Empire State Page 37

  "Kane!" Rad stumbled forward, but there was a weight on his shoulder. He pushed against it, not knowing or caring what it was, but it pushed back, and he fell sideways onto the concrete.

  "The son of a bitch!" It was Rex. The gangster was on his feet and running towards the Fissure even as Rad recovered his footing to follow.

  "You ain't cutting on me like this, you bastard," Rex yelled and, without pause, ran directly into the Fissure. There was a faint buzzing, and he was gone.

  Rad spat onto the ground, but his teeth hurt and his head was on fire. The Fissure's glow filled his vision.

  Somewhere, a long, long way away, a woman screamed obscenities and an old man shouted something. Someone called Rex's name, or it might have been Rad's, or it might have been Kane's.

  Rad closed his eyes and let blue-white light consume the world.

  FORTY-THREE

  WHEN HE OPENED HIS EYES, Rad noted that for the second time in one night he was flat on his back on hard concrete. This time the back of his head didn't hurt and it occurred to him that perhaps he'd landed on something else for a change. For this he was thankful. It was dark, although when he blinked, he saw stars.

  No, when he blinked, he saw darkness. When his eyes were open, he saw stars. There was a hole blown clean through the hangar roof, and through the ragged gap the night sky was dotted with lights, just a few, but they were there. The clouds were patchy and still covered most of the sky, but they were clearing.

  He sat up. His head still buzzed, until he realised he was sitting very near to the pile of equipment that Carson and the Science Pirate had been fiddling with earlier. To his left there was something like a large junction box, dark green with pipes and grilles. It hummed like an angry wasp. Rad backed away as he stood up. It looked like he shouldn't be near it.

  Ten yards away stood the Fissure. It was a faint blue outline, curling at the edges to reveal a brighter border around a black centre. It was quiet, and stable.

  "Well done, that man!" Captain Carson walked over to Rad, and reached down to help him up. Rad hesitated, trying to remember what had happened and who was who, then accepted the offer. However, as soon as he was upright, he shook the arm off. The Captain said nothing, just let go and stood back, smiling. Rad glanced past him, and saw Grieves and Jones standing nearby. Lisa Saturn was on her knees, hands clasped to the top of her head. Jones held the fat-barrelled gun to her temple.

  Rad rubbed his scalp, then gingerly touched the back of his head. His fingers stuck to something tacky, and he winced. The headache was already beginning. He had landed on his head after all.

  "Where're Kane and Rex?"

  Carson turned to Grieves, who just shrugged.

  Grieves said, "Nobody came through the other side, according to Nimrod. Looks like the Fissure wasn't completely stable when they crossed over. What happened to those two, I have no clue. You're the expert, Captain."

  Rad looked at him. The Captain opened his mouth, but Rad started speaking first.

  "Nice trick there, old man. Plans fall through, eh?"

  "My dear detective, I don't like your tone."

  "Oh, really?" said Rad, lowering his voice as his head thumped. He looked at Grieves, but could see nothing behind the dark glass of the mask goggles. Rad turned to Captain Carson, his voice a low whisper.

  "You were going to go to New York, and let the Fissure close, and damn the consequences."

  The Captain's laugh barked out. Rad shook his head, but Carson laid a hand on his shoulder.

  "Me, leave the Empire State? You misunderstand. We have a city here of several million people. Real people, detective. A real city. And now that Wartime no longer applies, and the Chairman is no longer in charge, this city can breathe easy. The Pocket may be small, but don't underestimate it, dear boy. It's my home, and yours. Forgive my trick, but I realised we could turn the situation to our favour, and strengthen the link between the Pocket and the Origin. For that to happen, I had to… ah, deceive, as it were. Only temporarily, of course." Carson chuckled.

  Rad frowned. "And Kane? Expendable? The ends justified the means?"

  The Captain's laugh stopped and he looked away. "Not at all. Once the Skyguard's powerpack was drained, that should have been that." He looked at Lisa. "But interference was inevitable, I suppose. I'm sorry." He stood silently for a while, eyes fixed on the Science Pirate. Grieves and Rad exchanged a look.

  "Nimrod was watching?" asked Rad.

  Grieves nodded. "Pulled us out of the Pocket when we fell from the airship. Took us a while to recalibrate and come back through, looks like we arrived just in time." He flicked a button open on his trench coat and reached inside. His hand reappeared holding something white and cylindrical, which he offered to Rad. Rad took it and smiled.

  "Much obliged," he said, unfurling his fedora and carefully putting it in its rightful place. "Mine?"

  Grieves nodded. "It was cluttering the office."

  "Impeccable skill, your Captain Nimrod," said Carson. He turned back to the pair and smiled, but this time it was tight and sad.

  Rad looked around the Battery. The orange fog had gone, revealing the empty hangar.

  "So the Empire State is safe? I thought it had been wiped out for a second, believe you me."

  "I will admit there was a risk involved," said Carson. He pointed at the junction box. "The Pocket is supported by the connection with the Origin. Crater knew this, and used the power of the Fissure to build the city. Or rather, to help crystallise the natural reflection of New York. For the Fissure to absorb the energy from the Skyguard's suit, it had to be destabilised manually, as it were. Unfortunately I needed this unlovely lady's help with that. But now the Fissure is reconnected and the Pocket more stable than ever." Carson gestured to the junction box, and Rad saw that the fat cable was back in its port. "There may be some damage to the outer reaches of the Empire State. We shall have to see."

  "We?" said Rad.

  The Captain puffed up his chest.

  "Well, I say we, I suppose I really mean me. I will assume control, I presume, in the absence of a Chairman. There will be a lot to do. Informing the populace of the end of Wartime, obviously. Lift Prohibition." He tapped Rad on the chest with the flat of his hand. "Not a bad idea, eh?"

  "What about the people? The Pastor's crowd went zip, gone. Hell, the whole city did for a while."

  Carson tapped his lip. "With a stronger connection to the Origin, I think the Pocket will have returned to the status quo, reset, as it were. We can but hope."

  Rad looked over at Jones, holding the Science Pirate.

  "What about her?"

  Grieves walked towards their prisoner. "She doesn't belong here. We'll take her back to New York." He turned to her. "You're in for a shock, miss. You've been away nearly twenty years."

  "And the Fissure?" Rad asked.

  "Well," said Carson. "Nimrod and I have much to discuss. I hope we can share much knowledge about it, and the Pocket. The Empire State needs it, but then so does New York City."

  The Captain laughed again.

  "Come on, detective. Allow me to buy you a drink – the first legal one of the new age, my friend! Agents?"

  Grieves shook his head, the soup can wobbling.

  "We need to get back," said Jones. "The time dilation between here and New York is a problem and we gotta get her to Nimrod."

  The Captain nodded. "Indeed, that is something to discuss with Nimrod." He turned to Rad. "Come on. You can introduce me to your friend Jerry. I hear he runs quite a remarkable establishment."

  FORTY-FOUR

  RAD PULLED THE BLINDS BACK, and slumped into his office chair. The dawn cast a bright yellow shard of light across his desk like a giant slab of butter. He leaned back and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth on his face. When he opened them again, the sun had risen a little more. Far out on the water, Rad watched the current ripple. If he squinted, he even thought he could see the other side. Perhaps.

  Something scratched by the
office door. Rad swivelled in his chair in time to see a shadow duck away behind the frosted glass. Footsteps hammered quickly down the corridor.

  There was a brown envelope on the floor, slid under the door by the visitor. Rad eyed it for a moment, then stood and walked over wearily to collect it. He and Carson had had quite a few drinks, and as he bent down the room spun a little. At least he'd forgotten about his sore leg and sore head. And then no sooner did he think of them, than they throbbed back into painful memory. He hobbled back to his chair, clutching the letter.

  It was from Katherine Kopek. The envelope was stuffed full of notes, too much money for Rad to count properly. Her note was short. It just said thanks, and noted that Captain Carson had invited her to his hilltop mansion later that day. Rad's commission was over, and here was his fee. So, she'd survived the Pocket collapse. That was something. Maybe the city had been undamaged.

  Rad tossed the letter onto the desk and leaned back. The chair creaked in protest.

  He thought of Sam Saturn, lost in New York, killed by his counterpart.

  He thought of Katherine Kopek, who had lost the love of her life, only to be brainwashed by the Pastor, pulled into his evil little game, using the very death of her beloved as leverage to get Rad involved.

  He thought of Kane Fortuna, his friend. Had he really hated the Empire State that much? Or did he see it as his duty, trying to help the refugees from New York return home with Crater, no matter what the cost?

  He'd never know for sure, but maybe a sense of duty was no bad thing. He'd been tempted himself, of course. Bright lights, big city.

  As Rad drifted to sleep in his office chair, the morning sun streaming through the picture window, he dreamt of New York.

  And he dreamt of the Empire State, the city that was his home, that he had helped to save. A city that was as real as New York and just as important.

  No. More important.

  The Empire State was his home. A home he'd never want to leave.

  Rad's snooze was interrupted by the phone, jerking him rudely awake. He rocked his chair forward with a jolt, then grabbed the earpiece in one hand and the stem in the other. Leaning back into the warm sun, he closed his eyes.

  "Rad Bradley, private detective."

  A pause, then a voice, small.

  "Hello, detective."

  Rad's eyes flicked open. "Claudia?"

  "Hi."

  Rad returned his chair to the upright position.

  "What are you...?"

  Claudia breathed heavily down the phone. Rad's heart pounded.

  "You free for a drink tonight, Rad?" she asked.

  Rad gulped.

  "Ah... yes. Hell yes."

  "Jerry's OK?"

  Rad laughed and nodded. "Of course."

  "See you at eight."

  Rad paused. He could hear Claudia move the phone against her hair.

  "What about Declan?" he asked.

  Claudia laughed.

  "What about him?"

  The phone went dead with a tiny click.

  Rad replaced the phone on his desk. He leaned back again, allowing a smile to spread across his face. Suddenly the sun was all the warmer and perhaps the Empire State was not so small and grey after all.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ADAM CHRISTOPHER WAS BORN in Auckland, New Zealand, and grew up watching Pertwee-era Doctor Who and listening to the Beatles, which isn't a bad start for a child of the Eighties. In 2006, Adam moved to the sunny North West of England, where he now lives in domestic bliss with his wife and cat in a house next to a canal, although he has yet to take up any fishing-related activities.

  When not writing Adam can be found drinking tea and obsessing over DC Comics, Stephen King and the Cure. He is also a strong advocate for social media, especially Twitter, which he spends far too much time on avoiding work.

  adamchristopher.co.uk

  twitter.com/ghostfinder

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  IT'S BEEN SAID BEFORE, but I'll say it again: writing is a solitary exercise; creating a book is a group effort. Empire State is my debut novel and a lot of people helped get it into your hands. If I've left anyone out, I beg forgiveness, but believe me when I say it's not intentional.

  My thanks to Jennifer Williams, the best writing buddy anyone could hope for. We've known each other for years and she's the one person I can go to, day or night, when the writing is going well or (perhaps especially) when it isn't. Not only is she the perfect critic – honest, reliable, one who pulls no punches – but she's a natural talent and a truly great writer herself. Jen, I owe you one. You can find her online at sennydreadful.com

  Jen was also one of my trusted team of early readers, and my thanks also go to Amanda Leena, Mark Nelson, Sharon Ring, Amanda Rutter, Kate Sherrod and Taylor B Wright. Authors live with their novels for so long that its easy to get lost in the fog, but these guys provided much needed guidance, encouragement and direction. See, I even resisted cracking a lighthouse joke there.

  The founding members of the Manchester Speculative Fiction Writing Group were of great help in critiquing the early chapters of Empire State. Specifically, I am indebted to Quint Bass, Saxon Bullock, Rob Cutforth, Kate Feld, Dave Hartley, Benjamin Judge and Craig Pay.

  My fellow Angry Roboteers are an amazing community of writers and creators, and for support, encouragement, and late night conversations about zombie rock bands, my thanks to Aliette de Bodard, Lauren Beukes, Matt Forbeck, Dale Halvorsen, J Robert King, Mike Shevdon and Kaaron Warren. I couldn't have wished for a warmer welcome to your hallowed ranks. Also, my thanks to Chuck Wendig, who has been not only a valued friend I can rely on for a quick second opinion on everything from grammar and style to the anatomy of compact handguns, but also someone I owe an immense debt of thanks to for reasons we both know very well. And then he went and signed with Angry Robot himself, showing that our publisher really has the very best taste.

  My thanks to Chris Cawthorne and Diana Steinway, photographers extraordinaire who were responsible for my official mugshot. Never has sitting in the snow outside a railway tunnel in Levenshulme been a greater pleasure!

  To all the wonderful people who provided blurbs for Empire State, my heartfelt gratitude. As I'm sure any new writer knows, sending a book out into the wild unknown – to some of your literary heroes, no less – is a somewhat alarming prospect. But I'm glad Empire State was enjoyed by all, and knowing that I was able to give back at least a little of the entertainment they've provided me over the years was a surreal and wonderful experience.

  To Marc Gascoigne and Lee Harris, the Angry Robot Overlords themselves – thanks for giving Empire State a shot and for giving this author his break. And Mur Lafferty, who set me on the straight and narrow so many years ago, and who I now have the pleasure of counting as a friend and, with the WorldBuilder project, a colleague. The gin, oh mighty one, is on me.

  And to my agent, Stacia Decker, whose unbridled energy and enthusiasm is a constant delight. You make me feel like the luckiest author in the world.

  New York during the Prohibition is a fascinating slice of history, and for research I relied heavily on the excellent and very readable Dry Manhattan by Michael A Lerner (Harvard University Press, 2008). The quotations from The New York World and William Anderson that open Parts Two and Four, respectively, of Empire State, were sourced via Dr Lerner's superlative text.

  Finally, to my wife, Sandra, whose unending, unfaltering support and patience have made this all possible. I'm glad to have you with me on this adventure, and I cherish each and every moment.

  Now, what instrument does a lighthouse keeper play? A fog horn. Thank you, I'm here all night…

  ADAM CHRISTOPHER

  in conversation with Chuck Wendig

  Okay, EMPIRE STATE reader, you have now reached the official end of the book, but guess what? We're not done. Let's tear the narrative asunder and let its author, Adam Christopher, rise from the rift – or should I say, the Fissure? – and give some of his
thoughts on the book, from where his ideas come from to the novel's genre-stylings to just who would play these characters on the big- or small-screen.

  Let's get to the interview, shall we?

  The amount of awesome stuffed into the pages of thi snovel is jaw-dropping. Superheroes, detectives, robots blimps, threads of noir, alternate realities, weird science, Prohibition, and on and on. Where did the idea for all this come from?

  Y'know, it's one of those things where a whole bunch of different ideas sort of accumulated over a long period of time, collecting and aggregating until they reached some kind of creative critical mass. There's three separate events I can remember well enough: a flight to San Francisco with a copy of The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler, which I thought was the most amazing book ever and in that weird kind of haze of a long haul flight thought wouldn't it have been great if Chandler had written the Philip Marlowe books with robots in them; a misheard lyric from a song by British Sea Power, which I became convinced was about the mysterious (and non-existent) polar explorer Captain Carson – as it turned out they were singing about a type of bicycle, by as they'd written an ode to an Antarctic ice shelf it all made perfect sense in my mind; a mistyped query on Amazon that gave birth to a new pulp detective hero. Those were the main story seeds, each potentially a separate novel initially, none particularly connected to the other.