Venera Fanning was last seen falling into nothingness at the end of Sun of Suns. Now, in Queen of Candesce, Venera finds herself plunging through the air between the artificial continents of Virga, far from home and her husband, who may or may not be alive. Landing in the ancient nation of Spyre, Venera encounters new enemies and new friends (or at least convenient allies). She must quickly learn who she can trust, and who she can manipulate in order to survive. Queen of Candesce is her story.
At the Publisher's request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management Software (DRM) applied.
About the Author
Karl Schroeder lives in Toronto, Ontario.
KARL SCHROEDER is the author of Ventus, a New York Times Notable book; the Prix Aurora Award-winning works Permanence and The Toy Mill; and Virga, an acclaimed epic space opera series that begins with Sun of Suns. He divides his time between writing fiction and analyzing, conducting workshops, and speaking on the future impact of science and technology on society. Schroeder lives in Toronto, Ontario.
Read an Excerpt
Queen of Candesce
Book Two of Virga
By Karl Schroeder, David G. Hartwell
Tom Doherty AssociatesCopyright © 2007 Karl Schroeder
All rights reserved.
A low beamed ceiling swam into focus. Venera Fanning frowned at it, then winced as pain shot through her jaw. She was definitely alive, she decided ruefully.
She was — but was Chaison Fanning also among the living, or was Venera now a widow? That was it, she had been trying to get back to her husband, Chaison Fanning. Trying to get home —
Sitting up proved impossible. The slightest motion sent waves of pain through her; she felt like she'd been skinned. She moaned involuntarily.
"You're awake?" The thickly accented words had the crackle of age to them. She turned her head gingerly and made out a dim form moving to sit next to her. She was lying on a bed — probably — and he was on a stool or something. She blinked, trying to take in more of the long low room.
"Don't try to move," said the old man. "You've got severe sunburn and sunstroke too. Plus a few cuts and bruises. I've been wetting down the sheets to give you some relief. Gave you water too. Don't know what else to do."
"Th-thanks." She looked down at herself. "Where are my clothes?"
His face cracked in a smile and for a second he looked much younger. He had slablike features with prominent cheekbones and piercing gray eyes. Eyes like that could send chills through you, and from his confident grin he seemed to know it. But as he shifted in the firelight she saw that lines of care and disappointment had cut away much of his handsomeness.
"Your clothes are here," he said, patting a chair or table nearby. "Don't worry, I've done nothing to you. Not out of virtue, mind; I'm not a big fan of virtue, mine or anyone else's. No, you can thank arthritis, old wounds, and age for your safety." He grinned again. "I'm Garth Diamandis. And you are a foreigner."
Venera sighed listlessly. "Probably. What does that mean around here?"
Diamandis leaned back, crossing his arms. "Much, or nothing, depending."
"And here is ...?"
"Spyre," he said.
"Spyre ..." She thought she should remember that name. But Venera was already falling asleep. She let herself do it; after all, it was so cool here....
When she awoke again it was to find herself propped halfupright in a chair. Her forehead, upper body, and arms were draped with moist sheets. Blankets swaddled her below that.
Venera was facing a leaded-glass window. Outside, green foliage made a sunlit screen. She heard birds. That suggested the kind of garden you only got in the bigger towns — a gravitybound garden where trees grew short and squat and soil stayed in one place. Such things were rare — and that, in turn, implied wealth.
But this room ... As she turned her head her hopes faded. This was a hovel, for all that it too seemed built for gravity. The floor was the relentless iron of a town foundation, though surprisingly she could feel no vibration from engines or slipstream vanes through her feet. The silence was uncanny, in fact. The chamber itself was oddly cantilevered, as though hollowed out of the foundations of some much larger structure. Boxes, chests, and empty bird cages were jammed or piled everywhere, a few narrow paths worn between them. The only clear area was the spot where her overstuffed armchair sat. She located the bed to her left, some tables, and a fireplace that looked like it had been clumsily dug into the wall by the window. There were several tables here and the clutter had infected them as well; they were covered with framed pictures.
Venera leaned forward, catching up the sheet at her throat. A sizzle of pain went through her arms and shoulders and she extended her left arm, snarling. She was sunburned a deep brick red that was already starting to peel. How long had she been here?
The pictures. Gingerly, she reached out to turn one in the light. It was of a young lady holding a pair of collapsible wristfins. She wore a strange stiff-looking black bodice, and her backdrop was indistinct but might have been clouds.
All the portraits were of women, some two dozen by her estimation. Some were young, some older; all the ladies seemed well-off, judging from their various elaborate hairdos. Their clothes were outlandish, though, made of sweeping chrome and leather, clearly heavy and doubtless uncomfortable. There was, she realized, a complete absence of cloth in these photos.
"Ah, you're awake!" Diamandis shuffled his way through the towering stacks of junk. He was holding a limp bird by the neck; now he waved it cheerfully. "Lunch!"
"I demand to know where I am." She started to stand and found herself propelled nearly to the ceiling. Gravity was very low here. Recovering with a wince, she coiled the damp sheet around her for modesty. It didn't help; Diamandis frankly admired her form anyway, and probably would have stared even if she'd been sheathed in plate armor. It seemed to be his way, and there was, strangely, nothing offensive about it.
"You are a guest of the principality of Spyre," said Diamandis. He sat down at a low table and began plucking the bird. "But I regret to have to inform you that you've landed on the wrong part of our illustrious nation. This is Greater Spyre, where I've lived now for, oh ... twenty-odd years."
She held up the picture she had been looking at. "You were a busy man, I see."
He looked over and laughed in delight. "Very! And why not? The world is full of wonders, and I wanted to meet them all."
Venera touched the stone wall and now felt a faint thrum. "You say this is a town? An old one ... and you've turned gravity way down." Then she turned to look at Diamandis. "What did you mean, 'regret to inform me'? What's wrong with this Greater Spyre?"
He looked over at her and now he seemed very old. "Come. If you can walk, I'll show you your new home."
Venera bit back a sharp retort. Instead, she sullenly followed him through the stacks. "My temporary residence, you mean," she said to the cracked leather back of his coat. "I am making my way back to the court at Slipstream. If ransom is required, you will be paid handsomely for my safe return ..."
He laughed, somewhat sadly. "Ah, but that it were possible to do that," he murmured. He exited up a low flight of steps into bright light. She followed, feeling the old scar on her jaw starting to throb.
The roofless square building had been built of stone and steel I-beams, perhaps centuries ago. Now devoid of top and floors, it had become a kind of open box, thirty feet on a side. Wild plants grew in profusion throughout the rubble-strewn interior. The hole leading to Diamandis's home was in one corner of the place; there was no other way in or out as far as she could see.
Venera stared at the grass. She'd never seen wild plants under gravity before. Every square foot was accounted for in the rotating ring-shaped structures she called towns. They were seldom more than a mile in diameter, after all, often built of mere rope and planking. There was no other way to feel gravity than to visit a town.
She scanned the sky past the stone walls. In some ways it looked right: the endless vistas of Virga were blocked by some sort of structure. But the perspective seemed all wrong.
"Come." Diamandis was gesturing to her from a nearly invisible set of steps that ran up one wall. She scowled, but followed him up to a level area just below the top of the wall. If she stood on tiptoe, she could look over. So she did.
Venera had never known one could feel so small. Spyre was a rotating habitat like those she had grown up in. But that was all she could have said to connect it to the worlds she had known. Diamandis's little tower sat among forlorn trees and scrub grass in an empty plain that stretched to trees a mile or more in each direction. In any sane world this much land under gravity would have been crammed with buildings; those empty plazas and tumbled-down villas should have been awash with humanity.
Past the trees, the landscape became a maze of walls, towers, open fields, and sharp-edged forests. And it went on and on to a dizzying, impossible distance. Diamandis's tower was one tiny mote on the inside surface of a cylinder that must have been ten or twelve miles in diameter and half again as long.
Sunlight angled in from somewhere behind her; Venera turned quickly, needing the reassurance of something familiar. Beyond the open ends of the great cylinder, the reassuring cloudscapes of the normal world turned slowly; she had not left all sense and reason behind. But the scale of this town wheel was impossible for any engineering she knew. The energy needed to keep it turning in the unstable airs of Virga would beggar any normal nation. Yet the place looked ancient, as evidenced by the many overgrown ruins and furzes of wild forest. In fact, she could see gaps in the surface here and there through which she could glimpse distant flickers of cloud and sky.
"Are those holes?" she asked, pointing at a nearby crater. Leaves, twigs, and grit fogged the air above it, and all the topsoil for yards around had been stripped away, revealing a stained metal skin that must underlie everything here.
Garth scowled as if she'd committed some indiscretion by pointing out the hole. "Yes," he said grudgingly. "Spyre is ancient and decaying, and it's under an awful strain. Tears like that open up all the time. It's everyone's nightmare that one day, such a rip might not stop. If the world should ever come to an end, it will start with a tear like that one."
Faintly alarmed, Venera looked around at the many other holes that dotted the landscape. Garth laughed. "Don't worry, if it's serious the patch gangs will be here in a day or two to fix it — dodging bullets from the local gentry all the while. They were out doing just that when I picked you up."
Venera looked straight up. "I suppose if this is Greater Spyre," she said, pointing, "then that is Lesser Spyre?"
The empty space that the cylinder rotated around was filled with conventional town wheels. Uncoupled from the larger structure, these rings spun grandly in midair, miles above her. Some were "geared" towns whose rims touched, while others turned in solitary majesty. A puff of smaller buildings surrounded the towns.
The wheels weren't entirely disconnected from Greater Spyre. Venera saw cables standing up at various angles every mile or so throughout the giant cylinder. Some angled across the world to anchor in the ground again far up Spyre's curve. Some went straight past the axis and down to an opposite point; if you climbed one of these lines you could get to the city that hung like an iron cloud half a dozen miles above.
She didn't see any elevator traffic on the nearest cables. Most were tethered inside the mazelike grounds of the estates that dotted the land. Would anyone have a right to use those cables but the owners?
When Diamandis didn't reply, Venera glanced over at him. He was gazing up at the distant towns, his expression shifting between empty adoration and anger. He seemed lost in memory.
Then he blinked and looked down at her. "Lesser Spyre, yes. My home, from which I am exiled for life. Always visible, never to be achieved again." He shook his head. "Unlucky you to have landed here, Lady."
"My name," she said, "is Venera Fanning." She looked out again. The nearer end of the great cylinder began to curve upward less than a mile away. It rose for a mile or two then ended in open air. "I don't understand," she said. "What's to prevent me — or you — from leaving? Just step off that rim yonder and you'll be in free flight in the skies of Virga. You could go anywhere."
Diamandis looked where she was pointing. Now his smile was condescending. "Ejected at four hundred miles per hour, Lady Fanning, you'll be unconscious in seconds for lack of breath. Before you slow enough to awake you'll either suffocate or be eaten alive by the piranhawks. Or be shot by the sentries. Or be eviscerated by the razor-wire clouds, or hit a mine....
"No, it was a miracle that you drifted unconscious through all of that, to land here. A once-in-a-million feat.
"Now that you're among us, you will never leave again."
* * *
Diamandis's words might have alarmed Venera had she not recently survived a number of impossible situations. Not only that, he was manifestly wrong about the threat the piranhawks represented; after all, hadn't she sailed blithely through them all? These things in mind, she followed him down to his hovel where he began to prepare a meal.
The bird was pathetically small; they would each get a couple of mouthfuls out of it if they were lucky. "I'm grateful for your help," Venera said as she lowered herself painfully back into the armchair. "But you obviously don't have very much. What do you get out of helping me?"
"The warmth of your gratitude," said Diamandis. In the shadow of the stone fireplace it was impossible to make out his expression.
Venera chose to laugh. "Is that all? What if I'd been a man?"
"I'd have left you without a second thought."
"I see." She reached over to her piled clothes and rummaged through them. "As I suspected. I've not come through unscathed, have I?" The jewelry that had filled her flight jacket's inner pockets was gone. She looked under the table and immediately spotted something: it looked like a metal door in the floor, with a rope loop as its handle. Her feet had been resting on it earlier.
"No, it's not down there," said Diamandis with a smile.
Venera shrugged. The two most important objects in her possession were still inside her jacket. She could feel the spent bullet through the lining. As to the other — Venera slipped her hand in to touch the scuffed white cylinder that she and her husband had fought their way across half the world to collect. It didn't look like it was worth anything, so Diamandis had apparently ignored it. Venera left it where it was and straightened to find Diamandis watching her.
"Consider those trinkets to be payment for my rescuing you," he said. "I can live for years on what you had in your pockets."
"So could I," she said levelly. "In fact, I was counting on using those valuables to barter my way home, if I had to."
"I've left you a pair of earrings and a bracelet," he said, pointing. There they were, sitting on the table next to her toeless deck shoes. "The rest is hidden, so don't bother looking."
Seething but too tired to fight, Venera leaned back, carefully draping the moist sheet over herself. "If I felt better, old man, I'd whip you for your impudence."
He laughed out loud. "Spoken like a true aristocrat! I knew you were a woman of quality by the softness of your hands. So what were you doing floating alone in the skies of Virga? Was your ship beset by pirates? Or did you fall overboard?"
She grimaced. "Either one makes a good story. Take your pick. Oh, don't look at me like that, I'll tell you, but first you have to tell me where we are. What is Spyre? How could such a place exist? From the heat outside I'd say we're still near the sun of suns. Is this place one of the principalities of Candesce?"
Diamandis shrugged. He bent over his dinner pot for a minute, then straightened and said, "Spyre's the whole world to those of us who live here. I'm told there's no other place like it in all of Virga. We were here at the founding of the world, and most people think we'll be here at its end. But I've also heard that once, there were dozens of Spyres, and that all the rest crumbled and spun apart over the ages. ... So I believe we live in a mortalworld. Like me, Spyre is showing its age."
He brought two plates. Venera was impressed: he'd added some cooked roots and a handful of boiled grains and made a passable meal of the bird. She was ravenous and dug in; he watched in amusement.
"As to what Spyre is ..." He thought for a moment. "In the cold-blooded language of the engineers, you could say that we live on an open-ended rotating cylinder made of metal and miraculously strong cables. About six miles from here there's a giant engine that powers the electric jets. It is the same kind of engine that runs the suns. Once, we had hundreds of jets to keep us spinning, and Spyre's outer skin was smooth and didn't catch the wind. Gravity was stronger then. The jets are failing, one by one, and wind resistance pulls at the skin like the fingers of a demon. The old aristocrats refuse to see the decay that surrounds them, even when pieces of Spyre fall away and the whole world becomes unbalanced in its turning. When that happens, the Preservationist Society's rail engines start up and they haul as many tons as needed around the circle of the world to reestablish the balance.
Excerpted from Queen of Candesce by Karl Schroeder, David G. Hartwell. Copyright © 2007 Karl Schroeder. Excerpted by permission of Tom Doherty Associates.
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.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
At the conclusion of Sun of Suns, most of the main characters are missing or presumed dead. Both Hayden Griffin and Venera Fanning are left drifting off in freefall, with no gravity whatsoever to pull them anywhere.Rather than continuing on with Griffin's story, Schroeder focused on Venera, who was, at first glance, a character I loved to hate. She's paranoid, cunning, power hungry, and lacks empathy.Queen of Candesce opens as Venera lands on Spyre, one of the most ancient nations of Virga, with a powerful treasure in her possession. From then on, she is entangled into local politics, which she quickly uses as means to her own ends. This also means gaining allies as well as enemies.Her goal is two-fold: returning home, and exacting revenge on the Pilot of Slipstream, whom Venera is convinced has killed her husband, Admiral Chaison Fanning. The universe in which is the story is set is still very well detailed throughout the novel, very believable. The way the author combines advanced and archaic technologies is flawless, as if it were the natural order of things, as if this was simply how people have eventually evolved to. While we learn more about the origins of Virga, how it came to be, and a glimpse of what lurks outside the balloon, the novel focuses mainly on Venera, her motivations, and what means she takes to make things happen. In the process, she changes, she grows, she starts caring about the people who become her allies. She discovers much about her world's history, and how it affects her and her future actions. She thus emerges as a much more complex character than one would believe.Queen of Candesce, in essence, is a swashbuckling and a political adventure, as well as an intriguing character study. Venera Fanning will emerge stronger and more determined than before, and who knows where that determination will lead her...
Even though i don't always love the writing, which gets a little... basic (i guess?) at times, karl schroeder knows how to create an interesting setting in which his trilogy "Virga" takes place: a massive bubble in space with wheels serving as hundreds of tiny planets a mile or so in diameter, rotating to create gravity.and the story is pretty good too.
Rather less panoramic in plot than the first installment in the series, this book focuses on the efforts of Vanera Fanning to escape the cul-de-sac in which she finds herself trapped and to get back in the fight in her own region of Virga, and the deeper conflict with the artificial intelligences against who Virga represents a citadel.
Venera Fanning, a villain from Sun of Suns, has the key that gives operator authority over the artificial sun at the heart of the megastructure Virga. In the previous book, she was left drifting in air-filled space; in this one, she drifts into an ancient habitation cylinder, Spyre, that has balkanized over centuries into numerous micronations, some no larger than a city block. The convoluted politics of Spyre will not allow her to leave on her own, so she has to contrive a way out.Schroeder serves up arcane politics and swashbuckling action, and tantalizes us with a few more glimpses of the larger world in his distant future.
If you thought the first book was good, brace yourself. It gets better. This book will hook you from page one and keep you turning the pages. One word of warning, though - you will probably be lost through entire passages if you haven't read the first book in the series first.
Venera Fanning is falling into the large artificially contained nothingness of Virga. Finally, after what feels like eternity, she lands on the ancient nation of Spyre, an orb whose cylinder shape is rotting to the point that this planet is doomed.------------- Venera quickly does what she does best alienate people although she finds a few allies almost as amoral as she is. Trusting no one, she knows she must respond rapidly to determine who can insure her survivability on this strange world even if it means some of her new cohorts are expendable. However, Venera also possesses the Key of Candesce that can change entire worlds, but her prime goal remains to live until she can avenge those who sent her into free fall even as she understands that her first encounter arrival causes a civil war between the status quo and the reformists.--------------- The second Virga science fiction saga (see Sun of Suns) is a terrific thought provoking entry that is loaded with action yet causes the audience to ponder deep philosophical concepts. For instance as the amoral Venera plots vengeance and causes a civil war, readers will consider what is human in light of rebellious artificial intelligence and how human culture evolves around its environment especially the Buckminster Fuller geodesic dome concept for turning Manhattan into airless space.--------------- Harriet Klausner