When the bullet hit her and she lay moaning on the stone she had waited—waited for someone to come to her, to discover her in pain. She had waited for the cries of distress, the solicitations of her rescuers. Nobody came. There was no rescue for Venera Fanning. So in the end she had crawled, herself, unassisted, through the corridors and into the Admiralty. At the last second she had fainted, before knowing whether the ones who found her had cared enough to hold her as Griffin had held Mahallan, whether they wiped her drying tears and murmured that she would be all right. When Chaison tried, much later, it was too late.
Venera spat a curse, and uncoiled from her defensive knot. As quietly as she could, she crept after Hayden Griffin through the dimming rooms of the station.
* * * *
Heat and intolerable light met Hayden at the entrance. The bike's handlebars were almost too hot to touch and he had to squint and grope for a loop of cable to wrap around Aubri.
He didn't have enough to tie her to the saddle, so he looked around for another solution. Put her in the cargo nets? Maybe—if he could get to them. The heat scored his face whenever he turned towards the suns; the very air was attacking his mouth and lungs. He wasn't sure he could jump over to the nets and get back before the heat took him.
You've lost her already. Like he'd lost everyone else in his life. He should be used to this by now.
Heartsick, he gave her body the slightest of shoves, and she slipped through his fingers—waist, shoulders, finally one trailing hand smoothing his before the moment of separation. Aubri Mahallan vanished into light.
Hayden turned and climbed onto the bike.
He spun up the fan and the burner started immediately. As the jet's whine escalated he clung to familiar routines, listening to it, judging the health of the machine. He jiggled it with his knees, estimating how much fuel was left. Hayden knew his machines, and this one still had some life in it. A few refuelings and it would get him back to Rush, he was sure of it.
And then ... He fingered the pockets of his jacket, which were full of jewels and coins from the treasure of Anetene. He probably had enough to hire the artisans he'd need. The core components of Aerie's new sun were already in his possession. He might not even need the help of the Resistance to get it built.
Unsmiling, he opened the throttle and began to move away from the visitor's station. There was a lurch as the cable tautened and the nets fell in line behind the bike. That cargo would slow him down, of course. He might meet the Gehellens on the way out. He couldn't bring himself to care much.
But he had to care. What if they got into the visitors’ center? Better close the door. He glanced back, and saw that the entrance to the visitors’ station was already shut. Crouched beside it in a hurricane of radiance was Venera Fanning.
The cargo net was passing her, just a few yards away. Her eyes met his; there was no appeal in her gaze, just defiance. Hayden nodded once, then deliberately turned back to his piloting. After a moment he felt a slight jerk translate up the cable and through the bike as Venera caught and clung to the passing net.
He opened the throttle and the bike accelerated, but slowly, too slowly as the inferno of dawn welled out from the heart of Candesce. He imagined he could hear the familiar low hiss of the sun of suns, even over the scream of the bike. In minutes it became impossible to see; then he could no longer breathe except in shallow gasps; and then he started to tear at his clothing as it burned him wherever it touched. All the while, the air rushed past faster and faster. Before he completely lost his senses he stopped himself from throwing away his jacket and shirt. The light burned his bare skin as much as their touch had.
Gradually the agony abated. Candesce was reaching out to ignite hundreds of miles of air, but he was escaping it, barely.
Squinting ahead, he could see many long fingers of shadow reaching past him. Catamarans or bikes? He turned his head, trying to make out what they were.
Everywhere, the sky was full of shrouded human bodies, all gliding silently in toward Candesce. Joining Aubri. The faint specks of a hundred funeral ships receded into the distance, returning to their ports after unloading their cargoes.
When he was finally able to regain his flapping shirt and jacket, and look around himself, Hayden found that he had no idea where he was. Originally they had planned to navigate by keeping Leaf's Choir in view. They would head for one of Gehellen's neighbors, and from there return to Slipstream. Hayden could be going in the opposite direction now, for all he knew.
It didn't matter. He would find his way, eventually. He couldn't imagine spending the days and nights without Aubri beside him; it seemed impossible that he had done so before. But he had to try. He had responsibilities now.
A few minutes later he felt another vibration through the cable. He looked back, shielding his eyes with one hand.
Venera Fanning made a black cross against the sun of suns as she launched herself into the air. They were doing a good sixty or seventy miles an hour at that moment; she swept her arms ahead of her in a diving posture and arrowed away, clothes fluttering.
With luck and a good tail wind, she would make it to the principalities of Candesce. Though he wished achingly that it could be Aubri silhouetted in exuberance against that fearsome light, he hoped Venera would survive and find her way home.
Hayden turned back to his own task. He was done with fighting, done with brooding over the past. His nation and his life had been in shambles for too many years; it was time to rebuild.
He had too much to do to waste his time with resentment.
He settled into the bike's saddle, and opened the throttle wide.
(c)Copyright 2006 by Karl Schroeder
[Back to Table of Contents]
* * *
The Reference Library
by Tom Easton
Counting Heads, David Marusek, Tor, $24.95, 336 pp. (ISBN: 0-765-31267-0).
Voidfarer, Sean McMullen, Tor, $27.95, 397 pp. (ISBN: 0-765-31437-1).
The Children of the Company, Kage Baker, Tor, $24.95, 300 pp. (ISBN: 0-765-34155-X).
Dragon America, Mike Resnick, Phobos, $14.95, 289 pp. (ISBN: 0-9720026-9-3).
All Eve's Hallows, Dean Wesley Smith, Phobos, $13.95, 286 pp. (ISBN: 0-9720026-6-9).
Moon's Web, C. T. Adams and Cathy Clamp, Tor, $6.99, 337 pp. (ISBN: 0-765-34914-0).
Orphan's Destiny, Robert Buettner, Warner, $6.99, 307 pp. (ISBN: 0-446-61430-0).
Hal's Worlds, Shane Tourtellotte, ed., Wildside, $15, 228 pp. (ISBN: 0-809-55073-3).
Cultural Breaks, Brian Aldiss, Tachyon, $24.95, 237 pp. (ISBN: 1-892-39126-0).
Anatomy of Wonder, 5th ed., Neil Barron, ed., Libraries Unlimited (Greenwood), $80, 996 + xx pp. (ISBN: 1-59158-171-0).
The E-Bomb: How America's New Directed Energy Weapons Will Change the Way Future Wars Will Be Fought, Doug Beason, Da Capo Press, $26, 274
* * * *
David Marusek's first novel, Counting Heads, is quite interesting, but it has problems. The tale begins in the 2090s, when the world holds some fifteen billion people. That's a number that would have seemed believable a few years ago, but current demographic projections do not support it. In fact, global population now seems likely to peak at about eleven billion before starting a slow decline.
Some of the technological aspects of Marusek's future—such as virtual meetings replacing flesh meetings, rapid genomic analysis, and powerful artificial intelligence—seem more likely. The cloning of vast numbers of servants seems much less so. With nanotechnology he follows the high road of assemblers that can make anything, given raw materials, and disassemblers that can turn cities into goo. Some experts in the field, let us note, think these are highly unlikely.
Be that as it may, Marusek's nanotechnology has made people immortal but—since the advantages as always accrue to the wealthy—has also prompted a terrorist attack that left America with a deadly fear. Cities live under nano-filtering domes, and Homeland Security has released hordes of “slugs” that randomly
sample people's blood in search of rogue nano. Artist Sam Harger is partnering with the wealthy and powerful Eleanor Starke when they are surprised by two things: First, Eleanor gets appointed to high government office. Second, they receive an almost impossible to obtain birth permit. But before their genes are melded to take over a stored fetus (confiscated from an illegal pregnancy), a slug tags Sam as infested. Homeland Security promptly confiscates him, turns him into goo to clean him out, scrubs his genome from everything he has ever touched, and finally releases him as a “seared” person. They don't trust their own work, you see, and now any of his cells that are harmed, separated from his body, or even too closely scanned will self-incinerate. He also stinks to high heaven. And if he gets PO'd enough, all he has to do is bang his head on a wall to start a major fire.
Someone wants Eleanor to toe a line. The birth permit is a carrot. What happened to Sam is the stick. But there's no real clue to who that someone is. Forty years later, Eleanor is in a virtual meeting discussing the plans for the Oships (planned to take to the stars colonists who pay for their tickets with land, giving the rich eventual title to Garden Earth; some want them to stay home as habs) when the spaceship she is in goes out of control. It's not supposed to be possible, but something or someone has infiltrated the ship's software. The crash kills Eleanor; only the head of her daughter, Ellen, survives, frozen in a safety helmet. And that's when things get interesting, for Eleanor's AI or mentar, Cabinet, is captured for probate and when it is released, it is not quite what it was. The head is taken to a clinic but turns out to be a decoy. The real one is found and taken to the same clinic, but revival and regrowth efforts don't seem to work. Meanwhile, Ellen's mentar is organizing a rescue effort involving members of the cloned servant class, Sam Harger, and a ragtag few ordinary folks.
What the heck is going on? Marusek never really says. Perhaps it is all due to Eleanor's political rivals, of which there is no lack. Perhaps the mentars are getting out of hand. Perhaps it is something else entirely. All the reader knows is how the rescue effort turns out, followed by a hasty, vague ending in which immense changes are hurriedly glossed over. I have a feeling a much fatter book was cut in two, the wound was patched over rather clumsily, and we will soon see a sequel.
And Lo, when I check Marusek's blog, I see that the original book was in fact cut in two, but then it was put back together. There's a sequel coming, but not for the reason I suspected. He's just on a roll.
* * * *
Sean McMullen has given us a sequel to Glass Dragons that is entirely worth reading for its own virtues. And it doesn't hurt a bit that it contains a double homage to H. G. Wells.
Voidfarer centers on Wayfarer Inspector Danolarian Scryverin, once a prince of Torea, a land destroyed by an excess of sorcerous ambition. He is accompanied by, among others, one Wallas, once a lecherous courtier but now a corpulent cat, and Riellen, a young rabble-rouser fixated on the notion of electocracy. They are seeking an abdicated empress when bursts of smoke appear on the face of the Red Moon, Lupan. A few days later, a mysterious cylinder crashes into the ground, the top unscrews, tentacles appear, and a heat ray zaps anyone unlucky enough to be in sight.
Soon Wellsian tripods are stalking across the countryside, and Danolarian—in between efforts to set his romantic life in order and to stay out of any sort of leadership role that might awaken the self he was trained for in Torea—is doing his best to defeat the foe. The foe falls, of course, but I won't tell you how except to remind you of the Wells homage in the tripods, which isn't quite to the point but is nevertheless a clue. The other homage I will only hint at by saying it resembles a bicycle.
Is that too cryptic? Then I must add that you are sure to enjoy this one and look forward to the next in the “Moonworlds Saga” series. The humor is sly and frequent, the pace relentless, and the characters convincing. McMullen has the gift.
* * * *
Kage Baker has earned praise for her tales of the Company, a future-based outfit that “recruits” throughout time, turns its new troops into immortal cyborgs, and sends them out to fill in the blank spots of history, collect treasures before they are lost, and defend the Company's interests. Her last novel, The Life of the World to Come (reviewed here in April 2005), dealt with Alec Checkerfield, an engineered tetraploid based on an extinct human species, who just may become the nemesis who accounts for the Company's apparent demise in 2355.
Alec, however, is but one of The Children of the Company. The focus here is on the factions within the Company's troops, in particular that of Labienus, who craves to supplant the company's mortal masters and run the world right. There is also his recruiter, Budu, one of the ancient ones whose mission was to destroy the killer tribes and let civilization take root. He's still around, not yet put on ice, and he resents being taken off the job. There's Aegeus, who has captured a few of a human subspecies with a huge talent for invention. And all are busily snatching children from the slaughtergrounds of history, both for the Company's purposes and for their own, and without much regard for the kids’ feelings. Think of San Francisco, 1906, the eve of the great quake. The Company's troops are out in force, looting the mansions of the treasures—artwork, rare manuscripts, furniture, chandeliers, wine, cash, jewels—that will be destroyed. And Victor, one of Labienus's boys, is befriending a laborer and his family so he can sneak into their tenement and spirit away a boy before the building collapses and kills the family.
The mode of the tale is episodic and reflective. It fleshes out Baker's history of the world and sets the stage for the final confrontation (or so I fondly think). Labienus is ruminating on his plans, thumbing through old files, remembering incidents scattered across time. He helped create civilization in Ur, but he's not a nice fellow, not at all. In Ur he gloried in his role as lord and master, battening on the labor of mere mortals. Now he's willing to thin the human herd quite drastically to further his dreams. But though he knows of Alec Checkerfield's predecessors, clones that displayed their powers in centuries past and then died, of Alec he knows only that a third Adonai exists.
When the two meet—look for the next volume!—there should be fireworks.
* * * *
Dragons are really quite unlikely, but they are a fixture of fantasy, presumably because people love them. So perhaps it's no surprise that Mike Resnick should have a little fun—for both himself and his readers—with Dragon America. In his alternate reality, the New World turned out to be infested with all sorts of the beasts. One might have expected such a difference to have created a wildly divergent history, but no. The American Revolution is right on schedule, and George Washington is hard-pressed by the British. Fortunately, he has sent Daniel Boone off to recruit Indian allies. When Daniel doesn't have much luck, he hares off into the wilderness in search of rumored huge flying fire-breathers he can bring back to aid the war. Meanwhile, closer to home, Washington's clever New Englanders are turning dragons into homing pigeons.
You get the idea. Not a serious bone in its body, good fun, and a fast read.
* * * *
Dean Wesley Smith returns to our attention with All Eve's Hallows. The premise is that dragons, giants, fairies, goblins, unicorns, etc., live among us disguised as butchers, bakers, and lawyers thanks to an age-old treaty enforced by the City Knights. Unfortunately, an evil sorceress is bent on awakening an ancient evil. Fortunately, ex-Marine Billie Stein has just been recruited to the Knights, and she has a load of powerful if untrained magic. As evil creeps into the New York air, she learns fast. It's a good thing, too, for All Hallow's Eve is fast approaching, and that is when the stuff is scheduled to hit the fan.
For added interest, her recruiter is a hunk and it seems likely that romance is in the offing.
* * * *
My attention in this column goes mostly to SF (in line with the nature of the magazine), but if you've been following the column very long, you are surely aware that my attention wanders. I have even been known to review poetry! So you should not b
e terribly surprised if I finally pick up one of Tor's new line of paranormal romances.
C. T. Adams and Cathy Clamp began with Hunter's Moon a series in which the world is infested with were creatures. There are werewolves, of course, but also werejaguars, werepythons, wereowls, and more. And when Mafia assassin Tony Giodone gets his throat ripped out by a target, he becomes a werewolf. Soon a sexy young thing tries to hire him to kill her, but Sue turns out to be his soulmate, complete with telepathic resonances, including during the obligatory hot and steamy scenes. When Moon's Web opens, they are living in Chicago while Tony tries to shift from being a lone wolf to being the junior member of a pack. He's also being asked by an old Family friend to track down a kidnapped lover and bring back the kidnapper's head, even as he starts seeing visions of other people's lives and the werefolk call for the all-clan council to meet in Chicago. Life is hectic, and it doesn't help when his Sue-addiction starts driving her away. Then a body shows up, marked by a mysterious odor, Tony is tasked with security for the council meeting, people start calling him a seer, and more weres are kidnapped amid scuttling shadows and whiffs of that same mysterious odor.
It's a ripping good read, with enough action and suspense for anyone. If you like romances, there's enough of that, too, and if you don't, you can skip the sex scenes without missing much. And I think it's safe to say there will be one or more sequels.
* * * *
Robert Buettner's Orphan's Destiny (sequel to Orphanage) should satisfy unrepentant fans of Heinlein's Starship Troopers, Haldeman's Forever War, and the like. Buettner posits a horde of sluglike aliens ensconced on Ganymede, from which they bombard Earth with rocks. In the earlier novel, Earth, led by the US, revived moldering space programs, recruited ten thousand troopers orphaned by the bombardment, and sent them out to do their best, which required ramming their transport into the alien base.
Destiny opens with the seven hundred survivors, led by now-General Jason Wander, being picked up for return to Earth, where the politicos want to pat themselves on the back and reassure the populace that the crisis is over. However, Jason isn't much of a political animal. “Not proven,” he insists, despite threats to career and pension. “They may still be out there. They may come back. We need to be ready.” (I paraphrase.)
Analog SFF, March 2006 Page 24
