Summer Reading B2G1 Free

Special Offers see all

Enter to WIN a $100 Credit

Subscribe to
for a chance to win.
Privacy Policy

Visit our stores

    Recently Viewed clear list

    Original Essays | July 14, 2015

    Joshua Mohr: IMG Your Imagination, Your Fingerprint

    When I was in grad school, a teacher told our workshop that if a published novel is 300 pages, the writer had to generate 1,200 along the way. I... Continue »
    1. $17.50 Sale Hardcover add to wish list

      All This Life

      Joshua Mohr 9781593766030

Qualifying orders ship free.
New Trade Paper
Ships in 1 to 3 days
Add to Wishlist
available for shipping or prepaid pickup only
Available for In-store Pickup
in 7 to 12 days
Qty Store Section
25 Remote Warehouse Science Fiction and Fantasy- A to Z



Hyperion Cover





The Hegemony Consul sat on the balcony of his ebony spaceship and played Rachmaninoff's

Prelude in C-sharp Minor on an ancient but well-maintained Steinway while great, green,

saurian things surged and bellowed in the swamps below. A thunderstorm was brewing to the

north. Bruise-black clouds silhouetted a forest 0f giant gymnosperms while stratocumulus

towered nine kilometers high in a violent sky. Lightning rippled along the horizon. Closer to the

ship, occasional vague, reptilian shapes would blunder into the interdiction field, cry out, and

then brash away through indigo mists. The Consul concentrated on a difficult section of the

Prelude and ignored the approach of storm and nightfall.

The fatline receiver chimed.

The Consul stopped, fingers hovering above the keyboard, and listened. Thunder rumbled

through the heavy air. From the direction of the gymnosperm forest there came the mournful

ululation of a carrion-breed pack. Somewhere in the darkness below, a smallbrained beast

trumpeted its answering challenge and fell quiet. The interdiction field added its sonic

undertones to the sudden silence. The fatline chimed again.

"Damn," said the Consul and went in to answer it.

While the computer took a few seconds to convert and decode the burst of decaying tachyons, the

Consul poured himself a glass of Scotch. He settled into the cushions of the projection pit just as

the diskey blinked green. "Play," he said.

'You have been chosen to return to Hyperion," came a woman's husky voice. Full visuals had not

yet formed; the air remained empty except for the pulse of transmission codes which told the

Consul that this fatline squirt had originated on the Hegemony administralive world of Tau Ceti Center.

The Consul did not need the transmission coordinates to know this. The aged but still beautiful

voice of Meina Gladstone was unmistakable. "You have been chosen to return to Hyperion as a

member of the Shrike Pilgrimage," contin-ued the voice.

The hell you say, thought the Consul and rose to leave the pit.

"You and six others have been selected by the Church of the Shrike and confirmed by the All

Thing," said Meina Gladstone. "It is in the interest of the Hegemony that you accept."

The consul stood motionless in the pit, his back to the flickering transmission codes. Without

turning, he raised his glass and drained the last of the Scotch.

"The situation is very confused," said Meina Gladstone. Her voice was weary. "The consulate and

Home Rule Council fàtlined us three standard weeks ago with the news that the Time Tombs

showed signs of opening. The anti-entropic fields around them were expanding rapidly and the

Shrike has begun ranging as far south as the Bridle Range."

The Consul turned and dropped into the cushions. A holo had formed of Meina Gladstone's ancient

face. Her eyes looked as tired as her voice sounded.

"A FORCE:space task force was immediately dispatched from Parvati to evacuate the Hegemony

citizens on Hyperion before the Time Tombs open. Their time-debt will be a lithe more than

three 1-lyperion years." Meina Gladstone paused. The Consul thought he had never seen the

Senate CEO look so grim. "We do not know if the evacuation fleet will arrive in time," she said,

"but the situation is even more complicated. An Ouster migration cluster of at least four

thousand . . . units ... has been detected approaching the Hyperion system. Our evacuation task

force should arrive only a short while before the Ousters."

The Consul understood Gladstone's hesitation. An Ouster migration cluster might consist of ships ranging in size from single-person ramscouts to can cities and comet forts holding tens of thousands of the interstellar barbarians.

"The FORCE joint chiefs believe that this is the Ousters' big push," said Meina Gladstone. The

ship's computer had positioned the holo so that the woman's sad brown eyes seemed to be staring

directly at the Consul. "Whether they seek to control just I-Iyperion for the Time Tombs or

whether this is an all-out attack on the Woridweb remains to be seen. In the meantime, a full

FORCE:space battle fleet complete with a farcaster construction battalion has spun up from the

Camn System to join the evacuation task force, but this fleet may be recalled depending upon


The Consul nodded and absently raised the Scotch to his lips. He frowned at the empty glass and

dropped it onto the thick carpeting of the holopit. Even with no military training he understood

the difficult tactical decision Gladstone and the joint chiefs were faced with. Unless a military

farcaster were hurriedly constructed in the Hyperion system-at staggering expense-there

would be no way to resist the Ouster invasion. Whatever secrets the Time Tombs might hold

would go to the Hegemony's enemy. If the fleet did construct a farcaster in time and the

Hegemony committed the total resources of FORCE to defending the single, distant, colonial world

of Hyperion, the Worldweb ran the terrible risk of suffering an Ouster attack elsewhere on the

perimeter, or-in a worst-case scenariohaving the barbarians actually seizing the farcaster and

penetrating the Web itself. The Consul fried to imagine the reality of armored Ouster troops

stepping through farcaster portals into the undefended home cities on a hundred worlds.

The Consul walked through the holo of Meina Gladstone, retrieved his glass, and went to pour

another Scotch.

"You have been chosen to join the pilgrimage to the Shrike," said the image of the old CEO whom

the press loved to compare to Lincoln or Churchill or Alvarez-Temp or whatever other

preHegira legend was in historical vogue at the time. "The Templars are sending their treeship

Ydrasi1I," said Gladstone, "and the evacuation task force commander has instructions to let it

pass. With a three-week time-debt, you can rendezvous with the Yggdrasill before it goes

quantum from the Parvati system. The six other pilgrims chosen by the Shrike Church will be

aboard the treeship. Our intelligence reports suggest that at least one of the seven pilgrims is an agent of the Ousters. We

do not . at this time - . have any way of knowing which one it is"

The Consul had to smile. Among all the other risks Gladstone was taking, the 01d woman had to

consider the possibility that he was the spy and that she was fatlining crucial information to an

Ouster agent. Or had she given him any crucial information? The fleet movements were

detectable as soon as the ships used their Hawking drives, and if the Consul were the spy, the

CEO's revelation might be a way to scare him off. The Consul's smile faded and he drank his


"Sol Weintraub and Fedmahn Kassad are among the seven pilgrims chosen," said Gladstone.

The Consul's frown deepened. He stared at the cloud of digits flickering like dust motes around

the 01d woman's image. Fifteen seconds of fatline transmission time remained.

"We need your help," said Meina Gladstone. "It is essential that the secrets of the Time Tombs

and the Shrike be uncovered. This pilgrimage may be our last chance. If the Ousters conquer

Hyperion, their agent must be eliminated and the Time Tombs sealed at all cost. The fate of the

Hegemony may depend upon it."

The transmission ended except for the pulse of rendezvous coordinates. "Response?" asked the

ship's computer. Despite the tremendous energies involved, the spacecraft was capable of

placing a brief, coded squirt into the incessant babble of FTL bursts which tied the human

portions of the galaxy together.

"No," said the Consul and went outside to lean on the balcony

railing. Night had fallen and the clouds were low. No stars were visible. The darkness would

have been absolute except for the intermittent flash of lightning to the north and a soft

phosphorescence rising from the marshes. The Consul was suddenly very aware that he was, at

that second, the only sentient being on an unnamed world. He listened to the antediluvian night

sounds rising from the

swamps and he thought about morning, about setting out in the

Vikken EMV at first light, about spending the day in sunshine,

about hunting big game in the fern forests to the south and then

returning to the ship in the evening for a good steak and a cold beer.

The Consul thought about the sharp pleasure of the hunt and the equally sharp solace of solitude:

solitude he had earned through the pain and nightmare he had already suffered on l-lyperion.


The Consul went inside, brought the balcony in, and sealed the ship just as the first heavy

raindrops began to fall. He climbed the spiral staircase to his sleeping cabin at the apex of the

ship. The circular room was dark except for silent explosions of lightning which outlined

rivulets of rain coursing the skylight. The Consul stripped, lay back on the firm mattress, and

switched on the sound system and external audio pickups. He listened as the fury of the storm

blended with the violence of Wagner's "Flight of the Valkyries." Hurricane winds buffeted the

ship. The sound of thunderclaps filled the room as the skylight flashed white, leaving

afterimages burning in the Consul's retinas.

Wagner is good only for thunderstorms, he thought. He closed his eyes but the lightning was

visible through closed eyelids. He remembered the glint of ice crystals blowing through the

tumbled ruins on the low hills near the Time Tombs and the colder gleam of steel on the Shrike's

impossible free of metal thorns. He remembered screams in the night and the hundred-facet,

ruby-and-blood gaze of the Shrike itself.


The Consul silently commanded the computer to shut off all speakers and raised his wrist to

cover his eyes. In the sudden silence he lay thinking about how insane it would be to return to

Hyperion' During his eleven years as Consul on that distant and enigmati world, the mysterious

Church of the Shrike had allowed a dozen barges of offworld pilgrims to depart for the windswept barrens, around the Time Tombs, north

of the mountains. No one had returned. And that had been in normal times, when the Shrike had

been prisoner to the tides of time and forces no one understood, and theanti-entropic fields had

been contained to a fewdozen meters" around the Time Tombs. And there had been no threat of air

Ouster invasion.

The Consul thought of the Shrike, free to wander everywhere on, Hyperion, of the millions of

indigenies and thousands of Hegemony citizens helpless before a creature which defied physical laws and which communicated only

through death, and he shivered despite the warmth of the cabin.


The night and storm passed. Another stormfront raced ahead of the approaching dawn.

Gymnosperms two hundred meters tall bent and whipped before the coming torrent. Just before

first light, the Consul's ebony spaceship rose on a tail of blue plasma and punched through

thickening clouds as it climbed toward space and rendezvous.

From the Paperback edition.

Product Details

Simmons, Dan
Broadway Books
New York :
Science Fiction - General
Science fiction
Science / General
Science Fiction and Fantasy-A to Z
science fiction;fiction;sf;space opera;fantasy;time travel;hugo award;novel;religion;artificial intelligence;sff;epic;hugo winner;space;ai;space travel;dan simmons;far future;simmons;shrike;poetry;american;pilgrimage;20th century;literature;1980s;speculat
science fiction;fiction;sf;space opera;fantasy;time travel;hugo award;novel;religion;artificial intelligence;sff;epic;hugo winner;space;ai;space travel;dan simmons;far future;simmons;shrike;poetry;american;pilgrimage;20th century;literature;1980s;speculat
Edition Number:
1st ed.
Edition Description:
Trade paper
Series Volume:
Publication Date:
Grade Level:
8.5 x 5.5 x 1.25 in 1.4 lb

Other books you might like

  1. Canterbury Tales Used Mass Market $1.75
  2. To Say Nothing of the Dog: Or How We...
    Used Mass Market $3.95
  3. Doomsday Book
    Used Mass Market $5.50
  4. A Fire Upon the Deep
    Used Mass Market $3.95
  5. A Deepness in the Sky
    Used Mass Market $5.95
  6. American Gods
    Used Mass Market $3.50

Related Subjects

» Fiction and Poetry » Science Fiction and Fantasy » A to Z
» Fiction and Poetry » Science Fiction and Fantasy » Adventure

Hyperion New Trade Paper
0 stars - 0 reviews
$25.00 In Stock
Product details 492 pages Doubleday Books - English 9780385263481 Reviews:
  • back to top


Powell's City of Books is an independent bookstore in Portland, Oregon, that fills a whole city block with more than a million new, used, and out of print books. Shop those shelves — plus literally millions more books, DVDs, and gifts — here at