ISBN: 9780425256565

The Rhesus Chart. I couldn't stop laughing as Bob works his way through to the final thrilling conclusion. The Rhesus Chart is a hilariously original approach to both the supernatural and… Mehr…

The Rhesus Chart. I couldn't stop laughing as Bob works his way through to the final thrilling conclusion. The Rhesus Chart is a hilariously original approach to both the supernatural and vampires.". The Nile on eBay   FREE SHIPPING UK WIDE   The Rhesus Chart by Charles Stross Bob Howard, a newly appointed junior manager of an organization tasked with defending England from supernatural threats, must stop an outbreak of vampirism at a merchant bank. FORMATPaperback LANGUAGEEnglish CONDITIONBrand New Publisher Description The Hugo Award-winning author of The Delirium Brief reveals the secrets of The Laundry Files in an adventure of Lovecraftian horror and espionage hi-jinks...As a newly appointed junior manager within the Laundry—the clandestine organization responsible for protecting Britain against supernatural threats—Bob Howard is expected to show some initiative to help the agency battle the forces of darkness. But shining a light on what's best left in the shadows is the last thing Bob wants to do—especially when those shadows hide an occult parasite spreading a deadly virus.Traders employed by a merchant bank in London are showing signs of infection—an array of unusual symptoms such as super-strength and -speed, an uncanny talent for mind control, an extreme allergic reaction to sunlight, and an unquenchable thirst for blood. While his department is tangled up in bureaucratic red tape (and Buffy reruns) debating how to stop the rash of vampirism, Bob digs deeper into the bank's history—only to uncover a blood-curdling conspiracy between men and monsters... Author Biography Charles Stross, born in 1964, is a full-time science fiction writer and resident of Edinburgh, Scotland. He is the author of seven Hugo-nominated novels, including Accelerando, Saturn's Children, and Neptune's Brood, as well as the Laundry Files series. He is the winner of three Hugo Awards for best novella and has had his work translated into more than twelve languages. He has worked as a pharmacist, software developer, and tech-industry journalist. Review Praise for The Rhesus Chart"Stross has pulled off yet another fast-paced blend of espionage thrills, mundane office comedy, and Lovecraftian horror, throwing in so many ideas per page that it may well leave your head spinning...[T]his is yet another ferociously enjoyable romp from a writer who's showing no signs of slowing down or losing his touch."—SFX"A quirky, slightly crazy, but captivating cerebral supernatural thriller...It's nothing short of brilliant! I couldn't stop laughing as Bob works his way through to the final thrilling conclusion. The Rhesus Chart is a hilariously original approach to both the supernatural and vampires."—Fresh Fiction"Entertaining."—Publishers WeeklyMore Praise for Charles Stross and The Laundry Files"Charles Stross is awesome and his books are awesome and his Laundry Files series in particular is a hell of a lot of fun."—New York Times bestselling author John Scalzi"Smart, literate, funny."—#1 New York Times bestselling author Lev Grossman, Time"Thumbs up for a smart and engaging novel that continues a very smart and engaging series. Highly recommended."—Tor.com Review Quote "Stross has pulled off yet another fast-paced blend of espionage thrills, mundane office comedy, and Lovecraftian horror, throwing in so many ideas per page that it may well leave your head spinning…[T]his is yet another ferociously enjoyable romp from a writer who's showing no signs of slowing down or losing his touch."- SFX "A quirky, slightly crazy, but captivating cerebral supernatural thriller…It's nothing short of brilliant! I couldn't stop laughing as Bob works his way through to the final thrilling conclusion. The Rhesus Chart is a hilariously original approach to both the supernatural and vampires."- Fresh Fiction "Entertaining."- Publishers Weekly Excerpt from Book 1. PROLOGUE: ONE MONTH AGO "DON''T BE SILLY, BOB," SAID MO. "EVERYBODY KNOWS vampires don''t exist." I froze with my chopsticks halfway to my mouth, the tiny corpse of a tempura-battered baby squid clutched precariously between them, while I flailed for a reply to her non sequitur. We were dining out at an uncomfortably pricey conveyor-belt sushi restaurant just off Leicester Square--it was my treat, although I had an ulterior motive. Unfortunately I was in the doghouse for some reason. I didn''t know why, and it might not even have been related to the deed I''d brought her here to apologize for, but dinner showed every sign of turning into one of those rare but depressingly unfocussed marital arguments we had every few months. And the most prominent warning sign was this: the replacement of reasoned discussion with peremptory denial. "We can''t be sure of that. I mean, doesn''t that take us right into proving-a-negative territory? The ubiquity of the legends, the consistent elements, all suggest to me that maybe we''ve been looking in the wrong place--" We were here because I thought it might help soften her up before I apologized for what I''d done to her friend Pete the month before. But instead of unwinding or letting me tell her about my latest office project, she''d switched into hypercritical mode as soon as we got to our booth. Apology shelved. Perhaps she''d just had a bad day at the office, but begging forgiveness for sins of necessity committed in the line of duty was clearly off the menu for the time being. Ten years together, seven of them married, have taught me to recognize the signs: right now if I reminded her that the sun rose in the east she''d start by stonewalling then escalate to a land war in Asia. "Bob." When she said my name like that, it gave me flashbacks to Miss Pearson in Primary Two ( not my favorite teacher): "Vampires can''t exist. There''d be detailed records in the archives; they couldn''t possibly evade detection by the state for any significant period. Besides which"--she aimed an alarmingly sharp wooden chopstick at my nose--"there''d be corpses everywhere. Human blood is a poor nutrient source; it''s about 60 percent plasma by volume and only provides about 900 calories per liter, so your hypothetical blood-sucking fiend is going to have to drink about two and a half liters per a day. Those calories don''t come in the form of useful stuff like glucose and fat: it''s mostly protein from circulating red blood cells. Dracula would have to exsanguinate a victim every day just to stay alive, and would suffer from chronic ketoacidosis. The total number of intentional homicides for the whole country is around 700 a year; a single vampire would cause a 50 percent spike in the murder rate. Or they''d have to take transfusion-sized donations about two thousand times a year." She capped the boss-level takedown with a tight-lipped, triumphant smile, the better to conceal her incisors: "If you think you, or I, or anyone in the office could mind-control hundreds of people well enough to prevent at least one of them going to their GP to complain about the lethargy and anemia . . ." I gave in to the inevitable. "You''ve researched this already, haven''t you?" "It came up in a brainstorming exercise about six years ago. We were investigating using ecosystem analysis to evaluate the probability of emergent new threat modalities. We also brainstormed golems, werewolves, and sasquatch." She took a spoonful of miso soup. "If they existed we''d know about them, Bob." "But"--I paused to swallow my squid and pluck another one from the color-coded plate in front of me--"your model assumes they''re obligate hemophages, doesn''t it? And that they''re endothermic, or at least have an energy budget not entirely unlike every other vertebrate known to science. What if that''s not the whole story? What if they eat--" "Bob." She stopped short of rolling her eyes, but I could see she was bored, and growing more annoyed by the minute: "Eat your baby tentacle monsters before they go cold." Mo has an aversion to pseudopods. When we first met, some very unpleasant people were trying to sacrifice her in order to summon an alien horror from beyond spacetime. I''d distracted them long enough for the seventh cavalry to arrive, and sometime after that Mo and I had started dating--but she still couldn''t (and can''t) stomach calamari. I cleaned my plate and watched as she finished her soup. "I''m done here," she announced, picking up her violin case without asking whether I was still hungry. "I''m going home." Which is why I didn''t get a chance to apologize for dragging Pete into the business in Colorado Springs. Or to explain my hypothesis about what vampirism really was, and what I was doing about it. Or to save our marriage. * * * THE NAME''S HOWARD, BOB HOWARD. I''M A COMPUTER SCIENCE graduate and IT person, and I work for the British government in London, as does my wife Mo, Dominique O''Brien, who is a few years older than I am but still (in my opinion) a gorgeous redhead. That''s the mundane version, cleared for public consumption. It is also deeply misleading, but it''s the version I''m allowed to give to friends and family without being required to kill them, so we''ll call that a net win. It''s also not entirely false. The, [PU: Berkley Publishing]<