Steel Sky Read Online Free

Judging from the marks on the floor, a separate office was once connected to this lab so that doctors could leave their patients to change in peace. But that must have been long ago.
    He tries to shake his sense of dread, but it will not quit him. He cannot seem to approach the problem in a clear-headed, scientific fashion. Since his mother’s death, things have become confused. His work, the people around him — nothing seems quite as real as it once did. His thoughts are broken up by a nagging sense of something left uncompleted.
    He ignores the growing ache in his head and summons up his resolve. He needs to work less and sleep more, that is all.
    “Doctor Penn . . .” The voice of Edward’s secretary comes from his ident.
    Edward sighs. “Can it wait, Marta?”
    “I’ve been monitoring the Security channel, as you requested,” she says quickly. “They think there’s a Deathsman in the building. Headed for Mr. Mosley’s room.”
    “Damn.” Edward stares at his panel on his ident for a moment as if wondering why this was not on his schedule. “Damn!” he repeats. “Doctor — ”
    “Excuse me, Mrs. Lessup.” He pushes open the door and runs through. Mrs. Lessup yelps and ducks behind the exam table to protect her modesty. As the door slides shut behind him, Edward turns and shouts: “Don’t forget to make another appointment!”
     
    BUILDING BLOCKS
    Second Son looks down. The city lies sprawled beneath his feet like the blocks he used to play with when he was a child. From above it is possible to see the original elegance with which the Hypogeum was designed. The oldest buildings, though lost beneath layer upon layer of new construction, have imposed their geometries on the architecture above. In the center is the Atrium, a tapered trapezoid of beveled glass, with its causeway leading to the Hall Mediary. Upriver are the gray, boxy structures of the industrial sector; in the other direction are the high-class dwellings, each facade angled to catch the light of the artificial sun. As the eye approaches the edges, the buildings become more sophisticated in design: sleek, shiny curves of glass and plastic grow up the sides of the great dome, culminating in this building, the Chandelier, which hangs glistening like a collection of soap bubbles above the city. To live in the Chandelier is the pinnacle of success; all other citizens are below you, and nothing is above but the steel Sky and never-ending rock.
    Second Son quickly sidesteps across the translucent floor to the furnished half of the room where a small rug interferes with the precipitous view. His father, who is known simply by the family name of Orcus, strides easily across the empty space to the very edge. A single pane of hard, clear plastic curves up to become a wall before him, the only thing between him and a four-hundred-meter drop. Second Son stood there once. The vertigo made him pass out.
    Orcus turns with a quick pivot that makes his surtout, the robed uniform of a null-class citizen, swirl around him. He has many similarly dramatic mannerisms. He once told Second Son that half the essence of power is the mere appearance of power. Perhaps that is why the men of their family take the depilatory treatment: to resemble Koba in his later days. And the fingernails? Second Son supposes they do it merely to look creepy. As with several generations of the family, Second Son had his removed, roots and all, at the same time he was circumcised.
    “The matter is not open for debate,” Orcus says. “The Orcus men have maintained the purity of our bloodline in this way for thirteen generations. That tradition will not end with you.”
    “But does it have to be her?” Second Son cannot seem to control his voice; his question comes out in a high-pitched whine.
    “Yes, it does. In time you’ll come to see the wisdom of my decision.”
    “But she hates me!” Second Son struggles to keep his voice in a lower register.
    “Nonsense. She merely