Spin Control (Spin Trilogy, Book 2)
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Call Arkady a clone with a conscience. Or call him a traitor. A member of the space-faring Syndicates, Arkady has defected to Israel with a hot commodity: a genetic weapon powerful enough to wipe out humanity. But Israel’s not buying it. They’re selling it–and Arkady–to the highest bidder.
As the auction heats up, the Artificial Life Emancipation Front sends in Major Catherine Li. Drummed out of the Peacekeepers for executing Syndicate prisoners, Li has now literally hooked up with an AI who has lived many lifetimes and shunted through many bodies. But while they have their own conflicting loyalties to contend with, together they’re just one player in a mysterious high-stakes game….
From the Trade Paperback edition.
breakdowns from having to shoot so many of you. What do your officers threaten you with to make you fight like that?” “We have no officers.” “Then what are you afraid of? People only fight like that when they’re faced with something that scares them worse than dying.” Later Arkady would see this moment as a turning point. Before it, he had managed, just barely, to keep Moshe guessing. After it, Moshe and Osnat both knew in their guts what he really was … even if it took their brains a while to
system—of which the Motai version is the most aggressive—operates along the same lines as horizontal DNA transfer between virus variants within an infected host. It’s an intelligent adaptation to life in space. The human immune system evolved on Earth, where you had large, genetically diverse, low-density populations living in the open air or in primitive, well-ventilated dwellings. Disease spread slowly, and even major epidemics were no real threat in evolutionary terms since the overall
purpose. The truck would simply pull over to the side of the road, gravel crackling under the wheels, and wait. Sometimes Osnat and the drivers got out, sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes they waited for a minute, and sometimes they waited for what felt like hours. Once, very late into the night, he heard Osnat’s voice: “Look at that! Back a day and I already have a mosquito bite. How can you get a mosquito bite in the middle of a fucking desert in the middle of a fucking ice age?” One of the men
old spinfeed of hawks. “Because…,” he began. But he didn’t have a reason. Not unless the vague feeling that she was the only human who didn’t hate or despise him was a reason. “Arkady—” she began, then stopped abruptly. “It’d be a lot easier to talk to you if I knew your real name.” “I don’t have any other name.” “Then what was all that nonsense Korchow was spewing back there about designations and categories? How many Arkadys are there, anyway?” Moshe’s question again. But it sounded
do was scrap it for parts. In such cases, terraformers were left with the uncomfortable, time-consuming, and often futile task of biopsying a failing biosphere and trying to figure out how to tweak it back onto a sustainable trajectory. More often the biopsy was an autopsy: The niggling little problem that you’d set aside to work on when you had time turned out to be the beginning of a catastrophic crash that could only have been stopped by specific actions at a precise moment … usually a moment