The Operative (San Angeles, Band 2) - Softcover

Buch 2 von 3: San Angeles

Brandt, Gerald

 
9780756412050: The Operative (San Angeles, Band 2)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0756412056 ISBN 13: 9780756412050
Verlag: DAW, 2017

Inhaltsangabe

The second installment in the San Angeles trilogy, a thrilling near-future cyberpunk sci-fi series

Kris Merrill was a survivor. She’d lost her parents as a young girl, and she’d been forced to flee the dubious shelter of her aunt’s home at thirteen to escape the unwanted attentions of her uncle. She’d lived on the streets of San Angeles, finding refuge in the lowest level of the city. When she got the chance, Kris found a room to rent on Level 2, earning a precarious living as a motorcycle messenger, a courier delivering sensitive materials the megacorporations would not trust to any method that could be hacked.

A year ago, Kris’s life changed irrevocably when a delivery went terribly wrong, and she was targeted for termination by the Meridian corporation, one of the most powerful of the megaconglomerates that controlled the government. Salvation came in the form of Ian Miller, who rescued Kris from certain death, recruiting her for the underground resistance group of which he was a part.

Since then, Kris has been hidden with the resistance, training to become an operative. Just as her training with the anti-corporate movement is nearing its end, their compound is destroyed by surprise attack.

Ready or not, Kris and the other trainees are recalled to the dangerous metropolis of San Angeles. But their transport is shot down and Ian Miller, the man she loves, is captured. Someone, it seems, is using him to get to Kris.

With the help of a retired operative with PTSD, and the mysterious man who fled the scene when Kris’s parents were killed, Kris searches for any sign of Ian. As the corporations battle civil unrest—and each other—the city slowly shuts down. Kris and San Angeles are running out of time....

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Gerald Brandt is an author of Science Fiction and Fantasy. His first novel, The Courier, was listed by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation as one of the 10 Canadian science fiction books you need to read. By day, he’s an IT professional specializing in virtualization. In his limited spare time, he enjoys riding his motorcycle, rock climbing, camping, and spending time with his family.  He lives in Winnipeg with his wife Marnie, and their two sons Jared and Ryan.  You can find Gerald online at http://www.geraldbrandt.com, on Facebook as Gerald Brandt – Author, and on Twitter @geraldbrandt.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1

ACE BOOT CAMP, KANANASKIS— SUNDAY, JUNE 11, 2141 5:20 A.M.

THE NIGHTMARES ARE THE WORST.

They are always the same: I wake up in total darkness, crammed into a wooden box too small to hold me. Every nook and cranny is filled with shards of glass and metal. My skin weeps blood from a million tiny cuts. When I lift my head, my forehead scrapes against the rough- hewn wood of the lid.

Outside the box I can sense someone moving. I try to shout, to let them know I’m trapped in here. To let me out. But I can’t. My breath freezes in my lungs, solidifying into a mass of fear so intense it threatens to explode from my body.

That’s when the first shaft of light pierces the box. I feel the bullet enter my chest, splitting my skin, pushing through my ribs, before coming to rest against my spine.
Another shaft of light. Another bullet. More drill through the box’s wooden top, until the fear melts into warm blood filling my lungs, drowning me in my dark coffin. I am dying. Can you die in a dream?

The lid opens slowly on well- oiled hinges, and all I can do is blink in the sudden brightness. My mouth opens and closes like a fish pulled from water. I can feel the hot blood running past my lips and down my cheeks, filling my ears. I gag, spitting more of the coppery, viscous fluid onto my face. Above me is a mirror, placed so I can see what’s left of my body as my life seeps away.

But the reflection I see isn’t mine. Instead it’s Quincy. The man I killed.

I told myself— keep telling myself— that it was in self- defense. That I’d had no other choice. It doesn’t make any difference.

Quincy lies in the small box, his skin sliced in a thousand places. His chest is a morass of blood and bone and flesh where the bullets—bullets that only moments ago I had felt— plowed into him.

And then the nightmare gets worse.

Quincy stares back at me, stares into my soul, and he begins to change. His black, beady eyes soften into hazel. His narrow face widens. His thin lips fill, curving into a persistent smile. It’s not Quincy in the box anymore. It’s Ian Miller, the man I love. The fine lace pattern of old scars on the left side of his face make him more beautiful rather than less. His hazel eyes— eyes I’d lost myself in so many times— slowly lose their light, until they are as dull as the Level 1 ceiling.

I used to wake up screaming. Thrashing in sheets wrapped so tight around me that it took two people to unwind them. My heart pounding so hard I thought it would burst through my chest. They moved me out of the bunkhouse until I learned to control myself better.

It took almost six months, half the time I’d been at the ACE training compound.

While the other ACE trainees bonded over bunkhouse chats and shared spaces, I learned how to squeeze more into the dark corner of my mind where I kept the other memories. Memories of being told I’d never see my parents again, of my uncle and aunt. Of Quincy’s handiwork.

I was moved to a small room off the cookhouse. I’d lock myself in early at the end of the day, avoiding the others, avoiding everyone. Sometimes I’d hear the other students come in for a late night snack, chatting and happy; smell the fresh coffee and biscuits the cook, Pat, made for them. All I had to look forward to was another agonizing night. After they left, I’d hear a soft knock on my door and footsteps walking away. Pat would always leave a little snack for me.

We’d all been here almost a year, and I was bunking with the others now. The beds, hard, lumpy, and smelly, reminded me of the halfway house I was placed in after my parents were killed, adding more fuel to the nightmares that still came almost every night.

Only the screaming had stopped.

At the compound, I learned it helped to be outside, to feel the sun beating on my skin, the sky open above me. In winter, I walked from the bunkhouse to the cookhouse in just a t- shirt and shorts, wanting... needing to feel the wind and sun on my bare skin, no matter what the temperature.

There were no ceilings here, no putrid water dripping from the Ambients and girders, no recycled air. I’d grown to love the huge open expanse, no longer scared by a sky that stretched on forever. There was nothing to break the silent splendor of the mountains. Even transports were forbidden from flying overhead by the Canadian government, to keep the wilderness as pristine as possible.

ACE BOOT CAMP, KANANASKIS— SUNDAY, JUNE 11, 2141 5:35 A.M.

I woke up early again this morning, the nightmare’s sweat still clinging to my skin, making the sheets cold and clammy. Turning over onto my side, I stared at the bunk beside me as the tendrils of fear slipped back into hiding. In the dim morning light, filtered through frayed red and white checked curtains, I could see the blanket rise and fall as the bunk’s occupant slept. I knew her name. I knew she did well in physical challenges and poorly in others. But I didn’t know her. I had missed that chance. I’m not sure I would have taken it even if it was offered.

It wasn’t.

From what I’d been able to pick up, we’d all come from below Level 3. None of us had family or real friends that would miss us. Emma seemed to be the only exception; she’d been recruited from a small group of insurgents creating havoc on Level 2 near San Francisco.

The room stank of old shoes and sweaty clothes. Yesterday afternoon we’d done endurance training, tasked with running the mountain’s trails while carrying our own food and water. We’d gotten back well after the sun had gone down, using small headlamps to light the way, and fallen into our bunks, exhausted. It was a relief not to hear the other girls talk. Not to be ignored, excluded yet again.

Janice, one of the other students, walked in from outside and silently crept back to her bed. I lay still, not wanting her to know I was awake, until her breathing evened out. I cautiously raised my head off the pillow. For the last three days, I’d felt nauseous in the mornings, barely making it to the latrines before throwing up. Things seemed to be better this morning. Hopefully, whatever had made me sick was gone. At least I didn’t have to hide it from anyone today. I didn’t want to be sick this close to graduation.

Even completely wiped out, I’d remembered to take Oscar out of my pocket and slip him under my pillow last night. Oscar was my small golden figurine, a vague image of a man with his arms crossed holding what I always thought was a sword. It was passed down from mother to daughter for generations. No one remembered why they called him that, but the name stuck. I’d been using him as a key chain when I was a courier. Now the chain and ring attached to Oscar’s back were empty, my bike safely stored at Kai’s restaurant.

Mom didn’t give him to me. I’d snatched anything I could when the police dragged me from our small apartment— when the corporations killed Mom and Dad. It was all I had of them now.

Knowing I wasn’t going to sleep anymore, I crept out of bed with Oscar in my hand, the cold floor raising goose bumps on my skin. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, I grabbed my climbing gear off the hook by the door and slipped out of the bunkhouse into the chill morning air. I pulled on my sneakers, stiff and cold with yesterday’s sweat. The sun had risen over the low hills at end of the valley. By the time I reached the western cliffs, it would have warmed up the rock well enough to get some climbing in.

One of the first things we were told...

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Verlag
DAW
Erscheinungsdatum
2017
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0756412056
ISBN 13 
9780756412050
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
320
Kontakt zum Hersteller
DAW
https://www.aeuln.top/

Kl?nenfeldstr. 22
Muttenz
4132
Schweiz
Verantwortliche Person
Nicht verfügbar

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Verlag: DAW BOOKS, 2016
Hardcover