Five hundred years from now Earth is a barren wasteland, a planet dead from pollution and radiation poisoning. The human race, in order to survive, has turned its technology toward the stars. Man’s genetic base, however, has been irrevocably damaged. Untainted DNA is needed both to fortify the general population and to allow the continued creation of genetically engineered telepaths--beings carefully controlled by the Psi Center for use by the government and corporations.

Luckily for mankind, a source of fresh DNA has recently been discovered and utilized--human beings who were cryogenically preserved centuries earlier. Araroon is a story about one of those revived humans, a likable young 20th century man named Duncan who was genetically altered as a child to enhance his psychic abilities and whose body was frozen after his sudden violent death.

Duncan can read minds, sense emotions, and perform other mental feats that at times surpass the abilities of the Psi Center’s artificially grown telepaths. His DNA and unusual esper talents are badly desired by the scientists. However, Duncan doesn’t intend to spend his new life as their experimental subject and slave. The story begins as he escapes and makes his way to Old Earth’s major spaceport, The Dock, where he meets Elana, a beautiful girl who is keeping her own telepathic talents secret and whose partner Max owns a starship, the "Araroon."

KAY CRIST was raised in the small town of Circleville, Ohio and earned her masters degree in journalism from The Ohio State University. An avid science fiction and historical romance fan, Ms. Crist has written numerous articles for newspapers and historical magazines, as well as several other works of fiction. She lives near Orlando, Florida with her husband and two sons.

By sheer luck, Duncan ducked his head at the last second and the red energy bolt drilled a hole in the brick instead of his brain. Shards of orange stone exploded outwards from the wall and he cried out as bits of rock lacerated his skin. Touching his cheek, his hand came away smeared with blood.

"Sh**," he said softly as he crouched on the dusty asphalt, blinking back tears of pain while he wondered which way to jump next.

He’d known from the start of this venture if things went sour he was on his own. Max had made it clear the job wouldn’t be easy. He’d told him if he wanted to be part of the Araroon’s crew, he was going to have to pull his own weight.

Which meant taking care of himself in a jam. But damn it, this was Max’s doing, not his. As grateful as Duncan was to Max for letting him work out his passage, he couldn’t help resenting the awkward position the debt put him in sometimes. For example, no one had told him a number of people wanted Maximilian Lancaster dead, and to be in the man’s employ was like having a bull’s-eye painted on your back.

Another laser bolt whined past and Duncan scrambled for an open doorway he spotted halfway down the street. He needed to get out of these Martian back alleys. If he could make it to the underground spaceport, or even the surrounding domed marketplace, he could disappear into the crowd. Earlier, when he’d been enthusiastically exploring the market’s many intriguing shops with Elana, he’d pretty well memorized the layout. He knew there were places to hide.

Pulling down the knit cap disguising his long hair, Duncan ducked through the opening and found himself inside one of the large hotels that catered to space travelers. Behind him in the street he heard shouting, but the voices were going in the opposite direction. Walking fast through the crowded corridors, keeping his head down and his eyes on the floor, he left through the front entrance and picked his pace up to a jog, heading back to the ship. The low gravity was one nice thing about Mars, he thought tiredly. His stamina and strength were increased almost two fold. The three-mile run wouldn’t be a problem.