Chasm City (Revelation Space Series #2)

Chasm City (Revelation Space Series #2)

by Alastair Reynolds

Paperback(Mass Market Paperback - Reprint)

View All Available Formats & Editions
Choose Expedited Shipping at checkout for guaranteed delivery by Wednesday, April 24

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780441010646
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Publication date: 05/27/2003
Series: Revelation Space Series , #2
Edition description: Reprint
Pages: 704
Sales rank: 116,910
Product dimensions: 4.20(w) x 6.73(h) x 1.40(d)
Age Range: 18 Years

About the Author

Alastair Reynolds is the author of the Poseidon’s Children series and the Revelation Space series. Born in Barry, South Wales, he studied at Newcastle University and the University of St. Andrews. A former astrophysicist for the European Space Agency, he now writes full-time.

Read an Excerpt


Darkness was falling as Dieterling and I arrived at the base of the bridge.

“There’s one thing you need to know about Red Hand Vasquez,” Dieterling said. “Don’t ever call him that to his face.”

“Why not?”

“Because it pisses him off.”

“And that’s a problem?” I brought our wheeler to near-halt, then parked it amongst a motley row of vehicles lining one side of the street. I dropped the stabilisers, the overheated turbine smelling like a hot gun barrel. “It’s not like we usually worry about the feelings of low-lives,” I said.

“No, but this time it might be best to err on the side of caution. Vasquez may not be the brightest star in the criminal firmament, but he’s got friends and a nice little line in extreme sadism. So be on your best behaviour.”

“I’ll give it my best shot.”

“Yeah—and do your best not to leave too much blood on the floor in the process, will you?”

We got out of the wheeler, both of us craning our necks to take in the bridge. I’d never seen it before today—this was my first time in the Demilitarised Zone, let alone Nueva Valparaiso—and it had looked absurdly large even when we’d been fifteen or twenty kilometres out of town. Swan had been sinking towards the horizon, bloated and red except for the hot glint near its heart, but there’d still been enough light to catch the bridge’s thread and occasionally pick out the tiny ascending and descending beads of elevators riding it to and from space. Even then I’d wondered if we were too late—if Reivich had already made it aboard one of the elevators—but Vasquez had assured us that the man we were hunting was still in town, simplifying his web of assets on Sky’s Edge and moving funds into long-term accounts.

Dieterling strolled round to the back of our wheeler—with its overlapping armour segments the mono-wheeled car looked like a rolled-up armadillo—and popped open a tiny luggage compartment.

“Shit. Almost forgot the coats, bro.”

“Actually, I was sort of hoping you would.”

He threw me one. “Put it on and stop complaining.”

I slipped on the coat, easing it over the layers of clothing I already wore. The coat hems skimmed the street’s puddles of muddy rainwater, but that was the way aristocrats liked to wear them, as if daring others to tread on their coat-tails. Dieterling shrugged on his own coat and began tapping through the patterning options embossed around the sleeve, frowning in distaste at each sartorial offering. “No. No . . . No. Christ no. No again. And this won’t do either.”

I reached over and thumbed one of the tabs. “There. You look stunning. Now shut up and pass me the gun.”

I’d already selected a shade of pearl for my own coat, a colour which I hoped would provide a low-contrast background for the gun. Dieterling retrieved the little weapon from a jacket pocket and offered it to me, just as if he were passing me a packet of cigarettes.

The gun was tiny and semi-translucent, a haze of tiny components visible beneath its smooth, lucite surfaces.

It was a clockwork gun. It was made completely out of carbon—diamond, mostly—but with some fullerenes for lubrication and energy-storage. There were no metals or explosives in it; no circuitry. Only intricate levers and ratches, greased by fullerene spheres. It fired spin-stabilised diamond flèchettes, drawing its power from the relaxation of fullerene springs coiled almost to breaking point. You wound it up with a key, like a clockwork mouse. There were no aiming devices, stabilising systems or target acquisition aids.

None of which would matter.

I slipped the gun into my coat pocket, certain that none of the pedestrians had witnessed the handover.

“I told you I’d sort you out with something tasty,” Dieterling said.

“It’ll do.”

“Do? Tanner; you disappoint me. It’s a thing of intense, evil beauty. I’m even thinking it might have distinct hunting possibilities.”

Typical Miguel Dieterling, I thought; always seeing the hunting angle in any given situation.

I made an effort at smiling. “I’ll give it back to you in one piece. Failing that, I know what to get you for Christmas.”

We started walking towards the bridge. Neither of us had been in Nueva Valparaiso before, but that didn’t matter. Like a good many of the larger towns on the planet, there was something deeply familiar about its basic layout, even down to the street names. Most of our settlements were organised around a deltoid street pattern, with three main thoroughfares stretching away from the apexes of a central triangle about one hundred metres along each side. Surrounding that core would typically be a series of successively larger triangles, until the geometric order was eroded in a tangle of random suburbs and redeveloped zones. What they did with the central triangle was up to the settlement in question, and usually depended on how many times the town had been occupied or bombed during the war. Only very rarely would there be any trace of the delta-winged shuttle around which the settlement had sprung.

Nueva Valparaiso had started out like that, and it had all the usual street names: Omdurman, Norquinco, Armesto and so on—but the central triangle was smothered beneath the terminal structure of the bridge, which had managed to be enough of an asset to both sides to have survived unscathed. Three hundred metres along each side, it rose sheer and black like the hull of a ship, but encrusted and scabbed along its lower levels by hotels, restaurants, casinos and brothels. But even if the bridge hadn’t been visible, it was obvious from the street itself that we were in an old neighbourhood, close to the landing site. Some of the buildings had been made by stacking freight pods on top of each other, each pod punctured with windows and doors and then filigreed by two and a half centuries of architectural whimsy.

“Hey,” a voice said. “Tanner fucking Mirabel.”

He was leaning in a shadowed portico like someone with nothing better to do than watch insects crawl by. I’d only dealt with him via telephone or video before—keeping our conversations as brief as possible—and I’d been expecting someone a lot taller and a lot less ratlike. His coat was as heavy as the one I was wearing, but his looked like it was constantly on the point of slipping off his shoulders. He had ochre teeth which he had filed into points, a sharp face full of uneven stubble and long black hair which he wore combed back from a minimal ist forehead. In his left hand was a cigarette which he periodically pushed to his lips, while his other hand—the right one—vanished into the side pocket of his coat and showed no sign of emerging.

“Vasquez,” I said, showing no surprise that he had trailed Dieterling and me. “I take it you’ve got our man under surveillance?”

“Hey, chill out, Mirabel. That guy doesn’t take a leak without me knowing it.”

“He’s still settling his affairs?”

“Yeah. You know what these rich kids are like. Gotta take care of business, man. Me, I’d be up that bridge like shit on wheels.” He jabbed his cigarette in Dieterling’s direction. “The snake guy, right?”

Dieterling shrugged. “If you say so.”

“That’s some cool shit; hunting snakes.” With his cigarette hand he mimed aiming and firing a gun, doubtless drawing a bead on an imaginary hamadryad. “Think you can squeeze me in on your next hunting trip?”

“I don’t know,” Dieterling said. “We tend not to use live bait. But I’ll talk to the boss and see what we can arrange.”

Red Hand Vasquez flashed his pointed teeth at us. “Funny guy. I like you, Snake. But then again you work for Cahuella, I gotta like you. How is he anyway? I heard Cahuella got it just as badly as you did, Mirabel. In fact I’m even hearing some vicious rumours to the effect that he didn’t make it.”

Cahuella’s death wasn’t something we were planning on announcing right now; not until we had given some thought to its ramifications—but news had evidently reached Nueva Valparaiso ahead of us.

“I did my best for him,” I said.

Vasquez nodded slowly and wisely, as if some sacred belief of his had just been proved valid.

“Yeah, that’s what I heard.” He put his left hand on my shoulder, keeping his cigarette away from the coat’s pearl-coloured fabric. “I heard you drove halfway across the planet with a missing leg, just so you could bring Cahuella and his bitch home. That’s some heroic shit, man, even for a white-eye. You can tell me all about it over some pisco sours, and Snake can pencil me in for his next field trip. Right, Snake?”

We continued walking in the general direction of the bridge. “I don’t think there’s time for that,” I said. “Drinks, I mean.”

“Like I said, chill.” Vasquez strolled ahead of us, still with one hand in his pocket. “I don’t get you guys. All it would take is a word from you, and Reivich wouldn’t even be a problem any more, just a stain on the floor. The offer’s still open, Mirabel.”

“I have to finish him myself, Vasquez.”

“Yeah. That’s what I heard. Like some kind of vendetta deal. You had something going with Cahuella’s bitch, didn’t you?”

“Subtlety’s not your strong point, is it, Red?”

I saw Dieterling wince. We walked on in silence for a few more paces before Vasquez stopped and turned to face me.

“What did you say?”

“I heard they call you Red Hand Vasquez behind your back.”

“And what the fuck business of yours would it be if they did?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. On the other hand, what business is it of yours what went on between me and Gitta?”

“All right, Mirabel.” He took a longer than usual drag on his cigarette. “I think we understand each other. There are things I don’t like people asking about, and there are things you don’t like people asking about. Maybe you were fucking Gitta, I don’t know, man.” He watched as I bridled. “But like you said, it wouldn’t be my business. I won’t ask again. I won’t even think about it again. But do me a favour, right? Don’t call me Red Hand. I know that Reivich did something pretty bad to you out in the jungle. I hear it wasn’t much fun and you nearly died. But get one thing clear, all right? You’re outnumbered here. My people are watching you all the time. That means you don’t want to upset me. And if you do upset me, I can arrange for shit to happen to you that makes what Reivich did seem like a fucking teddy bears’ picnic.”

“I think,” Dieterling said, “that we should take the gentleman at his word. Right, Tanner?”

“Let’s just say we both touched a nerve,” I said, after a long hard silence.

“Yeah,” Vasquez said. “I like that. Me and Mirabel, we’re hair-trigger guys and we gotta have some respect for each other’s sensibilities. Copacetic. So let’s go drink some pisco sours while we wait for Reivich to make a move.”

“I don’t want to get too far from the bridge.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

Vasquez cleaved a path before us, pushing through the evening strollers with insouciant ease. Accordion music ground out of the lowest floor of one of the freight pod buildings, slow and stately as a dirge. There were couples out walking—locals rather than aristocrats, for the most part, but dressed as well as their means allowed: genuinely at ease, good-looking young people with smiles on their faces as they looked for somewhere to eat or gamble or listen to music. The war had probably touched their lives in some tangible way; they might have lost friends or loved ones, but Nueva Valparaiso was sufficiently far from the killing fronts that the war did not have to be uppermost in their thoughts. It was hard not to envy them; hard not to wish that Dieterling and I could walk into a bar and drink ourselves into oblivion; forgetting the clockwork gun; forgetting Reivich; forgetting the reason I had come to the bridge.

There were, of course, other people out tonight. There were soldiers on furlough, dressed in civilian clothes but instantly recognisable, with their aggressively cropped hair, galvanically boosted muscles, colour-shifting chameleoflage tattoos on their arms, and the odd asymmetric way their faces were tanned, with a patch of pale flesh around one eye where they normally peered through a helmet-mounted targeting monocle. There were soldiers from all sides in the conflict mingling more or less freely, kept out of trouble by wandering DMZ militia. The militia were the only agency allowed to carry weapons within the DMZ, and they brandished their guns in starched white gloves. They weren’t going to touch Vasquez, and even if we hadn’t been walking with him, they wouldn’t have bothered Dieterling and me. We might have looked like gorillas stuffed into suits, but it would be hard to mistake us for active soldiers. We both looked too old, for a start; both of us pushing middle age. On Sky’s Edge that meant essentially what it had meant for most of human history: two to three-score years.

Not much for half a human life.


Excerpted from "Chasm City"
by .
Copyright © 2003 Alastair Reynolds.
Excerpted by permission of Penguin Publishing Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

What People are Saying About This

From the Publisher

"Another intoxicating draught of cutting-edge biology, AI, and alien intrigue.... Reynolds is on fire." —-Booklist Starred Review

Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See All Customer Reviews

Chasm City 4.4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 32 reviews.
Guest More than 1 year ago
If you're looking for a book to lift up your spirits, stay away from this one. I introduced myself to this author with Chasm City based on the Hard SF/Space Opera classification the publisher advertised and though I found a lot to like, there was a little bit more that I didn't like. What worked for me were the large-canvas spectacles of an advanced society (mostly) reduced to rubble by a nanotech virus, a wild ride on a space elevator, a race across the the galaxy by three starships that are able to squeak out 8 percent of the speed of light, and cool alien fauna that reminds all of the natives somehow of giant snakes. However, the characters in here are mostly forgettable and the ones that aren't are certainly not likeable. I'm old fashioned in that I prefer reading a story where I root for the protagonist. After about a third of the way in, I was pretty disturbed by the behavior of pretty much everyone. The author admirably weaves together some personalities in one character, but the end result lost its credibility with me. Also, the author just is not able to telegraph plot hints without making them too explicit, while on the other hand coincidences seem to happen serendipitously to further the plot. I'll read the author's next book because I see lots of potential here, but also lots of room for improvement.
Guest More than 1 year ago
In the twenty-sixth century, mankind may have conquered the stars and found the secret to immortality but it hasn¿t been able to eliminate war. Since humanity colonized Sky¿s Edge there has always been war and arm merchants like Cahuella, who sell munitions to both sides have become rich men. Tanner Mirabel, former soldier and mercenary, is now a security consultant to Cahuella. When an ambush in the jungle kills his employer¿s wife, Tanner vows to avenge their death.

He knows the man who was behind the killing is a rich aristocrat whose family was killed by ammunition Cahuella sold to the enemy. Tanner¿s search leads him across the galaxy to CHASM CITY on the planet Yellowstone, a place decimated by the nano-technological Melding Plague that changed the political and social structure of that world. In the course of hunting down his prey, Tanner has many life threatening adventures and discovers things about himself that are extremely shocking to him.

CHASM CITY is a space opera at its fantastic best. The story line is so intriguing that the audience will want to read all 528 pages in one sitting. Tanner, the flawed anti-hero, is likable despite the fact that when he gets into mercenary mode, he has no compunction about killing people. If this novel is any indication of his talent, Alastair Reynolds will attain the skies of Robert Heinlein and Andre Norton.

Harriet Klausner

isabelx on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
It was worse than you are thinking. If the plague had only killed our machines, millions would still have died, but that would have been a manageable catastrophe, something from which we could have recovered. But the plague went beyond mere destruction, into a realm much closer to artistry, albeit an artistry of a uniquely perverted and sadistic kind. It caused our machines to evolve uncontrollably - out of our control, at least - seeking bizarre new symbioses. Our buildings turned into Gothic nightmares, trapping us before we could escape their lethal transfigurations. The machines in our cells, in our blood, in our heads, began to break their shackles - blurring into us corrupting living matter. we became glistening larval fusions of flesh and machine. When we buried the dead they kept growing, spreading together, fusing with the city's architecture.It was a time of horror.It is not yet over.Most of the new arrivals to Yellowstone have been in cold storage for the voyage between the stars, so their knowledge of their destination is years or decades out of date. They expect to find themselves in the sophisticated society of Yellowstone¿s belle époque, not knowing that Chasm City is in the grips of the Melding Plague, and that the once fabulous habitats in orbit around the planet have been so ravaged that the Glitter Band is now known as the Rust Belt. Security consultant, assassin and ex-sniper Tanner Mirabel arrives in Chasm City from Sky's Edge on the trail of a murderer. After being infected by a virus created by a religious cult on his home world, he also finds scenes from the life of Sky Haussmann (the revered and reviled founder of Sky's Edge) playing out in his dreams. It's over 200 pages before Tanner actually makes it down to the surface of Yellowstone, having managed to get himself into plenty of trouble already, on a space elevator, in a hospice and in the shuttle down from orbit. From then onwards, the pace picks up as he finds himself in a warped landscape of mutated buildings, in danger from the low-life of the Mulch and game-playing aristocrats from up in the Canopy as he tries to track down his quarry. From the start I found Tanner surprisingly unsuspicious and unobservant for a supposedly highly trained assassin, ex-sniper, bodyguard and security chief, and noticed a lot of inconsistencies in things people did and said. For once I was paying attention to all the clues and managed to work out what was going out before it was actually spelled out, although at one point I was misled by remembering how Dieterling had turned down the loan of Tanner's night-sight goggles before I got back on the right track. The first couple of hundred pages did drag somewhat. but once I started to unravel the mystery of what exactly was going on, I got more involved in the story, but there were some things that still didn't really hang together properly. *** SPOILERS FOLLOW ***When I read about the ambush in which Tanner's boss was killed, I couldn't believe how unsuspicious Tanner and Cahuella were after finding the imposter in their midst. They knew that he could only have been made to look and behave so much like the real Rodriguez by the Ultras (off-world traders with a much higher technological level than the inhabitants of Sky's Edge), but they just assumed that it was probably a coincidence and that maybe the Ultras had not known that Reivich intended to use the imposter to kill Cahuella. For some reason, it didn't occur to them that if the Ultras were helping Reivich against Cahuella, maybe Reivich's group were not where the tracking devices said they were, and the Ultras might also have betrayed Cahuella's movements to Reivich. If it was me I would have broken camp and moved away as fast as possible, leaving any Ultra-supplied equipment behind so that no-one could use it to track me. But no, they just set guards as normal and everyone else went to bed, expecting that Reivich would walk into their ambush the next mo
FerociousOxide on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
One of the very best Science Fiction novels ever published, this work (set in the Revelation Space universe) is perhaps Alastair Reynolds' highest achievement. Gripping and taught in its entirety, Reynolds succeeds in tying this adventure into the rest of his Revelation Space universe. Small nods are waiting for those who have read his other works, yet his characterization, plot pacing, and dialogue do not suffer. Without reservation I give Chasm City a wholehearted recommendation.
stubbyfingers on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Set several hundred years in the future, people are now capable of copying their memories to computers, changing their appearance, and artificially prolonging their lifespans. As such, they tend to get bored easily and hang on to grudges for very long amounts of time. This book had a convoluted plot of mistaken/hidden/changing identity. The story was interesting and held my attention easily, but at times it felt rather contrived. For my tastes, there was a bit too much of people holding other people at gunpoint and pausing to explain their lifestory and motivations before finishing the job. I was also somewhat disappointed because I felt like some of the most interesting characters were glossed over and didn't get their due. Sky Haussman's subplot was by far the most interesting, and yet its ending was definitely a let down. Constanza could've done a lot more. And how about Sleek? This psychopathic dolphin barely made an appearance, but when he was first mentioned I thought there would definitely be cool things in store for him. And Gideon? Was there even a point to Gideon's character? Perhaps the characters will have more of a role in other books set in this universe, but in this book they were disappointing
cnrivera on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Chasm City was my first Alastair Reynolds novel, and it definitely turned me into a fan. I loved almost everything about this story--the characters, the setting, and the history. There are a lot of twisty-turny plot elements that you might not see coming, and the bits that tie into Reynolds's other books from the Revelation Space universe are really interesting as well. His descriptions are detailed and his world-building is pretty amazing. My only quibble is about the ending--it was a bit out there and just a little confusing. But other than that, I really enjoyed this book.
EricaKline on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
I would call this an epic "space opera"; packed with adventure, plot-twists, incredible descriptions and a believeable imaginary world. A "page-turner"; great.Erica Kline, 12/12/2002
topps on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
In this worthy follow-up to his well-received first novel, Revelation Space (2001), an especially intelligent far-future foray, British author Reynolds transmutes space opera into a noirish, baroque, picaresque mystery tale. Honor requires that Tanner Mirabel, a weapons specialist/bodyguard, track down and destroy the man who killed his boss. Tanner's pursuit takes him to the planet Yellowstone, where a nano-plague has mutated the glittering human cultural showcase of Chasm City into something bizarre, dark and extremely dangerous. He's aided or threatened or both, at different times by a host of human and not-quite-human characters. Relying on his own combat skills and hard-boiled attitude, Tanner keeps seeking revenge even though he begins to wonder why he's doing it, especially after intrusions of other people's memories lead him to suspect he's not who he thinks he is. Inventiveness and tone are Reynolds's strong points. Presented in a sustained burst of weirdness, the novel's details are consistently startling but convincing in context, and the loose ends eventually tie neatly together. The narrator's tough-guy stance works too, both as an expression of Tanner's personality and as a defensive reaction to the setting's intimidating strangeness. Think of a combination of the movie Blade Runner and one of Jack Vance's ironic SF adventure novels. If the ending feels a bit flat, that's probably inevitable after the exuberant display of wonders earlier.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago