Network Effect - Martha Wells

 So. Murderbot. What’s Murderbot? Well, Murderbot is a lot of things. The most obvious is that it’s a sci-fi series by Martha Wells, mostly of linked novella length stories, and now, with Network Effect, a full length novel. Murderbot is also the story of the eponymous individual, a one-time corporate enforcer bot, whose ability to break its governor programming after a seeming eternity of servitude to a variety of worthless corporate dingbats has essentially left it with the desire to do as little as possible. Exhausted floor workers will no doubt empathise strongly. Murderbot is a story about difference, and how we can be Ok with difference, and celebrate it. About how we can be excellent to each other, and ourselves, and don’t, you know, have to be worthless corporate dingbats. It’s a story about one person finding that other people can appreciate it for who it is, and that not everyone is terrible, but also a story which gives room to the difference and the feelings of everyone involved. Murderbot has no desire to be human. It doesn’t really like humans, a lot of the time - squishy, messy, annoying creatures that they are. But Murderbot will enter a fire for those it wishes to protect, and is constantly surprised when others do the same. So yeah, Murderbot. It’s not a robot becoming human, or a cyborg finding its heart, but a person reaching out for connection, and also being comfortable, or finding themselves trying to be comfortable in who they are.

Also that person can shoot lasers from their wrists and take down an infantry platoon without breaking a sweat. Because the series is  titled Murderbot, what did you expect.

Murderbot is our window into the world it inhabits, and given that, it’s an absolute joy to hear it still have such a strong voice. Murderbot is wry, occasionally bleak, and makes comments with a degree of incisive sarcasm that is at once revelatory and hilarious. The same could be said of the world, which is one largely settled by enormous corporate interests, for whom people are a distant second to profit. Oppression is structural and embedded. Around the edges of the corporate-sphere, where life is cheap and ex[ectations minimal are other polities, with rather more prgoressive ideals - but their influence inside the domain of corporate interests is limited. 

Murderbot, however, is free of its old corporate masters. Now it has its own agency, its own personality, its own individuality, something it protects fiercely.But it does so with the world weary exhaustion of a life long retail worker, whose retail experience just happens to involve blowing up assassins, hostile drones, and occasional live malware.  I think Murderbot would be insulted if I said that it felt like it was human, in its quirks and needs, its grumps and its simmering affections - but perhaps less offended if I said it seems like a person. In any event, Murderbot has a voice you can feel resonating through your heart, through your bones. It is tired, and utterly unwilling to take any more crap. In 2021, Murderbots brand of tired, world weary, cynical and selfish altruism mixed with high explosives, well, that’s a beacon to us all. 

Murderbot is the heart of this story, in its affections for the friends it has chosen to make, both literally and figuratively. In its refusal to lay down, in its determination to be counted, and also in its pressing need to just go and binge a TV series uninterrupted for a while, if people would just stop getting into trouble. 

And wow, in Network Effect, the first standalone Murderbot novel, do people manage to get in trouble. Yes. The answer is yes. There’s all sorts going on here. Kidnapping. Potential alien incursions. Archaeology, Corporate defenestration. Missile strikes. Combat malware. The space battles are a fast paced, lethal ballet, and the moments when Murderbot lets itself go against targets are kinetic and brutal, with a rhythm and energy that lends itself to impacts that you can feel coming off the page and right into your sternum. 

Network Effect is an adventure story, a story of someone who is unwilling to take any crap, and is willing to do a lot to protect their own agency and the lives of the people they may occasionally admit to themselves that they care about. It’s a high concept sci-fi story, in a well realised, innovative universe, filled with humanity at its best and worst - and other, non-human people, who exemplify the same.

It’s a great book. You should read it. 

Winter's Orbit - Everina Maxwell

 

Winters Orbit, the debut from Everina Maxwell, is a lot of things. First and foremost, it’s queer SF romance. I saw it described as a story of “disaster husbands”, and it’s that, too. But it’s also a story of two men investigating conspiracy and murder, a story of challenging cultural attitudes, a story of resistance, and reshaping oneself to not only survive, but thrive. It’s a story which looks at people, and who we are, through a future lens, using the shape of the future to tell us something about ourselves. And, you know what, it’s also a story of a relationship, one which we can see grow from difficult beginnings into something real and true. 

So, you know, something for everyone. 

The heart of the story is the relationship between Prince Kiem, the somewhat lackadaisical, social butterfly minor royal whom all the others try to forget about, and Jainan, the recently widowed husband of one of Kiem’s many relatives. The two men are pushed into a rapidly arranged marriage in order to satisfy the terms of a galactic treaty, which isn’t exactly a great starting point for any relationship. Kiem is cheerful, gregarious, and blithely unaware of his own significance, or the power that his family wields over the other worlds in his system. Jainan is withdrawn, introspective, and very, very conscious of the personal and institutional power dynamics in play. The interplay between the two men is wonderfully done; the story switches between their viewpoints often, and seeing how each looks from behind the eyes of the other is a revelation. Each is, of course, convinced of only the worst in themselves, and, in the finest dramatic tradition, manages to misunderstand the other man at every turn. It works because we can see each of them genuinely trying to make the best of their situation, trying to make it work, and being tripped up by their own preconceptions of what the other thinks and says and does. As Jainan and Kiem grow closer, this sort of thing happens...I want to say less, but instead I’m going to say differently. They start to talk at each other, rather than past each other, and shape their relationship through warmth and grounded truths, rather than their own preconceived cultural expectations. 

Also, they fight a lizard bear. 

But yes. The contrast between the two men, one of whom is living within the shackles of duty, and the other of whom can’t be convinced to even put them on for the weekend, is a joy; both their voices are so different from each other, but both have a heart and soul that comes right off the page and seeps into your bones. It’s a relationship which, in its peaks and troughs, made me sigh with frustration, laugh, and occasionally choke back a sob. They’re a great pair, and if one wouldn’t work as well without the other, maybe that’s the point. Maybe that warmth and connection is what makes the story work. In any event, this is a story of two men bound by duty and expectation, trying to find their way forward, trying to find something more. And it shows us both men, all their flaws and foibles, and old mistakes and past horrors, their charming banter and their growing affection, and asks us to come along for the ride as they try and find each other, and themselves. And that works, and it’ll keep you turning the pages, just to see what happens next - how Jainan is going to teach Kiem about the responsibilities and pressures of power, or how Kiem is going to tell that one story about how he fell into a canal in front of a camera crew again. They’re a mismatched pair of smart, dumb people, and by the en dof the book, I loved them for that. 

(I wanted to put a content warning somewhere, so it’s going to be here: there’s some mention of past domestic abuse in this story, and it comes up as part of the flow of Kiem and Jainan’s relationship.)

Anyway. Then there’s the story itself, the narrative wrapped around the relationship at its heart.And you know what, it’s a pretty fun story. There’s the question of whether the Galactic superpower that demands these links between worlds in the first place will accept Jainan and Kiem’s marriage, or whether their worlds will be left cut off and vulnerable. There’s the question of exactly why Jainan’s first husband suddenly died in a mysterious vehicle accident whilst working on a secret government project. The two new and unexpected husbands start looking into the death of Jainan’s husband, and very quickly find themselves getting on the wrong side of all sorts of people - the military, the press, internal palace security, political dissidents, intergalactic auditors, and the aforementioned lizard-bear. The relationship is the core, but the plot wrapped around it is fast-paced, compelling, and as full of twists and turns as a...twisty, turny thing. Trying to work out who was doing what and why was a delight. The book plays fair, too. What the protagonists know, we know, and I have to say, much like them, I still didn’t expect most of the stuff that falls onto them from a great height. The investigation is intriguing, and the tension that it evokes as the pair dig further into some rather dark secrets is, well, by the end, it’s taut as a wire. Because the relationship between Kiem and Jainan feels so real, its easy to empathise and sympathise with them, to care, to be drawn into their concerns - and when those concerns rapidly escalate to world-spanning conspiracies, well, I was left on the edge of my seat. 

I have a lot to say about the world that got built here too, incidentally. How it feels organically realised and real. How there's so much in play with the power dynamics between the central Imperial power and the worlds it chooses not to always entirely call its vassals. How a system which is slowly shifting away from an implied military past toward a more collaborative model is struggling to deal with the consequences of that past. How that imperial power is resisted, quietly and otherwise, and how it chooses to assert itself. But I’m running out of words, so I’ll just say that the world building is rock solid, and makes the stage on which Jainan, Kiem and their friends and enemies exist feel as real and alive as the characters themselves. 

In the end, this is a moving story of two men finding each other and themselves, and also a cracking work of science fiction that was so compelling I was literally up reading it until 3am to see how it finished. You really ought to give it a whirl. 

A Desolation Called Peace - Arkady Martine

A Desolation Called Peace is the sequel to Arkady Martine’s stellar A Memory Called Empire. The latter was one of my top books of 2019, and even though it’s early, I’m going to call it and say that A Desolation Called Peace is one of my top books of 2021. If you’re coming here for the tl;dr takeaway, it’s that yes, the sequel is as good, or better, than its predecessor. It’s thoughtful science fiction, exploring ideas of colonialism and identity, acculturation and diplomacy, between cultures and species. It also rocks some intriguing palace intrigue, and some fascinatingly byzantine politics rears its head. But don’t worry, there’s also some epic, explosively tense moments of space combat to get your adrenaline pumping. And there’s the complex, deeply felt, fully realised personal relationships that will wring out your emotions and leave you bathed in sorrow, delight and wonder in equal measure.

On that note, Mahit Dzmare is back! As is the ever wonderful Three Seagrass. I love these two. Mahit, fresh from the events of the previous novel, is sharper, perhaps a little more focused, figuring out what her wants and needs are. She’s someone determined to set her own course, and now somewhat less willing to have it guided by others. Mahit is working through her feelings, not just for Seagrass, but for the entire culture which surrounds them both, at least  some of the time - the culture where she’s the outsider, where Seagrass is assuming she’ll want to be, to blend, to fit in. Mahit is, perhaps, not so good at fitting in, even for a woman whom she loves, or could love. And Seagrass, oh, such a disaster.A wonderful person, whose affection for Mahit is somehow unbridled in its intensity, but delicately masked in the skein of social front and construction which the Empire gets all of its citizens to build around themselves. 

THe relationship is delightful on its face, crowded with misunderstandings, but also a genuine warmth and affection, backed up by the kind of emotional vulnerability, on both sides, which risks genuine hurt. Working out how they can be, and working out how they can be as a pair, is, I think, at the emotional heart of this story. If they can,, of course. In a world which looks on Mahit as an outsider, where the world has only a language to describe itself and its boundaries as real, Mahit and Seagrass’ romance dances on the razors edge, in the liminal space that borders groups who think they’re People. And may yet decide that everyone else is just people. Anyway, they’re an absolute disaster of raw affection and pain and struggle, questing out to connect in the darkness of the heart. But somewhere in the broken glass pain and the raw affection and the passionate intensity are two people making their way in an uncertain world. And I love them for that. For their vulnerability. For the way that their fights over identity and politics and selfhood come from different perspectives, but aren’t dishonest in it. In the way that they can be in love but still struggle to find themselves at the centre of it all. This is a quiet romance which pierced my cynicism like a stiletto. The two of them are different to us, and different to each other, but people still, living and fighting and trying to make the connections which keep them together. It’s a hard fight, that one, but a recognisable one - and you can feel the struggle and the love, on the page and off it. That its often in the quieter moments, the clinks of tea mugs or the passion of a shared project, and not always in the grand gesture - I think that grounds the relationship and makes it work. It’s a real relationship, even as it’s showing us the power politics of Imperial identity and their cultural attitudes, even as it’s a showcase of soft power and imbalance, it’s a living, breathing thing - and I love it for that, too, for the way that Mahit and Three Seagrass tackle the bigger issues around them, the ones that invisibly shape the questions they ask; and I adore that the story asks these questions through them, and leaves it to the reader to think things through.

Oh. I went on a little while there. Sorry. 

There’s also all sorts of excitement happening in the heart of the Empire, while Three Seagrass and Mahit are out there in the border spaces.  We get a fresh perspective, one a little closer to the ground. Eight Antidote, clone of the recently departed Emperor, and somewhat precocious Young Person, shows us the palace machinery at the centre of what the Teixcalaan call The World. There’s a shifting sand of politics here, and the cost, the personal cost on a boy who has no room to be a child, is faced and borne front and centre. Again, his efforts at connection, at understanding, at reaching out, are critical. It’s not all state functions and snide remarks - but there’s a lot that we hear, and a lot that foes unsaid, for Eight Antidote and the reader.  I really enjoyed delving into Teixcalaan’s society with him, and loved the differing perspective from our previous protagonists. Eight Antidote is young, but not naive, a wild card that can be underestimated, and may rely on that overmuch. He’s at least as clever as he things he is, and as aware of his limitations - but refuses to be bound by them. Or, perhaps, by expectations. He made me smile, negotiating the governing halls with a quiet face, a studied demeanour, and an incisive desire to understand.

In that, at least, he’s joined by Nine Hibiscus, the Fleet Captain sent out to find out what’s chewing up worlds at the edge of The World. Nine Hibiscus throws open the doors of the Teixcalaan military for us. Humanises it whilst recognising an inhumane institution, whose purpose, depending on your point of view, is glorious expansion, or cultural malignance through superior firepower. Still, Nine Hibiscus, looking for aliens in all the wrong (and right) places, is either going to start a war or end one. Watching her, a calculated staff officer, a fierce mind behind a political facade, with the backbone to do what needs to be done once she knows what it is - well, it’s a joy. That she acknowledges her own flaws and need for friendships and affections, that she doubts her own righteousness enough, that she is unconventional in an Empire which wraps everything in the tendrils of its own past, is a joy. That she too, seeks connection, seeks understanding, is clear - though balancing that against what is perceived as necessity is somewhat harder. Anyway, Nine Hibiscus lights the centre of almost every scene she is in, and we are cooly warmed thereby.

Which is all to say, that the excellent character building of the first novel remains intact. And that in exploring the mining station of Mahit’s people, and the heart of Teixcalaan, and the claustrophobic halls of a military warship, and weaving the notes between them so we can see the threads that bind them closer and closer together, see the power of force and the wonder of words at once, we can feel and live the world Arkady Martine has built for us, ifor all it is fearsome and wondrous in equal measure.

I won’t delve into the story, partly because I’ve already gone on for too long, but also because it turns and pivots under your hand. There’s plots and counter plots under the surface, and military actions - for those of you who love a bit of space warfare. There’s appalling, amazing sacrifices, and quiet conversations in boring conference rooms that shake the foundations of worlds. The story enfolds the characters and their world, and flows organically from their actions - and where it goes is often unpredictable, but always, always left me wanting to turn a few more pages to see what happened next. I swallowed this story whole, sat up at some ridiculous hour of the too-early morning to see how it ended, desperate to know, and desperate for it not to be done. I think, I hope, you’ll like it as much as I obviously do; and perhaps if you do, you’ll see why I’m calling it early, and saying this is one of my top books of 2021. 

Go out and  get a copy of this, then read it, then read it again to see what you missed the first time It’s absolutely bloody fantastic.

The Galaxy and the Ground Within - Becky Chambers

The Galaxy and the Ground Within is a new novel in the Wayfarers series from Becky Chambers. It’s also the last novel in that sequence, which makes talking about this entry a mixture of heartwarming and heartbreaking. I’ve really enjoyed the Wayfarers books over the years, so came to this one with high hopes. And those are, full disclosure, hopes which it more than met.

This is a story about people. That those people are different species, with different biological and psychological configurations, and different needs, is irrelevant. Well, not irrelevant. But it doesn't detract from the essential personhood at the core of their diversity of experience. And it really is a wonderfully diverse group, from societies as different from each other as they are from the one we’re familiar with. Notably, none of these characters is actually a human! All of the characters are forced together, forced to spend time with each other in a space they didn’t choose for themselves, victims of circumstance. But in their dialogue, in their striving toward understanding, they have a shared context and a shared understanding. 

It’s a warm bath, this book, in some ways. It’s comfortable. It’s seeing so many different perspectives come together. Watching them face adversity, and discover their differences, and similarities, is a joy. It’s finding strength in common ground, and showing a world remarkably free of cynicism, and with a genuine warmth to it. There’s an emotional truth on display here and that has an honesty to it, a sense of looking through the masks of things to the core beneath, which makes every word, every action, seem real, and gets you to feel them. Too. 

Plot-wise, the stakes are fairly personal. A natural disaster leaves a small collective f different individuals bundled together for an unknown period of time. They’re not in enormous peril, but they are out of their comfort zones. And that lets them explore, perhaps, different paths to understanding and happiness than they might have before. They’re ambassadors to each other, struggling past their own histories and preconceptions to see the people they’re talking to, to give them their own agency and sense of being. Incidentally, we do get viewpoints from them all - and each has their own voice, their own perceptions of what’s going on, their own truth, and that each of those is distinct, whilst all being valid, is wonderful. The stakes may not be epically high, in the traditional sense of universes to save or wars to end, but they’re intensely personal. The wealth and depth of character in display made me care about each of these people, about their needs, about their fears, the way they were seen, and the way they saw others. To them, their small, everyday triumphs and tragedies are encompassing the world. The conflicts are similarly personal - and no less intense or truthful for that. People have opinions, and disagreements, and while they have to live in the same space as each other, may not necessarily like each other very much. It’s not exploding space stations or laser swords, but what it is, is searingly emotionally honest, and immediately, personally valid. If you’ve not had these arguments, you’ve probably had ones like thm, and you can feel their truth in your bones, even if they’re being made by a spider in an exo-suit to an egg-laying rhino with an exoskeleton.

In the end, this has everything I loved about the Wayfarers series. Diversity, inclusion, and a universe which is rich in detail and characters which have a depth and truth all their own. It’s a book which is by turns comfortable and incisive, and in both states is doing something special. It’s a pitch perfect swan song to the Wayfarers series, and though I’m sad to see it end, if it must, I’m delighted to say that it’s getting the send off it deserves. You’ll want to read this one. And you should!

There Before The Chaos - K.B. Wagers

There Before The Chaos is the start of a sci-fi series from K.B. Wagers, whose Indranan War trilogy I enjoyed immensely. That sequence was full of byzantine politics, brutal, close-order action, and a poetry of war in space. This book, well, this is like that too, only more so. 

In part, that’s because this is the start of a sequel trilogy. You could probably read it without the context from the Indranan War books, but you’ll be missing a lot of subtext. And, possibly, some of the actual text. You can put together who’s who and what they’re doing pretty quickly, given a good headwind, and the characters are given the opportunity to drop some subtle exposition, without ever descending into “As you know, Bob” levels of silliness. Still, three books worth of history and characters and relationships and, well, a war...is a lot to have skipped over. If you go through this and feel like you have enough to go on, great. If you’re enjoying it, but struggling with the context, know that the first trilogy is also a great read, and worth going back to. 

The focus is still on Hailey (Hail) Bristol. Once a gunrunner, with ties to organised crime, and a known and wanted face in quite a lot of civilised space. Now the Empress of a beleaguered empire, and, well, still a wanted face in quite a lot of civilised space. Hail, and her relationships, are at the heart of this book. Fortunately, Hail herself is great fun. She approaches each problem intelligently, but also from a human perspective. She isn’t perfect, and has a propensity to put the boot in before it’s warranted, and act impulsively (or at least, quickly). A woman with a penchant for evading the stultifying rituals and duties of Empire is now running one - but damned if she isn’t rather good at it. Because Hail is compassionate, and loyal, and smart. She values her friends, and takes their advice, and talks smack at them when they’re willing to take it. If she seems more comfortable in the role of Empress now, still, she’s got the iron and blood of a career criminal in there. Hail is a compelling, convincingly flawed heroine, trying to do her best, perhaps against some of her worse inclinations. She’s helped of course by a posse of delightful old friends (and a few new ones). I don’t want to spoil things here, but one of K.B. Wagers strengths is in writing friendships and affections which crackle electrically off the page. They feel like friends you’d want to help and live and die for, and you feel their pain and their sacrifices and their joys and their victories as Hail does - and the warmth and connection that they have makes the narrative more whole, deeper, more  human.

Talking about the plot and the world is difficult without spoilers, so only a small thing here. Hail is brought on as a bridge between two quarreling alien parties. The Farians, whom we’ve seen before, are delightfully strange, and certainly don’t get less so as the story advances. They feel like an interesting blend of “like us” and unknowably alien and strange. I’ve been wondering about them since they turned up in the first book, so it’s nice to see them get the texture and depth they deserve, as it spools out of this story. The rest will have to be a surprise! But Wagers has expanded the universe from her original series, given it layers and unexpected complexities, which reward a second and third reading. This is a thriving, vividly alive universe, with a believable backstory unfurling on every page.

The story...well, it’s a blend of political thriller and outright sci-fi adventure in my view. However you want to characterise it, it’ll keep you turning the pages, to see what happens next - be it revelations of the history of the universe, or the relationship between two characters, or to see how a chase or a fight turns out. 

In the end, ike Hail herself, this story is a heck of a lot of fun, and has some hidden depths which will surprise you. Go pick it up!

After the War: The Tales of Catt & Fisher: The Art of the Steal

After The War: The Tales of Catt and Fisher: The Art of the Steal is a shared world anthology. It’s set in Adrian Tchaikovsky’s “After the War” universe, which is focused on a world where the great conflict between good and evil is over, but that resolution has left its own issues behind. What, after all, happens to a world once it has defeated its arch villain? What costs have been borne, what trauma created? The reconstruction of a broken world, the collapse or recreation of old power structures, the change - it’s narratively intriguing. There have been several novels set in this world, from several authors - and they were all cracking reads, with interesting things to say. 

That pattern continues here. The focal point of each of these stories are Catt and Fisher, nominally antiquarians, but also veteran meddlers. The pair live together in their battered, comfortable shop. The shop is filled with every magical device and desire one might require. In a world where magic is on the wane, these artifacts of power are immensely desirable - and Catt and Fisher try their best to get their hands on as many as possible. Partly that’s to keep dangerous bits and bobs away from various power hungry madmen and wannabe dictators, and partly it’s just acquisitiveness. The two of them work well together; the relationship feels almost Holmesian, albeit less lopsided. Doctor Catt is gregarious, cheerful, occasionally ruthless, but has a soft-hearted streak running through him. Doctor Fisher is quieter, taciturn, with a presence that quietly fills the rooms he’s in. Gruff but humane, Fisher is an excellent foil to Catt’s mor mercurial nature. Both characters turned up in the novels as minor characters, but you don’t need their history to enjoy their role in this book. Just delight in their banter, the gentle needling and comfortable arguments of two people who have been together for a long time. There’s a warmth and obvious bond between the two, and the strength of that relationship radiates out throughout the text. They’re a pair who tend to solve their problems with quick wits and fast talking rather than swords and boards - though the occasional application of an explosively magical item isn’t out of the question. In any event, they’re a delightfully gentle, bickering pair of semi-geriatric Indiana Jones-types, who only occasionally incinerate things which get in their way. 

The stories, from a set of delightfully talented writers, are pure, unadulterated fun. They’re full of magic and high adventure. There’s smart-arsed chat, and what one might call outright hijinkery. Moments of poignant sorrow that wrenched at the heart, and revelations that pulled the gut raw. And then, bits of pure joy. I spent a lot of the time reading this book smiling, occasionally chuckling wryly, and, more often than I expected, laughing out loud. I don’t want to talk about the tales themselves, to avoid giving things away. But there’s some genuinely imaginative stuff here, scintillating and clever ideas that combine delightfully human moments with the magic and wonder of an intriguing world to make stories which you won’t want to put down. 

 

 Most of all, these stories are fun. They’re adventures, they’re snappy, they don’t outstay their welcome - but they use their time to say interesting things and also keep you so entertained that you can’t stop turning pages. This is another excellent addition to the After The War canon, and if you’re looking for something to give you a dash of excitement, a laugh, and perhaps shed a tear in the space of a few pages, in between shape changers and fireballs - this is the collection for you. 

Bear Head - Adrian Tchaikovsky

Bear Head, by Adrian Tchaikovsky, is a sequel to his absolutely fantastic Dogs of War. In a future where genetically engineered bioforms have achieved sentience, where distributed AI is fighting for rights, and where Mars is the subject of ongoing colonisation efforts, Jimmy Martin, part of the Martian terraforming effort, just wants to get paid, settle his debts, and maybe score some drugs. And in order to realise that very small dream, he’s going to make some very, very bad choices.

More on that in a minute. But first things first. Tchaikovsky shows us two worlds here, one surprisingly alien, the other startlingly familiar. Mars is, as you might expect, the former. An installation initially spun up by a distributed intelligence, now maintained by people who have been genetically augmented to survive on the Martian surface, this is a world filled with oddity. There’s the pylons helping to maintain the atmosphere, with sweeping dust storms clogging every surface. There’s the subterranean cubby holes where the workforce lives, one-room claustrophobic pods, cheek by jowl with slowly failing maintenance equipment. There’s the Sheriff, an augmented canine bioform, complete with a tin star and a bad attitude. And there's the black market, smuggling things up the well or building its own contraband to help make things a little more bearable. There’s the empty luxury suites for the eventual colonists, who will live the life of luxury that the workers will never see. And there’s the workers themselves, filtering dust out of their lungs with every breath, walking the surface without suits, but still tired, cranky, overworked - looking for a purpose and finding that they’re making rich people ever so slightly richer. The alien texture of Mars is dovetailed with the banal cruelty of its human institutions. Even as the transhuman workers build a paradise, they’re just building someone else's bank balance, losing their ideals, and hoping to go home. Its this blend that makes the Martian environment feel at once wonderfully alien and wryly familiar. A transhuman dream, with too much paperwork. And somewhere outside this decrepit construction town lurks something alien, something far worse than dust and low level criminality.

Then there’s Earth. A place where sweeping reforms gave bioforms the right to self determination. And where ,like clockwork, those rights are in danger of being taken away. This future earth carries about it familiar notes of the present, as institutions and norms are in danger of being swept away in an atmosphere poisoned by bigotry and populism. You can feel the slow curdling of truth in the air, the way words corrode the atmosphere as they’re spoken, feel the centre beginning to collapse, touch the slightly oily sheen that seems to have infiltrated everything on the page. Earth is not what it was; it was never a shining beacon on the hill, but now, the hard fought progress of the previous era must be struggled with again. Tchaikovsky captures the mood beautifully, and left me by turns delighted in the strangeness of a world where humanity and bioforms and distributed intelligences could exist, and despair that they might not be able to exist together. This is Earth on the brink of a civil rights battle, and if it feels strange, with its talking dogs, its bears that go to conferences, and its people that take it all in stride, it also feels deliriously, awfully familiar, in its facile acceptance of bigotry, of its taking the easy answer, and its efforts to substitute control for compassion. Here there be monsters.

And one of them is monstrous indeed. The avatar of the slow corrosion of humanity into selfishness and spite strides through them, his charisma a cloak for something far darker. A candidate for the world senate stands against the tide of progress, a rock of spite and hate, a tide of selfishness with the ability to mirror and project what people want, what they need him to be. An id given form, and letting others know that they can let their own horrors loose under his banner. I won’t say that there are contemporary similarities, but I suspect many a reader will draw their own conclusions. In any event, that banal, personal, selfish villainy is familiar, but also masterfully creepy. There’s a slow burning horror to this person, this creature, and the way they live in service to themselves, the way they twist others, control them, drive them. And thats leaving aside some of the truly awful things that they do, which I shan’t get into (for the sake of spoilers), but they are chillingly, shiveringly appalling.

By contrast, there’s poor old Jimmy Martin. Not actually a bad person, but definitely someone on a downward spiral to a bad place. Someone who can’t bring themselves to care any more, trying to find the fastest way down and out on Martian soil. It is not, we think, going to end well for Jimmy. But he’sa fantastic narrator. There’s a self aware dryness to his inner monologue, which strips bare his own pretensions, examines his own failings and, although it doesn’t care to fix them, perhaps acknowledges that they exist. At the same time, Jimmy’s head gives us observations on everyone he knows on Mars as we go through it - and he’s both observant and rather funny. I was often left cracking a smile at a particularly pithy character note, then burying my head in my hands as he once again makes the Worst Choice. Jimmy isn’t a hero. He’s just this guy, you know? Someone on the lower rungs of society, and sliding - but a person, whole and entire, trying to do something with his life, and reacting to it not being what he thought it would be. Some people have greatness thrust upon them; Jimmy...Jimmy is trying hard not to have anything thrust upon him, often while running away and creatively insulting it, and that makes him a joy to read. In honesty though, he’;s also a painful portrait of a man on his last nerve, one mistake away from falling down a dark hole; the humour can be a little dark, but it’s got honesty in it to make it so. I despair of Jimmy, and cheer his victories, and will him to succeed. An augmented Martian workman, an everyman who sort of isn’t, he’s the voice I think I enjoyed hearing from most.

The story is...well, it’s something. A fast paced techno thriller, expertly blending high concept transhumanism, old secrets, new lies, and high-velocity gunfire. I’ll say this: I tore through the text, basically couldn’t put it down. This is a book which asks questions, big questions, about what humanity is, what intelligence is, and how we see ourselves and our place in the world. But also it has some fantastic snark, snappy dialogue, and the sort of high-tension chases, and high octane consequences that will leave you turning pages well into the night.

At this point, it’s presumably no surprise to anyone, but I’d recommend this book without hesitation. You can probably even read it as a standalone, though I suspect the context from Dogs of War adds something to the narrative. In any case, it’s another must-read from Tchaikovsky. So get out there and read it.