by Ken MacLeod
The floor is a mess of broken benches and circular flowerbeds with nothing in them. There are two young girls, skipping back and forth over a line they’ve drawn on the floor. One is wearing a faded smock. I can just make out the word Astro on the back as it twirls around her. A light above them is flickering off-on-off, and their shadows flit in and out on the wall behind them, dancing off metal plates. My own shadow is spread out before me, split by the catwalks; a black shape broken on rusted railings. On one of the catwalks lower down, two men are arguing, pushing each other. One man throws a punch, his target dodging back as the group around them scream dull threats.
I jumped off the catwalk without checking my landing zone. I don’t even want to think what Amira would do if she found out. Explode, probably. Because if there’s someone under me and I hit them from above, it’s not just a broken ankle I’m looking at.
Time seems frozen. I flick my eyes towards the Level 5 catwalk rushing towards me.
It’s empty. Not a person in sight, not even further along. I pull my legs up, lift my arms and brace for the landing.
Contact. The noise returns, a bang that snaps my head back even as I’m rolling forwards. On instinct, I twist sideways, so the impact can travel across, rather than up, my spine. My right hand hits the ground, the sharp edges of the steel bevelling scraping my palm, and I push upwards, arching my back so my pack can fit into the roll.
Then I’m up and running, heading for the dark catwalk exit on the far side. I can hear the Lieren reach the catwalk above. They’ve spotted me, but I can tell by their angry howls that it’s too late. There’s no way they’re making that jump. To get to where I am, they’ll have to fight their way through the stairwells on the far side. By then, I’ll be long gone.
“Never try to outrun a Devil Dancer, boys,” I mutter between breaths.
Chapter Two
Darnell
“So you don’t have it?”
The technician is doing his best not to look at Oren Darnell. He frowns down at the tab screen in his hands, flicking through the menu with one trembling finger.
Darnell’s nose twitches, and he takes a delicate sniff, tasting the air. He’s always had a good sense of smell. He can identify plants by their scent, stripping them down into their component notes. The smell of the bags of fertiliser stacked along the walls is powerful, pungent even, but he can still smell the technician’s sweat, hot and tangy with fear. Good.
“I know it was here,” the tech says, shaking his head. He’s a short man, with a closely shorn head and a barely visible mask of stubble on his face. “Someone must have signed it out.”
He glances up at Darnell, just for a second, then looks down again. “But it doesn’t make sense. That shipment was marked for your use only.”
Darnell says nothing. He reaches up to scratch his neck, glancing back towards the door of the storeroom. His guard Reece is lounging against the frame, looking bored. He catches Darnell’s eye, and shrugs.
“Don’t worry though, Mr Darnell,” the tech says, snapping the tab screen off and slipping it under his arm. He pushes it too far, and has to catch it before it falls. “I’ll find it. Have it sent right up to your office. Bring it myself, actually. You leave it with me.”
Darnell smiles at him. It’s a warm smile, almost paternal. “That’s all right,” he says. “It happens.”
“I know what you mean, Sir,” the tech says, meeting Darnell’s smile with one of his own. “But we’ll get to the bottom of—”
“Do me a favour,” Darnell says. He points to the back of the storeroom. “Grab me a bag of micronutrient, would you?”
The tech’s smile gets wider, relieved to have a purpose, a job he can easily accomplish. “You got it,” he says, and scampers across the room, already scanning the shelves for the dull orange bag of fertiliser he needs. He sees it on the top shelf, just out of reach, and is standing on his toes to snag the edge when something whistles past his head. The knife bounces off the wall, spinning wildly before coming to a stop on the floor. The tech can see his own expression in the highly polished blade. A thin whine is coming out of his mouth. The tab screen falls, shattering, spraying shimmering fragments.
“I always pull to the right,” Darnell says as he strolls towards the tech. “Don’t hold it against me, though. Throwing a knife is hard–and that’s with a blade that’s perfectly balanced.”
The tech can’t speak. Can’t move. Can’t even take his eyes off the knife, the one that passed an inch from the back of his neck. The handle is hardwood, shiny with oil, the grain smooth with age.
“It’s all in the arm,” Darnell says. “You can’t release it until your arm is straight. I know, I know, I need to get better. But hey, you don’t have anything to do at the moment, right? Why don’t you stay and help me out? It’s easy. You just have to stand real still.”
He points at the knife. “Pick it up.”
When the tech still doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything except stand there shaking, Darnell gives his shoulder a push. It’s a light touch, gentle even, but the tech nearly falls over. He squeaks, his hands clenching and unclenching.
“Pick it up.”
“Boss.” Reece is striding towards them, his hands in his pockets. Darnell glances up, and Reece jerks his head at the door.
Darnell looks back at the tech, flashing him that warm smile again. “Duty calls,” he says. “Truth be told, it’s hard to find the time to practise. But don’t worry–when I get a moment, I’ll let you know.”
The tech is nodding furiously. He doesn’t know what else to do.
Darnell turns to go, but then looks back over his shoulder. “The blade hit the wall pretty hard. Probably blunted it up good. Would you make yourself useful? Get it sharpened for me?”
“Sure,” the tech says, in a voice that doesn’t seem like his own. “Sure. I can do that.”
“Kind of you,” Darnell says, striding away. He exchanges a few whispered words with Reece, then raises his voice so the tech can hear. “Good and sharp, remember. You should be able to draw blood if you put a little bit of pressure on the edge.”
He sweeps out of the room, Reece trailing a few steps behind.
BY KEN MACLEOD
THE CORPORATION WARS
Dissidence
Insurgence
Emergence
THE FALL REVOLUTION
The Star Fraction
The Stone Canal
The Cassini Division
The Sky Road
ENGINES OF LIGHT
Cosmonaut Keep
Dark Light
Engine City
Newton’s Wake
Learning the World
The Execution Channel
The Night Sessions
The Restoration Game
Intrusion
Descent
Praise for
The Corporation Wars
“He’s hit the main vein of conversation about locks on artificial intelligence and living in simulations and exoplanetary exploitation and drone warfare and wraps it all into a remarkably human, funny and smartly designed yarn. It is, in fact, a king-hell commercial entertainment.”
—Warren Ellis
“Dissidence is the novel that’s direct yet still brims with ideas, politics and memorable characters, and…keeps things moving with the pace of an airport thriller. MacLeod’s most entertaining novel to date.”
—SFX
“[The Corporation Wars is] a tasty big broth of ideas taking in virtual reality, artificial intelligence, the philosophy of law and disquisitions on military ethics.”
—The Herald (Glasgow)
“Fantastic fights and deep conspiracies and moral dilemmas and strange new worlds, both virtual and real (maybe). MacLeod’s great skill—as in works like The Execution Channel, Newton’s Wake, The Night Sessions and Intrusion—is to marry propulsive plot to philosophical speculation.”
—The Scotsman
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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 Ken MacLeod
Excerpt from Forsaken Skies copyright © 2016 by D. Nolan Clark
Excerpt from Tracer copyright © 2015 by Rob Boffard
Cover design by Bekki Guyatt—LBBG
Cover images © Shutterstock
Cover copyright © 2016 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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First ebook edition: December 2016
Simultaneously published in Great Britain and in the U.S. by Orbit in 2016
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ISBNs: 978-0-316-36369-3 (mass market), 978-0-316-36370-9 (ebook)
E3-20160921-JV-PC