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416 pages, Hardcover
First published July 26, 2016
"So there's a zombie horde out there?"
"I mean," she said, and trailed off.
Shale looked at her from across the carriage.
"Horde is pejorative. So's zombie, for that matter, if you're not referring to the Archipelagese religious practice."
He did not speak then, either.
"Fine. Yes."
"Shouldn't you be happy? This seems like your kind of place."
"Unfinished stone?" His face twisted in disgust. "I was born in Alt Coulumb. My block was quarried from a moonlit pit and weather-shaped on rooftops. Descending into living Rock - it doesn't feel right."
"You're made of stone."
"You're made of meat. Maybe after this we can find a nice tight wet dark meat tunnel for you to squeeze down."
"I bear these people because Craftsmen, broadly speaking, do not love what they cannot use, and destroy what they do not love. So I make myself useful in some minimal way, as do others of my kind. [...] We are what we ever were: huge, strong, and ancient beyond your reckoning. We have crossed vast gulfs of time and space. And you think (the subsonic dread returned in sharp pulses [...] and her mind named the dread pattern laughter) you think because looking at us you can say that one draws a salary, this one bears us from place to place, that your limited comprehension gives you any measure of safety or control."
Stop, a wise voice inside her urged. Or change the story.
Give these people what they want to hear.
Fuck what they wanted to hear.
This was news.