Salvation Lost

by Peter F. Hamilton

  “What about the police?”

  “Don’t sweat it. They don’t know where we are.”

  “I’m going to kill them.” Lars gulped down the water as if he’d spent days in a desert. When he handed the glass back a small drop of diluted blood trickled out of his mouth. “Let them come. I’ll take those fuckers down to hell with me.”

  “I know.” Ollie patted the man’s shoulder, feeling the weirdly oversized muscles rippling like serpents under his filthy t-shirt as he pressed in the right place. “But there’s a way out of this.”

  “Don’t want a way out.”

  “Jade’s working on it.”

  “Fuck Jade.”

  “Lars, mate, listen—”

  “No. Those bastards killed my friends. They broke the Legion. You’re my brothers; you’re family to me. I mean it.” A tear started to run down his cheek, heading for the blood.

  “You’re the greatest, Lars,” Ollie said. “You just rest there and get better for us, okay?” He had to fight the urge to smack the stupid oaf. Instead he stood there above the settee watching sleep reclaim Lars. When the big man was wheezing away, he held his hand up to Adnan to show him the sedative pad he’d used.

  “Cool,” Adnan said approvingly. Then he frowned, and sniffed, leaning forward over Lars’s legs. “He’s pissed himself.” He laughed. “You should have let him use the loo before you whacked him with the sed. He drank all that water.”

  “Gotta keep giving him fluid, he’s lost a lot of blood.” Ollie couldn’t stop giggling as he watched the dark stain spreading out from Lars’s crotch. “Oh, crap, he’ll kill us when he wakes up.”

  They staggered back into the lounge and collapsed back on the settee in front of the stage. Adaptive foam cushions flowed around them like soft, welcoming flesh.

  As Adnan accessed the lownet feeds of the conflict in space, familiar sounds drifted in from the hallway. Ollie chortled in delight. “Aaaaaand again—”

  “With a rebel yell she cried,” they both chorused, whooping hysterically at how hilarious they were being.

  “More,” Claudette’s voice demanded on cue from upstairs. “More.”

  Ollie couldn’t even see the stage now, his eyes were so full of hysterical tears. Only one thing to do…He took another pair of the zero-nark pads from his pocket and handed one to Adnan.

  “Cheers, fella, you’re the best,” Adnan said, and tapped it to the side of his neck.

  “More,” Claudette begged weakly.

  It was the most comical thing Ollie had ever heard. He doubled up with laughter. An equally overexcited Adnan batted feebly at him.

  “Man, his dick’s going to drop off,” Ollie choked out.

  “Nah. It’s made of plastic. Alien plastic.”

  Which triggered Ollie’s manic giggling fit. The colored shapes and lines that zipped about inside the stage were fabulous. His head swayed about as he tried to keep track of them. Every so often, one would expand or grow brighter, which made him croon in appreciation.

  “God, is that a habitat?” Adnan asked some time later.

  Ollie squinted at the smooth gray cylinder now floating in the middle of the lounge. “Yeah.”

  “They are so pretty. I love that sparkly halo thing around it.”

  “Yeah. It’s like…like they’ve knitted the Milky Way into a scarf and wrapped it around. It’s cold in space, you know.”

  “I do, man. And that is a seriously deep and meaningful metaphor. This is why I like working with you, Ollie. You’re smart.”

  “I’d like to live in one, you know. Take Gran and Bik with me, away from fucking Copeland Road. I know it’s home, but face it: The place is a dump.”

  “Sweet idea. Bring them in on your new life deal.”

  Some of the graphics bracketing the stage started to make sense, although he had to read them a few times. Ollie squinted at the rest, the ones counting down…Oh, yeah, distance. He squinted at the stage again, seeing two dark avian shapes closing on the habitat.

  “Deliverance ships,” Adnan cooed admiringly. He was leaning forward now, his gaze fixed on the stage as if he was trying to outstare it. “That’s got to be Stramland. Shit, I hope they finished evacuating it.”

  “They’re evacuating all the habitats. Government said.”

  “So why are the Olyix bothering with them?”

  “Not got a fucking clue, mate. Are they going to fire missiles at it, do ya think?” Ollie wondered.

  “Oooh, look.”

  The indistinct cloud of aquamarine scintillations that surrounded Stramland abruptly began to glow brighter, clearly defining its boundary a kilometer out from the habitat shell.

  “Neat,” Ollie said approvingly. The cloud continued to get livelier while its edges became more ragged, as if small flames were trickling out from it.

  “That’s the shield,” Adnan said. “All the habitats got them. They stop meteor impacts, see.”

  “Cool. You want some more bacon sandwiches?”

  “Sure.”

  Ollie went into the kitchen. Tye told the food printer what to do. While slim rashers began to peel off the bottom of the chrome-trimmed machine, he cut up the last loaf they’d cooked in the panoforno, frowning in disapproval at how uneven the slices were. But that was okay, he liked thick bread. But the cut on his hand was a big dumb pain.

  “This is amazing,” Adnan called from the lounge. “You’ve got to see how bright it is now.”

  “Coming.” He slapped ten rashers of bacon across the waffle maker, while managing to keep the blood off them. Lower the lid and leave it for two minutes—just long enough for the coffee machine to fill a couple of mugs. It was fiendishly difficult, so Tye managed the selection process for him; that way he didn’t have to press all those confusing buttons.

  Then the smoke alarm started shrieking, piercingly loud.

  “Can you switch that off? Pretty please?” he asked Tye.

  The sound stopped. Ollie lifted the waffle maker lid, trying to fan the smoke away. The bacon was very crisp and horribly hot, but he managed to swipe it onto the bread with a spatula.

  “You’re bleeding,” Adnan pointed out when he carried everything back into the lounge.

  “From the heart. For our lost lives.”

  “Man, you are so profound when you want to be.”

  “Cheers.” They clinked mugs.

  “This coffee is weird,” Ollie admitted.

  “I think it’s hot chocolate.”

  “Okay, but I’m sure I ordered coffee. I’ll have to check Tye for darkware corruption.”

  “Good idea. We gotta keep our security high.”

  “Why has the habitat turned into a sun?” He squinted at the painfully bright cylinder shining away merrily at the center of the stage. “Is it on fire?”

  “No, it’s science. The tech streams say the Deliverance ships are firing beam weapons at it. Really high-powered ones.”

  “Looks like it’s on fire. Those flames are really big.”

  “You don’t get flames in a vacuum, my friend. Those are the shield’s gas envelope evaporating. The Delivery—ance ships are pumping so much energy into the shield it’s loosing integrity.”

  “Cool.”

  “No! Not cool. What are you, as dumb as Lars?”

  “I am offended. Truly, deeply offended.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You’ve got to admit it does look cool.”

  “Sure, I’ll give you that. But it’s lethal for the habitat, too.”

  “Do you think the habitat shell will pop like a balloon when they kill the shield?”

  “Wooh, that would be humongously intense!”

  Ollie grinned contentedly. “Only, like, if you’re not inside.”

  “Challenge that. It’s not a bad way to go. F
lying off into the universe in a cloud of trees. You’d be at one with nature.”

  “Would there be butterflies, too? I love butterflies.”

  “Listen, if you want butterflies then you can have butterflies. I’ll allow them.”

  “Thanks, man. You’re the best. Like Lars said: We’re friends, but we’re like brothers, too.”

  “I know.”

  “Real brothers, blood ones. Family.”

  Stramland’s glaring shield shattered as if it were made from a solid material, opalescent fragments expanding as they twirled off into space, their luster dwindling. Two slick Deliverance ships glided in toward the naked habitat. They curved elegantly through space to attach themselves to the axis dock.

  “Oh, not good,” Ollie decided. “I don’t want to immigrate to a habitat anymore.”

  “They’re gonna do that to all the Sol system habitats,” Adnan said. “Then they’ll land here.”

  “We need to be gone, out to one of the settled worlds.”

  “Jade’ll sort it.”

  “Yeah. I wonder what sort of score she’s setting up?”

  “You heard: medicine.”

  “Yeah, but what are we going to have to do?” Ollie wondered. “It was bad enough last time.”

  “We win either way.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “The raid will either get us killed—in which case nothing matters, ’coz neither the police nor the Olyix will be able to get us if we’re dead. Or…we come out of it okay, and Jade gets us new identities.”

  “Option one’s kinda bleak.”

  “Quick and painless, innit, though? That’s a win in my book.”

  “I suppose…” Ollie gave the lounge door a guilty glance. “But you heard what Jade said. The whole fresh identity thing is going to be tough.”

  “We can handle tough.”

  Ollie surfed closer to him along the settee, the cushions rippling with him as he went. “We can.” His voice lowered. “We’re smart enough. So’s Tronde.”

  “Tronde’s fucking scary. I didn’t realize how twisted up pervy-psycho he is inside.”

  “Okay, but he can handle working a new identity. Do you really think Lars can?”

  “Oh, man. Fuck! I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I mean, I like him and all. But, Jesus!”

  “I like him, too.”

  “It takes months—years—to acclimatize properly to the new you; that’s what Jade said. You’ve got to have real discipline for that. I’m not sure…”

  “Yeah, but what can we do?”

  “If he gets caught, it’ll wreck it for the rest of us. Lars won’t be able to resist any kind of interrogation. Special Branch will know what we’re doing and who set it up. They’ll find us.” Ollie started searching his pockets for another pad. The thoughts swimming around inside his head were becoming too dark and cold. A little boost of zero-nark would burn them away.

  “So what do we do?” Adnan asked in a voice that sounded like a drunk trying to sound sober, all focus and no result.

  “I don’t know. What do you think we should do?”

  “I don’t know. We can’t, like, you know, just get rid of him.”

  “No. Right. Can’t do that.”

  “Good. Wasn’t saying we should.”

  “Well, me neither.”

  “He does need a doctor, though.”

  “Yeah. I see that.”

  “We can’t bring a doctor here.”

  “No. No way. But…” Ollie sucked his cheeks in. “Maybe we can get him one, like, after.”

  “After?”

  “After the next job. When we get paid.”

  “You mean…?”

  “I don’t think he’s up to coming with us, not the way he is.”

  “Yeah. You know, thinking about it, you might be right.”

  “And he did fuck up last time.”

  “Yeah. It’s the reason we’re here now talking about it, innit?”

  “This way we’d be doing what’s best for him, too.”

  “Right, ’coz I sure as shit don’t want the police to catch me, especially not Special Branch.”

  “I’ve still got to get Gran and Bik out, too. Can’t do that from Zagreus.”

  “Or the inside of an Olyix ship.”

  “Shit, no.”

  They looked at each other. Knowing.

  “Hi, guys,” Lars slurred from the doorway.

  It was only the zero-nark slithering around Ollie’s bloodstream that stopped him from yelling in fright. “Lars! What are you doing up?” He was so unbelievably pleased he hadn’t blurted: How long have you been standing there?

  “I’m really hungry,” Lars moaned.

  “I’ll get you a bacon sandwich,” Ollie volunteered.

  “No, I’ll do it,” Adnan said. “You’ll cut yourself again, Ollie. Don’t want that. Don’t want to spill blood in this house.”

  Ollie’s jaw dropped dumbly as Adnan walked past him and winked knowingly.

  “Hey, you two…” Lars said.

  “What?” Ollie gasped—a sound that was too guilty in his own ears. Adnan froze, midstep.

  Lars started his dog-like laugh. “I think I’ve pissed meself.”

  The last time Yuri had slept was back on the Trail Ranger rolling across Nkya’s empty landscape—and that was four days ago. Since arriving at the operations center, he’d been using agnophet to stay awake and alert. He didn’t like using for such a long period; the buildup of side effects could be quite brutal. Boris had been splashing blood pressure warnings for six hours now, but Yuri ignored them and all the other symptoms of unease that might be real or might be induced by the nark, concentrating on the job. That was all that mattered. His department was saving the world. And the world would probably never know, and certainly would never thank them. But he didn’t care about that, either. Just get the job done.

  So along with Anne Groell and her team, he shifted assets around, assigned priorities, shut down networks while ignoring civic authorities howling in protest, authorized paramilitary team strikes and raids right across the globe and beyond. Loi took over organizing the mass evacuations from all the Sol habitats, racing to send their residents out to the terraformed worlds before the Deliverance ships arrived. People cooperated eagerly with the Connexion staff in the hubs. Salvaging the associated industrial modules and equipment was more difficult. Not every technician assigned to the task actually hung around to do it—and certainly not after Stramland, when only eighty percent of the population had gotten out before the shield failed and the Olyix got in. Which meant Loi had to coordinate with the security G8Turings to sabotage the abandoned manufacturing stations once the Olyix arrived, denying them any facilities—not that he believed they wanted them, but every strikeback helped. So far Loi had achieved a success rate of sixty-three percent, which Yuri found frustrating. Industrial stations were basically flimsy things once their safeguards were taken offline. But the Olyix certainly seemed to have very high-level digital skills, taking over entire habitat networks as soon as they boarded.

  Kohei Yamada’s icon splashed across Yuri’s tarsus lenses, and Boris obediently rotated Yuri’s chair so he was facing the archway that opened into the European section. “What’s up, Kohei?”

  “Yuri, we’ve got an anomaly at the Kings Cross interstellar hub.”

  “Define anomaly.”

  “We closed it down as soon as we got your orders. No traffic—commercial or pedestrian. Building to be physically sealed with only our vetted personnel allowed in or out. The portal doors themselves set to zero operational capacity; the entanglement’s still there, but there’s no physical opening. The manager reported it had all been done, which was verified digitally. But one of the reserve power cells is still feeding powe
r into the hub. Enough to maintain an interstellar cargo portal open at full diameter.”

  “Shit. How do you know this?”

  “There’s a startup data crossfeed between the emergency power cells that supply the hubs at Kings Cross and Saint Pancras. The engineers set it up when they were installing the system, so it’s not listed on the standard operational protocols. We got lucky; one of our installation engineers ran a check using her old procedures. She saw a block of cells in the Saint Pancras reserve were channeling power over the road to Kings Cross. And as the cells aren’t supplying their designated portal in Saint Pancras, it didn’t show up as active in the monitoring routines.”

  “Show me,” Yuri told Boris. One of the big screens in the European section splashed an aerial view of the two ancient railway stations in central London. The huge buildings had been built side by side, with their epic glass roofs at diverging angles. Their original arterial train tracks had long since been taken up, and the land redeveloped as St. Martin’s Park—an arboreal haven of holm oaks and eucalyptus regnans that towered imperiously over the banks of Regent’s Canal.

  He remembered them well enough from his time in London, when he’d supervised several security upgrades. The Gothic Revival splendor of St. Pancras was Connexion’s major trans-European hub, and the interlink between all thirty-two national hub networks sprawling across the continent. While on the other side of the road, the more functional brick Victoriana façade of Kings Cross housed a range of interstellar hubs. From the old southern concourse, which used to front the train platforms, you could walk out among the stars themselves. The western side boasted pedestrian portals to Rangvlad, orbiting Beta Hydri; Izumi at Chi Draconis; the four worlds of Trappist 1 that China had terraformed; and New Washington, in its odd elliptical trajectory around Eta Cassiopeiae. On the east side of the building you could walk through portals to the Northern Europe bloc’s subtropical world Liberty at 82 Eridani; as well as the ecologically challenging Althea, which lurked in the shadowed safety of a gas giant’s Lagrange point out at Pollux. Beyond the passenger area, under the vaulting glass and iron roofs, the commercial portals stood where the platforms used to be, giving truckez a route to and from the terraformed planets. These vehicles came in via a Government and Commercial Services hub that squatted across a transit yard just outside the station’s open end—ironically, where the trains used to come in and out.