Richard K. Morgan - Altered Carbon: A Takeshi Kovacs Novel

Altered Carbon

Takeshi Kovacs Book 1

Richard Morgan

Thisbook is for my father and mother:

JOHN

forhis iron endurance and unflagging generosity of spirit in the face of adversity

&

MARGARET

forthe -white hot rage that dwells in compassion and a refusal to turn away

May the road always riseto meet you , May the wind bealways at your back

There is avast distance between deciding to write a first novel and actually seeing itpublished, and the journey across this distance can be emotionally brutal. Itcomes with loneliness attached, but at the same time requires a massive faithin what youre doing that is hard to sustain alone. I was only able tocomplete this journey thanks to a number of people along the way, who lent metheir faith when my own was running very low. Since the technology imagined in AlteredCarbon doesnt exist yet, Id better get on and thank thesetravelling companions while I can, because without their support, Impretty certain Altered Carbon itself would not exist either.

In order ofappearance, then:

Thanks toMargaret and John Morgan for putting together the original organic material, toCaroline (Dit-Dah) Morgan for enthusiasm from before she could speak, to GavinBurgess for friendship when often neither of us were in any condition to speak,to Alan Young for depths of unconditional commitment there isnt any wayto speak, and to Virginia Cottinelli for giving me her twenties when Idalmost used mine up. Then, the light at the end of a very long tunnel, thanksto my agent Carolyn Whitaker for considering drafts of Altered Carbonnot once, but twice, and to Simon Spanton at Gollancz for being the man tofinally make it happen.

Two hours before dawn I sat in thepeeling kitchen and smoked one of Sarahs cigarettes, listening to themaelstrom and waiting. Millsport had long since put itself to bed, but out inthe Reach currents were still snagging on the shoals, and the sound came ashoreto prowl the empty streets. There was a fine mist drifting in from thewhirlpool, falling on the city like sheets of muslin and fogging the kitchenwindows.

Chemicallyalert, I inventoried the hardware on the scarred wooden table for the fiftiethtime that night. Sarahs Heckler & Koch shard pistol glinted dully atme in the low light, the butt gaping open for its clip. It was anassassins weapon, compact and utterly silent. The magazines lay next toit. She had wrapped insulating tape around each one to distinguish theammunition; green for sleep, black for the spider venom load. Most of the clipswere black-wrapped. Sarah had used up a lot of green on the security guards atGemini Biosys the previous night.

My owncontributions were less subtle. The big silver Smith & Wesson, and the fourremaining hallucinogen grenades. The thin crimson line around each canisterseemed to sparkle slightly, as if it were about to detach itself from the metalcasing and float up to join the curlicues of smoke ribboning off my cigarette.Shift and slide of altered significants, the side effect of the tetramethId scored that afternoon down at the wharf. I dont usually smokewhen Im straight, but for some reason the tet always triggers the urge.

Against thedistant roar of the maelstrom I heard it. The hurrying strop of rotorblades onthe fabric of the night.

I stubbedout the cigarette, mildly unimpressed with myself, and went through to thebedroom. Sarah was sleeping, an assembly of low-frequency sine curves beneaththe single sheet. A raven sweep of hair covered her face and one long-fingeredhand trailed over the side of the bed. As I stood looking at her the nightoutside split. One of Harlans Worlds orbital guardianstest-firing into the Reach. Thunder from the concussed sky rolled in to rattlethe windows. The woman in the bed stirred and swept the hair out of her eyes.The liquid crystal gaze found me and locked on.

Whatreyou looking at? voice husky with the residue of sleep.

I smiled alittle.

Dontgive me that shit. Tell me what youre looking at.

Justlooking. Its time to go.

She liftedher head and picked up the sound of the helicopter. The sleep slid away fromher face and she sat up in bed.

Wheresthe ware?

It was aCorps joke. I smiled, the way you do when you see an old friend, and pointed tothe case in the corner of the room.

Getmy gun for me.

Yes maam.Black or green?

Black.I trust these scumbags about as far as a clingfilm condom.

In thekitchen, I loaded up the shard pistol, cast a glance at my own weapon and leftit lying there. Instead, I scooped up one of the H grenades and took it back inmy other hand. I paused in the doorway to the bedroom and weighed the twopieces of hardware in each palm as if I was trying to decide which was theheavier.

Alittle something with your phallic substitute, maam?

Sarahlooked up from beneath the hanging sickle of black hair over her forehead. Shewas in the midst of pulling a pair of long woollen socks up over the sheen ofher thighs.

Yoursis the one with the long barrel, Tak.

Sizeisnt

We bothheard it at the same time. A metallic double clack from the corridoroutside. Our eyes met across the room and for a quarter second I saw my ownshock mirrored there. Then I was tossing the loaded shard gun to her. She putup one hand and took it out of the air just as the whole of the bedroom wallcaved in in thunder. The blast knocked me back into a corner and onto thefloor.

They musthave located us in the apartment with body-heat sensors, then mined the wholewall with limpets. Taking no chances this time. The commando that came throughthe ruined wall was stocky and insect-eyed in full gas attack rig, hefting asnub-barrelled Kalashnikov in gloved hands.

Earsringing, still on the floor, I flung the H grenade up at him. It was unfused,useless in any case against the gas mask, but he didnt have time toidentify the device as it spun at him. He batted it off the breech of hisKalashnikov and stumbled back, eyes wide behind the glass panels of the mask.

Firein the hole.

Sarah wasdown on the floor beside the bed, arms wrapped around her head and shelteredfrom the blast. She heard the shout and in the seconds the bluff had bought usshe popped up again, shard gun outflung. Beyond the wall I could see figureshuddled against the expected grenade blast. I heard the mosquito whine ofmonomolecular splinters across the room as she put three shots into the leadcommando. They shredded invisibly through the attack suit and into the fleshbeneath. He made a noise like someone straining to lift something heavy as thespider venom sank its claws into his nervous system. I grinned and started toget up.

Sarah wasturning her aim on the figures beyond the wall when the second commando of thenight appeared braced in the kitchen doorway and hosed her away with hisassault rifle.

Still on myknees, I watched her die with chemical clarity. It all went so slowly it waslike a video playback on frame advance. The commando kept his aim low, holdingthe Kalashnikov down against the hyper-rapid-fire recoil it was famous for. Thebed went first, erupting into gouts of white goosedown and ripped cloth, thenSarah, caught in the storm as she turned. I saw one leg turned to pulp belowthe knee, and then the body hits, bloody fistfuls of tissue torn out of herpale flanks as she fell through the curtain of fire.

I reeled tomy feet as the assault rifle stammered to a halt. Sarah had rolled over on herface, as if to hide the damage the shells had done to her, but I saw it allthrough veils of red anyway. I came out of the corner without consciousthought, and the commando was too late to bring the Kalashnikov around. Islammed into him at waist height, blocked the gun and knocked him back into thekitchen. The barrel of the rifle caught on the door jamb and he lost his grip.I heard the weapon clatter to the ground behind me as we hit the kitchen floor.With the speed and strength of the tetrameth I scrambled astride him, battedaside one flailing arm and seized his head in both hands. Then I smashed itagainst the tiles like a coconut.