexodustrilogy.com/index.php
About Breathing Space
The year is 2095. It has been decades since World War III has ended. The Earth is in severe ecological decline, the result of several centuries of mistreatment by its human progeny. Within a few decades, a century at most, Earth will no longer be habitable. Pollutants, wars, deep mantle mining, and everyday disregard for our planet have finally taken their toll, and now earthquakes, droughts, volcanic eruptions, and plagues are regular occurrences. Colonies have been established on all the larger bodies of the solar system, but these are small and hardly self-sufficient; it is widely recognized that, in order to save the majority of the species, humanity must find a new homeworld, ready-made for its existence.
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From Inside Breathing Space
The minutes crawled by. At one point, a young computer operator turned to Warrick. “Sir, the XTF-4000 is at T-minus nine minutes . . . final launch preparations are being made.” The roof of the hangar slowly opened, flooding the hangar with bright, UV-rich sunlight. Time continued to crawl.
The anxiety in the control room escalated as the count reached T-minus thirty-one seconds. The ground computer network enabled the onboard automatic launch sequence. Another computer operator turned to the NASA Director. “We are now at T-minus six seconds.” Just as the young man finished his sentence, the XTF-4000 rose slowly and hovered a few feet above its launch cradle. Warrick counted under his breath.
“Lift-off,” said the Capcom officer.
The craft eased up to the top of the hangar; once it cleared the hangar’s opening, it darted upward, faster than the eye could follow. Warrick turned his attention from the glass window that overlooked the hangar back to the control room and struggled for air as he whispered. “God be with you.”
As he turned to Katie, the grass swirled a few hundred yards away on the other side of her. A tawny form rose out of it with bared saber teeth glinting white in the suns. A felinoid! John ran with all of his might toward Katie, screaming at her to get away from Max and draw her weapon. The felinoid watched him run for a moment, almost as if taunting him, then sprang toward the biologist: the race to Katie O’Hara had begun. She saw the captain rushing toward her and heard his frantic shouts. She turned, hand at her waist, just as the predator closed within striking distance and took a giant leap toward her. John dropped to one knee, drew his C-10, and took close aim at the beast.
