Michael David Ares turns the classic Asimov short story “Nightfall” on its head in Dayfall, his debut novel about the world gone dark and waiting for the sun to break through a layer of black clouds.
The cause is given as freak weather systems that resulted from a nuclear exchange between middle eastern nations, causing a stalled cloud system over the North Atlantic, extending over the cities from New York to Paris, as well as accelerated climate change and sea level rise. The effect is that New York, and the other affected cities, have been in perpetual darkness for years, while waters have risen to flood parts of the city. Predictions are that the clouds are going to part soon, and the now night acclimated denizens of a city that never ever, sleeps, are being fed a diet of news from scientists saying that the everyone will panic and run amok when the lights come on.
It’s an absurd premise from half a dozen standpoints, but it’s the premise we’re given, so let’s move on to the story, OK?
There’s a serial killer loose in the dark apple, and he’s feeding into the fear and frenzy about the coming daylight. The cops are less than useful, partly due to corruption and partly because they’ve been supplanted, at least in part, by a private security firm whose head wants to be mayor. With an election looming, the current Mayor reaches out to a friend, the Police Commissioner of Philadelphia, to see if he can provide her with an investigator she can call her own, and it just so happens that he does.
Jon Phillips is a small-town cop who went outside his jurisdiction to bring down a serial killer that had Philly’s finest stumped. Being shown up doesn’t go well in the city of brotherly love, so the commish is more than happy to recommend him.
When Jon arrives in the Big Dark Apple the mayor tells him that he’s got to solve the serial killer case before daylight breaks out in 24 hours or the city will wind up under control of Gareth Render, who has a repressive agenda for the city. Jon is paired with the obligatory cynical burnout, Frank Halladay, and the two of them scour the city for the killer while time runs out. They’re assisted by a Amira Naseem, spunky medical examiner who’s Muslim heritage is just the sort of thing that Render will come down hard on. At one of the crime sites, Jon meets a bartender that throws him a curve. There’s no time in this caper for falling for a dame, but every PI is hunting for something, and when he meets Mallory, it’s clear that he’s found it. Even if she’s being paid off by Gotham Security, the goons that want to give New York back to New Yorkers.
The trio zoom around crime scenes, active or prior, hunting for clues, and the deeper they go the more confusing the hunt becomes. Jon has extraordinary instincts, and they’re the only thing standing between the city and bedlam.
Frankly, I don’t think the story ever really gets over the weak premise. Asimov’s short story, “Nightfall,” had a solidly built setup, with a world in a solar system with multiple suns and a 2,000 year period between nightfalls. Asimov’s story unwinds over a period of days, compared to this story, which unfolds at a cinematic pace normally reserved for Kiefer Sutherland. Coming out of Tor Books, I’d expect a better class of tale.
When the alien commanders and human military crew of Earth Mercenary Corps Pufferfish succumb to a bioweapon that reverts (reverted, because, after the apocalypse, humanity was reduced to shambling ferals, until an alien race cured a few to fight for them) the humans to their feral state, only Mops and her crew of cleaners stand in the way of galactic genocide. Billed as a “hilarious sci-fi” adventure, Terminal Alliance does have a lot of humor built into the setup, but there’s also a savvy piece of space opera in here, along with a cast of engaging characters, and a hero worth following In Marion/Mops Adamopolulos.
Catherynne M. Valente’s new novel is about a washed-up glam pop rocker who turns out to be humanity’s only hope of surviving the galactic version of a Turing test and not being wiped off the face of the planet to make from for the next proto-sentient species to show up. As the author says in the afterword, it owes a lot to Douglas Adams, as do we all. Think of it as The Rock Concert at the End of the Universe meets Galactic Idol. There really should be a playlist for reading this.