Publisher's Synopsis
"So why is it cool to meld detective stories, where things add up, and science fiction, where they (typically) don't? The melding has been around for decades now, even before the first Blade Runner. Maybe 'cause when they meld, those lousy prognostications might finally make some sense? Call it Space Noir?
Which brings me to Hadrian's Fall, Ian Roumain's astonishingly imaginative novel, set on Mars and with one of the best opening lines since "Call Me Ishmael". Forget whether in reality Mars would ever be habitable; Roumain makes you believe that it will be and has created a world (actually two worlds), so real that you could easily lose yourself in either."
- From the foreword by Nicholas Meyer (writer/director of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, and author of The Seven-Percent Solution)
These are dangerous times on the fourth planet from the sun. Mars, the crown jewel among Earth's colonies, has erupted into violence. A group of rebels known as Mars First has launched an uprising against Earth's control of the red planet.
For Hadrian Stricks, these momentous events are taking place just as his own life is unraveling-he's been accused of killing the richest man on Mars, Gerhard De Brecht. Since he's been having an affair with the dead man's wife, it's not difficult to understand why the police think he's guilty. Sure, Hadrian has fantasized about killing Gerhard, but he didn't actually do it. Desperate to elude the authorities and prove his innocence, Hadrian hasn't got a clue how to accomplish either. Salvation appears in the form of his old pal Arthur Rittlemeyer, a fellow Colonial Marines veteran who thinks it's the perfect time to pull off the biggest heist in Martian history. The authorities, he figures, will be too busy trying to put down the Martian rebellion to bother stopping them from making their big score.
All Hadrian has to do is lend Arthur his piloting skills in order to help him rob the richest company on Mars-the De Brecht Corporation . . .
