Salvation Lost

by Peter F. Hamilton

  The end of the world. Of everything.

  She just sat there in the dusky penthouse, staring straight ahead through the balcony doors, seeing nothing. Tears came and went, drying on her cheeks. Sometimes during difficult negotiations she would take a break to process what was happening, to come to terms and design a strategy.

  There was no processing this. There never would be.

  An icon splashed into her vision, startling her. The security agent from Connexion had arrived.

  “Authorize access,” Gwendoline told the penthouse.

  Her name was Crina. Twenty-five years old, medium height and clearly very fit; she either worked out a lot or had muscle enhancements—probably both. Then there was her flattish, unremarkable face, which Gwendoline assumed was a useful trait for her line of work. Mouse-brown hair cut short. A dark gray suit, snug-fitting but somehow stretching easily to accommodate every movement.

  She introduced herself with forceful politeness. “Sorry I took so long to get here, ma’am. The London hub network is in bad shape tonight. The Greenwich office just told me to make my way straight here from home.”

  “You weren’t on duty, then?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m on provisional engagement with Connexion Security, but don’t worry, I’ve undergone the full training program. I will be able to protect you.”

  “Thank you.” There was a time, maybe two hours ago, when Gwendoline would have seethed at such an insulting downgrade in her personal protection. A trainee? A fucking trainee for a Zangari board member? Now, she frankly didn’t give a shit. Loi had done well to get her anyone.

  “I need to start by examining every room.”

  “I sent my staff home earlier; there’s only me here.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But I am required to verify that, and familiarize myself with the location layout. It’s basic procedure. We cannot afford complacency in situations such as this.”

  “Uh, right. Okay then.” Gwendoline made a sweeping gesture of invitation.

  “Thank you. Please remain here until I finish my sweep.”

  So there she stood in the vestibule, feeling silly, but also amused by Crina’s super-serious attitude. Does that make me patronizing? She’s only doing her job, and she’s new, she needs to be professional, especially in front of me.

  It took Crina fifteen minutes to satisfy herself there were no ninja assassins or bug-eyed monsters hiding under the beds or in wardrobes.

  “All clear,” she announced.

  The agent sounded so solemn and pleased with herself that Gwendoline found it hard not to laugh. “Great. I haven’t had dinner yet. What do you want? I’ll get a deliverez.”

  “I don’t need anything, thank you, ma’am.”

  “Everyone needs to eat. Even on a day like this—especially on a day like this. I’ll probably just have a lasagna and salad. Roniquos has an excellent menu and they’re only just down the road. Take a look while I get changed.” She’d only just realized she was still in her robe. Somehow blithely parading around in front of Crina like she did her ordinary staff didn’t seem right.

  “Ma’am.”

  Gwendoline retreated into her bedroom. She ignored the clothes menu Theano splashed for her, remembering what Horatio used to enjoy her wearing back in the day, when they were both young and free and life was easy. So, plain white t-shirt and a thin, brightly colored skirt, as if she were off to the beach for a day.

  She was fastening the skirt when the First Speaker of the Sol Senate made her official statement: The Olyix are invading. A large fleet of ships is heading toward Earth from the Salvation of Life and are presumed hostile. Do not be alarmed. Our city shields are active and will hold off any assault while we launch our Alpha Defense forces to counter and overcome this unprovoked aggression. If you live outside a shield, proceed to the nearest protected area, where the government will allocate you shelter. Interstellar portals have been closed temporarily. This is a preventative measure only. Together we will prevail.

  Gwendoline stood perfectly still. What fucking counter-forces?

  Theano opened her connection to the globalPAC again, and she gritted her teeth against the inevitable barrage of bad news. But for an organization plugged into the top of the solar system’s political hierarchy, the GlobalPAC was surprisingly short on concrete information. Covert attacks against the Connexion hubs and Earth’s power grid were becoming a serious problem. Seventeen city shields were already operating on reserve power, and three—Bangkok, Antananarivo, and Astana—had failed, their systems damaged by saboteurs. Solnet was suffering severe glitches that the G8Turings were struggling to eradicate. And, no, Alpha Defense didn’t have a secret navy to fight back with. No kidding.

  She went back out into the living room. Crina hadn’t moved from where she was standing, although the curtains had been closed. “I will have a margarita pizza, thank you, ma’am.”

  “Good choice.”

  Theano placed the order, adding a vegetarian lasagna for Horatio as well as a calorie-overload dark chocolate and raspberry pudding. Roniquos acknowledged, giving her a delivery slot in fifteen minutes.

  Decent enough last meal, she acknowledged bleakly. Where are you, Horatio? He really should have been here by now. She couldn’t bring herself to make a call and ask him; that would have been giving in to fear. What exactly does happen if you’re halfway through a portal and the power goes off unexpectedly? She was sure there were all sorts of multiple redundancy safety systems, that it wouldn’t guillotine you in half. Right?

  “Do you want a drink?” she asked.

  “No thank you, ma’am,” Crina replied.

  “Open invitation if tonight gets really bad,” Gwendoline said and headed into the kitchen. Theano told her which of the three fridges stocked her wines. She pulled out a bottle of vintage Krug. Her throat began to harden, moisture swelling behind her eyes, threatening to pour out—

  “Horatio Seymore is here,” Theano said.

  “Let him in.”

  “Unable to comply. Connexion security has assigned the penthouse physical access codes to Crina.”

  Gwendoline hurried back out into the main corridor with its tall archways of silent inactive portals. The vestibule at the end was sealed off behind a thick security door that had slid out of the wall. She’d forgotten the thing had ever been installed.

  Crina was already there in front of it, feet planted apart in a stock power pose. “Ma’am, I must advise you not to break the security perimeter.”

  “To hell with that. He’s my husband!”

  There was only the slightest hesitation. “Your ex-husband, I believe.”

  “He’s coming in.”

  “I need to confirm he is alone.”

  Gwendoline nearly started shouting, but just managed to stop herself in time. That anger was coming from trepidation. Crina was just doing her job.

  “Right. Do that. Then let him in.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The security door slid open, and Crina stepped through. The door closed again. Gwendoline waited, feeling slightly ridiculous.

  The door opened, and Horatio was there in the vestibule. He was practically unchanged from that first time they’d met thirty-seven years ago, which sent a little twinge of envy along her spine. She knew damn well he didn’t spend (waste, in his terms) money on cosmetic anti-aging treatments. But his firm jaw was still there, emphasizing the half smile she’d always cherished. Lustrous dark skin with its perpetual healthy sheen. The hair was shorter now, of course, and maybe just a few strands of gray amid the ebony. But those beautiful, large brown eyes were looking straight at her with unashamed adoration. If she was a teenager she’d probably sigh happily and grin coquettishly right back at him, like she always used to. As it was, they had a shared moment of bemusement at Crina’s excessive caution.

  Gwend
oline hugged him tight. “Good to see you.”

  “Glad to be here. How are you holding up?”

  “Oh…you know.”

  He grinned and kissed her. “You’re looking fabulous. I think your legs have grown even longer.”

  “Ohhh, smooth line, mister. But thanks anyway. Damn, I spend a fortune keeping in shape—and all for men. Why do we bother?”

  “Ah, see, that was the moment you were supposed to return the compliment, not remind me how rich you are.”

  She kissed him back. “You forgot, you’re talking to a self-absorbed plutocrat.”

  “Yeah, that too.”

  She sneaked a glance at Crina, who was frowning. “Come on. I just opened a plutocrats-only-priced bottle of Champagne. Force yourself to oppress the masses for tonight and have a glass with me.”

  “Temptress.”

  “Ha, right. I always had to tempt you into my bedroom. You put up such a fight—”

  They walked back into the living room, his arm around her waist. And it fits there so perfectly.

  He picked up the Krug and read the label. “An ’85. Sweet.”

  “You’re an oenophile now? You? Truly the end of days.”

  “No. I just remember, that’s all: Bordeaux.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She knew a faint blush was coloring her cheeks. “That week.”

  “Indeed.”

  Gwendoline poured them each a glass and sat next to him on the settee, legs tucked up so she could lean in close. Easy. “I really am glad you’re here,” she said.

  “I only came because I figured being with you was as physically safe as I could possibly get tonight. And I was right: nothing gonna get past Crina.”

  She laughed. “Still the eternal charmer.”

  “It’s going to be bad, isn’t it? I would have been here earlier, but some of the metrohubs were out.”

  “I heard.”

  “People are still in shock, so there wasn’t any trouble. Just a load of tutting and politely queuing for the hubs that are still open. We’re still British, after all.”

  “There are Olyix ships on the way. Warships of some type, my contacts think.”

  “How many?”

  She paused, letting Theano splash the data she really didn’t want. “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “Over fifteen hundred of the large ones so far, and still coming through.”

  “Large ones? There’re more than one type?”

  “Yes. There were a lot of small ones earlier, which now seem to be heading outsystem under high acceleration. The tactical analysis teams aren’t sure what they are. The majority view is that they’re some kind of missile. The larger ones, which Alpha Defense are calling Deliverance ships—and no, I don’t know why—are split into two groups. Some are on vectors out to habitats, while the bulk of them are heading straight for Earth. If their acceleration holds constant, and they flip at halfway to decelerate, they’ll be here in about a week.”

  She saw his hand trembling slightly as he put down the Champagne glass.

  “A week? Are you sure?”

  “Mainlined straight from Alpha Defense,” she told him.

  “Will the city shields hold?”

  “Nobody knows, because nobody knows what they’re going to hit them with. And even if they do hold…Then what?”

  “There must be some kind of plan. I know governments; they spend billions on consultants churning out contingency planning.”

  “Actually, there is one. But…”

  “Let me guess. It’s not for everyone.”

  Gwendoline bowed her head, hating that he was judging again. Because there was certainly no shame. No. None. “Connexion security are evaluating an evacuation of the Zangari family to one of our private habitats.”

  “You just said those Deliverance ships are also heading for the asteroid habitats.”

  “This is Nashua they’re considering. In the Puppis system, forty-one light-years away. And once we get there—”

  “You can switch off the portals behind you.”

  “We,” she said firmly. “When we get there.”

  “Oh, you’re opening it to everyone, are you?”

  “You’re my husband!”

  “Ex.”

  “And Loi’s father.”

  “Yeah,” he whispered.

  “Nashua makes sense. It’s a long way away, and it’s orbiting Malamalama, which is being terraformed.” She smiled fondly at the memory. “I visited when I was prepping for my current deal. Puppis has an exceptionally dense asteroid belt, and Malamalama is one of the shepherd worlds. The night sky is alive with zodiacal light, and it’s so much brighter than the Milky Way. It’s genuinely beautiful, Horatio. When the terraforming is complete, it’ll be the most amazing— Aww, crap. It’ll never be terraformed now, will it?”

  “I don’t know. We don’t know what the Olyix are doing. If it was just genocide they wanted, they wouldn’t be sending this fleet of ships. They would have done it when the Salvation of Life arrived—a fast, clean strike without any warning. Not this. I don’t understand what they’re doing.”

  “It’s connected with their religion, somehow. They want to take us with them to the end of time.”

  “That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. How are they going to do that?”

  “Change us so we hibernate, apparently. I don’t have a lot of details right now.”

  “Hibernate until the end of time? Someone’s been lying to you big time.”

  “Yeah.” Gwendoline pouted and finished her Champagne in one smooth movement. “Where the hell is dinner?”

  “What?”

  “I ordered dinner. It’s not here.” Theano immediately queried the restaurant, and got an Order Delayed reply.

  Horatio started laughing. “Oh, no. How tragic.”

  “Hey!”

  “Jesus, Gwendoline, how high is that Olympus you’re sitting on? People have just been told there’s a hostile alien fleet coming to wipe them out. The city shields are on, to reinforce how real that is. Right now everyone is frightened and panicking. They’re just like you and me, they want to be with their families tonight. Nobody’s going to be cooking your meals for you. Maybe never again.”

  “But the restaurant said they’d deliver.” Even as she said it, she was ashamed how much she sounded like a spoiled bitch.

  “Sure, its little old G5Turing promised you. I bet it even meant it from the bottom of its machine heart. But all it actually does is issue the request to the chefs and arrange a deliverez. If there are no chefs, there is no meal. There are humans in the loop; without them, the loop doesn’t work. And humans are suffering badly tonight.”

  “All right.” Gwendoline pushed her head back on the settee’s cushions. “Have your moment of superiority. This is a lot for me to get a hold of. I’m not stupid; I just haven’t thought things through yet. It’s not like I don’t care. I do. Especially about Loi. And you.”

  He reached out and stroked her cheek. “I made the list.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Sorry. Tonight is messing with my head just as much as yours. Let me be the big, strong man of legend. I’ll cook you a decent dinner. All right?”

  “Thank you.”

  “To back that up: What ingredients have you got in the kitchen?”

  She sucked on her lower lip as she tried to give him a shamed expression. Didn’t work; she couldn’t help smirking. “I don’t know. Whatever the staff order in for me?”

  His wide smile returned as bright as it ever had been while he rolled his eyes. “You are hopeless.”

  “Look, if you need a billion-wattdollar deal, I’m your woman.”

  “We’ll get on that first thing tomorrow. Right now, let’s go see what there is. And no! Don’t access your
altme. We’ll actually open the fridge door manually, and look. With our eyes.”

  She couldn’t help it. “Which of the fridges?”

  He chased her into the kitchen, both of them laughing, just like the way it use to be back when they spent long, glorious nights in his tiny flat on Eleanor Road. And for ten minutes as they piled ingredients and utensils up on the big island’s marble surface it was just them, and the alien apocalypse was banished to wait outside the penthouse.

  “Salmon risotto with asparagus,” he announced as he started chopping the onion. “These are all organic, right?”

  “I’m insulted you ask. The penthouse Turing would probably crash and weep if a bagez tried bringing printed food over the threshold.”

  “Yeah? Well, start crushing the natural garlic—two cloves. You remember how to do that, don’t you?”

  She poured more of the Krug for both of them. “Somehow I will muddle through.”

  “So when would the evacuation happen?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. You’re not going to go all principled on me and stay behind, are you?”

  He paused, holding the knife above the onion segments. “What about the people who do get left here?”

  She reviewed the Alpha Defense splash. “There are over eighteen hundred Deliverance ships on their way now. The Olyix aren’t fucking about, Horatio. They’re coming for us big time. I know you don’t have a lot of faith in governments and institutions—”

  “It’s not governments I have an issue with—or not the concept of democratic government, anyway. But all we have now is rule by rich people, the ones who keep ninety percent of the world in relative poverty so their unbalanced market can continue paying for a lifestyle of total excess.”

  “Does that include me?” she asked in exasperation. So many times. This argument had come to dominate their lives until it split them apart.

  “No.”

  “Really? I’m one of your hated ten percent.”

  “Nobody hates you.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you go and be a Utopial if you despise Universal culture so much?”

  “You.” His voice was so faint she could barely hear it.