Gerald the star mole is living large. All the nice fresh stone-free dirt he can dig in, all the worms he can eat, and no predators to raise his stress level. Unless you count the funny people in white coats with their odd penchant for sticking pins in his head. But set against all the bennies, Gerald dismisses this as a First World Problem.And then, Ragnarok. The white coats load Gerald onto a very long rail gun and shoot him off into space. All but turning him inside out in the process.Why the sudden inversion of fate? Because star moles rank among Earth's fiercest predators. No, really. Over half their brain does nothing but analyze data coming in from the twenty-two tentacles of their starry little nose. And they'll scarf down a worm so fast it looks like a conjuring trick.So if you're hunting Wormholes, it makes sense to turn the sensors over to a specialist. Theoretically. In practice, not so much. So far.But Gerald is about to get himself transubstantiated. In a way that will change the future of humanity - and moles - forever.
