The golden Apples of the sun

The Captain bent in the warm air, cursing, felt his hands run over the cold machine, and while he worked he saw a future which was removed from them by the merest breath.
He saw the skin peel from the rocket beehive, men thus revealed running, running, mouths shrieking, soundless. Space was a black mossed well where life drowned its roars and terrors. Scream a big scream, but space snuffed it out before it was half up your throat. Men scurried, ants in a flaming matchbox; the ship was dripping lava, gushing steam, nothing!
Journey with the century’s most popular fantasy writer into a world of wonder and horror beyond your wildest dreams…