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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Page 1
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 1993 by Steven Swiniarski.
Cover Art by Jim Burns.
First Printing, July 1993
Daw Trademark Registered
DAW Book Collectors No. 918.
Forests
of the
Night
S. Andrew Swann
Synopsis
Set in Cleveland 100 years in the future, this debut novel is the story of Nohar Rajasthan, Private Eye,
who's a moreau—descended from genetically manipulated tiger stock.
When Nohar is hired by a being illegally created from human stock to look into a murder, he finds
himself caught up in a conspiracy of awesome proportions.
Page 2
This is for John, Heather,
and their kid(s?)
Acknowledgments
Thanks to a number of people who left their mark on this manuscript.
To Dan Eloff, who knows he got me writing again, and to R. M. Meluch, who doesn't.
To the members of the Cleveland SF Writer's Workshop, who helped me get the burrs and toolmarks
off this novel.
To Stacy Newman, who offered to proof this.
To Anastacia H. Brightfox, for naming one of the characters.
And thanks to Amy, who, if nothing else, helped to give me something to write about.
Tygerl Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy
fearful symmetry ?
In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire ? What the
hand, dare seize the fire ?
And what shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to
beat, What dread hand? And what dread feet?
What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp ?
When the stars threw down their spears, And water'd heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to
see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee ?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy
fearful symmetry ?
—WILLIAM BLAKE
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Page 3
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
About the Author
Chapter 1
Page 4
"One day, Nugoya, you're going to screw the wrong person." Nohar Rajasthan raked his claws across
the seat of his booth, wishing it was Nugoya's face. Like the rest of Zero's, the vinyl on the seat was
flashy, shiny, and cheap. The seat shredded.
Nugoya grabbed the collar of the black jacket that was draped over his left shoulder, shaking his head.
He looked human, but only at first glance. A close examination of the graying Japanese would reveal
joints large beyond normal human proportions and muscles that snaked like steel cable. The light above
the booth glinted off the chrome irises of Nugoya's artificial Japanese eyes. "I hire you to find my girl.
You find me a corpse. A corpse is worthless. I owe you nothing."
Nohar shouldn't have had the bad sense to let Nugoya hire him. It was becoming hard to contain his
anger. "Expenses, and four days of legwork."
Nohar shouldn't have trusted a frank. Japan had been one of the few countries to ever defy the U.N.
ban on the manipulation of human genetic material. The INS had tight restrictions on letting human
frankensteins into the country, and those that made it here found that they had few, if any rights. That kind
of bitterness tended to turn people into assholes—and Nugoya didn't need any help on that score.
Even moreaus like Nohar had a constitutional amendment in their favor.
"I owe you nothing. I should ask back the thousand I paid you. You are an arrogant cat. Were we
elsewhere, you would have to show some respect, and pay for your failure." Nugoya held up his
mutilated right hand. It was missing two fingers.
Nohar was already scanning the rest of the bar. He picked out Nugoya's people easily. They were all
moreaus—a human would not be caught dead working for a frank.
"Twenty-five hundred, Nugoya. Pay me."
It was Tuesday, two in the morning. There were only a half-dozen other people. The civilians—all
human since they were downtown—were giving Nugoya's booth a wide berth. No surprise, since two of
Nugoya's soldiers were hovering near the table. One was a tiger, like Nohar. The other was a dark
brown, nearly black ursine that couldn't quite stand upright even with the relatively high ceiling. Nugoya
had a vulpine manning the bar, and a trio of white rabbits sat near the entrance. Nohar knew there was a
canine somewhere out of sight, probably in the kitchen. Nohar could catch a hint of the dog's scent.
"You railed. No money."
Nohar told himself that he should just walk out of there. Shut up, leave, and cut his losses. He didn't.
"I found the bitch, peddling her ass on the side for the flush you hooked her on. I don't know if it was cut
with angel dust or drain cleaner, but her last trip splatted her all over Morey Hill. It's your fault she's
dead."
Nugoya's jaw clenched, and Nohar could smell his anger. Nugoya stood up. His jacket slid off his
shoulder, revealing his artificial left arm and some scarring on his neck. "How dare you, an animal,
presume—"
That was enough. "And what are you, Nugoya, but a half-pint, half pink sleazeball?"
Page 5
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