Behemoth Behemoth (β-Max + Seppuku) by Peter Watts

By Peter Watts

Starfish lit the fuse. Maelstrom was the explosion. yet 5 years into the aftermath, issues aren't really as simple as they as soon as seemed...

Lenie Clarke-rifter, avenger, amphibious deep-sea cyborg-has destroyed the area. as soon as exploited for her mental dependancy to harmful environments, she emerged within the wake of a nuclear blast to serve up vendetta from the sea ground. The horror she unleashed-an old, apocalyptic microbe referred to as ßehemoth- has been unfastened on the planet for part a decade now, devouring the biosphere from the ground up. North the USA lies in ruins underneath the thumb of an all-powerful psychopath. electronic monsters have taken Clarke's identify, wreaking havoc during the decimated remnants of anything that was known as web. Governments have fallen around the globe; warlords and suicide cults upward push from the ashes, pledging fealty to the Meltdown Madonna. All simply because 5 years in the past, Lenie Clarke had a rating to settle.

But she has discovered whatever meanwhile: she destroyed the realm for a fallacy.

Now, cowering on the backside of the Atlantic Ocean, rifters and the technoindustrial "corpses" who created them conceal from an international in its demise throes. yet they can't conceal endlessly: whatever is monitoring them, down among the lightless cliffs and ditchs of the Midatlantic Ridge. the results of earlier acts achieve inexorably in the direction of the very backside of the realm, and Lenie Clarke needs to eventually confront the mess she made.

Redemption does not come effortless with the blood of a global in your palms. yet even after 5 years in purgatory, Lenie Clarke continues to be Lenie Clarke. there'll be results for somebody who will get in her way-and worse ones, might be, if she succeeds. . . .

ßehemoth: ß-Max is the 1st of 2 volumes. the tale will finish in ßehemoth: Seppuku.

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Extra info for Behemoth Behemoth (β-Max + Seppuku)

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That's my point. " Rowan nodded. "We—" —killed our people— "eliminated the vectors," she said. " She deliberately softened her voice. "Please carry out my instructions, Dr. Murphy. " His face conveyed exactly what he thought of the precautions she'd already undertaken. He nodded and left without another word. Rowan sighed and sagged back in her chair. A banner of text scrolled across her field of view: another four hundred botflies successfully requisitioned for the SeaTac mop-up. That made over five thousand of the little teleops between SeaTac and Hongcouver, racing to sniff out the bodies before typhus and cholera beat them to the trough.

They come away changed, enriched with new subroutines, bereft of old ones. Hopefully the experience has improved both. At the very least it's muddied their signatures.  Call me if you're ever back this way. But that won't happen. 94's lover has just been erased. 94 pulls out just in time to avoid losing an important part of itself. It fires a volley of bits through memory, notes the ones that report back and, more importantly, the ones that don't. It assesses the resulting mask. Something's coming toward 94 from where its partner used to be.

Internet. The Net. Not such an arrogant label, back when one was all they had. The term cyberspace lasted a bit longer— but space implies great empty vistas, a luminous galaxy of icons and avatars, a hallucinogenic dreamworld in 48-bit color. No sense of the meatgrinder in cyberspace.  Cyberspace was a wistful fantasy-word, like hobbit or biodiversity, by the time Achilles Desjardins came onto the scene. Onion and metabase were more current. New layers were forever being laid atop the old, each free—for a while—from the congestion and static that saturated its predecessors.

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