The Saints of Salvation

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Yirella chuckled. “Think of this as our first act of rebellion against Kenelm’s authority.”

  * * *

  —

  The advisory council was smaller now. Back to a manageable number, Yirella thought as she and Dellian sat down next to each other. He was wearing his uniform as he always did, but that was Dellian for you: He possessed an old-fashioned dignity that didn’t really have a place in this era. But she loved him for it.

  Kenelm took hir place at the table. “My gratitude to Cinrea for managing this incident so capably. I’d say thank you all for coming, but as none of us had a choice…We’ll start with the Mian’s drive, please.”

  “The problem has been resolved,” Wim said. “We’ve manufactured replacement components, and they are functioning normally.”

  “That’s it?” Kenelm’s tone was surprised.

  “I hate the phrase,” Wim admitted, “but it looks like this situation was a one-off. We’ve run a complete review on every propulsion system in the fleet. All the units were fabricated to the correct specification.”

  “I don’t understand how a batch of bad components got past our performance and quality examination routines,” Tilliana said. “Were you running those same procedures when you checked the fleet?”

  Yirella managed to keep a straight face, which was more than Wim did. Sie directed a furious glare at Tilliana. “Give me some credit. The analyses we’ve spent the last six weeks running were completely new. Even the hardware we used was different than before. The fleet can accelerate back up to relativistic velocity without having to worry about any more component failure.”

  “So now we have to decide our destination,” Kenelm said. “Do we—”

  “I’m sorry, captain,” Tilliana persisted. “But if it happened for one component, it can happen for others.”

  “You’re not seriously suggesting we run analysis on every component in the fleet?”

  “No,” Tilliana said. “But it’s the coincidence that bothers me. Here we are at rest velocity, and—Saints!—we pick up a Signal. How about that for amazing?”

  “What do you mean, coincidence?” Cinrea asked. “Are you saying the component failure was deliberate? That somebody wanted us to be stationary to receive the Signal?”

  Yirella gave Tilliana a surprised glance. And I thought I was the queen of conspiracies! She couldn’t decide how strongly she should intervene to refute her friend’s suggestion. Because I certainly didn’t know about the Signal.

  “We only received it because we’re stationary,” Tilliana said. “Our sensors would have trouble picking up a Signal when we’re traveling just under light speed, but it wasn’t an issue when we began this flight because we’re no longer even looking for a Signal anymore. We know the location of the Olyix enclave now, and if the Saints did send their Signal, it won’t reach us for tens of thousands of years. So, coincidence?”

  “Yes,” Kenelm said. “Because to sabotage our flight at the right time and place, you’d have to know there was going to be a Signal to intercept.”

  “More than that,” Yirella said, looking directly at Tilliana and hoping there was no guilt showing. “The Signal is irrelevant—especially to us.”

  “What?” Tilliana spluttered.

  “It contains the Olyix enclave coordinates, right?”

  “Yes,” Cinrea said.

  “Well, we already know the location, so we don’t need to investigate the Signal’s origin. QED, it’s irrelevant.”

  “All right,” Kenelm said. “I’ll reserve judgment on that for now. What else do we know about the Signal?”

  “The K-class star it originates from is seventeen light-years away,” Cinrea said. “As soon as we detected it, I sent the Urquy and Konvo an AU out from the main fleet to give us a decent baseline measurement. Analysis revealed the transmitter is a massive spherical array; we estimate its diameter at ten thousand kilometers. So its broadcast is omnidirectional. They’re beaming it out across the whole galaxy. Its strength is phenomenal—strong enough to reach the fringe of the galactic core from here.”

  “How are they powering that?”

  Cinrea smiled. The screen at the end of the table came on, showing a fuzzy image of a star with a halo of smaller stars. “That’s the best visual image we could manage with our current sensor array. We estimate there are at least four thousand solarwell MDH chambers in operation.”

  “Human technology,” Wim said happily.

  “Pre-invasion human technology,” Cinrea corrected. “We haven’t used solarwells since the exodus started.”

  “They’re quick and easy,” Yirella said. “Exactly what you’d need to power a continuous Signal. You don’t need elegance here. The Olyix know their ambush ships were beaten at that star, and what we’d do when we find their enclave location. They’ll be heading back there right now from their sensor station, probably with a whole fleet of Resolution ships. Which means you need to get the Signal out fast. It’s how I’d do it.”

  “What about the Signal itself?” Kenelm asked.

  “Short, but broadcast in one hundred human languages. Its message is very simple. The location of the Olyix enclave, triangulated by pulsar, and a warning.”

  “Which is?” Dellian asked quickly.

  Cinrea flicked a finger at the screen, and text rolled down.

  This is the warship Lolo Maude, with a message for all surviving humans still fleeing our stolen Earth. A lure was established at this star system to attract the Olyix here. When they arrived, I assisted the Strike mission to defeat them. Be aware that the Olyix know about our generation worlds, and they have plotted the course of our expansion into the galaxy. They know our Strike ships create lures. Their weapons technology has now advanced past anything our original Neána allies gave us. They have ambushed countless human ships and societies during the last two thousand years. Please consider this stage of our exodus to be over. Do not engage their ships; it has become too dangerous. Find a new strategy. I wish anyone who receives this message well in your endeavor, and trust that one day we will join together again on all the worlds we have lost. Go in peace, and remember that our love is always stronger than their hatred.

  “That’s it,” Cinrea said. “Constant repeat, no variation.”

  Tilliana closed her eyes. “It’s an Olyix lure,” she said.

  “How so?” Kenelm said.

  “They know everything about us: the generation worlds, Strikes, lures. All of it. They know what we’re supposed to do after we receive a Signal.”

  “Oh, Saints,” Dellian said in alarm. “Once we receive a Signal, we’re expected to travel direct to the nearest neutron star.”

  “You think they’re waiting there for us?” Cinrea asked.

  “High probability,” Tilliana said.

  “No,” Yirella said as she recovered from the shock of the message. “It’s genuine.”

  “Okay,” Kenelm said wearily. “How so?”

  “Two reasons. The logical one: This is a high-power signal, and becoming stronger, right?”

  “Yes,” Cinrea confirmed.

  “There is no conceivable scenario in which the Olyix would broadcast their enclave location—not in a transmission that will ultimately be detectable clean across the galaxy. Any aliens who pick it up won’t be able to translate our written languages because they have no linguistic or symbology references. However, the pulsar map is math-based, so it’s relatively easy to determine. The Neána will understand that. The Katos, too. Maybe it will even make the Angelis war fleet turn around and head for the enclave. If you’re a species that’s suffered and fled from an Olyix invasion, the one thing you don’t have is the enclave location. Because once you have that, defeating the Olyix becomes theoretically possible. So no, that Signal is not an Olyix lure. It’s real.”

  “Okay,” Tilliana
said cautiously. “And the second reason?”

  “Lolo Maude is sort of my ancestor.”

  “What?”

  She would have laughed at everyone’s reaction if it hadn’t been so damn tragic. “I traced my genetic ancestry when I was undergoing…treatment back on Juloss.” She glanced at Alexandre, who gave a discreet nod. “It goes all the way back to someone called Bik Heslop. His claim to fame—the only reason he was in our records—was because he was the first human ever to successfully undergo de-cocooning.”

  “So who is Lolo?” Dellian asked.

  “Sie was the partner of Bik’s brother, Ollie Heslop, who— Well, he died in London to help the Saints get on board the Salvation of Life. Both Lolo and Bik left Earth for Akitha.”

  “How does that prove Lolo’s message is real?”

  “Proof is an absolute we can never establish in this case, but it’s another byte of data that adds to the authenticity. Lolo and Bik’s extended family was on the Pasobla; that’s the same exodus habitat that took Emilja and Ainsley from Akitha when the Olyix finally returned to the human worlds. So Lolo must have been on the same generation ship as Ainsley when it left Falkon. Sie was at the Factory. Sie became one of their warships, just like Ainsley.”

  “We never knew before if there were more Factory ships than just Ainsley,” Alexandre said. “So now we do. You’re right, it does add to the authenticity.”

  Yirella gave him a small nod of gratitude. “You also need to consider how close the Lolo and Ainsley ships were located on a galactic scale,” Yirella said. “It can’t be coincidence. This whole part of space is the front of the human expansion wavefront. Everything is concentrated here.”

  “All right,” Tilliana said. “So the Lolo Maude is a genuine Factory warship, and it took out an Olyix ambush. The Olyix response to that is still going to be automatic; while we sit here, they’re on their way back to that star in considerable force. When they get there, they’ll destroy that transmitter globe as fast as they can. And once they realize what’s been broadcast, they’ll set up an ambush at every neutron star along the expansion wavefront. Like you said, this is where human activity is concentrated—if anyone else is left. The Olyix will be waiting for all the remaining Strike missions.”

  “Exactly,” Yirella said. “But they haven’t gotten the message yet. It’s too early. So we have to continue our flight to the neutron star. We have the advantage now.”

  Kenelm glanced at Wim, then Cinrea. “Are we ready to resume our flight?”

  Wim nodded. “Yes, captain. A year decelerating to here, then another year accelerating back up to relativistic velocity means that we’ll arrive later than we were supposed to, but I’m confident there should be no more problems with our drive systems.”

  “But where’s the other Strike mission now?” Ovan blurted.

  “Excuse me?” Cinrea asked.

  “Lolo Maude didn’t build a lure. We know Factory ships just wait in some kind of reduced state for the Olyix. It was a Strike mission, just like the Morgan. Whatever humans were at that star bioformed its planet. So, right now, if they’re following protocol—”

  “Saints, yes!” Dellian said in excitement. “They’ll be heading straight for the same neutron star as us.”

  “All the surviving Strike ships will be,” Tilliana said. “As soon as they detect the Signal, they’ll fly there—and every Factory ship as well. Hell, if there are any left, we might even get some generation ships changing course and joining us.”

  “We won’t be alone anymore!”

  Yirella hadn’t seen Del as jazzed up as this since they detected the Olyix ship approaching Vayan. This was almost the old Dellian. She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Not necessarily,” she said apologetically. “Lolo’s Signal was very clear; humans have to develop a new strategy now that the Olyix know everything. That implies the neutron star will be the last place any human will be going.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “We can’t speculate on how others will interpret the warning,” Kenelm said. “Perhaps they will all stay away, or perhaps they will send an exploratory mission. However, I’m in agreement with Yirella that—although it is admittedly momentous news—Lolo’s Signal does not alter our objective. Therefore, we will resume our flight to the neutron star. Tilliana?”

  “Yes, captain?”

  “Liaise with Wim, please. I want a tactical scenario drawn up for our deceleration phase at the neutron star. We will not be caught out and ambushed again.”

  KRUSE STATION

  S-DAY, DECEMBER 11, 2206

  There were eight principal coordinator seats in the Kruse Station’s Strikeback Command Center, their solid frames almost lost amid the bright geode stalactite holograms that spiked out from the chamber’s smooth walls and ceiling to fill the air. Adjutant-General David Johnstone acknowledged his staff as he came in, then sat in his own seat at the back, giving him a perfect view of more data than any human could absorb. Another sheet of holographic displays curved around him as he took off his wire-rimmed glasses and tucked them into his jacket pocket.

  “Are we ready?” he asked.

  The eight coordinators he’d brought with him from Alpha Defense, immersed in their own digitized nest of laserlight, acknowledged him one by one.

  “Once more unto the breach, dear friends,” Johnstone said softly. “But when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger.” He paused for a moment, eyes shut as he drew a breath, then told his altme to open a feed to the G8Turing that would be directing the Strike. Immediately the graphic dendrites in his displays burst into digital leaf as data surged in. Training allowed him to keep calm when what he wanted was to be anywhere else. Besides, who else could he entrust this job to? But the flood of fresh real-time information did reinforce the suspicion that it was too much. The reality was that he’d be playing a very small part in the attack, a janitor shuffling around the feet of the G8Turings.

  A tiny purple icon flashed somewhere above him and interfaced with his tarsus lenses, allowing him to access the symbol. “Let them in,” he told the command center, with only a small hint of resentment.

  The door behind him opened. Emilja Jurich and Ainsley Zangari walked in. For once, neither of them had their aides with them. As always, Emilja looked imperious and dignified in a high-collared black silk dress, while Ainsley had shrugged into a navy-and-burgundy college varsity jacket as if he were on his way to a frat party. Johnstone managed not to frown at the sight of him; Ainsley had been absent from Council meetings for months. There were rumors…

  “Don’t worry, general.” Ainsley chuckled. “We’re not going to interfere. We’re here to observe. This is history.”

  “And provide you with some moral support,” Emilja added. “Some of the decisions that led to today are ethically questionable—and that’s just from Ainsley’s point of view.”

  “Fuck you! I was right about those Olyix shits all along.”

  “I believe you may have mentioned that occasionally.”

  “I appreciate the political support you’ve given me over the last couple of years,” Johnstone said neutrally. “The Sol Senate doesn’t exactly share your opinion.”

  “Bunch of fucking politicians,” Ainsley growled. “They’re the ones who didn’t give you the weapons we needed to defend Earth, then they blame you. Assholes. We should have dumped the lot of them in Leipzig. Show them how hard reality can bite.”

  Emilja smiled coldly. “Are we ready, general?”

  “Yes. If it doesn’t work today, then it never would have.” He ran a fast gestalt review, checking the positions of the Olyix ships in the Sol system; the stealthed expansion portals around Earth; the status of the massed warships at Delta Pavonis, Puppis, Eta Cassiopeiae, 82 Eridani, and Trappist 1; the Knockdown team— “How’s it going?”

  “We’re r
eady, sir,” Loi replied. “Everything is in position, and sensor coverage is excellent.”

  “Good. Stand by.” And finally: “Avenging Heretic, we are go for Strikeback.”

  “Roger that, general,” Yuri replied. “We’re ready.”

  “Godspeed, Avenging Heretic. See you on the far side of eternity.” Johnstone consulted the dense panorama of data. The G8Turing splashed up suitable opening moves. He studied them for a long moment. A squadron of three hundred Olyix midlevel transport ships was curving down out of their thousand-kilometer orbit, the lead vessel heading for the glowing blemish that was London—still defiantly existing. He gave them a vindictive smile. “Not that easy, motherfuckers.” A series of stealthed portals splashed across his vision, eager amber stars high above the Atlantic Ocean. “Initiate phase one.”

  * * *

  —

  Three thousand kilometers above Earth, in the center of the inner Van Allen radiation belt where the concentration of hazardous electrons and protons was at their greatest, forty expansion portals opened to their full eighty-meter diameter. The ships that came through had been built in the vast industrial facilities orbiting Nanjing, the third Trappist 1 world to be settled by China. As soon as the invasion began, all those facilities that had been involved in the terraforming venture were reconfigured to build habitats for the exodus, and the new Yi Xian class of attack cruisers.

  Designed mainly as weapons platforms, the cruisers were basic dodecahedrons sixty meters in diameter, accelerated by a trio of fusion rockets. Their protection came from close defense shields that wrapped the carbotanium fuselage in a five-meter-deep cloak of nitrogen, locked into a density gradient by bonding generators, like a cross section of a gas giant’s atmosphere—with a gaseous outer layer that quickly thickened into a shell of unnatural solidity and toughness. The simplicity and modularity of the design allowed for mass production. By the time S-Day arrived, Trappist 1 had produced more than eight and a half thousand.