Salvation Lost

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Back inside the kitchen, Horatio started to break eggs into a big copper-bottomed pan, while Gwendoline dropped a fresh dough brick into the panoforno.

  “Twenty minutes,” she told him. “It’s a branary, so it’ll make good toast.”

  “Great.” He held up a liter bottle from the fridge. “Does this milk actually come from a cow?”

  “Yep. Gold label certified.”

  “I’m not going to ask how much it costs.”

  “Well, enjoy it now, because I doubt you’ll ever taste it again. They don’t have cattle on Nashua, not even a dairy herd. All the food is printed there.”

  “Any news on that?”

  She shook her head. “Not a timescale, but the Zangari council is definitely prepping for a full family withdrawal. They’ve already drafted in a couple of thousand extra technicians to get the place ready.”

  “Huh? It’s a habitat. It’s either ready to live in or it’s not.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, have you met my family? There’s a difference between you grabbing a sofa bed in a friend’s flat for a week and my great aunts taking up residence. And the great aunts aren’t even our high-maintenance arseholes.”

  “Well, thank you for that image.”

  “Okay, so I’m being unfair to my airhead relatives, but if Nashua is going to be a successful secure refuge, we are going to need some stellar intellects and the best engineers in the terraformed worlds. Apparently the council is discussing transforming Nashua into an arkship. The current thinking goes that we will be leaving this section of the galaxy behind for good. It’s the only way to be truly safe.”

  “An arkship? You’re shitting me. Like the Salvation of Life?”

  Her laugh was bitter. “So not like the Salvation of Life.”

  “My God, you’re serious, aren’t you? That means…We’re really going to lose.”

  “Surviving is winning.”

  “But who gets to survive?”

  “No, I know you. What you’re asking is: Who gets to make the choice? Who hands out tickets for the lifeboats?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I have my ticket to hand out. And I’m handing it to you.”

  “There are billions of people on this planet. We can’t abandon them to…what? The Deliverance ships are on their way, and we’ve got nothing that can stop them. Those explosions were bright enough to be seen from beyond Neptune’s orbit. What happens when they start shooting those warheads at the city shields? We’re going to be wiped out.”

  “No. They won’t use nukes against the shields—and certainly not the size they used against Kayli. Anything that can puncture a city shield will kill everything underneath when it falls. I told you, they don’t want to kill us. They want to elevate us, to take us to their God.”

  “Really? Just how sure are you about that?”

  “Very. I have contacts, remember. And not just the family.”

  “How do they know? How can anyone possibly know what the Olyix want?”

  “I don’t know. Even I don’t have that kind of clearance. But trust me; Ainsley III would not be drawing up these procedures unless he was a hundred and one percent certain. The family council is talking about abandoning everything my grandfather has built. Do you understand? There will be no more Connexion, no more plutocrat wealth. It’s all gone. They’re going to leave it behind because that’s the price of staying alive. And if that’s how the Zangaris are thinking, you’d better believe they’re not acting on a whim.”

  “So ask them how they know.”

  “I will. But don’t go snarling at me if they won’t tell me. I’m not that important.”

  He came over and put his arms around her and anointed her brow with a kiss. “You are to me.”

  Gwendoline leaned into him, grateful for the simple comfort. And it only took the end of the world for this to happen. “There is one thing I do know,” she said gloomily. “Something the Sol Senate hasn’t released yet. And I have to ask you about it. It’s important.”

  “Oh, this doesn’t sound good. And we’re already in the middle of Armageddon.”

  “The Beta Eridani expedition found something bad, but the family council let me access the files.”

  “Hell, how bad?”

  “Just listen. The Olyix want us for our minds. Our souls are some kind of offering to their God at the End of Time.”

  “They are seriously fucked up.”

  “But that’s all they want. They don’t need our bodies, so they put us into some kind of suspension to keep our brains alive until the end of time.”

  “You are kidding me. Really. Badly. Kidding me.”

  “No.” She sent his altme an image Yuri Alster had taken in the crashed Olyix ship at Beta Eridani, showing one of the human bodies they’d found. Or what was left of it.

  Horatio sat down hard on a stool, one hand gripping the marble breakfast bar. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “Where are the legs? And the arms?”

  “Not needed. All they want is to keep the brain alive. Limbs, bones, reproductive organs—none of that is necessary. So they remove the extraneous body parts and cocoon what’s left in a biological life-support unit grown out of Kcells.”

  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Horatio, according to our information, this is why the Olyix gave us Kcells. Not as a medical benefit. They’re part of this, part of the invasion. All those Kcell implants we’ve been using can transform themselves and grow like the devil’s own tumors. They will eat you from within, and cocoon you with the new growth, all neatly packaged for the Deliverance ships.” She placed her hands on either side of his face and forced him to look at her. “So you need to tell me—really, really need to tell me—have you had any Kcell treatments? Even the smallest kind?”

  “No, I haven’t. But I’ve got friends who…Shit! Kcell treatments are cheap, much cheaper than cloned body parts.”

  “Of course they are. And now we know why.”

  “They’re monsters, aren’t they? Even Ainsley wasn’t paranoid enough.”

  “Yes, which is pretty unnerving in itself. So now you know, if we want to survive this, we have to be extreme. Those fine principles of yours could get you…well, not killed. Much worse.”

  “Yeah. I get it. I do.”

  “So tell me once again, my darling: Do you have any Kcell implants? If so, there are surgical teams that can deal with it. They’ve been busy the last few hours, but I can get you onto an operating table fast.”

  “No. I promise you, I don’t have any Kcell implants.”

  “Huh. Maybe there is a human God.”

  “Then She’s not doing a very good job, is She?”

  “Not right now, no.”

  “So when do we go to Nashua?”

  “When Loi confirms he’s there. Because that habitat is going to be a lobster pot.”

  “A what?”

  “Before we started printing our food, they used to catch lobsters in wicker pots. The poor things could get in but not out. Once we’re in Nashua, there’s no way security will ever let us get back out again.”

  “Naah, you can fix that. You can fix anything. I have faith in you.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I like to think I’m important. With all my high-level clearance and seat on the finance board, I had a lot of clout in the company. But none of that is worth shit today. There is no Connexion anymore. The only way we got those tickets off Earth is because my grandfather is Ainsley Zangari.”

  “Extreme measures, huh?”

  “Extreme measures,” she agreed.

  The panoforno pinged. Gwendoline opened the door and sniffed the warm air that came out. “Damn, that smells good.”

  “It does. Cut some slices to toast; I’ll scramble the eggs.”

 
“You’re going to let me use a bread knife? They’re very sharp.”

  “You did say there are teams of surgeons on standby for Zangaris.”

  She smiled weakly. “Yeah.”

  “The government needs to warn people about Kcells.”

  “The government wants to avoid mass hysteria.”

  “But if people grow alien tumors that cocoon them, it’s going to be bleeding obvious soon enough.”

  “Yes, but the government has to avoid panic.”

  “If the government doesn’t tell people, then you’re going to have a lot worse than just panic. Government is based on trust. If that goes, then you’ll have anarchy.”

  “I thought you didn’t trust government.”

  “I trust the idea of government. The people who are in it right now? Not so much. But that’s all we’ve got left.”

  “True. You know that right now this discussion’s going on where it actually matters?”

  “I certainly hope so.” He held up the pan in satisfaction. “Done.”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “The eggs are not done. You didn’t whisk them for long enough. The more you whisk them the more air you get in the mix, the lighter the texture. Nobody wants heavy scrambled eggs.”

  “Since when did you become a cookery expert?”

  “Gourmet kitchen course. Three years ago. God, it was boring—but useful.”

  “Okay, then.” He started whisking again.

  “Don’t overdo it. I want scrambled eggs, not a meringue.”

  “Bloody hell, I thought divorce mellowed people!”

  She dipped her finger into the mix and gave it a saucy lick. “That’ll do.”

  “Do not try to tell me that’s how your gourmet course told you to test eggs…”

  She was about to tease him further when Loi’s icon splashed up. “Sweetheart, where are you? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Mum. Stop worrying.”

  “Okay, so tell me where you are.”

  “I’m still with my boss, so I’m in one of the most secure rooms on the planet.”

  “Okay. That’s good, sweetheart. But you will be careful, won’t you?”

  “Mum, for God’s sake!”

  “All right. Your father’s here with me.”

  “Oh…good. You can both travel together. That’ll work out best.”

  “What’s happening with Nashua?”

  “It’s going ahead. They’re going to open it to senior family first, that should be in a couple of days. You need to be ready. Most of the interstellar hub network is shut down, so we’re working out permissible routes.”

  “What about you? When are you coming?”

  “I’ll be there, don’t worry. I’m helping with evacuating the Sol habitats. We’re trying to get people out before the Deliverance ships reach them. Some of the terraformed worlds are kicking up about the cultures that are coming through.”

  “What do you mean? Race?”

  “Not so much, though that’s playing a part. There are a lot of fairly radical societies living in the Sol habitats, some of them very liberal, some definitely not. Then on top of that, you’ve got the orthodox religious ones. And the Olyix and their God at the End of Time have given religion a high disapproval rating right now. The parts of the allcomments that’re still working are turning nasty. Solnet is glitched to hell from all the sabotage that hit it last night.”

  “You’re not a politician, Loi. Answer the question. When are you going to Nashua?”

  “Mum, I honestly don’t know, okay? I’m doing critical work here.”

  “When you know, you tell us immediately. Then we’ll join you.”

  “Look, I get you’re concerned for me, and I appreciate that. But I’m also concerned for you.”

  “What are you implying?”

  “I’m implying nothing. I’m telling you: The Sol Senate Security Forum is in session right now. They’ve agreed to declare martial law and enforce curfews in all Earth’s cities. It’ll begin in a few hours.”

  “Crap!”

  “Callum’s done excellent work figuring out that flamethrower defense for the MHD asteroids, but it’s only going to be temporary. They’ll come back with bigger missiles or battleships or something and hit them even harder. There’s going to be…I was going to say power shortages, but it’ll be more like no power at all for civilian use. So there’ll be rationing, too.”

  “Rationing what?”

  “Everything. The G8Turings are formatting allocation schedules, but the primary item will be printed food ingredients, and the power to work food printers. There’s even talk of setting up communal kitchens—bring your ingredients and have them cooked. It’ll be a lot less drain on power than five billion individual kitchens.”

  Gwendoline gave her own gleaming kitchen, with its exceptionally high gadget count, a guilty examination. “All right, that makes a kind of sense. But, Loi, why?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why bother? As soon as the Deliverance ships arrive, it’s game over, isn’t it?”

  “We’re not giving up, Mum. There’re some people working on this—smart, powerful people who know things we don’t. They’re drawing up plans to fight these Olyix bastards. Crazy plans. Plans that probably don’t stand a chance in hell of working. But that’s better than nothing, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “It all depends on if the Deliverance ships can break the city shields without killing everyone underneath. If they can’t, if the cities are secure, then that opens up a whole stream of possibilities.”

  “Loi, you’re not thinking of being some kind of resistance fighter, are you?”

  “No, Mum. But please, I need you to be ready to go when I tell you.”

  “I will be. I can pack light. Or even not at all. As long as I’ve got you and your father, I have everything I need.”

  “Light is good. Martial law means getting around London—specifically, you getting to a secure Connexion facility—might be difficult by the time Nashua is ready. We’re down to ten active centers in London now.”

  “Don’t worry about us. Crina is turning out to be very good at her job. She’ll help get us where we need to go, I’m sure.”

  “I’d like to avoid any possibility of trouble, okay? I’ll get you and Dad some skycabez.”

  “Loi, I hate those. They’re not safe. The gangs shot one down in Peckham last month.”

  “All right. Let me think about it. Connexion has paramilitary departments, and some of them have armored ground vehicles that look just like ordinary taxez.”

  “All right. But you mustn’t worry about us. You have a job to do. An important one. Do that, and do it well.”

  “Thanks, Mum. Now you and Dad get ready to leave. I’ll call you with details.”

  “I’m proud of you, Loi. We both are.”

  “Love you, Mum.”

  The call ended, and she wiped some foolish moisture from her eyes. Then she took Horatio’s hands in hers. “There’s hope,” she told him. “Hope for Earth. It’s small, and it might not last long once those wretched Deliverance ships arrive, but right now it exists. And our son is part of it.”

  The main power had gone off sometime during the night, so the house had reverted to its battery reserve. That only supplied power to what the domestic G5Turing had listed as essentials—which didn’t include the lounge’s Bang & Olufsen stage. Ollie and Adnan had to tweak the list, dropping a whole load of crap like Claudette’s kitchen and bathroom appliances, along with the automatic mist watering system for the orchids in the garden room. That woman had a seriously screwed sense of priorities, he decided. But now they could power the quality stage for about a week of nonstop viewing. Ollie really didn’t want to be stuck in the house for a whole
week. Something about the place creeped him out—probably the decor, or maybe what was going on upstairs.

  There was only one way to cope with it all; so while Adnan finalized the reserve power priority list, Ollie carefully opened their remaining pads of zero-nark and cut it down still further. Now they could take it constantly, keeping themselves blissed out on a level high for several days. With their prime viewing seats guaranteed, and the impact of the invasion smoothed out, he and Adnan settled back down to watch the end of the world in spectacular high-def and vivid color.

  The asteroid battles they lifted from the lownet were amazing, filling the darkened room with bursts of intense light, overlaid with graphics. They whooped and cheered when the alien missiles were burned by plasma jets hosing across space, and booed when the bad guys coordinated their warheads and slipped one through. Ollie quite enjoyed the show, and it was about the only thing that helped take his mind off the relentless police hunt going on outside.

  They’d gone out into the garden with its high walls and perfectly pruned bushes and sickly sweet rose scents, looking up into the shield-smeared morning sky, watching the slim MHD constellation. The flashes as the plasma jets went wild fending off missiles were awesome for the first few times, then they got bored and went back inside, closing the curtains again so the stage projections were undiluted by sunlight. Ollie went to check on Lars in the garden room. The big man was just starting to stir as the sedatives wore off, so Ollie made him sit up and drink some soup, which was actually the remaining bacon sandwiches that Adnan had chucked into the blender and added milk to. Lars was too doped out to notice. But then he was still coughing specks of blood between swallows—though not as much as before, which Ollie took as a good sign.

  “What’s happening now?” Lars asked hoarsely after he finished the gross liquid.

  “The Olyix are coming,” Adnan said and handed Lars a pint glass of filtered water. “But it looks like Alpha Defense are fighting them off.”