The Galaxy Game: A Novel - Softcover

Lord, Karen

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0345534077 ISBN 13: 9780345534071

Verlag: Random House Worlds, 2015

Inhaltsangabe

NAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY NPR • A gripping science fiction saga about three students from a school for those with extraordinary powers, from the award-winning author of The Best of All Possible Worlds

“A smart science fictional fable as inventive and involving as it is finally vital.”—Tordotcom

On the verge of adulthood, Rafi attends the Lyceum, a school for the psionically gifted. Rafi possesses mental abilities that might benefit people . . . or control them. Some wish to help Rafi wield his powers responsibly; others see him as a threat to be contained. Rafi’s only freedom at the Lyceum is Wallrunning: a game of speed and agility played on vast vertical surfaces riddled with variable gravity fields.

Serendipity and Ntenman are also students at the Lyceum, but unlike Rafi, they come from communities where such abilities are valued. Serendipity finds the Lyceum as much a prison as a school, and she yearns for a meaningful life beyond its gates. Ntenman, with his quick tongue, quicker mind, and a willingness to bend if not break the rules, has no problem fitting in. But he too has his reasons for wanting to escape.

Now the three friends are about to experience a moment of violent change as seething tensions between rival star-faring civilizations come to a head. For Serendipity, this change will challenge her ideas of community and self. For Ntenman, it will open new opportunities and new dangers. And for Rafi, given a chance to train with some of the best Wallrunners in the galaxy, it will lead to the discovery that there is more to Wallrunning than he ever suspected . . . and more to himself than he ever dreamed.

Includes two bonus short stories

“There is a weight and grace to [Lord’s] prose that put me in mind of pewter jewelry.”—NPR
 
“This novel is a satisfying exercise in being off-balance, a visceral lesson in how to fall forward and catch yourself in an amazing new place.”—The Seattle Times

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Karen Lord has been a physics teacher, a diplomat, a part-time soldier, and an academic at various times and in various countries. She is now a writer and research consultant in Barbados. Her debut novel, Redemption in Indigo, won the Frank Collymore Literary Award, the William L. Crawford Award, and the Mythopoeic Fantasy Award for Adult Literature, and was nominated for the 2011 World Fantasy Award for Best Novel.

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Chapter One

It was that hour of the game when sweat and blood began to rub together, skin sliding on skin, smudging the marks of allegiance and territory and leaving only the grav-­band colors to identify the two teams. The audience was global, and the cacophony shocking. Every drop and pull and sink was cursed and celebrated. A mosaic composed of myriad images of frenzied supporters enveloped the Wall in a hemisphere of seething color. Players would occasionally look outward into that mad, tilted sky and add their voices in shouts of triumph or fury, but for the most part they saved their breath for speed.

Adrenaline spiked high in players and spectators alike, pushed by the high risk and higher stakes. This was the best part. It was ruined by unfriendly white light flooding the room and washing out the rich, broad holo projection of seventeen carefully coordinated school slates. Cries of dismay rose up, and as quickly died down again at the sight of the schoolmaster standing in the doorway with a tired expression on his face.

“Boys, you are loud. Go to sleep. You will find out the score in the morning. Caps on, Riley, Kim, and Dee. Caps straight, Pareti and Sajanettan. Put away those slates. Let all be in proper order before I leave this place. You—­Abowen, Abyowan, however your name’s pronounced. Aren’t you the new Saturday boy?”

The master’s voice was a marvel. It started at a resentful mutter, swelled to stern command, and concluded with a sharp, querying snarl directed at a student who was standing casually at the edge of the room. The boy looked as if he had been hoping—­no, expecting— to be overlooked. The sudden question startled him badly.

“Yes, but . . . it’s Friday.” Now he looked bewildered.

“Not anymore; it’s midnight. You know who I am, don’t you? My sister teaches you Telecoms and Transfers.”

“Of course I know,” the boy replied, oddly offended. “I’m not that new.”

The master’s expression turned suspiciously mild. “Barely a year, big school, high staff turnover with some teachers you know of but never see face-­to-­face—­it wouldn’t be surprising if you didn’t know the connection. My office, east wing, nine tomorrow morning.”

The room had settled down. Leaving the Saturday boy to worry whether the appointment was for work or punishment, the master scanned the dormitory and, finding it relatively neat and its denizens subdued, gave a brief, approving nod.

“Lights out,” he said, closed the door, and set off without a backward look. The slow fade would give them all plenty of time to get into bed.

He jogged down the corridor with as much haste and dignity as could be managed on too many sedentary years and a creaky ankle. “Loud,” he grumbled to himself. “Pestilential interference is the problem. A seventeen-­slate array! Selfish, unthinking poppets!”

The lift tower at the corner of east and south was illuminated solely by the starlight from its long, narrow windows, but he stepped onto the lift pad with the sixth sense of familiarity and gave it a solid stamp. It carried him up to the second level as he muttered, this time with a touch of admiration, “Enterprising little moujins. Galia will be proud.”

Their lodgings were at the opposite end of the wing from his office. He had insisted. Life was too complicated without maintaining a few artificial boundaries. Galia did not have an office; she did not need one. She stayed in their small set of rooms, keeping mainly to the large study. He called it a study. Most visitors simply called it . . . strange. The walls were full of fixed shelves, the upper air dangled leashes from a couple of floating shelves, and nothing touched the wooden floor but Galia’s own feet and her old-­fashioned walking stick. She stood leaning on it, considering a slate propped on a shelf opposite her. It was silently broadcasting a small flat-­view of that same match he had shut down in the north wing first-­level boys’ dormitory.

“In, Silyan,” she told him as he hesitated in the doorway. The brief exchange said everything about which sibling was elder and dominant.

The floor of the study had a pleasing give, a slight bounce. He enjoyed it. It was how his feet knew he was at home. Galia turned away from the slate, and the movement of her considerable mass sent a familiar pulse through the floor: the sharp vibration of walking stick and the low-­amplitude surge of the shifting from left foot to right.

“Image improved. Well done. How many?”

“Seventeen.”

She acknowledged the feat with a nod and a minor show of her dimples. “Sometimes they pay attention.”

She tapped her cane. Two other slates switched on from their stations on the walls. There was a momentary blur, and then the full holo coalesced in the center of the room, filling it almost to the ceiling. Her brother’s eyes went wide from the sheer impact of the holo’s size and fine-­grained detail. He silently watched both the game and Galia’s concentration. He would have been making notes, looking up strategies, anything to keep a proper sense of what was going on rather than superficially enjoying the speed and skill of the players, but she was far above him and only her mouth moved as she whispered numbers and formulae to herself.

A sadness as sudden and deep as a Punartam double sunset fell over his spirit. “Are you so sure? Are they so sure?”

Galia was untouched by any doubt. “What else is there to do?”

They balanced each other, moments bound by a shared pivot point—­blood, ability, and a common prison. The more information they received, the more certain she became; the greater the potential for success, the more his terror grew that they would fail. Hope for a distant dream was sweeter, gentler, and easier to bear than hope on the blade-­edge of freedom or utter disaster. At different times they kept each other from despair. She looked at him with a small smile that teased him for his cold feet and sparked enough of the old sibling rivalry to fire up his courage again.

“I have not moved or fought,” she said, “but standing still is not surrender. Look at the players. It’s about timing. It is always about timing. You must move when the circumstances are right or you will fall. Look at the strategists. They stand still and hold the reins. Sometimes we are players and sometimes we are strategists.”

Silyan looked. Anyone could understand the game with a glance. Players ran and climbed and slid from the base of the Wall to the top. They obstructed their opponents and carried their mates. They moved together as closely as possible; a scattered team lost weight and leverage in more ways than one. They tried to tilt the Wall in their favor, making it easy for even the weakest to reach the goal. That was the game at first glance, and many supporters needed no more to enjoy their wins and mourn their losses. For those who knew, there was more, much more. For example, how a certain concentration and configuration of players could tilt the Wall against the other team, or how the sudden shifts of gravity might cause not merely a fall but even, in the case of a slow or unskilled player, a dangerous shear that could rip limb from body. Most of all, the true aficionados knew that the key to the game was in the hands of the strategists, a pair of players who never ran or climbed but stood before the Wall, working at low-­slanted grids on easels and orchestrating the...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Random House Worlds
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2015
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0345534077
• ISBN 13: 9780345534071
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 384
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Del Rey; https://www.penguin.co.uk/company/publishers/cornerstone/del-rey-uk; ; Attn: Andrea T Sheridan 1745 BROADWAY, 14-1; NEW YORK; NY; 10019; USA
• Verantwortliche Person: gpsr@libri.de; gpsr@libri.de; ; Friedensallee 273; Hamburg; 22763; Deutschland