The Pale

By Clare Rhoden

"A gripping tale of resilience, survival, and how we define the ‘other’ — this is intelligent SF that speaks to our time." – Jennifer Mills, author of Dyschronia

The Outside can be a dangerous place.
But so can the inside.
It’s been years since the original cataclysm, but life has been structured, peaceful, and most of all uneventful in the Pale. The humachine citizens welcome the order provided by their ruler, the baleful Regent.
However, when one of their own rescues a human boy, Hector, from ravenous ferals on the Outside, their careful systems are turned upside down.
As Hector grows more and more human-strange, the citizens of the Pale grow uneasy.
What will happen when the Outside tries to get in?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Odyssey Books
• Release date: Sep 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9781925652031

Book preview

The Pale

The Pale

Clare Rhoden

Odyssey Books

Copyright © 2017 by Clare Rhoden

The moral right of Clare Rhoden to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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First published by Odyssey Books in 2017

www.odysseybooks.com.au

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A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the National Library of Australia

ISBN: 978-1-925652-02-4 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-1-925652-03-1 (ebook)

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Cover design by Elijah Toten

www.totencreative.com

Map of Broad Plain and Schematic of the Pale by Bernard Maher

Contents

Character List

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Interlude: 197pC—198pC

Part II

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Broad Plain Darkening

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Acknowledgments

About the Author

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Character List

Inside the Pale

Élin Patraena, Regent

Jaxon Tangshi, her Senior Forecaster

Hekili, Master of the Immortal Wereguard

Tad, a young serviceman

Jeris, Tad’s senior and first partner

Hallen, Laylene, Milo: other service personnel

Adaeze Patraena, a young paramount

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The Canini

Tinashe, a canine matriarch

Orfeo, Tinashe’s friend, an aged and wise canine

Mashtuk, descendant of Tinashe and scout for her pack

Zélie, descendant of Orfeo, later Mashtuk’s mate

Callan, a canine pack leader

Aegle, a young canine of Callan’s pack

Waleen, a canine pack leader

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The Tribes

Kilimajara, Huntmistress of the Storm tribe

Feather, her grandson, hunter and scout for the Storm

Afon of the Rainbow, Hadar of the River, Tehuano of the Terran, Tierre of the Green: other hunt masters of Broad Plain

Marin, a senior elder of the Storm

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The Settlement

Valkirra Adelriksdottir, the Chief

Talis Jarisson, her spouse

Charm, Jasper and Cushla, their children

Dane Friirsson and his wife Raysa, tailors of the middle town

Jana and Brettin, their twin daughters

Freya Janasdottir, the child of Jana and the tribesman Feather

Maya, Lady of the Temple

Iver, Olinna, Anielka: district representatives on the Settlement’s council

Equii: horse-like animals who have renounced their power of speech

Rat-terriers: small dogs who live with the settlers

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The Wild Creatures

Wild Men: some humans walk Broad Plain in small family groups or in lawless groups. They do not abide by tribal rules and live in a reduced state.

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Outclans: some smaller groups are loosely allied with the major tribes but prefer to live in smaller, family-based groups. The Outclans tend to reject some of the tribes’ strict rules about the use of the land and resources.

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Ferals: these are manufactured creatures that exist solely as killing and feeding machines, with no capacity for rational thinking. They come in a variety of body shapes, sizes, and weaponry and are remnants of the armies that plundered society during the Conflagration.

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Vulpini: fox-like creatures that hunt the Broad Plain, posing a danger to all live beings.

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Ursini: large, white-furred predators who mostly live south of Broad Plain, beyond the Broken Ranges.

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Mammonites: enormous flying creatures that once dominated the plain; the mammonites are now rarely seen,

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Other animals: longneck deer, patchwork hares, ovines, mastodons, mammonites, wood-adders, strikebeasts, lizards, skinks, blue tongue lizards, crocodylli, pantheras.

Part I

The Post-Post-Aftershock

The Year 197pC

Chapter One

‘How does anything live out there?’ Tad murmured.

He was peering through the cutthroat panels of Alpha Gate, squinting a bit against the morning glare. It was early autumn, and dwindled wrecks of foliage lay strewn on the muddy plain. Shifting clouds refracted a hazy golden light onto the Pale’s stonemetal perimeter. The contrast between the gleaming city and its dirty surrounds was marked.

‘A just question. We citizens of the Pale have done well for ourselves,’ said Tad’s squad leader, Jeris, standing on the observation step beside him. ‘Just look at the Outside. That’s what we’re safe from.’ Jeris shook her head. ‘Vile, dangerous, disgusting.’

Beyond the Pale’s colossal walls, Broad Plain stretched dank and ugly, its sullen red expanse streaked with thin, ground-hugging shadows of shallow dunes. Some leagues in the distance, a ruined mountain on the horizon provided a broken-edged bed for the chilly dawn. Like almost everything that he had seen for the first time that morning, the Outside was much bigger than Tad had imagined. He tilted his head to one side, his eyes narrowed as his personal dataset locked step with his preloaded information. He was aware of Jeris waiting, and once again felt grateful that he had been assigned such an experienced leader to introduce him to his duties.

‘How does anything live?’ echoed Jeris, expanding on his question. ‘The best they can, we suppose. Take the humans. Some of them live together in that settlement to the south, thinking that will keep them safe. Others wander around in big groups, tribes they’re called, hoping to move from one decent living space to another as the seasons turn. And some just scratch around Broad Plain as well as they might. Which is not well at all.’

Tad nodded. ‘And there are others Outside too—canini and mastodons and ursini and—’

Jeris held up a hand. ‘I know!’ she said with a smile. ‘They don’t bother us much, though. Mostly they get killed by ferals.’

Tad frowned. ‘Ferals? They sound horrible. You ever seen one, Jeris?’

‘A few. Ugly critters. Just big gory appetites on legs—or wheels—or treads, depending which type. Always hungry and always vicious. That’s one of our tasks, you know: cleaning up after feral kills around the perimeter.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Tad. He had never yet been Outside. The cleansing patrol was one of the few activities that took any of the citizens of the policosmos beyond their massive walls. He stepped down from the vantage point and followed Jeris.

On the paved inner go-way behind them, other service personnel zoomed along, busy on their rounds of the perimeter. Buildings of stone and plasticite fronted the go-way, each separated from the next by a narrow strip of ordered crops—every square centimetre of the policosmos had its use. Divided into seven districts, the Pale was the largest surviving colony on the continent. The only one worth saving, according to the doctrines of the city’s forecasters. The bucolic settlement to the south and the flimsy camps of the wandering tribesfolk out there on the plain were but poor travesties of survival. Only the citizens of the Pale could be said to have made a successful transition to a post-Conflagration life, and even that had taken almost two centuries.

Tad appreciated the slow pace Jeris set on their first tour together. He needed to become familiar with the physical manifestation of his home, a place that, so far, he only knew from the detailed representation imprinted into his hardware. Like all trainees in every arm of the amenities, he had full access to all the data he needed to undertake his tasks. Also like every other novice, he had never set foot outside the trainee oikos until today, when his preparation was completed.

Jeris had partnered with many new service personnel across the extended decades of her career, and she explained that she always took the first shift slowly. Jeris said that the knowledge of a thing and the experience of it were complementary, necessary, but different components of the working serviceman’s toolkit. Tad was intensely fascinated by the Outside. Jeris told him she understood that too. For now, it was time to move on. She was getting too old, she said, to be taking all day on a single circuit. She rapped Tad’s shoulder.

‘Let’s go, Serviceman.’ Around the next corner, the go-way narrowed to pass through a shadowy arch. Overhead, the vast bulk of the Regent’s Tower straddled the path and the massive wall as well, forming a colossal bulwark that jutted into the Outside. Jeris halted under the arch, looked left and right, and then motioned Tad closer.

‘Know where we are now?’

Tad spoke with certainty. ‘The Regent’s Tower, ma’am.’

Jeris nodded, settling herself onto a stone bench in the shade of the arch. She rubbed at a spot on her heel. ‘These wheels, you know, they pinch your liveware after a few decades,’ she said. Then she looked up. ‘I bet you know all about the Regent’s Tower. Look at your data. Tell me.’

‘Ma’am.’ Tad tilted his head and accessed the information, his large grey eyes dilating to blackness. Jeris pulled him a little to one side to make more room as two passing sanitariat workers slowed long enough for her to run her scanner over them. Tad didn’t notice. In a few seconds he looked up again. ‘Ma’am. The Regent’s Tower is the highest eminence of the Acrocomplexa, the tallest building within the policosmos, built of integrated stonemetal and primary clay blocks with shieldglass inserts and embellishments of rare metals and gems. The Regent’s Throne Room is at the centre and her terrace at the apex of the Tower. The terrace provides a view of 360 degrees over the Outside.’

‘Correct. Anything more?’

Tad blinked. ‘Ma’am. The Acrocomplexa is the most important building in the entire policosmos. Its floor plan is deliberately convoluted. This is a defensive feature dating from the First Days. At the centre of the Acrocomplexa is the oldest structure inside the Pale, the Navel. Inside the Navel the most precious artefacts of the whole policosmos are kept under the constant watch of the Wereguard.’

‘The Wereguard?’ Jeris suppressed a yawn.

‘Otherwise known as the Immortal Guard, ma’am. Twelve specialised service personnel dating from the First Days whose sole task is protection of the Regent, the Regent’s family, and the Navel. The Wereguard have very little liveware but eternal premium hardware. The Wereguard were created at the same time as the policosmos itself and will endure as long.’

Jeris nodded, slapping Tad’s back collegially as she stood up. Her right hip made a loud click, the old cogs interlocking with reluctance.

‘Good work,’ she said. ‘And I have no doubt that you could go on to tell me about the construction of the Acrocomplexa in the First Years after the Great Conflagration, and the Regent’s family, and our role, and so on and so on. You could tell me all that and more.’

‘Yes, ma’am!’ said Tad eagerly, but Jeris held up a hand to forestall him.

‘I thought so. No need.’ She stepped through the tunnel formed by the Tower’s position over the walkway and onto the further go-way. This time, she clasped her hands in the small of her back and inclined her head to Tad. ‘But can you tell me, Serviceman Tad, where the citizens live?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Tad felt on firmer ground. He and his fellow trainees had been given a great deal of information about the Pale’s ordinary citizens. ‘There are three residential oikoi inside the Pale, where our citizens live. These are grouped in the Capitoline district at the centre of the policosmos, guarded by the inner walls. And there are six industrial multiplexi, where the citizens labour. One of these is located at each prime point of the policosmos.’

‘Good. The citizens require most service work. What can you tell me about us? Servicemen?’

‘Ma’am. We work anywhere in the policosmos, wherever we are needed, and respond to all requests. Our primary role is guarding the perimeter, but we can undertake any task for any citizen, and it is our honour to assist all other arms of the amenities.’

‘Indeed. We’ll reach the amenities complex at the end of the shift and seek out your new digs. By the way, it’s your turn to scan now.’

‘Ma’am!’ Tad angled his palm towards a recycler who had just passed them. No alerts. He scooted up beside Jeris again. ‘Yes, ma’am. All clear.’

‘Good. Walk with me now. You’re going to scan every citizen we meet, and tell me about every building we pass.’

‘Ma’am.’ Tad frowned. Her request made him think that perhaps Jeris didn’t consider him sufficiently prepared. At that moment, she turned and smiled at him, the silver plates of her cheekbones reflecting the rays of the morning sun.

‘By the way, congratulations. Most other new personnel have trouble standing the first time they perform a scan right after a data search. Too much information, through too many channels, you see. You’ve done well, youngster. We’re going to get on just fine.’

Tad grinned his relief. He thought so too.

From her open terrace high on the north side of the Acrocomplexa, the Regent gazed up at the virulent colours that flowed across the sky in a constant stream. Yes, autumn was coming to its dramatic conclusion in a flurry of storms, but she hadn’t seen such a sustained display for years. Decades. A chill touched the hairs on the back of her neck, raising a metallic tinkle. Not since the Post-Aftershock, in her long-ago youth, had she felt quite so unsettled.

Élin Patraena frowned, the diamond feathers of her eyebrows catching the sky’s parade of intense hues, a startling contrast against her dark skin. She took a slow circuit of the terrace, observing both the policosmos below and the Broad Plain around it, as well as scanning the night sky. It was clear to her that no alarm had reached the city below. Every gate, from Alpha at the northwest prime around to Sigma in the west, was secure. The hulking walls of the perimeter marked the Pale’s hexagonal expanse, separating it from the barren Outside. Every district showed its regulation number of lights, and no sound other than the constant background humming of the policosmos itself reached her ears. The steady, reassuring progress of service patrols zooming around the perimeter go-ways was marked by an unbroken line of silver light. Nevertheless, Élin was unsettled. She raised a hand, and a servant stepped forward, coming to stand a metre from the Regent’s shoulder.

‘My lady?’

Élin spoke without turning. ‘Fetch the Senior Forecaster to the Throne Room.’

‘My lady.’ The servant muttered into his wristscreen as the Regent swept around and strode towards the stairs.

Very few minutes passed before Jaxon Tangshi, the Senior Forecaster, presented himself. He was just a little short of breath; the Acrocomplexa covered a considerable area of the Palatine district, and he had come from the amenities multiplex on the other side of the city, in the Esquiline. Jaxon, absent-mindedly calming his heart rate, made an internal note: To my Recycler, I require an aerobic enhancement, to elite service level. He frowned; he should not have to schedule such upgrades himself. It was the recyclers’ duty to maintain such important officers as himself and the Wereguard at optimum strength at every given moment.

The problem was, of course, that very few personnel inside the Pale had the longevity of himself and the Wereguard, despite their decades of life. Really, were it not for their dedication, the Pale would long ago have sunk into the same lifeless dust as every other city, or the same filthy muddle as the few other surviving colonies—that pathetic town called the Settlement, for example, or those ridiculous, unsanitary tribal camps. Both he and the Wereguard should be better revered, thought Jaxon, and no doubt they would be, if the other citizens of the Pale had the same intelligence and longevity as they did. However, that was not something to be desired. Jaxon’s task—the task of the Senior Forecaster across the ages—was to manage the policosmos and its Regent so that neither realised the extent of his power. Jaxon reminded himself that the present Regent was one of the more difficult he had ever handled, and walked forward into her line of sight.

Élin halted Jaxon’s advance by swinging around to face him before he intruded upon her personal space, which was, her Senior Forecaster thought, almost as wide as the Acrocomplexa itself. She was known for her unapproachability, and that was exactly as she wished it to be: fair, just, and rational rule could not be delivered by any Regent courting close ties with her officials, and certainly not with her subjects. She was content to have it known that none of her judgments could be swayed by individual appeals or preferential consideration. The taint of emotion would never infect her logical approach. Jaxon was her closest adviser, and the only living creature inside the Pale who knew anything of her beyond the jewelled and gilded image she presented to the entire policosmos. Élin knew his name, as she knew hundreds of others, but she made it a point never to address any citizen, servant, official, Wereguard or service personnel except by the title and status of their profession.

Jaxon considered this an egotistical affectation. Had he been asked, he would have enumerated several shortcomings of this present Regent which, as the decades passed, had diminished his appreciation of her gleaming ebony skin, embedded with gold and gems, and her physical perfection. As a Regent—figurehead of the policosmos—she appeared immutable and flawless, quite beyond the knowledge of ordinary citizens. That was perfectly acceptable, as long as she interfered only marginally in the real workings of the city—as long as he could ensure that she interfered only marginally. Now, mindful as ever of every protocol, Jaxon bowed with the exact degree of deference required between the Regent and the foremost official of the policosmos. He folded his hands across the lightning symbol of his office, zigzagging down the front of his tunic. ‘My lady?’

‘Senior. I want you to look at this.’ Élin indicated the large screen along the western wall of the Throne Room. As she pointed at it, the screen flashed green-yellow-green and then settled into the live image of the night sky.

Jaxon blinked at the sudden intensity of colour. ‘Ah,’ he said, as his eyes went slightly out of focus. Some milliseconds passed while he consulted the appropriate data. ‘Autumn storm season, but with increased flamboyance.’

‘Yes,’ said the Regent crisply. ‘And the air, man, the air!’

The Senior Forecaster tilted his chin. Élin tapped one foot while he sought the correct dataset, visualising the current readings and comparing them against the norms.

‘Pressure is decreasing, and the wind is rising markedly. A mega-storm?’ he proposed with great calmness.

The Regent slapped her hands together. ‘I don’t call you here to tell me there’s a storm looming! Look at the data, Senior: are we building to another shock?’

Jaxon blinked again, his eyes flashing upon the Regent and then turning inwards again, the pupils hugely dilated. Élin rasped her ruby fingernails against the ingrained jewels of her forearm, a scowl of impatience marring the mask-like perfection of her face. The rising wind twisted, howling around the Acrocomplexa.

‘Well?’ demanded the Regent.

‘Of a different order, my lady,’ said Jaxon. ‘You are quite correct. Neither the atmospheric pressure nor the celestial manifestations match the records of the most recent nor of the original aftershock. Something quite, quite unusual is happening.’

‘So I perceive,’ said the Regent. She sighed, an infinitesimal susurration. ‘Much as I regret to say it, my intuition tells me there is another shock coming.’

‘My lady.’ Jaxon frowned. He knew, of course, of the famed Patraena instinct, just as he knew—or, in truth, remembered—all the history of the policosmos. His life and his study covered every topic from pre-Conflagration days till the present hour; his updates were live and he had only to look. Nothing in any of his datasets matched the current conditions, but still he doubted the credibility of a mere instinct.

All his information indicated that the Patraena intuition was an incompletely documented, unsounded, unreliable resource that had raised the Patraenas, ages past, to the peak of their society. Former Regents had preened themselves much on this inherited ability. That the current queen preferred not to rely on her inner perception as a guide to actions and decisions was a factor Jaxon had counted in her favour. Nothing bored him so much as story-tale mumbo jumbo. Tonight, however, as their gazes locked, both Jaxon and Élin assimilated the fact that the Regent’s intuition had indeed proven more alert than any of the data forecasts or sensors.

The realisation hit at the same moment as the Pale cracked apart, gaping from way beyond Alpha Gate right up to the steps of the Acrocomplexa. Both the Regent and the Senior Forecaster were flung to their knees, and neither noticed for long moments how they clung like frightened young.

Tad thought about asking his squad partner to come on to the observation step, but Jeris, her shoulder pressed against the edge of a silo, looked to be napping. How she could sleep with the wind booming around the fencelines, and the pathetic crying of the child Outside, was beyond Tad.

Huh. Maybe she couldn’t hear the commotion. Probably she needed an audio upgrade, one that she would never get now. Jeris was getting on, after all. He wondered briefly what it would be like to reach the end of your allotted upgrades, to know you were soon for the scrapheap—officially known as the Recycling Shed. It was meant to be a time of celebration, a time when you contributed great gifts to the whole community inside the Pale, but Tad wasn’t so sure. He had been in the service long enough to know that no one wanted their parts recycled into something less meaningful, like a victualler or cultivator or sanitariat. Everyone in the service was proud of the active, useful, busy life it offered. A forecaster would be fine, but forecasters were few and precious, even fewer than the recyclers themselves.

Tad shook his head; all that was nothing he need worry about for decades. He was a fully-grown serviceman now, having spent the first twenty years of his life being progressed, grown, fitted out, gauged, and trained. It was usual practice to match up a new serviceman with an experienced squad partner, and he really enjoyed Jeris’s company. She didn’t talk much, but what she did say was worth listening to. She had a glint of humour in her eyes, a quality that Tad had never previously encountered. Jeris could tell him more in one look than most of his comrades in a dozen words. The last couple of days, though, he had noticed a change. Jeris kept nodding off. That was strange. He supposed he should report it. Well, first investigate what that human immature was doing by the fence, and then wake Jeris.

He flicked his wheel switch on and zoomed west along the go-way towards Beta Gate. The sun had set hours ago, but the sky was lit red and orange by bursts of cloud and gas. Some of the flashes were brighter than daylight. In one surge of light more dazzling than any yet, Tad realised that the crying child was not alone. He slowed as he reached the barred gate, and looked through its cutthroat wire panels at the two humans outside.

The immature had gone silent, staring at him. The grown human sank down onto the ground, as if she—or he—Tad wasn’t all that good at lifeform identification, though he could tell a vulpine from a canine, a mastopod from an ursine, and so on. In the service, it wasn’t necessary to know everything. If he’d needed to differentiate human males from human females, then he would have been provided with that information. All that was necessary in this case was to recognise a living being at the fence, and to give the challenge. So he did.

‘Serviceman Tad speaking. You have approached Beta Gate, on the west side of the Pale. What do you seek?’

‘Please.’

‘I repeat, what do you seek?’

The grown human seemed to crumple into a closer bundle of flesh and clothing. The immature reached out a hand and placed it on the back or shoulder of the huddled form. They were both shaking, Tad could see. Neither looked ready to answer the challenge. Tad pursed his lips. Procedure was to issue the challenge three times, and then eliminate any life form that threatened the perimeter, especially if it was near any of the six gates. He cleared his throat, loosened his firearm from its holster, and spoke with deliberate distinctness.

‘I am Serviceman Tad. I ask again, what do you seek here at Beta Gate of the Pale?’

The folded adult hoisted itself into a semblance of posture—maybe it was kneeling. Tad took a hasty step backwards: when the human raised itself, he could see a massive rent in the front of its body. The human spoke again, and Tad dragged his eyes from the ragged, bloody wound to the ghastly face.

‘Ferals,’ gasped the human. ‘The boy. Please.’ With that, the human fell forward onto its dreadful face, and lay still. The immature pulled frantically at its shoulder, but the human had ceased living.

As Tad braced his weapon in both hands, uncertain what to do next, Jeris wheeled up behind him and took him by the elbow.

‘Put that away,’ she said.

Tad obeyed. ‘What now?’ he asked.

‘It is clear they sought shelter from ferals.’

‘The adult one is dead,’ said Tad.

‘Yes.’

‘The immature is not.’

‘So I hear,’ murmured Jeris. The child was wailing fit to wake the trainees tucked into their cocoons over by Epsilon Gate. She tilted her head on one side. ‘Do you think that boy is healthy, Tad?’

Tad grimaced. What sort of a question was that? He was no recycler, to gauge the value of bodies and parts. He

Reviews for The Pale

[scarlett_rose-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It took a while for me to get into this book. The world was very different from anything I've read, which actually is a good thing! I like a challenge from time to time. The lead characters changed often, moving the story along, but it did make it a bit hard to really care about them as individuals. There are some time jumps, too. I finished the book feeling satisfied having read it.

[Mike · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

How do five disparate groups survive in a world post the conflagration? Some team up, some repel. All have to interact. This is the world of The Pale. If you like a good post apocalyptic story then I recommend reading it

[elizabeth_foster-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The Pale centres around the fallout from a cataclysmic earthquake, which affects many different groups in a post-apocalyptic society: settlers, tribes, canini, and the modified humans of the Pale.

The Pale itself is a walled city populated with humachines: humans who have been augmented with technology in order to become more efficient citizens. Genetic breeding is commonplace. Those who are no longer considered worthy of 'upgrades' are 'recycled', and this is considered perfectly normal to the inhabitants of the Pale. The fortress-like city is run by a Regent devoid of empathy, who rules with a tyrant’s fist. Rhoden’s impressive prose captures the Regent's nuances well.

“The Regent was exhibiting her particular brand of brilliant anger. Jaxon watched with some admiration as sparks erupted from the anthracite curls of her lashes, and her brows flashed arcs of light. Most alarming of all, Jaxon noticed, was the ripple of power that flowed over her skin, as if her body was insufficient to contain the emotion that roiled through her blood, that jagged through every biowire and agitated every nerve.”

In true dystopian style, The Pale looks into the future to show where our own obsession with technology might lead us. A thought-provoking read reminiscent of George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four and Philip K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? The Pale raises many questions as to what it truly means to be human.