This is the second volume of the main sequence of Revelation Space Series. Surprisingly enough, it starts not as a direct continuation of the first book, but introduces a bunch of new characters, whose story ark will later in the book intertwine with the events and heroes of the first volume. It is an unusual author’s decision but new characters are just as interesting.
The story starts with Skade, a woman with enough bio-modifications to among other things fully control her brain chemistry. She also has voices in her head, but it is fine. She finds out that an exploration ship with Galiana, the progenitor of her faction of mankind, the Conjoiners, has returned. However, it was attacked on its way by something they named ‘wolves’ who killed the ship’s crew and infected Galiana, so she should be held frozen.
The story shifts to Antoinette Bax, who decides to fulfill the last will of her father, ending up at a crossfire between Spiders and Zombies. Spiders are the Conjoiners [see above] and Zombies are the Demarchists and they are in a decades-long war…
Finally, there is Clavain, the Butcher of Tharsis, an old man, who centuries ago sided with Galiana, and helped to raise her part daughter half pet project Felka, a highly autistic woman with unique thought patterns.
The new characters are great, and some old ones will return as the story progresses. What I like the most in this series is the wealth of details, even if they aren’t essential for the main story, but create a great background. As an example see the following piece:
The outer habitat lane was a bristling grey torus spinning within the Rust Belt, the ramshackle procession of habitats and the gutted remains of habitats that, despite all that had happened, still orbited Yellowstone. Habitats came in all shapes and sizes even before they began to suffer age, sabotage and collision. Some were enormous air-filled cylinders or spheres, adorned with mirrors and delicate gold sunshades. Others had been constructed on small asteroids or comet fragments, eased into orbit around Yellowstone by armies of Skyjacks. Sometimes the habitats wormed deep within these solid foundations, transforming their rocky hearts into a confusion of vertiginous plazas and air-filled public spaces. Others were built mainly on the surface, for ease of access to and from local space. These domed low-grav communities were clumped together like frogspawn, shot through with the iridescent green and blue of miniature biomes. Typically, the domes showed evidence of hasty repair work: scars and spider webs of emergency epoxy sealant or foam-diamond. Some had not been resealed, and what lay within was dark and lifeless, like the ashes of a fire.
Other habitats conformed to less pragmatic designs. There were wild spirals and helices, like blown glass or nautilus shells. There were enormous concatenations of spheres and tubes resembling organic molecules. There were habitats that reshaped themselves continually, slow symphonic movements of pure architecture. There were others that had clung to an outmoded design through stubborn centuries, resisting all innovation and frippery. A few others had cloaked themselves in fogs of pulverised matter, concealing their true design.
Then there were the derelicts. Some had been evacuated during the plague and had suffered no major catastrophes afterwards, but the majority had been struck by collision fragments from other habitats that had already crashed and burned. A few had been scuttled, blown apart by nuclear charges; not much remained of those. Some had been reclaimed and re-fitted during the years of reconstruction. A few were still held by aggressive squatters, despite the best efforts of the Ferrisville Convention to evict them.
Carousel New Copenhagen had weathered the plague years more successfully than some, but it had not come through totally unscathed. In the current era it was a single fat ring, rotating slowly. The rim of the ring was a kilometre wide. Seen from a distance, it was a festering blur of intricate structures, as if a strip of industrial cityscape had been wound on the outside of a wheel. Closer, it resolved into a coral-like mass of gantries and cranes and docking bays, service towers and recessed parking bays, spindly latticework exfoliating into vacuum, studded with a million stuttering lights of welding torches, advertising slogans and winking landing beacons. Arriving and departing ships, even in wartime, formed a haze of insect motion around the rim. Traffic management around Copenhagen was a headache.