By George Alec Effinger
Marid Audran has turn into every thing he as soon as despised. now not goodbye in the past, he was once a hustler within the Budayeen, an Arabian ghetto in a Balkanized destiny Earth. again then, as frequently as no longer, he didn't have the cash to shop for himself a drink. yet he had his independence.
Now Marid works for Friedlander Bey, "godfather" of the Budayeen, a guy whose energy stretches throughout a shattered, crumbling global. throughout the day, Marid is a policeman…and Bey's own envoy to the police. His new place has introduced him funds and gear which he could abandon in a second if he may perhaps go back to a lifetime of neither possessing nor being owned. Which, regrettably, isn't one in all his options.
It's additionally no longer a topic. For anything darkish is afoot. whatever that's sending town into chaos. assisting a child-mutilator to prevent arrest. Sending a killer to homicide Marid's associate. Murdering prostitutes and savaging their continues to be. symptoms aspect to the hand of Abu Adil--the one guy within the urban whose energy competitors Friedlander Bey's. no matter what occurs subsequent, it's not likely to be excellent news for Marid Audran…
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Extra resources for A Fire in the Sun (Marid Audran, Book 2)
They graze the backs of his knees as they bank around his husky columnar body. Randy is holding his new GSM phone to the side of his head. Supposedly it works anywhere in the world, except for the United States. This is his first chance to try it out. “All the airlines have those now,” he announces monotonically. ” “It kind of hung there for hours. MIDWAY. ” Randy reaches the departure gate for Manila, and pauses to admire a five-foot-wide high-definition TV set bearing the logo of a major Nipponese consumer-electronics company.
Farther south, the mountains are swidden-scarred— the soil beneath is bright red and so these parts look like fresh lacerations. But most is covered with foliage that looks like the nubby green stuff that model railroaders put over their papiér-mâche hills, and in vast stretches of the mountains there are no signs whatsoever that human beings have ever existed. 01 3/12/03 9:39 AM Page 33 CRYPTONOMICON 33 forested, sprinkled with structures, ribboned with powerline cuts. The towns are accretions of shanties, nucleated around large cross-shaped churches with good roofs.
Avi says, sounding a little spooked. He prides himself on unpredictability. ” Avi rattles off canned justifications: office space is much cheaper in Intramuros. Government ministries are closer. Makati, the gleaming new business district, is too isolated from the real Philippines. Randy pays no attention to it. “You want to work out of Intramuros because it was systematically annihilated, and because you’re obsessed with the Holocaust,” Randy finally says, quietly and without rancor. “Yeah. ” Avi says.