No Game for Knights by Larry Correia & Kacey Ezell

Author:Larry Correia & Kacey Ezell
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, Collections & Anthologies, Crime & Mystery, Science Fiction
ISBN: 9781625798749
Publisher: Baen Books
Published: 2022-09-06T04:00:00+00:00

The rain wasn’t too bad.

It left oily streaks on the windows and carried with it the chemical smell of whatever they were using to make the current seed. But it didn’t cause spontaneous human combustion or turn the air into a poison fog, so I considered that a win.

Mostly it was safe enough now, I guess.

The first hundred years of earnest weather manipulation had been low-key, at least with no obvious harm. There had been conspiracy theories, but they were mostly fantasy and government-fueled distraction.

After the singularity, they’d gotten more ambitious in scope and intent, and more adventurous in the mixes they used. Now it seemed every two or ten years nature acclimated to their bullshit, and the world would burn. Or freeze. Or both at the same time.

You would have thought by now they’d have stopped trying, but that was a bridge they just couldn’t cross. People would never leave well enough alone, or stop trying to turn the world into whatever their idealized version of it was.

Goddamn, I hated being awake.

I stared out the window as the railcar hummed over the city, an electrical storm erupting over the lake, illuminating the junks on the water and the bourgeoisie townhouses in Old Deep Ellum.

There was an ambulance and a couple of police cruisers floating above the surface, and a tug boat was pulling what looked like an older sky cab from the lake. The basic models weren’t supposed to fly in inclement weather, especially the older ones, but there were always a few who cut it too close.

Droid and human workers alike stood on the stern readying their equipment. A single droid sat on the rear bumper of the cab being lifted out of the water. It held its head in its hands as if it actually felt its programmed sadness.

A shot of thunder cracked hard, bathing the world in a quick flash of blinding light, and then another cab dropped down into the lake.

I turned and looked out the other window at the station ahead.

The Good Sir Reverend Arsalan Koen’s La Reunion Church was in what was left of an ancient slum, on the industrial southern shore, not far from the docks of the lake. Flooding the Trinity had been a dream for some since before I was born, and had finally happened in the years between my initial upgrades and the singularity, none of which had happened like anyone had suspected, or really wanted.

Dallas had always been a thing that never should have existed.

An island of glass and concrete carved out of ungodly malarial swampland so miserably stagnant, humid, and hot you could have told me the Native Caddo had left the original European settlers alone as a curious oddity, the original crazy white people, and it would have been just as believable as genocide.

That was Dallas, always and forever.

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