by Rob Boffard
In another online operation, the Gurus and their new recruits led a second select group—military, clandestine services, political—on a merry geocache chase, in quest of something that might point to a huge breach of national security. There was a breach, of course.
It was the Gurus.
Working in this fashion, it became apparent to a few of our best and brightest that they were not dealing with an eccentric rich hermit with an odd sense humor. And there were genuine rewards, rich Easter eggs waiting to be cracked. Linking the most interesting puzzles led logically to some brilliant mathematical and scientific insights. One of these, quantum interlacing, showed the potential of increasing bandwidth in any Shannon-compliant network by a millionfold.
Only then did the Gurus reveal themselves—through another specially trained group of intermediaries. They came in peace. Of course. They planned on being even more helpful, in due time—piecing out their revelations in step sequence, not to upset proprietary apple carts all at once.
World leaders were gradually made aware of the game change, with astonishing tact and political savvy. Citizen awareness followed a few months later, after carefully coached preparation. It seemed the Gurus knew as much about our psychology and sociology as they did about the rules of the universe. They wanted to take things gradual.
And so over a period of six months, the Gurus came forward, moving out in ones and twos from their Yemeni Hadramaut beachhead to world capitals, economic centers, universities, think tanks—transforming themselves into both hostages and indispensable advisors.
The Gurus explained that they are here in tiny numbers because interstellar travel is fantastically difficult and expensive, even at their level of technology. So much had been guessed by our scientists. We still don’t know how many Gurus came to Earth originally, but there are now, at best estimate—according to what our own governments will tell us—about thirty of them. They don’t seem to mind being separated from each other or their own kind, but they keep their human contacts to a few dozen. Some call these select emissaries the Wait Staff.
It took the Gurus a while to drop the other shoe. You can see why, looking back. It was a very big shoe, completely slathered in dog shit.
Just as we were getting used to the new world order—just as we were proving ourselves worthy—the Gurus confessed they were not the only ones out there in the dark light-years. They explained that they had been hounded by mortal enemies from sun to sun, planet to planet, and were in fact now stretched thin—left weak, nearly defenseless.
Gurus were not just being magnanimous with their gifts of tech. They needed our help, and we needed to step up and help them, because these enemies were already inside the far, icy margins of our solar system, were, in fact, trying to establish their own beachhead, but not on Earth.
On Mars.
Some pundits started to call this enemy the Antagonists—Antags. The name stuck. We were told very little about them, except that they were totally bad.
And so our first bill came due. Skyrines were volunteered to help pay. As always.
THE SUN SETS watery yellow in a pall of Seattle gray. Night falls and ships’ lights swim and dance in my tears. I’m still exuding slimy crap. Spacemen can’t use drugs the first few days because our livers are overworked cleaning out residue. It comes out of our skin and sits on our breath like cheap gin and old sweat. Civilian ladies don’t like the stink until we remind them about the money, then some put up with it.
It’s quiet in the apartment. Empty. Spacemen are rarely alone coming or going or in the shit. If we’re not in timeout, there’s always that small voice in the ear, either a fellow Skyrine or your angel. But I don’t really mind being alone. Not for a few hours. Not until Joe comes back and tells me how it all turned out. What the real secret was—about Muskies and the Drifter, the silicon plague, the tower of smart diamonds.
About Teal.
And the Voors, nasty, greedy SOBs who lost almost everything and maybe deserved to lose more. But they didn’t deserve us.
I curl up in the Eames chair and pull up the blanket. I’m so tired, but I’ve got a lot on my mind. Pretty soon, I relive being in the shit.
It’s vivid.
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome
Dedication
Prologue
1. Riley
2. Okwembu
3. Riley
4. Okwembu
5. Riley
6. Prakesh
7. Riley
8. Prakesh
9. Okwembu
10. Riley
11. Riley
12. Riley
13. Prakesh
14. Anna
15. Riley
16. Prakesh
17. Riley
18. Okwembu
19. Prakesh
20. Okwembu
21. Anna
22. Riley
23. Prakesh
24. Riley
25. Anna
26. Riley
27. Okwembu
28. Riley
29. Riley
30. Riley
31. Okwembu
32. Anna
33. Prakesh
34. Riley
35. Okwembu
36. Riley
37. Riley
38. Prakesh
39. Okwembu
40. Riley
41. Prakesh
42. Riley
43. Anna
44. Riley
45. Riley
46. Riley
47. Riley
48. Anna
49. Riley
50. Anna
51. Riley
52. Riley
53. Okwembu
54. Riley
55. Prakesh
56. Riley
57. Riley
58. Okwembu
59. Anna
60. Prakesh
61. Riley
62. Prakesh
63. Riley
64. Prakesh
65. Riley
66. Okwembu
67. Anna
68. Riley
69. Prakesh
70. Riley
71. Riley
72. Prakesh
73. Riley
74. Riley
75. Prakesh
76. Okwembu
77. Riley
78. Okwembu
79. Riley
80. Anna
81. Okwembu
82. Anna
83. Riley
84. Okwembu
85. Riley
86. Okwembu
87. Riley
88. Anna
89. Okwembu
90. Riley
91. Riley
92. Riley
93. Riley
94. Anna
95. Riley
96. Okwembu
97. Riley
98. Prakesh
99. Riley
Acknowledgements
Meet the Author
By Rob Boffard
A Preview of The Corporation Wars: Dissidence
A Preview of War Dogs
Newsletters
Copyright
Copyright
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2016 by Rob Boffard
Excerpt from The Corporation Wars: Dissidence copyright © 2016 by Ken MacLeod
Excerpt from War Dogs copyright © 2014 by Greg Bear
Cover design by Nico Taylor–LBBG
Cover copyright © 2016 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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First ebook edition: August 2016
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ISBN 978-0-316-26533-1
E3-20160722-JV-PC