Spares - Hardcover

Smith, Michael Marshall

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 055310604X ISBN 13: 9780553106046

Publisher: Bantam, 1997

Synopsis

Suppose for a moment you're Jack Randall.  You're a loner, an ex-cop, the dangerous veteran of a savage war.  All you've held dear has long ago been destroyed.  For the last five years you've been hiding out on a spares farm, working at the only job that will still have you: guarding people who have never seen the outside world and can't even spell the word "escape." In short, your luck has run out.

You might think things couldn't get any worse.  You'd be wrong.  Because Jack Randall has a talent for attracting trouble: the kind most people run screaming
from.  But Jack Randall is not most people.  That's part of his trouble.  Now he's on the run with seven of the Farm's inmates (well, six and a half), and the people who own them will do anything to get them back.  All Jack wants to do is score enough money to disappear with his human contraband.  But things aren't as simple as that.  For Jack Randall, they never are.

Jack is on a head-on collision course with the man responsible for all this misery--a cold-blooded killer with one purpose: to cancel Jack once and for all.

Now Jack has a decision to make: keep running or even the score?  Either way spells more trouble.  And when the ghosts of the past meet the terrors of the future, the result for Jack will be one hell of a scary ride.

Who are the spares?  And what is their purpose?  That is the most shocking revelation of all.

About this title

From the Inside Flap

a moment you're Jack Randall. You're a loner, an ex-cop, the dangerous veteran of a savage war. All you've held dear has long ago been destroyed. For the last five years you've been hiding out on a spares farm, working at the only job that will still have you: guarding people who have never seen the outside world and can't even spell the word "escape." In short, your luck has run out.

You might think things couldn't get any worse. You'd be wrong. Because Jack Randall has a talent for attracting trouble: the kind most people run screaming
from. But Jack Randall is not most people. That's part of his trouble. Now he's on the run with seven of the Farm's inmates (well, six and a half), and the people who own them will do anything to get them back. All Jack wants to do is score enough money to disappear with his human contraband. But things aren't as simple as that.

Reviews

Coma meets Blade Runner in this future noir thriller, a compulsively readable melding of hardboiled narrative and hardware invention. Smith forecasts a decadent future in which the rich clone themselves at birth and callously harvest replacement organs from their "spares" as they need them. Narrator Jack Randall, a debauched but conscientious ex-cop, flees to the megalopolis of New Richmond with seven clones he has liberated from a spare farm and is almost immediately relieved of them by a gang of thugs. Jack's efforts to find out who has abducted the spares and marked them for death plunge him into a mystery that ultimately links the two events that have shattered his life: the brutal unsolved murder of his wife and child, and his soul-searing tour of military duty in The Gap. A virtual world built from the flotsam and jetsam cluttering the Internet, The Gap is an awesome conception made to seem supernaturally eerie yet scientifically feasible. Smith elaborates this creation brilliantly, as a surreal battleground where Jack confronts the demons that have haunted him for a decade, and as a symbol of emptiness and waste that brings the novel's numerous depictions of personal and social devaluation into sharp focus. Both a disconcerting portrait of a future that might be, and a poignant study of one man's fight to resist it, this novel augurs a promising future of another sort for its author. Film rights to Dreamworks SKG. (May) FYI: This novel is an expansion of Smith's horror short story "To Receive Is Better."
Copyright 1998 Reed Business Information, Inc.

British writer Smith's first US publication, an action fantasy about a future dystopia. Ex-soldier, ex-detective Jack Randall, 39, is a victim of The Gap, a weird area in rural Virginia where collapsing computer codes of the ``virtual world had grown too heavy and sloughed off the wires and coalesced into something solid.'' Computers have long since been given the job of writing code, of programming themselves, because, the narrator notes, ``They were better at it, much better than us.'' However, ``their motivations were sometimes uncertain, and after the code was sealed it was impossible to tell what was in there. Perhaps . . . a conversation humans weren't invited to eavesdrop on anymore.'' Twenty years ago, when The Gap was first discovered, Jack and his buddy Mal and Johnny Vinaldi were soldiers sent into the area to secure it; they emerged two years later, their psyches scarred by The Fear, a weapon generated by The Gap to protect itself. Jack and Mal became cops, while Vinaldi began his rise to drug kingpin. Meantime, in The Gap, Jack had become an addict of Rapt, the only know drug that was able to fight The Fear. Eventually, Jack ends up working at a complex where he guards Spares, clones of living people who are cannibalized when their originals require replacement parts. Jack grows attached to a group of Spares and, trying to save them, takes them to New Richmond, a fabulous, five-mile-square MegaMall 200 stories high, a cubic city that has the power of flight. When his Spares are kidnapped, Jack races about the vast hallways and villages of the MegaMall, pursued by weird figures from The Gap and involved in a series of increasingly bloody encounters leading to a surprising showdown. Newcomer Smith has originality plus and a wicked flow of philosophic twists. If a novel was ever destined to follow Ridley Scott's classic filming of Philip K. Dick's Blade Runner, this is it. (Film rights optioned by DreamWorks SKG; author tour) -- Copyright ©1997, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved.

Lots of bad people wish ex-cop Jack Randall was dead, and someone is trying to make that wish come true. They've killed his former partner and kidnapped the only people left in the world that he cares about, and Randall will do whatever it takes to avenge his partner and save his loved ones. If Spares was simply a new novel from the Mickey-Spillane-hero-as-blunt-instrument school of hard-boiled writing, it would be a winner, but it's much more than that. Using elements of noir and science fiction from Robert Heinlein to William Gibson, author Smith has concocted a brew that's as unsettling, disorienting, and addictive as Rapt, Randall's drug of choice. The mean streets of this riot-and war-ravaged postapocalyptic world include an immense 200-story building/city called New Richmond and a surreal parallel universe known as the Gap. New Richmond is a metaphor for contemporary cities: height insulates the wealthy from the desperate poverty and crime below. The Gap was the site of a war as unwinnable and traumatic as Vietnam. And the wisecracking Randall is a veteran of both. Spares is far too much book for a 200-word review. Just buy it and recommend it to sci-fi and crime fans. This one is special. Thomas Gaughan

Smith whisks readers into a surreal, futuristic Clockwork Orange?like world of frighteningly easy violence. In New Richmond, Virginia, former police lieutenant Jack Randall roams the dank ventilation chutes and festering floors of a 200-story MegaMall with "food courts the size of small towns," determined to rescue his seven buddies?make that six and one half?who are made up of spare parts. Jack, a refugee from better times with a price on his head, deals with a killer stalking him as well as bad guys from the Spares Farm who want their inmates back. The nastiness of the dismembering theme is relieved by a piquant humor and suspense that pace the reader through amazingly inventive scenes. Jack doesn't rise much above the tough-talking one-dimensional thriller hero who perseveres through all battles. But the Spares, including the six-foot-five Mr. Two, who carries a bag with a talking head, take on an endearing quality. Visually fascinating, Spares is scheduled to be a major film from Dreamworks SKG. Recommended for suspense collections.?Molly Gorman, San Marino, Cal.
Copyright 1997 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Wide shot.

New Richmond, Virginia.  Not the old Richmond, the historic capital of historical old Virginia, that sprawl of creaking tedium, but the New.  The old Richmond was destroyed over a century ago, razed to the ground during riots which lasted two months.  After decades of putting up with dreadful shopping facilities, a bewilderingly dull Old Town and no good restaurants to speak of, the residents suddenly went nonlinear and strode across the city like avenging angels, destroying everything in their wake.  It was great.

Spin doctors blamed downtown decay, crack wars, even the cast of the moon. Personally, I think everyone just got really bored, and either way good riddance to it.  The old Richmond was a content-free mess, a waste of a good, level patch within sight of the pleasingly pointy Blue Ridge Mountains. Everyone agreed it was much better off as a landing strip, a refueling point for the MegaMalls.

The MegaMalls are aircraft five miles square and two hundred stories high, which majestically transport passengers from one side of the continent to the other, from the bottom to the top: from wherever they've been to wherever they seem to think will be better.  The biggest oblongs of all time, a fetching shade of consumer goods black, studded with millions of points of light and so big that they transcend function and become simply a shape again.  When oblongs grow up, they all want to be MegaMalls.

Inside are thousands of stores, twenty-story atriums, food courts the size of small towns, dozens of multiplex cinemas and a range of hotels to suit every wallet which has a Gold Card in it.  All this and more arranged around wide, sweeping avenues, a thousand comfortable nooks and crannies, and so many potted plants they count as an ecosystem in their own right.  Safe from the rest of the world, cocooned 20,000 feet up in the air.

Heaven on earth, or cruising just above it: all of the good, clean, buyable things in life crammed into a multi-story funhouse.

Eighty-three years ago, MegaMall Flight MA 156 stopped for routine refueling on the site of old Richmond, and never took off again.  At first, it was merely a bureaucratic problem--the kind that the massed brains of all time could never have got to the bottom of, but which some poorly paid clerk could have solved instantly.  If he'd had a mind to.  If he hadn't been on his break.

After a few hours the richer patrons started leaving by the roads.  They didn't have time for this shit.  They had to be somewhere else.  Everybody else just complained a little, ordered another meal or bought some more shoes, and settled down to wait.

Then after a few more hours it transpired there was a minor problem with the engines.  This was a little more serious.  When you've got a problem with a car, you open the hood and there it is.  You can point at the errant part. When the engine's the size of the Empire State Building on steroids, you know you've got a long night ahead.  It takes fourteen people just to hold the manual.  The engineers sent repair droids scurrying off into the deep recesses, but eventually the droids came back, electronically shaking their heads and whistling through their mechanical teeth.  It was only a minor problem, the engineers were sure, but they couldn't work out what it was.

More passengers started to leave at that point, but on the other hand, some people started to stay.  There were plenty of phones and meeting rooms, and the Mall had its own node on the Matrix.  People could work.  There were enormous quantities of food, consumer goods and clean sheets.  People could live.  There were, frankly, worse places to hang around.

They never got the engines going again.  Maybe they were fixable, but they left it a little too late.  After a couple of days, people started to make their way in from the outside; people who'd been homeless since old Richmond went up in flames; people who lived in the backwoods; people who'd heard about the food courts and just wanted a spot of lunch.  They came off the plain and out of the mountains and started hammering on the doors.  At first security turned them back like they were supposed to, but there were an awful lot of them and some were pretty pissed.  For them the only thing worse than having to live in Richmond had been not having it to live in anymore.

The security guards got together and came up with a plan.  They started letting people in, and charging them for it.

There was a period, maybe even as long as six months, when Flight MA 156 was in flux, when no one was really sure if it was going to take off again.  Then the tide turned, and people knew it was not.  By then they didn't want it to.  It was home.  Areas inside the ship were knocked through, torn down, redeveloped. The original passengers staked out the upper floors and began to build on top of the Mall, competing to see who could get furthest from the mounting poor on the lower levels.  A secondary town grew up around the Mall at ground level--the Portal into the city.

Eventually the local utility companies just plumbed the whole lot in, and New Richmond was born.  Apart from its unusual provenance and extreme oblongness, New Richmond is now just a city like anywhere else.  If you didn't know, you might think it was just a rather bizarre town-planning mistake.

But it's said that in a lost room, somewhere deep in the bowels of the city, there remains a forgotten suitcase--left there accidentally by one of the first families to leave old Richmond, a mute testament to the city's birth.  Nobody knows where this room is, and most people believe it's just an urban myth. Because that's what Flight MA 156 is, these days.  Urban.

But I've always believed in that lost room, just like I wonder if sometimes, on some nights, the city itself must raise its eyes when it hears the other MegaMalls trundling slowly overhead.  I wonder if it watches the skies, and sees them pass, and knows in some way that's where it should be.  Up there in the heavens, not battered onto the Earth.  But then which of us doesn't believe something like that, and how few of us are right?

Edition details

• Publisher: Bantam
• Publication date: 1997
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 055310604X
• ISBN 13: 9780553106046
• Binding: Hardcover
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 336