The Butcher of Anderson Station

Book 0: The Expanse

by James S.A. Corey

Genres: Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Sci-fi Anthologies & Collections; Space Opera

Synopsis

The Butcher of Anderson Station is a short story that expands the world of James S. A. Corey's New York Times bestselling Expanse series - now a Prime Original TV series.

One day, Colonel Fred Johnson will be hailed as a hero to the system. One day, he will meet a desperate man in possession of a stolen spaceship and a deadly secret and extend a hand of friendship. But long before he became the leader of the Outer Planets Alliance, Fred Johnson had a very different name. The Butcher of Anderson Station.

This is his story.

The Expanse series:
Leviathan Wakes
Caliban's War
Abaddon's Gate
Cibola Burn
Nemesis Games
Babylon's Ashes
Persepolis Rising
Tiamat's Wrath

Praise for the Expanse:

'The science fictional equivalent of A Song of Ice and Fire' NPR Books

'As close as you'll get to a Hollywood blockbuster in book form' io9.com

'Great characters, excellent dialogue, memorable fights' wired.com

'High adventure equalling the best space opera has to offer, cutting-edge technology and a group of unforgettable characters . . . Perhaps one of the best tales the genre has yet to produce' Library Journal

'This is the future the way it's supposed to be' Wall Street Journal

'Tense and thrilling' SciFiNow

Release date: October 17, 2011

Publisher: Orbit

Print pages: 36

Sample

When Fred was a kid back on Earth, maybe five or six years old, he’d seen a weed growing in the darkness of his uncle’s cellar. The plant had been pale and thin but twice as tall as the ones out in the side yard, deformed by reaching for the sunlight. The man behind the bar looked just like that: too tall, too pale, too hungry for something he’d never had and never would. Belters were all like that.


The music in the bar mixed Punjabi rhythms with a high-voiced woman rapping in the polyglot mess of languages that made up Belter Creole. The battered pachinko machine in the back rang and skittered. Hashish smoke sweetened the air. Fred leaned back on a bar stool meant for someone ten centimeters taller than he was and smiled gently.

“Is there a fucking problem?” he asked.

The bartender could have been Chinese or Korean or a mix of the two. Which meant his family had probably come up in one of the first waves. Five generations of grubbing for air, packing extended families into surveying ships with seven bunks, looking back at a sun that was hardly more than the brightest star. It was hard to think of any of them as human anymore.

“No problems, jefe,” the bartender said, but didn’t move. In the mirror behind the bar, Fred saw the door slide open. Four Belters slouched in. One had an armband with the split circle of the Outer Planets Alliance. Fred saw them see him. He saw one of them recognize him. The little trickle of adrenaline in his blood was automatic and pleasant.


“Then how about you serve me my drink?”

The barkeep didn’t move for a time, and then he did. Whiskey poured differently in spin gravity, but not so much that Fred could tell quite what was wrong about it. The Coriolis of Ceres Station shouldn’t have been enough to change the angle, not this close to the asteroid surface. Maybe it was just that it fell slowly. The bartender slid the glass across to him.

“On the house,” the man said, then a half beat of silence. “Colonel.”

Fred met his gaze. Neither spoke. Fred drank the liquor neat. It burned and left a taste at the back of his tongue like old mushrooms and bread mold.

“You have anything that isn’t fermented fungus?” Fred asked.

“Als u aprecie no, koai sa sa?” a voice said from behind him. If you don’t like it, why are you here?


Fred twisted in his seat. One of the four-pack who had just come in was glaring at him.. . .