Midnight Rounds on the Iron Moon
A Victorian Space Opera

About this book:

High above the chalk-white desert of the Moon, the bronze bell of Aether Station tolls the evening shift—but the cutter *St. Jude* has docked in silence. Its pilot sits frozen at the helm, his fingers fused to the wheel by black, thread-like tendrils that pulse with unnatural warmth. In the station's iron bowels, two surgeons clash over the body: Dr. Mercer, a man of microscopes and rigid protocol, and Dr. Dunlevy, a scarred veteran who trusts his saw over his theory. As the station rotates into its twelve-hour night, something from the deep lunar diggings begins to rewrite the anatomy of the crew—thread by calcifying thread.

*Midnight Rounds on the Iron Moon* melds the gaslit grit of Victorian medicine with the claustrophobic dread of deep-space horror. Here, ether vaporizers hiss beside brass microscopes, coal-gas lamps flicker against the vacuum, and the Empire's reach has stretched far enough to bring something ancient and patient back from the dark side of Luna. From the mahogany-paneled wards of convalescent officers to the grease-slicked tunnels where the coal burns, every corridor hides a new symptom, every patient a potential vector.

With the surgical precision of a period drama and the pacing of a thriller, this is steampunk at its most visceral—where the scalpel meets the stars, and the line between disease and design dissolves in the black bile of the Moon.