Salvation's Reach - an exclusive extract!

Because you demanded it, and I was crazy enough to promise it....

Here's an exclusive chunk of the next Gaunt's Ghosts novel, out this Autumn. I hope it entertains. Pausing just long enough to remind you that I'm appearing at Alt-Fiction in Derby this coming weekend (details in the previous post), I'll leave you to get on with Salvation's Reach....


At midnight, local time, a new star woke in the skies above Anzimar. The city’s population was hurrying to attend the day’s Sabbat Libera Nos service, which had been held in the temples of the Beati every midnight since the Crusade began, in the hope of vouchsafing a brighter tomorrow. Some of the hundreds of thousands of citizens bustling from their homes, or even their beds, or suspending their labour, at that time may have turned their eyes skywards, for since the very origin of the species, mankind has entertained the notion that some ineffable source of providence may look down upon us. The upward glances were vain, involuntary wishes to glimpse the face of salvation.
No one saw the star light up. The smog that night was as thick as rockcrete.

Ship bells rang. At high anchor at the edge of the mesopause, the Imperial Tempest Class frigate Highness Ser Armaduke lit its plasma engines. The drives ignited with a pulsing fibrilation, and then calmed into a less intense, steady glow.
Below the ship lay the troposphere and the stratosphere. The shadow of the terminator lay heavily across Menazoid Sigma, and the smog atmospherics were so dense there were no visible light concentrations from the night-side hives. Part of the world was in sunlight. The fetid clouds, brown and cream, looked like infected brain tissue.
Small ships buzzed around the Armaduke, like flies around a carcass. Fleet tenders nestled in close to its flanks. Launches, lighters, cargo boats and shuttles zipped in and out. The Armaduke’s hatches were all wide open, like the beaks of impatient hatchlings. Entire sections of the frigate’s densely armoured hull plate had been peeled back or retracted to permit access. The old ship, ancient and weathered, looked undignified, like a grandam mamzel caught with her skirts hoisted.
Above the ship lay the exosphere. The vacuum was like a clear but imperfect crystal, a window onto the hard blackness of out-system space and the distant glimmer of tiny, malicious stars.
The Highness Ser Armaduke was an old ship. It was an artifact of considerable size. All ships of the fleet are large. The Armaduke measured a kilometre and a half from prow to stern, and a third of that dimension abeam across the fins. Its realspace displacement was six point two megatonnes, and it carried thirty-two thousand four hundred and eleven lives, including the entire Tanith First and its regimental retinue. It was like a slice cut from a hive, formed into a spear-head shape, and mounted on engines.
It was built for close war. Its hull armour was pitted and scorched, and triple-thickness along the flanks and the prow. The prow cone was rutted with deep scars and healed damage. The Armaduke was of a dogged breed of Imperial ship that liked to get in tight with its foe, and was prepared to get hurt while it hurt and killed an enemy.
To Ibram Gaunt, closing towards it about one of the last inbound launches, the ship had the character of a pit-fighter, or a fighting dog. Its scar-tissue was proud and deliberate.
Like the ritual marks of a bloody-pacted soldier, he reflected.
The plasma engines pulsed again. Hold doors began to seal, and cantilevered armour sections extended back into position. Gaunt’s craft was one of the last to enter the central landing bay before the main space doors shut. The swarm of small ships dispersed, either into the Armaduke to share its voyage, or away to planetside or the nearest orbital fortress. Formations of Fury and Faustus Class attack craft had been circling the ship at a radius of five hundred kilometres to provide protection while she was exposed and vulnerable. Now they formed up to provide escort. Buoy lights blinked. Lines detached. Fleet tenders disengaged and rolled lazily away, like spent suitors or weary concubines. The Armaduke began to move.
Initial acceleration was painfully slow, even at maximum plasma power. It was as though an attempt was being made to slide a building - a basilica, a temple hall - by getting an army of slaves to push it. The ship protested. Its hull plates groaned. Its decks settled and creaked. Its superstructure twitched under the application of vast motive power.
The other ships at high anchor unhooded their lamps to salute the departing ship. Some were true giants of the fleet, grand cruisers and battleships six or seven kilometres long. Their vast shadows fell across the Armaduke as it accelerated along the line of anchorage. To them, it was a battered old relic, an orphan of the fleet they would most likely never see again.
The Fury flight dropped in around the ship in escort formation. The plasma drives grew brighter, their flare reflecting off the noctilucent clouds below, creating a shimmering airglow. Mesospheric ionisation caused bowsprite lightning to dance and flicker along the Armaduke’s crenelated topside until the advancing ship passed into the exosphere and the wash of the magnetosphere’s currents swept the lightshow away.
Stepping out of the launch into the excursion hold as the ship ran out, Gaunt sampled the odour of the vessel’s atmosphere. Every ship had its own flavour. He’d traveled on enough of them to know that. Hundreds or sometimes thousands of years of recirculation and atmospheric processing had allowed things to accumulate in a ship’s lungs. Some smelled oddly sweet, others metallic, others rancid. You always got used to it. A ten or twelve week haul on a shiftship could get you used to anything. The Armaduke smelled of scorched fat, like grease in a kitchen’s chimney.
He would get used to that. You could get used to the smell, the chemical tang of the recycled water, the oddly bland taste of shipboard food. You got used to the constant background grumble of the drives, to the odd noises from a vast superstructure constantly in tension. Once the drives were lit, the hull flexed; once the Gellar Field was up and the ship had translated into the Warp, the hull locked tight, like a well-muscled arm pumped and tensed. You got used to the acceleration sickness, the pervading cold, the odd, slippery displacement where the artificial gravity fields fluctuated and settled.
Once translation had been achieved, you got used to the ports being shuttered. You got used to ignoring whatever was outside. You got used to the baleful screams of the Empyrean, the sounds of hail on the hull, or burning firestorms, or typhoon winds, of fingernails scratching at the port shutters. You got used to the whispers, the shudders and rattles, the inexplicable periods of half-power lighting, the distant subterranean banging, the dreams, the footsteps in empty corridors, the sense that you were plunging further and further into your own subconscious and burning up your sanity to fuel the trip.
The one thing you never got used to was the scale. At high orbit, even with the vast extent of a planet close by for contrast, a starship seemed big. But as the planet dropped away to stern, first the size of an office globe, then a ball, until even the local star was just a fleck of light no bigger than any other star, the embrace of the void became total. The void was endless and eternal, and the few suns no bigger than grains of salt. Alone in the bewildering emptiness, a starship was dwarfed, diminished until it was just a fragile metal casket alone in the monstrous prospect of night.
The Armaduke was accelerating so robustly now, the fighter escort was struggling to match it. Course was locked for the system’s mandeville point, where the warp engines would be started up to make an incision in the the interstitial fabric of space. The Warp awaited them.
The crew and control spaces of a starship tended to be kept separate from the areas used for transported material and passengers, even on a military operation. The transporters and those they were transporting needed very little contact during a voyage.
But the Armaduke was still twenty-six minutes from the translation point when Gaunt presented himself at the shipmaster’s quarters. He did not come alone.
“No entry at this time,” said the midshipman manning the valve hatch. He had six armsmen with him, all with combat shotweapons for shipboard use.
Gaunt showed the midshipman his documentation, documentation that clearly showed he was the commanding officer of the troop units under conveyance.
“That’s all very well,” said the midshipman, displaying that unerring knack of Navy types to avoid using Guard rank formalities, “but the shipmaster is preparing for commitment to translation. He can’t be interrupted. Perhaps in a week or so, he might find some time to–”
“Perhaps he’s done it a thousand times before,” said Gaunt’s companion, stepping out of the bulkhead shadows, “and doesn’t need to do more than authorize the bridge crew to execute. Perhaps he ought to bear in mind that his ship is a vital component of this action and not just a means of transportation. Perhaps you should open this hatch.”
The midshipman went pale.
“Yes, sir,” he said, his voice as small as a shiftship in the open void.


“I hate that,” said Larkin. He froze and refused to continue walking until the ship lights returned to their original brilliance. There was an underdeck tremor. A distant exhalation.
“Worst part of any trip,” he added. The lights came back up, a frosty glare in the low deck companionway. He started walking again.
“The worst?” asked Domor.
“Yeah,” said Larkin. “Apart from getting there.”
“All true,” said Domor.
They had reached the armoured hatchway of a hold space originally designed as a magazine for explosive ordnance. Rawne and Brostin were waiting for them.
“I want a badge like that,” said Larkin.
“Well, you can’t have one,” said Brostin. “It’s only for the kings.”
“The kings can actually kiss my arse,” said Larkin.
Domor looked at Rawne.
“This could continue all day, major,” he said.
“And it still wouldn’t become amusing,” Rawne agreed.
“Gaunt wants us to see him,” said Domor. “Is that all right?”
“Yes,” said Rawne. “Provided you’re who you say you are.”
Larkin winked at Rawne.
“Come on, Eli, these’d be pretty shit disguises, wouldn’t they?”
“What are you suggesting?” asked Domor, a smile forming. “We forced our own faces to change shape?”
“I’ve seen more fethed up things,” said Rawne.
“Nobody here is surprised,” said Larkin.
Rawne nodded to Brostin. The big man banged on the door, and then opened the outer hatch.
“Coming in, two visitors,” said Rawne over his microbead.
“Read that.”
A peephole slot in the inner door opened, and Rawne stood where the viewer could see his face.
The inner hatch opened. Rawne took Domor and Larkin through.
“Got anything he could use as a weapon?” asked Rawne.
“My fething rapier wit?” suggested Larkin.
Mabbon Etogaur was sitting on a folding bunk in one corner of the dank magazine compartment. The walls, deck and ceiling were reinforced ceramite, and the slot hatch for the loader mechanism had been welded shut. The prisoner was reading a trancemissionary pamphlet, one of a stack on his mattress. His right wrist was cuffed to a chain that was bolted to a floor pin.
Varl was sitting on a stool in the opposite corner, his las rifle across his knees. Cant was standing in another corner, nibbling at the quick of his thumbnail.
Larkin and Domor came in and approached the Etogaur.
He looked up.
“I don’t know you,” he said.
“No, but I had you in my crosshairs once,” said Larkin.
“Where?”
“Balhaut.”
“Why didn’t you take the shot?” asked Mabbon.
“And miss a touching moment like this?”
“That’s Domor, that’s Larkin,” said Rawne, pointing.
“Don’t tell him our fething names!” Larkin hissed. “He might do all sorts of fethed-up magic shit with them!”
“I won’t,” said Mabbon.
“He won’t,” Rawne agreed.
“He can’t,” said Varl.
“Why not?” asked Larkin.
“Because how else would I be the punchline for another of Varl’s jokes?” asked Cant wearily.
Larkin snorted.
“He won’t because he’s cooperating,” said Rawne, ignoring the others.
“And if I did,” said Mabbon, “Rawne would gut me.”
“He does do that,” Larkin nodded.
“What did you need from me?” asked Mabbon.
“A consult,” said Domor. He had a sheaf of rolled papers under his arm, and a dataslate in his hand.
“Go on,” said Mabbon.
Larkin took the pamphlet out of Mabbon’s hand and glanced at it.
“Good read?” he asked.
“I enjoy the subject matter,” said Mabbon.
“A doctrine of conversion to the Imperial Creed?” asked Larkin.
“Fantasy,” replied Mabbon.
“He’d be a fething funny man if he didn’t scare the shit out of me,” Larkin said to Rawne.
“We’re leading the insertion effort,” said Domor. “There’s training to be done, planning. We want to use transit time to get as ready as possible.”
“Are you combat engineering?” asked Mabbon.
“Yes,” said Domor. “Larks... Larkin, he’s marksman squad.”
“I saw the lanyard.”
“We want to go over the deck plans and schematics you’ve supplied so far. It may mean several hours work over a period of days.”
“I’ll try to build time into my schedule.”
“Some of the plans are vague,” said Larkin.
“So are some of my memories. It’s all from memory.”
“If you go through them a few times,” said Rawne, “maybe you can firm things up.”
The Etogaur nodded.
“If you go through them so many times you’re sick of them, maybe we’ll actually do this right,” Rawne added.
“I’ve no problem with that,” said Mabbon. “I offered this to you. I want it to happen.”
Domor showed him the dataslate.
“We want to talk about this too,” he said. “This firing mechanism. We need to mock some up for practice purposes. You say this is fairly standard?”
“It’s representative of the sort of firing mechanisms and trigger systems you’re going to find,” said Mabbon, studying the slate image.
“It’s just mechanical,” said Larkin.
“It has to be. They can’t risk anything more... more complicated. They can’t risk using anything that might interfere with, or be interfered with by, the devices under development at the target location. It’s delicate. Any conflict in arcane processes or conjurations could be disastrous.”
“So just mechanical?” said Larkin.
“Complex and very delicate. Very sensitive. But, yes. Just mechanical.”
Larkin took the slate back.
“It looks very... It looks very much like the sort of thing we use,” he said. “It looks pretty standard.”
“It’s the sort of trigger mech I would rig,” Domor said.
“Of course,” said Mabbon. “Tried and tested Guard practice. This is the sort of thing I taught them how to do. And I learned it the same place you did.”
Larkin looked at Domor. There was distaste on his face.
“Go get the folding table,” Rawne said to Varl. “Let’s look over these plans.”

Alt.Fiction 2011

A timely reminder, now it's a little less than two weeks away, of the splendid Alt.Fiction weekend in Derby. This is the fifth year, and the guests of honour are myself and Alastair Reynolds. The event's packed to the rafters with famous names - authors, editors, agents, and other movers and shakers in the genre. Some will be moving, some will be shaking, and some will be doing both. For a taster, check out the main Alt.Fiction link here.

There's also a very full programme over the two days, with some great panels, discussions, interviews, workshops and readings, an overview of which you can get from the schedule here.

It should be a fantastic weekend, and I look forward to seeing as many of you there as possible. If you're a Facebook, Twitter or blog person, make sure you come and introduce yourself in person.

Paris in the meantime...

And so to Paris by Eurostar for Games Day France 2011.


Ah, Paris. We'll always have you.

Armed only with a stout pair of walking legs, I covered a fair bit of ground in the free time available before the event itself began. I was keen to get a few snaps that I could post here, because I have, I'm painfully aware, been somewhat twap in the blogatory department of late. We can lay the blame squarely at the door of Salvation's Reach (Gaunt #13), which I'm working very hard to finish. It's a corker, I'm telling you. A fething corker. As promised, I will post a taster extract soon.

So, in a hasty tea-break between the final bombshell chapters, here's a quick overview of the GD France weekend.

(nb: in common with the picture above, my blog regularly involves a significant quantity of professional cobblers)

Paris is, of course, full of very familiar sights.



I also encountered some fairly familiar faces.



On Saturday, due to the crowds of people trying to get into them, we skipped the Catacombs and headed straight for the Les Invalides and the army museum. A side note, but you'd have thought that the alleged day of the Rapture would have been the one time everybody would be trying to get out of the Catacombs. Alors.



Les Invalides is pretty spiffy. There's a whole Palace of Terra riff going on, both outside...


...and in.


Along with the museum - a fabulous collection of militaria - we visited Napoleon's Tomb. The sheer mind-futzing irony of being here in the company of a man who is known to all and sundry as "Boney" is not immediately evident from this photo, I grant you. Trust me on this. There was more irony going on than in the whole of President Reagan's autobiography.



Lots and lots of cool stuff in the museum, including plenty of things that were very 40K. Notes were made. Ideas fermented. The unnecessary and malevolent deaths of favourite characters were planned. Don't you just love the rampart guns in the first pic here?



Of course, when processing inspiration like this, you always have to think "is it canon"?


And you know what? It was.



Anyway, Games Day France. At the start of the day, the French GW staff got themselves suitably psyched up for the show with the Gallic equivalent of a hakka. Une, deux, t--WAAAAGGHHH!


Not to be outdone, the Black Librarians got pretty revved up and out of hand too.



I was pleased to see, however, that France was clearly expecting me.



There were some great costumes around: take a collective bow, the fair ladies of Atomic Bamboo.



There was also some less successful cosplay. Here, we attempt a rustic recreation of the painting American Gothic.



The place was certainly heaving all day. BL did good business. In fact, Forge World and BL got cleaned out like they'd been hit by locusts.



Back to Corbec. He won the costume prize, you know. A great effort.



Distracting him by mentioning which Ghosts were going to bite it in the next book, I managed to wrest his straight silver off him for a moment.



He didn't take too kindly to that.



I tried to post comments on and off through the afternoon whenever I could, until I started to put the 'a' into Twitter. Then it was time for a rest and breath of fresh air in the Parc Floral.



It was a weekend of contrasts. For example, a cape in the museum on Saturday, worthy of a God-Emperor...



...and a rather more functional but no less heroic one on Sunday.



Anyway, I had a splendid time. I want to thank everybody involved for making me so welcome, especially the staff of GW France, and BL's Boney, Lindsey, George, Anthony and Julien.

Tourists often complain they visit somewhere and all they come home with is a lousy tee-shirt. I bet this guy wishes he had.



Thanks for coming and queuing, folks! See you next year!



The Emperor protects!

Get Your Demon Grinning

This Sunday, May 1st, my local comic store in Maidstone, the Grinning Demon, is staging its first small-but-perfectly-formed Con of comics and gaming and all things fun. Scroll down to see the poster image I ran a couple of posts back, or click here to see the Demoncon image.

Naturally, I aim to support my local comic store, so I'm going to be there in the morning between about 11 and Midday, and then I'll be back again after lunch with the other half of DnA, Mr Andy Lanning. Expect us both from around about 2 for a couple of hours. Andy may bring some artwork. I may bring some freebies. We'll sign stuff and chat. As you can see from the poster, there are plenty of other, much better reasons for attending.

It promises to be a great event, so come along and spend your May Day, demon-style!

Illustrious in Birmingham!

If you're going to be at Eastercon this coming (Easter) weekend, in Birmingham, then you can catch me – along with many of Angry Robot's finest – there. Known as Illustrious, this is the 62nd National Science Fiction Eastercon, and you can find out more about it here.

I'm going to be there on Friday and Saturday, and I believe the mighty James Swallow will be attending over the weekend too. This year, the theme is military SF, so it seemed like an ideal time to officially launch the UK paperback edition of "Embedded". I'll be doing a reading, and then joining with the other Angry Robots – including Lauren Beukes, Lavie Tidhar, Aliette de Bodard, John Meaney, Colin Harvey and Andy Remic – in a mass AR signing/robotfest at 4.00pm.

If you're not actually attending the Con, you can nevertheless catch all of us between 12.30 and 2.00 that same day at Waterstones, Birmingham High Street. You can find the official details of these events at the Angry Robot site here.

For those of you at Illustrious, there's also the NewCon Press event on Friday afternoon at 4.30pm. This is to launch their latest anthology – Further Conflicts – which I've contributed a story to. This is a collection of all-new military SF and I'm in some pretty – pardon the pun – Illustrious – company. The book is an exclusive, limited edition signed by all the authors. Details here.

Your Prose Is My Crack

...or how I went to Adepticon and lived.

So I went to Lombard, which is in Chicagoland, and attended Adepticon. Adepticon is the Iron Man endurance version of Games Day. I was left feeling nothing but slack-jawed respect for the players and the organisers. In all seriousness, the sheer, determined fortitude on display was alarming. For three straight days, the crowd got up at silly o’clock in the morning, played their asses off, and went to bed at half past insane (if they went to bed at all). In the meantime, they came to get things signed, to talk, and to listen to two guys in suits yack on about being writists. Oh, and to give Forge World a gazillionty eleven thousandish bucks. True story.

Yes, Mr Nathan Long and I did suit up for our seminars. Both of them. This was due to a conversation we’d had in Baltimore last year which had gone something like this:

Nathan: Dude, we should do a signing like this totally wearing suits!

Me: Yeah, that would be, like, well rad. Let’s do it next time!

Nathan: Yeah. Lol!

Me: Lol!

I paraphrase a little. Anyway, so we did. Twice. And once in swimwear. Okay, not the last bit.


"It's 106 light years to Chicago, we've got a full tank of prometheum, half a pack of lho-sticks, it's grim dark and we're wearing blast visors. Hit it!"

(alt. caption courtesy Matthew Farrer: "The tall one wants white bread, toasted, dry, nothin' on it. And the English one wants four whole fried grox and an amasec!")

An awesome show, anyway, and my thanks to Hank and the team for having us; Super Dooper Rik Cooper and Vince Rospond for handling us; Dave “silly heretic” Ploss for being such a stalwart pilgrim; all the podcasters and crews that interviewed us (I’ll post up links as they come to me, but here’s the first from the Eternal Warriors crew, and one from Dave); all the great guys at Geek Nation Tours; the Forge World crew of Kenton, Steve and Jon; and you. Yes, you. All of you who came and chatted and asked questions. There were way too many friendly faces for me to be able to name check here, because I’ll end up forgetting someone and feeling bad about it, but you know who you are. If you shook my hand, or gave me a painted Iron Snake, or a purity seal, or a badge, or a ten Euro note, or a copy of your comic (stand up Dave Pauwels), or brought enthusiasm, friendship or a great idea (Bruce and Michelle Euans, I’m looking at you) or any of a thousand other things, thanks. Thank you. The game-play mindset of Adepticon was extra intense, so the questions and engagement levels were too. It was amazing, and entirely filled past the fill to here line with purest win.

And someone told me “Your prose is my crack”, which was nice. And could have been worse. It could have been the other way around. Also, check out Dave’s link above to see someone swear I'm better than Dickens.

I would also like to celebrate the motto supplied by Commissar Mel of Dicehead, who announced that “In battle, you don’t always get a clean fork.” That's just one of life's great truths, along with ADB's "Prose before hoes".

Ah yes, ADB. I’d wanted to go to Adepticon ever since Aaron Dembski-Bowden (who went last year) told me “man, it was the best weekend of my life!”. Again, I paraphrase. He was more emphatic. For his sake, I trust that the estimation will be revised following his forthcoming nuptials though, to be fair, that will be a Tuesday. However, once I’d been HI DAN ABNETTed whilst at the urinals five minutes into the show, my warm feeling towards ADB ebbed slightly. I got HI DAN ABNETTed a lot. At the end of the show, I even got BYE DAN ABNETTed.

Anyway, this is sunny Lombard, gateway to the West.


It is important to remember there are no sidewalks in Lombard. Or, you know, Chicago. So on no account ever try to walk anywhere, like me, Steve and Kenton did. Unless you want to get tasered, shot, or complete the I-Spy book of People In Cars Who Do Not Want To Make Eye-Contact With The Three Weird Fucking Guys On The Roadside.


This was one of the more amazing things: a gift from the crew of a Canadian Leopard tank somewhere in Afghanistan (still covered in Afghan dust). The crew physically divides copies of my books so they can all read them at once, like a relay. This was presented to me at the Geek Nation dinner, and in front of actual people, which made it extra hard not to well up at their sheer awesomeness.



There were actually more people around than this photo suggests.



Let's go to work. Let's suit up and go to work. It'll be time-of-legend... wait for it.... dary! Time-of-legendary!



On the left, a normal-size Nathan Long. On the right, the extended remix Dave Ploss. Tall, is what I'm saying.



And here's Nathan with the weather.


L to r: Super Dooper Rik, Hank, and Vincent 'hands off the merchandise, bozo' Rospond.


Another moment of awesome sauce. A photographic record of the first copy of Embedded I have ever signed (avert your gaze, BL).


The candidate's debate was televised nationally for the first time.


Nathan Long: tough on questions and tough on the causes of questions.


The pitch meeting with Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce was going well. It was just about then that Nathan realised Dan had forgotten his pants.


This is what happens directly after you explain your "Chaos Culture And Stapling Babies To Your Hat" Theory.


Finally, it was time to go, but not before Dave had shown us the napcave (ie the car he had been sleeping in during the Con weekend). I told you Adepticon was hardcore. By the way, Dave is really tall and does a fine John Wayne impersonation. We invented a new game, which was to think of the least likely film roles that ought to have gone to John Wayne, and then get Dave to perform a line or two (highlights: John Wayne as Obi Wan, John Wayne as Rick Deckard, John Wayne as Ferris Bueller, John Wayne in Casablanca... in the Ingrid Bergman role). To understand how tall Dave is, bear in mind those are giant cars, and he's holding the Eiffel Tower.

On my way out through O'Hare, I was browsing in the gift shop. On one rack of general interest books, The Bible's Good Words For Every Day and The Lord's Promises For You had been placed next to Laugh Out Loud Jokes, which can't have been the intention of either publisher.

Anyway, good times. I hope to be invited back. A final observation: at the airport foodcourt, I was greeted with the words "Chicago tastes of the World". Hmm. Don't expect me to lick it, then.


Before I forget, a reminder that the rescheduled Embedded Forbidden Planet Exclusive Edition signing is this Thursday at 6pm. Here's the Guardian's review to help persuade you to read it.

New Date For Forbidden Planet Launch Announced!

Thursday April 7th between 6pm and 7pm - that's for the exclusive FP hardback limited edition! Details here! See you there!

Ninjabread? Check

Dr Danhattan found this very amusing.

Thank you, Ninjabread.

IMPORTANT! FORBIDDEN PLANET SIGNING!

Very sorry to report that we've been obliged to postpone tomorrow's Forbidden Signing event - see the link here if you need to. A REVISED DATE will be put up as soon as we've got it! This WILL happen - just not tomorrow!

Exclusive Embedded signing at Forbidden Planet

This Saturday, the 26th of March, I'll be at Forbidden Planet's London Megastore signing an exclusive Forbidden Planet Limited Edition of my new Angry Robot novel Embedded. Details here! This is in advance of general publication, so don't miss out! See you there, between 1 and 2 pm!

Demoncon

Advance warning! It's going to be compact, local and perfectly formed!

Embedded (a taster!)

I got the first printed copy of Embedded in my hands this weekend, and very gorgeous it is too. Now the lovely.... uh... robots at Angry Robot have posted up some sample chapters to really whet your appetite.

Make my robot angry!

The Arvus has landed

My new paperweight/desk reference. I needed one to look at "hands on" for Salvation's Reach. I don't want to give the plot away, but you need to imagine three of them, battered and stripped out for a disposable ram-raid, and painted up like the Minis in the Italian Job. Okay, not literally...

God, this book is so much fun.

Anyway, I wanted it spruced up with a paint job so it wasn't bare resin, so I turned to my friend and model-maker Richard Dugher (remember his Titan?). Just a basic assemble and paint job, I said. Of course, with Rich, even his basic makes most people cry. And yes, just for fun, there is a joke colour scheme reference in the pilot's kit. He appears to have switched off his targeting computer. If you're suitably impressed, check out Rich's link (Custom Fish) opposite and tell him I sent you.

Back to work. This book is putting several pieces of Forge World kit through the wringer. And several beloved characters. Don't hate me.

See you at Black Library Live! on Saturday or Waterstone's Nottingham on Thursday night.

Getting out and about

Time to remind you that Nik and I will be out and about this week, meeting and greeting, and generally having fun with people. So, if you're in Nottingham... so are we. Come and find us here on Thursday and, of course, it's Black Library Live on Saturday. The house sitter is booked, the kids and cats have been reassured, and Nik has been persuaded to put down her paintbrush for a couple of days. Frankly, I can't wait. See you there!

Time Well Spent

I didn’t set out to think; it happened all by itself.

Some of you might know that Dan and I just bought a house. In fact, we bought the tiny little house next door to ours in the row of terraced houses where we’ve been living for more than a decade. We’ve been waiting for the chance for a while, and it happened, and here we are.

I love messing about in houses. I love decorating. I love stripping out rooms, and I’m not hugely keen on paying some kid eight quid an hour to labour at half the speed I can manage. I know, I know, an honest day’s work is worth an honest day’s pay, and I agree, but I do like to do it myself.

I have been doing it myself for exactly three weeks. Every day that I work on the house, I put on my overalls, cap, gloves and mask, and I toddle off next door with my keys in one pocket and my phone in the other, and I set to work. I set to work stripping out laminate floors and lifting carpets; I set to work dismantling a kitchen, taking tiles off walls and stripping dodgy plaster. I set to work with the strength of my back and the dexterity of my hands, and with the sweat of my brow. It is very satisfying.

As satisfying as this work is, though, it isn’t terribly cerebral. You do have to keep an eye on your thumbs when wielding a hammer, and you do have to turn the electrics off at the fuse box before uncoupling cookers and whatnot, but, on the whole, the work is vastly more physical than it is mental.

I did not set out to think.

When I say that I take my keys in one pocket and my phone in the other, that is precisely what I mean. I haven’t taken anything else into the house: no television, no radio, no mp3 player, nothing. I close the door of this empty house, I shut out the world, and I set to work.

I had not given a moment’s thought to what I might do with my mind while my body was working on the house, and I cannot begin to tell you what an extraordinary experience this has been.

My everyday life consists of reading and writing, researching, watching, listening and talking. My life revolves around communication and ideas, and, when I escape from work and do something for pleasure it invariably involves the same elements. I read a book, watch the television, chat with family and friends, and when I have to hoover, dust, cook or iron a pile of clean clothes, I invariably turn on a radio or choose a podcast to listen to, or switch on the television or watch a dvd. Like most people, I surround myself with noise, with distractions, with company.

I don’t know why I decided to work alone in the house, in the quiet; what I do know is that I will make it my practice to complete mundane, physical tasks in this manner in the future.

I didn’t have any earth-shattering ideas about the meaning of life, or the universe, or everything (we all know the answer to that particular conundrum); I didn’t come up with an amazing idea for a novel or a painting; I didn’t come to some sudden, inexplicable understanding of some problem or issue. I did not have a “Eureka” moment.

I did not direct my thoughts. I did not think about them. I did not channel my intellectual energies.

In the beginning, my thoughts were very like background noise. I’m not at all sure I was terribly conscious of them, and I don’t remember them, but I believe they were like shopping lists written on scraps of paper to be pulled out of pockets in some moment of exasperation. They were mundane, fleeting and even a little bit cross. They were the very essence of the every-day. I don’t know how long it took for this stuff to clear, and for the chatter that, after all, I wasn’t even heeding, to peter away to nothing; it might have been days.

I also spent some time wondering. I wondered what Dan was doing and how he was getting on; I wondered whether he was on-track, and when he’d want me to look at a piece of work. I wondered whether Lily would be in for tea, and what we’d have for tea, and whether I could get away with using lamb in the chilli, even though I know someone doesn’t like lamb, and how long I could leave it before popping next door to put the tea on. Then I wondered when I’d last made a cup of tea, and whether Dan would pop in with a cup for me if I just kept going for another half an hour. I wondered how far I’d get with the job I’d undertaken, and whether that rash on my face would come back if I stopped wearing the mask, and whether I’d get the first bath, and how grey my bath water would be, and how much I’d ache. I wondered whether Jess would be home for the weekend and whether she’d notice what I’d done, and if she did whether she’d be impressed, and whether Lily would need a lift to that thing on Saturday night, and where Dan and I would eat supper if I didn’t move the stuff that was delivered for Lily’s new room. I wondered whether panelling the door myself was a good idea, and whether Lily would like it, and just how many coats of paint I’d need to get the colour to look clean on the new bedroom’s walls, and how long it would be before Lily could move in, and just how much space her clothes would need in the new dressing room. And, Oh My God, we have a DRESSING ROOM! I wondered whether anyone had fed the cats, as I didn’t remember doing it myself, and where I’d find the energy to empty the cat tray, even though I knew I’d do it, because, let’s face it, you can’t leave a litter tray too long before sorting it out. I wondered why I was the only one who ever did the cat tray, and whether the cats actually cared as much as I did, and why the girls didn’t seem to care at all.

Eventually, within the last few days, I began to realise that I was contemplating things in new ways. I found myself enjoying thoughts and remembrances of my family, of my brothers and sisters, and of my parents. I wasn’t suddenly overwhelmed with nostalgia or gripped by filial love, but, somehow, my thoughts led me to an unusual level of contentment. The people and their circumstances are not different; I clearly understood them in the same way prior to this odd bout of thinking. But now? Now I find that I’m entirely at ease, completely comfortable with any feelings I have relating to them and their various woes. Old things, long forgotten, come easily, almost unbidden, to mind. I thought about favourite teachers for the first time in a long time, of the things they did and said that made a difference to me, but now I cast my mentors in the light of equals, and see them more easily as people. I thought about the things I have done or seen, or thought about doing or seeing, but with less trepidation, with fewer provisos. I thought about politics and religion, and sex and death without feeling like I had to explain or justify my thoughts, or stand my corner or blaze any sort of trail. I changed my mind about things, and then changed it back again, and found that I was content with either possibility.

I did not set out to think, but when it happened, all on its own, I enjoyed it so very much that I plan to allow it to happen again... probably when I get back to work on the house tomorrow.

If it's Saturday, it must be the Oxford Street Plaza...

Together again, for one night only, because you demanded it, those towering giants of 40K... Magnus and Russ.

Okay, not actually, but Graham and I will be at the GW Oxford Street Plaza tomorrow (February 12), between 11 and 2, to jointly damage your copies of Thousand Sons and Prospero Burns (amongst others, I'm sure). A unique opportunity to get the head-to-head books in a head-to-head signing. If you don't believe me, check out this link.

It's probably also a good time to remind you about two good friends of this page. First, Nic Giacondino, who has supplied us with many great images of Eisenhorn and his merry band. Let me just point you again in the direction of his Free Mars webcomic.

Second, Richard Dugher, or "Custom Fish", as we shall now call him. It is one of my great regrets that I simply don’t have enough time to build and paint (I’d never get any novels written). When I get hold of a figure or a vehicle, I turn to Richard, and commission him to do the honours for me. The quality of his work speaks for itself. Rich did a particularly fine job on my Reaver, which is spectacular in every way, but the smaller, character pieces like Eisenhorn are also superb. I recommend him without reservation. Find him here or over in the links list.

I've been asked by a number of people if I have a snail mail address that they can send things to. The answer is yes: Dan Abnett, PO Box 1293, Maidstone, Kent ME14 9PN

Finally, here's Aaron, blogging on the lure of 40K.

Ultramarines movie news

Hot off the press release, the following info...

ULTRAMARINES™: A WARHAMMER® 40,000® MOVIE
Special free fan screenings in US theaters
Starring the voices of Terence Stamp, John Hurt, and Sean Pertwee

London, UK, February 4, 2011. ULTRAMARINES: A WARHAMMER 40,000 MOVIE, produced by Codex Pictures, will be screened in select theaters in the U.S. on Saturday and Sunday, February 26th and 27th 2011 especially for the huge following of dedicated Warhammer 40,000 fans. The limited series of free screenings of ULTRAMARINES will take place in New York, Los Angeles, Seattle, Baltimore, Dallas and Chicago, with a special press event hosted by Tribeca Flashpoint Academy in Chicago.
ULTRAMARINES will show in the following theatres:
Chicago - 11 AM, Saturday February 26 at the Classic Cinemas Charlestowne 18 - 3740 East Main Street, St Charles, Illinois 60174 (followed by a Q&A with producer Bob Thompson)

Dallas, TX - 11 AM, Saturday February 26 at the Lewisville Cinemark Movies 8 - 1600 S Stemmons Freeway @ Corp Drive, Lewisville, Texas 75067
Seattle, WA - 11 AM, Saturday February 26 at the Metro Cinemas - 4500 9th Avenue, N.E., Seattle, Washington 98105
New York, NY - 11 AM, Sunday February 27 at the Village East Cinema - 181-189 Second Avenue, New York 10012 (followed by a Q&A with producer Bob Thompson)
Los Angeles, CA - 11 AM, Sunday February 27 at the Mann 10 Glendale Exchange - 128 North Maryland Avenue, Glendale, California 91206
Baltimore, MD – 11AM, Sunday February 27 at the Landmark's Harbor East Cinema - 645 S President St, Baltimore, Maryland 21202
Go to http://ultramarinesthemovie.com/ for more details and to reserve the free passes.
Saturn Award winning producer, Bob Thompson will attend a series of Chicago area events, including a special presentation and press event at the Tribeca Flashpoint Academy on February 25th, as well as Q&A session after the Saturday, February 26th screening at the Classic Cinemas Charlestowne 18 in St. Charles, IL and after the New York City screening at the Village East Cinema.

In the post bag

Please keep going with the fascinating and often surprising casting suggestions. I just wanted to pop in for a moment and share some correspondence wherein people bring up various interesting points.

First of all, this, which came directly to the site here:

"So after a semester's when-I-could-snatch-the-time grinding through
the Ravenor omnibus, I've finally plowed through the thing. Love it,
course. That's pry a given. Do people bother emailing you to tell you
you suck? But--and forgive me if you hear this one on a weekly basis,
cause I wouldn't be surprised--I was one hundred percent firework
display birthday breakfast in bed gratified at the couple of nods to
non-straight behaviour in the books. I think it amounted to a grand total of two
or three casual mentions across all three novels, depending on how you
interpret some of Thonius' comments, but it's hard to express how much
even that affected me. It takes an awful lot of balls to mention
anything remotely non-straight in the, uh, slightly Asperger's context
of mass market science fiction, specially when it's t'do with male
characters, and even the simple head-nod of having Kys ask if a mark
is hetero and the mention of a pair of young men on a roof together in
Basteen was deeply meaningful for me.

"Warhammer's hardly tryina be gender lit, of course, and I'm real glad
that's the case. It's probably for the best that sex and sexuality are
mostly absent from its storytelling. But it does ache a little
sometimes, being even a sidelines participant in a great creative work
like 40K and feeling unacknowledged to the point of deliberate
alienation. In a conceit that already feels at times laughably
over-the-top and unconcerned with anything remotely relevant to real
human experience, it can be a vague but real detractor from suspension
of disbelief and love of franchise. But even pawing oilily through
Eisenhorn back in high school, I felt like it was the wild variety and
complexity of the Abnettverse that really glowed in a sea of samey
space marines. Without Eisenhorn and Ravenor, 40K would probably
always have stayed an indifferent fantasy universe lurking in the back
of my head. "That one where they made up that cool word for psychics
and wire dead godmen to chairs," probably. It's the reality you've
managed to instill in the components of the setting, the sense of
place and purpose and individuality in the face of the teeming
faceless billions and the ONLY WAR, that have drawn me in and kept me
there. I'm not concerned with complex ideas, social messages,
progress, all that dead air. I just love the knowledge that an author
and a publisher were brave enough to say, "Yeah. This is a world we're
crafting here. And you and yours, well, you're part of it, too."

"So yeah. I felt like some kind of an acknowledgment was in order, on
the slim chance nobody'd ever said it before. Thanks, Mista D. If a
vote's ever called, I'll be sure to put you down as one of the good
guys. "

Over at this link, you can find a review of Prospero Burns that touches on something I take quite a lot of time pondering. When you're working up and developing a strand of 40K culture - such as the pseudo "Viking" lives of the Fenrisians - is there a danger that in making it sound convincing to English-speaking readers (by the use of researched Scandanavian and Icelandic words), you end up with something corny and far too on the nose for readers from those parts of the world? This is a positive and encouraging view of such efforts.

Finally, I'd like to say thanks to everyone who came out to see me at GW Lakeside and GW Bluewater this weekend, and direct you to this opportunity to win a signed copy of Prospero Burns.

Wait! Before I forget...

"For me, ideas have never been the thing that stalls me. I don't mean to sound arrogant about that—I'm not even saying necessarily that these are good ideas. They may be ridiculous and stupid ideas—that's up to the reader. But that's not the axis on which I have difficulty, and I am convinced that the vast majority of us have many many more ideas than we think we do, all the time... Sit down and talk to a 5-year-old for 20 minutes, and you will have a barrage of ideas, just crazy ideas—what happens is that at a later stage, we get trained into filtering out a lot of our own ideas. And I think for some of us the issue is not that we have more ideas than anyone else, it's that either we have less of a filter, or we've learned to ignore our filter, that little voice that says, "Oh, you're being silly." We don't hear it or we don't care about it or whatever."
- China Mieville.

Nik came across that comment from China, and we both remarked upon how much we identified with it. So I thought I'd share it with you here.

Other stuff: I've been really busy this last week or so, with a battery-recharging visit to Black Library towers, from which I returned bursting with more ideas than... Something So Very Full Of Ideas It's Going To Burst. Just for now, I must make time to mention four things:

This Saturday, the 22nd, I will be making two more appearances as part of the "Prospero Burns Tour". You can find me at Games Workshop Thurrock (Lakeside) from 11 until 1, and then at Games Workshop Bluewater from 3 until 5. Be there or... I'll be lonely.

On Saturday the 29th, I'll be popping up at the Kent Adventure Gaming Society's GameCon, details of which you can find here. I'll be there from 12 until 2, waxing lyrical and defacing books.

Then, on Saturday 5th February, I will be at the SFX Weekender, talking, signing, and then attending a screening of Ultramarines with producer Bob Thompson. Details of the Weekender here, but please be aware I am NOT a weekender. I am only going to be there for the Saturday.

Finally, Saturday 12th February, I will be signing the hnaftafls off Prospero Burns at the Games Workshop Oxford Street Plaza store. Details from all good Black Libraries. I believe Graham will be there too, so it will surely suck for him, because I am Russ and he is Magnus, and I will therefore be obliged to poke him in the eye with my cock-spankingly giant axe.

Couple of pleasing reviews came my way, so I'm sharing them below. Here's a nice one from CBR.com...

"In some ways, "Heroes for Hire" seems to be Dan Abnett and Andy Lanning's version of "Marvel Team-Up" where they can throw together any sort of character they want. What's that? Silver Sable and Paladin meet Satana and Ghost Rider? Hey, why not? As long as it works—and trust me, it works.

"Part of Abnett and Lanning's trick in making it work is that the book never feels like it's slowing down, not even for an instant. The pace is steady and quick, and every time you think the book is going to resolve itself, Abnett and Lanning throw in another obstacle that needs to be overcome.

"They're also not afraid to slightly buck reader expectations. Books where the controller is sending out heroes on missions (in this case Misty Knight taking that central role) and one hero needs the cash, well, you can predict some of what's to come. At some point the cash is going to come back up again, but Abnett and Lanning turn it on its head with Silver Sable being told to leave but still get paid and being told not to. It's a good turning point, that moment where you start to realize things are going wrong, and it keeps the interest up.

"Abnett and Lanning are also already starting to explore the overarching plot of Misty Knight and her captor, something which I figured we wouldn't see for a while. It's nice to know there's going to be that common thread knitting the issues together, and it makes me that much more eager to see next month's issue. Never mind the random heroes getting tossed into the mix, I want to know what's going to happen to Misty.

"I'm also pleased to see Abnett and Lanning reunited with Brad Walker and Andrew Hennessy after their time together on "Guardians of the Galaxy." Walker and Hennessy's art looks even better than ever, from the thick locks of hair on Silver Sable, to the rumpled and bunched up clothing we get whenever people are leaping through the air. They get the big moments just right too, from that demonic grin on Silver Sable's face as she starts firing one of the cursed weapons, to the dramatic reveal of Ghost Rider. Ghost Rider's on the cover of the book, but his appearance looks so larger than life and powerful that I ended up being startled in spite of my previous knowledge.

"This is a fun comic that's already picking up steam. When do we get #3? "Heroes for Hire," I'm sold"

And here's one from Ain't It Cool News:

“Y’know, it is a really rare thing for me to “fanboy out” I guess would be the term for getting all wound up about certain characters getting having a huge moment – Spider-Man taking down Morlun, Batman taking down a handful of White Martians with some gas and a match, etc. I would wager it stems back to honestly being more or less jaded at this point; I’ve simply read too many comics and seen most my favorite characters have countless moments. Taking that into consideration, what happens for me anymore these days in my superhero reading is I find myself getting my jollies when I see second or third tier characters getting their time in the spotlight. It’s why I have adored what Abnett & Lanning have been pulling off in the cosmic sector of the Marvel Universe and now that they are working with the Marvel Knights section of it as well, I could not be happier.

"Well, okay, I lied. There are some places I would like this book to go. But for now I am highly entertained. I like the build up that is going on here involving, for those who have not tried this yet, a rotating cast of anyone Misty Knight can call upon for a little butt kicking, which there has been a plethora of. There’s a pretty interesting and disturbing master plot going on to, where Misty has been calling on these heroes while in the thrall of the Puppet Master, a twist that was very unexpected at the end of the first issue but is an intriguing hook. At the least it is a means to a hopeful end, which I will get to now.

"While I do dig on this rotating crew thing for now, especially in the early going, I do hope this turns into something a little more stable. I know it is not right to judge a book on what it might be until it happens, but I think a rotisserie of a couple characters a month will get old fast, given that I felt a little momentum lost already with just one more issue. So I’m hoping this turns into at least a semblance of a team book, like a GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY, with several characters you can count on to be mostly there but a nice drop-in/drop-out esthetic with a couple new MK-based faces every so often. But who am I to argue with these two gents given their handling of the Marvel Cosmic material?

"I guess “fun” is an easy word to throw around when it comes to any well produced superhero book, but HFH is excelling at it so far and with some rather dark overtones to boot. Lots of stylish action with a creepy missing persons arc to get things rolling. Digging Brad Walker’s work on this as well, in the wake of his material in the aforementioned cosmic books. It has the hyperkinetic tendencies this book needs and looks fantastic all the while shit is being blow up oh so good (even if Puppet Master looks like a pedophile caught in a wind tunnel). This book has it going on from both ends and is helping me channel that inner fanboy that I usually keep locked away, not unlike Ms. Knight in her current peril…okay, too far. Just buy it already…”

So that was nice. Anyway, like I said I'm very busy and I'm teetering on ideas overload, so I can't stay here gassing. I haven't had time to prepare a full response to the Gaunt casting ideas yet, but I have been enjoying them. Some in a "what the hell..?" kind of way, and others in a "Oooh, never thought of that one..." style (in the latter camp... Radha Mitchell as Criid, James Purefoy as Bask etc). I will make some picks of my own soon (though you won't like them). In the meantime, please feel free to keep coming up with ideas.

If you want a new task to focus on... Eisenhorn. Casting for him, Ravenor and the crew, if you like, but what I'm REALLY interested in is what he sounds like. Who would you pick to give Gregor Eisenhorn a voice?

Can't imagine why I'd be asking that...

It's My Trumpet And I'm Going To Blow It

Thanks to everyone who came out to meet me at Nottingham, Sheffield and Leeds last weekend. It was nice chatting to you all. Looking forward to Lakeside and Bluewater a week on saturday, 22nd January.

Some great comic feedback came in while I was away, so I thought I'd link it here:

Let's start with this.

Then this.

Then this.

Then this.

Then this.

Then this.

And finally but not least....this.

Mmmh. Nice warm glow. And at the risk of becoming so fething pleased with myself you all hurl and never talk to me again, may I just thank all the readers out there for making Prospero Burns the number one SF book in the UK and the US this week, and popping it straight in to the New York Times Mass Market Fiction Bestseller's List.


Okay, now I'd like to point you all in the direction of the blog by Viktor and Magnus Nystrom, which you can find here. Just scroll down and enjoy. The guys have been involved in this awesome project for a while now, and the blog recounts the whole history and development of it.

They're coming to an end now. I think they deserve a large number of hearty pats on the back - I've tried to give them a little feedback as they've gone along, but it really is all down to them. here's a little taster image:



I bestow upon them the first Awesome Sauce Award for 2011, and invite you all to go tell them how splendidly they've done.

FINALLY finally, I was thinking that maybe it was time we started doing a little casting. Haven't done that for a while. Let's see how ideas have changed. And we'll begin with Gaunt's Ghosts. If the books became a movie, who would you cast? And it can be a fantasy cast of all time fave actors and actresses, too!