Release date: February 6, 2017
Subgenre: Dystopian fiction
About Age of Order:
What if the people who thought they were better than you… really were?
In this world, inequality is a science. Giant machines maintain order. And all people are not created equal.
Daniela Machado is offered a chance to escape the deprivation of Bronx City through a coveted slot at the elite Tuck school. There, among the highborn of Manhattan, she discovers an unimaginable world of splendor and greed. But her opportunity is part of a darker plan, and Daniela soon learns that those at society’s apex will stop at nothing to keep power for themselves. She may have a chance to change the world, if it doesn’t change her first.
In this world, inequality is a science. Giant machines maintain order. And all people are not created equal.
Daniela Machado is offered a chance to escape the deprivation of Bronx City through a coveted slot at the elite Tuck school. There, among the highborn of Manhattan, she discovers an unimaginable world of splendor and greed. But her opportunity is part of a darker plan, and Daniela soon learns that those at society’s apex will stop at nothing to keep power for themselves. She may have a chance to change the world, if it doesn’t change her first.
Excerpt:
CHAPTER ONE
A gunshot pierced the night.
A hollow ring echoed in its wake. The sound was familiar: the
bullet had struck the impenetrable armor of an enforcement drone.
The noise declared that anyone within earshot should flee the
tattered streets. Most of the denizens of the barrio heeded the
warning. A few did not. I joined the tide of those that ran.
The machine rolled onto the avenue like a wolf among sheep.
Flashing globes scrutinized the scene beneath the drone’s rotating
turret, an artificial gaze seeing, recording, targeting.
Caterpillar-tracked wheels dragged the metal monster’s alloy
chassis across the cracked asphalt, its bulk brimming with spray
guns, antennas, jammers and the devil knew what else.
“You are ordered to clear the streets and return to your homes,” commanded a reverberating voice. “The Five Cities Protection Authority has authorized the use of
corrective force to restore calm to this area.”
Another machine appeared behind the first, a bitter twin of its
companion. A dozen rays of light flickered from the monstrosities,
forming a latticework of ominous crimson. A beam grazed my back. It
caused a hint of heat on my spine, but a torrent of terror in my
heart. The warning was clear: We know who you are, Daniela Machado. You are dead if we wish it.
I ran faster, cutting in front of the ragged shell of a man
galloping beside me. He was a dweller of the barrio: hopeless eyes,
gaunt arms, and a torn, sleeveless undershirt. I dashed across the
street, putting his body in the path of the finder beam that had
glued itself to my backside. I felt guilty about it. But people
needed me. That was life in my part of the Five Cities.
“Puta,” he shouted when he realized what I’d done. He reached for my mane
of ink-dark hair, its mass woven into a tight tail behind my head,
but only his fingertips brushed against me. I was always
fast—faster than anyone else on my school’s track team. Faster even
than the boys. Long legs and a lean frame helped.
I dashed towards the dilapidated collection of storefronts hugging
the fringes of the worn avenue, the rusted metal gates firmly
closed, lean-to homes piled on their concrete roofs. Makeshift
cardboard dwellings crowded the sidewalk. I ran for one of the
lightless alleys between the buildings. Lurkers lived in those
narrow corridors as surely as rats lived in the sewer, but I’d
rather face them than the machines. I leaped towards the darkness.
A finder beam latched onto me as I sailed through the air, the
comparative safety of the alley as tantalizingly close as candy in
a shop window. I imagined the tight little dot on my leg, hot and
hungry. I could almost touch the alley wall. But not quite. The
hulking metal slave fired.
A correction pellet sliced through the fabricated leather of my
sneaker and bit into my flesh. The force of the impact was enough
to screw up my balance too. I landed on one foot instead of two,
falling forward. Chewed-up concrete surged towards me. I sacrificed
my right palm and left elbow to protect my head, and the viser
strapped to my left forearm.
I scrambled to my feet and ran down the alley, my jaw clenched, but
the pain wasn’t what was bothering me. I told myself that my shoe
had blocked a lot of the pellet. That I probably hadn’t gotten hit
with a full dose. That what was coming wouldn’t be that bad.
Liar.
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About Julian North:
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