Cowards. They thought it would save them. Instead the Number Cities refused to believe you had acted alone and without authorisation. They put you back in the cell and destroyed your city, just as Riemann told you they would.
You note the position of the sun and walk around the building until you’re in the shade. If anybody walked from here they’ll have headed west. You travelled south-east to reach this place: your paths won’t have crossed. Next he has to follow the setting sun. Find his people, and account for them.
You wonder how far you can throw the box. Your arm is weaker than it was: you can imagine trying as hard as you can, only to have the box fall at your feet. But your throw is a good one, and it falls far enough away to be hidden by the grass. Riemann won’t find it unless you tell him what you’ve done. It might lie there undisturbed. Rain will fall, the box will sink into the mud. Given enough time it will start to disintegrate and whatever was once considered important will become as worthless as Picon’s instructions. Riemann can still carry out his official orders. He won’t have this, whatever it is.
It’s a small victory. You walk back to the entrance and look out at the yellow band on the horizon. The others will be there, if they aren’t already dead. The nausea you felt in the back room has subsided. You take more deep breaths and step down to the corridor. You can hear Riemann vainly trying to interrogate a dying man. Where are the others? When did they leave? Which direction?
I don’t answer. I’ve been rescued too many times before: Li, Edda, Erquist, even Hayek. I’ve seen them all leaning over me and telling me I was now safe, how it was a chance in a thousand, a chance in ten thousand, a chance in a million. Riemann is surely no different. I blink and he disappears.
The hall is full. The conversation dies to a whisper, a faint hiss. I flex the toes of my left foot. The woollen stockings offer little protection against the chill of the hall (it is already getting colder) and, despite everything I’ve read, I hadn’t realised how uncomfortable the seats would be. These are small prices to pay. The orchestra waits for the signal from the composer. He turns his back to us and raises his arms. The music can finally begin.
Acknowledgements
Thanks are due to numerous people: to Tim Holman, Anne Clarke, Joanna Kramer and the rest of the team at Orbit for making this book possible; to Oli Munson at A. M. Heath for knowing where to send the manuscript; and to Candida Lacy, Holly Ainley and Vicky Blunden at Myriad for early support and encouragement.
About the author
Robert Dickinson lives in Brighton, England, and his life to date has been shockingly uneventful. His two previous novels were published by a small press. The Tourist is his third novel.
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome
’88
Typical 21st
A good subordinate
Happiness Executive
Kat
Bar Five
Spad
Official official
The truth about travel
The machines are always listening
The state of the road
DomeWatch
Welcome to the anterior
Mish talk
You’re not Picon
Geneva is very deep
Edge of the territory
Traditional native
It’s not she
Resort Six
Long walk home
Millies
Overlap
The case for war
The man who collapsed
Panic response
Loose ends
The Richardson expedition
The wrong place
An der Wien
Acknowledgements
About the author
Newsletters
Copyright
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Robert Dickinson
Cover design by Lauren Panepinto
Cover photos © Shutterstock
Cover copyright © 2016 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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First ebook edition: October 2016
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ISBN 978-0-316-39943-2
E3-20160825-JV-NF
The Tourist Page 29