9798286947119 - we de kelly, j p (6 resultados)
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Librería: PBShop.store US, Wood Dale, IL, Estados Unidos de AmericaPBShop.store US
Contactar con el vendedorVendedor de 5 estrellasCondición: Nuevo
EUR 18,00
Gastos de envío gratisSe envía dentro de Estados Unidos de AmericaCantidad disponible: Más de 20 disponibles
PAP. Condición: New. New Book. Shipped from UK. Established seller since 2000.
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Librería: PBShop.store UK, Fairford, GLOS, Reino UnidoPBShop.store UK
Contactar con el vendedorVendedor de 5 estrellasCondición: Nuevo
EUR 16,23
Envío por EUR 4,85Se envía de Reino Unido a Estados Unidos de AmericaCantidad disponible: Más de 20 disponibles
PAP. Condición: New. New Book. Shipped from UK. Established seller since 2000.
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- Impresión bajo demanda
Librería: California Books, Miami, FL, Estados Unidos de AmericaCalifornia Books
Contactar con el vendedorVendedor de 4 estrellasCondición: Nuevo
EUR 16,11
Gastos de envío gratisSe envía dentro de Estados Unidos de AmericaCantidad disponible: Más de 20 disponibles
Condición: New. Print on Demand.
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- Impresión bajo demanda
Librería: Grand Eagle Retail, Bensenville, IL, Estados Unidos de AmericaGrand Eagle Retail
Contactar con el vendedorVendedor de 5 estrellasCondición: Nuevo
EUR 18,01
Gastos de envío gratisSe envía dentro de Estados Unidos de AmericaCantidad disponible: 1 disponibles
Paperback. Condición: new. Paperback. Silas Thorne lived in the quietest place on Earth. Not geographically, perhaps, but sensorily. His apartment was a symphony of nullity: temperature eternally balanced at 21.50 Celsius, humidity precisely 45%, air scrubbed until it tasted of nothing at all. The walls were panels of seamless,…sound-absorbent nano-foam, swallowing any echo of existence. The light was soft, diffuse, and unchanging - a perpetual, sterile twilight. He sat in the embrace of the Veil Rig. It wasn't a chair; it was an exoskeleton of intent. Polished carbon-fiber limbs cradled his limbs, sensors like cold, metallic leeches adhered to his temples, his spine, the pulse points of his wrists. Before his eyes, suspended in the darkness of the visor, hung the invitation: Doll Interface: ONLINE. AWAITING CONNECTION. It glowed a soft, seductive cyan. This was his Doll. Designation: Arachne. Seven feet of sculpted obsidian polymer and hyper-alloy, matte black except for the faint traceries of crimson coolant lines pulsing beneath its surface like subcutaneous veins. It moved with an unsettling, predatory grace - no whine of servos, just the whisper of perfectly articulated joints and the faint click of taloned feet on metal. Silas flexed its hands, watching the articulated fingers, each tipped with retractable monomolecular blades, curl and uncurl. He felt the vibration of the gantry through its soles, the caress of the humid, polluted air against its sensor-laden skin. He was the Doll. The fragile meat-sack back in the sterile apartment was a distant, irrelevant memory. This item is printed on demand. Shipping may be from multiple locations in the US or from the UK, depending on stock availability.
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Librería: AHA-BUCH GmbH, Einbeck, AlemaniaAHA-BUCH GmbH
Contactar con el vendedorVendedor de 5 estrellasCondición: Nuevo
EUR 20,00
Envío por EUR 61,47Se envía de Alemania a Estados Unidos de AmericaCantidad disponible: 2 disponibles
Taschenbuch. Condición: Neu. Neuware - Silas Thorne lived in the quietest place on Earth. Not geographically, perhaps, but sensorily. His apartment was a symphony of nullity: temperature eternally balanced at 21.5° Celsius, humidity precisely 45%, air scrubbed until it tasted of nothing at all. The walls were panels of seamless,… sound-absorbent nano-foam, swallowing any echo of existence. The light was soft, diffuse, and unchanging - a perpetual, sterile twilight. He sat in the embrace of the Veil Rig. It wasn't a chair; it was an exoskeleton of intent. Polished carbon-fiber limbs cradled his limbs, sensors like cold, metallic leeches adhered to his temples, his spine, the pulse points of his wrists. Before his eyes, suspended in the darkness of the visor, hung the invitation: Doll Interface: ONLINE. AWAITING CONNECTION. It glowed a soft, seductive cyan. This was his Doll. Designation: Arachne. Seven feet of sculpted obsidian polymer and hyper-alloy, matte black except for the faint traceries of crimson coolant lines pulsing beneath its surface like subcutaneous veins. It moved with an unsettling, predatory grace - no whine of servos, just the whisper of perfectly articulated joints and the faint click of taloned feet on metal. Silas flexed its hands, watching the articulated fingers, each tipped with retractable monomolecular blades, curl and uncurl. He felt the vibration of the gantry through its soles, the caress of the humid, polluted air against its sensor-laden skin. He was the Doll. The fragile meat-sack back in the sterile apartment was a distant, irrelevant memory.
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Librería: CitiRetail, Stevenage, Reino UnidoCitiRetail
Contactar con el vendedorVendedor de 5 estrellasCondición: Nuevo
EUR 19,81
Envío por EUR 43,17Se envía de Reino Unido a Estados Unidos de AmericaCantidad disponible: 1 disponibles
Paperback. Condición: new. Paperback. Silas Thorne lived in the quietest place on Earth. Not geographically, perhaps, but sensorily. His apartment was a symphony of nullity: temperature eternally balanced at 21.50 Celsius, humidity precisely 45%, air scrubbed until it tasted of nothing at all. The walls were panels of seamless,…sound-absorbent nano-foam, swallowing any echo of existence. The light was soft, diffuse, and unchanging - a perpetual, sterile twilight. He sat in the embrace of the Veil Rig. It wasn't a chair; it was an exoskeleton of intent. Polished carbon-fiber limbs cradled his limbs, sensors like cold, metallic leeches adhered to his temples, his spine, the pulse points of his wrists. Before his eyes, suspended in the darkness of the visor, hung the invitation: Doll Interface: ONLINE. AWAITING CONNECTION. It glowed a soft, seductive cyan. This was his Doll. Designation: Arachne. Seven feet of sculpted obsidian polymer and hyper-alloy, matte black except for the faint traceries of crimson coolant lines pulsing beneath its surface like subcutaneous veins. It moved with an unsettling, predatory grace - no whine of servos, just the whisper of perfectly articulated joints and the faint click of taloned feet on metal. Silas flexed its hands, watching the articulated fingers, each tipped with retractable monomolecular blades, curl and uncurl. He felt the vibration of the gantry through its soles, the caress of the humid, polluted air against its sensor-laden skin. He was the Doll. The fragile meat-sack back in the sterile apartment was a distant, irrelevant memory. This item is printed on demand. Shipping may be from our UK warehouse or from our Australian or US warehouses, depending on stock availability.
