By Peter Watts
Arrange for a distinct form of singularity in Peter Watts' Echopraxia, the follow-up to the Hugo-nominated novel Blindsight
It's the eve of the twenty-second century: a global the place the dearly departed ship postcards again from Heaven and evangelicals make clinical breakthroughs by way of conversing in tongues; the place genetically engineered vampires clear up difficulties intractable to baseline people and squaddies include zombie switches that close off self-awareness in the course of strive against. And it's all lower than surveillance by way of an alien presence that refuses to teach itself.
Daniel Bruks is a dwelling fossil: a box biologist in a global the place biology has became computational, a cat's-paw utilized by terrorists to kill millions. Taking shelter within the Oregon desolate tract, he's grew to become his again on a humanity that shatters into unusual new subspecies with each heartbeat. yet he awakens one evening to discover himself on the middle of a hurricane that might flip all of historical past inside-out.
Now he's trapped on a boat sure for the guts of the sun approach. To his left is a grief-stricken soldier, obsessed through whispered messages from a useless son. To his correct is a pilot who hasn't but discovered the guy she's sworn to kill on sight. A vampire and its entourage of zombie bodyguards lurk within the shadows in the back of. And useless forward, a handful of rapture-stricken clergymen takes all of them to a gathering with whatever they are going to in basic terms name "The Angels of the Asteroids."
Their pilgrimage brings Dan Bruks, the fossil guy, face-to-face with the largest evolutionary breakpoint because the beginning of inspiration itself.
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Additional resources for Echopraxia (Firefall, Book 2)
Special delivery. He opened it. Inside, a slip of paper. It said: POT-HEALER, I NEED YOU. AND I WILL PAY. No signature. No address except his, as destination. My god, he thought, this is something real and big. I know it. He carefully moved his chair around so that he faced the red warning light of the mail tube. And prepared to wait. Until it comes, he said to himself. Unless I physically starve to death first. I will not voluntarily die, now, he thought harshly. I want to stay alive. And wait.
Dialing his phone, he obtained a satellite relay to Japan; he raised Tokyo and gave the digits for the Tokyo translating computer. With the skill of long habit he obtained a direct line to the great, clanking, booming construct; he bypassed its host of attendants. “Oral transmission,” he informed it. The hulking GX9 computer clicked over to oral, rather than visual, reception. “The Corn Is Green,” Joe said. He turned on the recording unit of his phone. At once the computer answered, giving the Japanese equivalent.
I’m depressed. I can’t stand this much longer. Do you know what I mean? ” He waited. A faceless moment poured past in which neither of them spoke. “I’m ringing off,” Joe said, and began to hang up. “Wait,” Gauk said rapidly. ” He hung up, sat emptily staring. On his unfolded sheet of paper he had several more, but—It’s gone, he said to himself, bitterly. The energy, the capacity to fiddle away a lifetime without dignified work, and, in its place, the performance of the trivial, even the voluntarily trivial, as we have constructed here in The Game.
Echopraxia (Firefall, Book 2) by Peter Watts