Read Online Solaris Rising 1.5 by Ian Whates - Free Book Online

bowl. A life, held sacred; more valuable than jade or gold. Dong Huong watched the graceful ballet in the sky; the ceremony, perfectly poised, with its measured poetry and recitations from long-dead scholars; and, abruptly, she knew the answer she’d take back to her people.
    Graceful; scholarly; cultured. The Northerners had forgotten what war was; what death for ships was. They had forgotten that all it took was a lance or an accident to sear away four centuries of wisdom.
    They had forgotten how capricious, how arbitrary life was, how things could not be prolonged or controlled. And that, in turn, meant that this—this single death, this incident that would have had no meaning among the Nam—would have them rise up, outraged, bringing fire and wind to avenge their dead, scouring entire planets to avenge a single life.
    They would say no, of course. They would speak of peace, of the need for forgiveness. But something like this—a gap, a void this large in the fabric of society—would never be filled, never be forgiven. Minh’s research programs would be bent and turned towards enhancing the weapons on the merchant ships; and all those people in the hall, all those gathered descendants, would become an army on a sacred mission.
    In her mind, Dong Huong saw the desert plains of her home planet; the children playing in the ochre courtyard of her lineage house; the smell of lemongrass and garlic from the kitchens—saw it all shiver and crinkle, darkening like paper held to a flame.
    Quan Vu watch over us. They’re coming.

ANOTHER APOCALYPSE
     
    GARETH L. POWELL
     
    Gareth is the author of the novels The Recollection and Silversands , both of which were favourably reviewed in The Guardian, and the short story collection The Last Reef , which Morpheus Tales described as “One of the finest collections of SF short stories I have had the privilege of reading.” He is currently working on a new novel for Solaris Books, entitled Ack-Ack Macaque , inspired by his short story of the same name, which won Interzone magazine’s Readers’ Poll for best short story of 2007. You can find him online at www.garethlpowell.com
     
     
    1.
     
    V ILCA’S MEN WERE going to kill him. He tried tolose himself in the improvised warrens of the vertical favelas, but knew it was only a matter of time before they found him. He’d been away too long; his memories of the rat runs and back ways were out of date by at least a couple of decades. In the end, two of his pursuers cornered him on one of the innumerable wire footbridges stretched between the barrios that clung coral-like to both walls of the steep, narrow canyon.
    “Stay where you are, Jones.” The short one’s name was Faro. He was a tough young street kid. His elder brother Emilio blocked the other end of the bridge. They would have both been small boys the last time Napoleon Jones had been here; but now they were in their mid-twenties and armed with machetes. Caught between them, he realised he had nowhere left to run. The springy bridge was less than two metres in width and fifty in length. Half a kilometre below, corrugated metal rooftops patchworked the canyon’s rocky floor. Other bridges crisscrossed the gap at various heights. Flyers and cargo zeppelins nosed like cautious fish between them. Shanties crusted both the canyon’s cliff faces, layer upon layer. Lines of laundry drooped from window to window. Cooking fires filled the air with the bitter tang of smouldering wood and plastic. He could hear shouts and screams and children’s voices. Somewhere a young woman sang.
    “What do you want?” he said, buying time.
    The two kids each took a step onto the wire bridge. Napoleon took hold of the handrails to steady himself.
    “We got something for you, from Vilca,” Emilio said.
    Napoleon tipped back the brim of his Stetson. “Maybe I don’t want it.”
    Faro laughed cruelly. He slapped the flat blade of his machete against the palm of his hand. “Maybe you’re