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By Neal Asher

The Collector rampages throughout a miles destiny Africa populated with gene-spliced vampires, resurrected gigantic and nutters with APWs . . .

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Then she looked at me with annoyance. ” I could not help it. She had fallen off the log and there she was with leaves in her hair asking questions like that. I started chuckling. Her look of disbelief turned that into a laugh. I just stood there and laughed. ” she said. “Oh dear,” I said, shaking my head and gradually getting myself under control. Still grinning I stooped down and picked up the wooden spike the man had been carrying. Then I drove it into the log in front of her. “I remember now,” I said, “that tarry substance is a derivative of curare.

I did not kill this mammoth,” I said. ” It was not even a laugh. “I saw you bat that lion aside. What have you got? Cybernetic implants? Is that what you used on the mammoth? Or is that too close in for you? ” I did not particularly admire her logic. “I restate. ” I turned to fetch my shirt and pack. ” I began to get annoyed. “Madam, either you are going to shoot or not. I tire of this ridiculous megalomaniacal badinage. ” By this time I had turned side-on to her and was ready to move. “Wait,” she sounded unsure now, but the rifle did not waver.

Let him serve as a warning. Or was I just being melodramatic? Two hours of travel across relatively-easy terrain from our rest site and first encounter with the Zag we came out on an open hill top and looked down on Z’gora. It had once been a city of the third millennium, only the name had been different then. It had been called New Babylon in defiance of all that was Western. To the right of it was a wide flat area on which very little grew. From there, a thousand years in the past, had been launched the vanguard of the African space effort.

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