WHAT MIGHT have been a tactical nuclear bomb destroys a USAF base in Scotland: the work of terrorists, an act of war, or an accident with a new, top-secret weapon? Roisin Travis goes on the run. Along with other members of the peace camp outside the gates, she saw the strange piece of equipment unloaded from an aircraft that same night, and took photos which the Americans don’t want anyone else to see. She doesn’t know if the truth will save her, or lead to even greater destruction.

Ken MacLeod’s The Execution Channel starts like a techno-thriller “ripped from tomorrow’s headlines”, a thrilling, fast-moving tale of suspense rife with paranoia and multiple conspiracy theories. However, it’s deeper and more thoughtful than most thrillers. MacLeod vividly and economically portrays an all-too-plausible world in which war has spread across the Middle East and Central Asia; millions of Americans live in FEMA concentration camps due to climate change; the British Government is considering deporting all Muslims, and what’s really happening is hidden in a blizzard of disinformation and propaganda. This is politically engaged, speculative fiction at its finest, with a conclusion that’s absolutely mind-blowing.

The Court of the Air, by Stephen Hunt, is set in a multi-cultural, multi-ethnic fantasy world, teeming not just with human societies and their political set-ups, but also steammen (mystically inclined self-replicating robots), the Wildcaotyl (an evil insect swarm), biologicks (genetically engineered monsters), godlike Observers hovering overhead, and enough plot elements to fuel a dozen novels.

It’s an inventive, ambitious work, full of wonders and marvels, but it’s madly overcomplicated, with too many cardboard characters, and the author is overfond of pulling rabbits out of hats: “ ‘There is another way,’ rumbled Lord Wireburn from the tunnel floor. Count Vauxtion picked up the holy weapon. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I contain within my shell the stuff of antilife, a grain of a primordial energy superior in explosive force to a forest of blow-barrel trees. I can lower the walls of containment to this power and release my life force in a single burst.’ ” Lucky for them, perhaps, but too much of that sort of thing burst my willing suspension of disbelief.

In Bone Song, by John Meaney, life depends on death. Power to fuel the cities of the living comes from psychic energy drawn from the bones of the suffering dead. Those of creative artists contain the most force, and someone is killing opera singers to steal their

bodies. Police Lieutenant Donal Riordan means to stop them — if he lives long enough.

Meaney’s creepy, death-haunted world lingers in the mind long after the book is closed. I’m not sure a police procedural was the best use of such a compelling idea, but it’s still a smart and spooky read.

The Execution Channel Orbit, £17.99, 307pp £16.19 (free p&p) The Court of the Air Harper Voyager, £12.99, 582pp £11.69 (free p&p) Bone Song Gollancz, £10.99, 346pp £9.89 (free p&p) 0870 1608080 or buy here

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