Salvation

by Peter F. Hamilton

“I think we have two options,” Lucius said. “One: The gang has enough money to scrap the van straight away—break it up, take it to a vapor recycler plant, drive it out of town and dump it in the swamps, whatever. In which case we’ve lost it permanently.”

  “Or?” Yuri queried.

  “They’re not going to be snatching people every day. The van will be parked up in a shed somewhere, waiting until they get another job. Then it’ll be reregistered and given a bodywork makeover.”

  “Good call,” Yuri said.

  “The dock area’s a whole industrial district supporting the bioreactor site, as well as the barge maintenance companies,” Jessika said. “Plenty of big buildings. I want to send in a microdrone flock, scan the whole place for the van. Lucius has already brought them through the portal.”

  Yuri nodded. “Do it.”

  “Who are these people?” Lucius asked. “Any idea?”

  “I don’t know,” Yuri told them. “I originally thought it might be a dark market brain transplant, but I’ve been disabused of that notion. Which leaves us with an old-fashioned kidnap and ransom.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Jessika said. “Ainsley isn’t going to pay squat for the poor kid.”

  Yuri shrugged. “Whoever Devroy works for, they’re professional.”

  “Are you sure he’s working for someone?”

  “No, but that’s irrelevant at this point. We have to find Horatio, and fast.”

  “I’ll launch the drones,” Lucius said. “My people are ready to go.”

  “Do that,” Yuri said. “But I have one other lead. The G7Turing found Baptiste Devroy has a cousin right here, in Bronkal. Joaquin Beron; he runs some kind of atmospheric sensor company, a one-man shop, has supply and maintenance contracts with the government climate monitoring board.”

  “That can’t be a coincidence,” Jessika said with a knowing grin.

  “I wouldn’t like to work out the odds.”

  “You got an address?”

  “Yes. Fedress Meadows, block seventeen.”

  She paused, reading the information Boris had sent her. “An industrial park. Plenty of opportunity to fabricate items and reroute shipping consignments.”

  “You have a suspicious mind. I approve.”

  * * *

  —

  Ideally they would have infiltrated slowly, sent some drones to Fedress Meadows. The drones would be followed by tactical team members arriving at neighboring commercial modules. Then Lucius would have led a three-man detainment group in. Joaquin would have been contained and taken back to the Nightingale Avenue office. If he’d proved reluctant to cooperate immediately, the portal back to security’s more secluded facilities was the first option.

  Yuri didn’t have time for that. Every minute was putting Horatio deeper into danger.

  Boris confirmed that Joaquin Beron’s altme was connected to block seventeen’s solnet node, and Yuri made the decision to go in hard and fast. The department’s G7Turing shut down Fedress Meadows’s network. A flock of twenty-five microdrones deployed from Nightingale Avenue, their sensors probing the area in advance of Yuri’s arrival. Five big gray four-by-four utility vehicles drove in a convoy to Fedress Meadows, which turned out to be a bleak collection of multi-role cubes able to accommodate a variety of small and medium businesses. Yuri stared at the square gray-and-black walls, inset with silvered glass, the skimped landscaping around them. The industrial park could have been on any of the non-Utopial terraformed worlds, or even the poorer areas of Earth itself. The age of cheap and easy fabrication seemed to have taken away any chance for architectural individuality. Places like Fedress weren’t somewhere entrepreneurs went to begin their mega-corporate dream. They were the Darwinist incentive that bestowed determined people with the will to improve their enterprise and get the hell out.

  Yuri asked Boris for a secure link to Poi Li as they drove manually along the roads at high speed, causing automated vehicles to brake and swerve sharply. “How’s the review of Horatio going?”

  “So far he’s so perfect and sweet, he’s like a puppy in human form. I might vomit,” she replied. “I’ve got some people en route to his parents. Hopefully, they’ll crack any legend. Because I can’t believe anyone this noble still exists.”

  “Ever considered we might be getting too old and cynical for this job?”

  “Speak for yourself. However, I am growing concerned that I don’t understand the motive here.”

  “Money,” Yuri said immediately. “It’s always money in the end. I’m thinking it’s a kidnapping; there’s nothing else left it could be. Someone found out who Gwendoline is.”

  “We haven’t had a ransom demand.”

  “There won’t be one. Not now they know I’m on to them. I’m just praying they haven’t already tossed Horatio into the swamp.”

  “Damn, that would devastate Gwendoline. Ainsley won’t like it, either.”

  “Then Ainsley should keep it in his trousers.”

  “I’ll pass that on.”

  Yuri couldn’t help the small grin that played over his lips. “Look, I’ve got two possible ways of finding the kid. I’ll work them to the end, you know that.”

  “I do. Ever considered you missed your vocation? I can recommend to Ainsley you take charge of instructing freshmeat at our training center.”

  “My reply contains some phrase about chewing my leg off.”

  “How long until you talk to Joaquin Beron?”

  “Couple of minutes.”

  “Loop me in, please.”

  “You got it.”

  The vehicles encircled block seventeen, driving over the surrounding gardens, tires tearing up the lush grass. Seventeen was one of the smaller blocks, the dark external paneling fading to mud-brown in the relentless assault by Althaea’s raw climate.

  Lucius led five paramilitaries through the front door, while Yuri and Jessika waited in the vehicle. More paramilitaries deployed around the block. Yuri could see people in the neighboring blocks pressed up against the glass, watching in amazement. The light outside was dimming as thick black clouds rolled in; big drops of rain began to splatter against the windscreen.

  “We got him,” Lucius announced. “The location is secure.”

  Jessika pulled her pink jacket over her head as they scurried from the vehicle to the entrance. The rain was becoming a monsoon deluge, hitting Yuri from every direction as the wind whipped it around, plastering his hair against his scalp.

  “So you and Lucius?” he said. “I didn’t know. How long’s that been going on?”

  Raindrops slithered down the puzzled expression on her face. “What?”

  “He seems like a good guy.”

  “Wow, my opinion of your detective superpower just took a massive dive.”

  “I know what I saw…”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “You need to inform HR.”

  “What?”

  “I knew a guy, back in the day; basically a good guy, but a dick with it. He and one of my operatives hooked up. They didn’t follow company procedure. It didn’t end well.”

  “Good pep talk there, boss, thanks.”

  “Just saying.”

  She shook her head in bemused dismay as they slipped into the block.

  “Give Poi Li a visual,” Yuri told Boris. The altme would relay the feed from his tarsus lenses.

  Joaquin Beron was a small man, a good head shorter than Yuri. His dark hair was styled in braids tight against his skull to try to negate a receding hairline. Tattoos glowed softly on his neck, snaking down below the collar of his green overalls. Yuri got Boris to run a scan on the patterns, but they weren’t listed as any gang type.

  Joaquin Beron was in the workshop at the rear of the building, sitting on a chair. The tactical team had followed Yuri’s directions
perfectly. His ankles had been zip-locked to the chair legs, hands fastened behind his back. Two of the paramilitaries stood on either side, large carbines held ready—not threateningly, but with easy confidence.

  Jessika was shaking the water from her jacket as they walked across the concrete floor, surrounded by big fabricator units that were humming away efficiently.

  “Seems like a legitimate setup,” Lucius said. “I can pull some specialists in to go through his network if you want?”

  “No need,” Yuri said.

  “You guys,” Joaquin challenged, his voice high with bravado. “You are in shit so deep! I got rights, you know. My lawyer’s going to bust your balls for this!”

  Yuri smiled down at him. “For what?”

  “You even got a warrant?”

  “Why would I have a warrant? I don’t work for a government.”

  “Huh? Then who the fuck are you?”

  “My name is Yuri, and I’m conducting a small experiment.”

  Joaquin turned a troubled gaze at the statue-like paramilitaries. “What fucking experiment?”

  “To see how smart you are, Joaquin.”

  “What the hell is this?”

  “I’m going to talk now. I want you to listen. Understand?”

  “Go fuck your whore mother up the ass, you piece of corporate shit!”

  Yuri pointed to the paramilitary on Joaquin’s left. “Do you have a knife?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Take it out and stab Joaquin here, just above his knee. Don’t puncture a major blood vessel. I don’t want him bleeding out before he’s told us what we want to know.”

  “What the actual fuck?”

  “Yes, sir.” The paramilitary drew a Bowie knife from his belt scabbard.

  “Don’t you fucking dare!”

  “Why, what’s going to stop him?” Yuri asked pleasantly.

  “No way. Don’t. Okay, I’m listening, all right? I’ll listen to you. Just don’t—”

  Yuri held up a finger to the paramilitary. “That’s good, Joaquin. Now it’s important that you realize I’m prepared to cripple you just to get you to shut up before we even start the real session. So I’m thinking if you annoy me, I’m going to start walking around to see what kind of power tools I can pick up. You’ll have plenty, I’m sure; you’ll need them for your business. Big ones, small ones, very sharp ones, badly blunt ones…Am I right? Now try and imagine how I can use them. And on what bits of you.”

  Joaquin pushed himself back into the chair, panic making his breathing heavy.

  “Now where were we? Oh, yes, I was going to say something. Think of this as your starter question for ten points—or in your case, you-get-to-keep-the-toes-on-your-left-foot points. Baptiste Devroy. Who is he?”

  “I can speak now?”

  “You may speak now. But let’s keep it short and focused, shall we?”

  “He’s my cousin. I don’t ever see him, honestly.”

  “But you’re in contact, aren’t you?”

  “Some. Maybe a little. Yeah.”

  “Not anymore you won’t be. As of an hour ago, cousin Baptiste will never be talking to you ever again—nor anyone else.”

  “Christ, what did you do?”

  “I did nothing. Our London division dealt with him.”

  “London division…Who are you people?”

  “People who only a terminally stupid asshole would piss off.”

  “Shit on a stick!”

  “You’re talking too much, Joaquin.”

  “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “Of course you are. So now you have to decide how far you’re going to go to protect your cousin and his friends against how much of yourself are you prepared to lose. Got that?”

  “Yes.”

  “So. Cousin Baptiste, he sent someone here yesterday, didn’t he?”

  Joaquin nodded urgently.

  “Okay, good boy. So: two questions left. One: Why?”

  “I don’t know, please, I swear on my own fucking mother, I don’t know where they go.”

  Yuri stiffened. “They?”

  “Yeah. Baptiste, he does this, like, every couple of months. People he’s taken get driven here to Bronkal; then they shoot them full of heavy-duty chemicals which put them in this really deep sleep, like a coma. After that they get shipped out again.”

  “Why?” Even knowing every second was critical now, Yuri couldn’t help the question. “What for? What are they doing to them?”

  “I don’t know what the fuck happens to them, man! I’m not crazy stupid enough to ask. I figure it’s got to be some weird rich dude who’s off-the-scale perverted. I mean, what kind of normal person wants a bunch of unconscious people?”

  “That’s a very good question, Joaquin.”

  “I don’t know. Really! Please, I don’t. All I do is take care of the vehicles. I arrange new registrations for the vans. That’s it!”

  “I’ll accept that for now. Second question. Baptiste snatched a friend of mine yesterday, a decent boy called Horatio Seymore.”

  Joaquin started rocking from side to side. “No, no, no. They’ll kill me. Please!”

  “We know Horatio arrived here in Bronkal—” Yuri clicked his fingers and turned to Jessika. “When?”

  “The van came through the commercial transport hub thirty-one hours ago,” she supplied.

  “Thank you. Thirty-one hours ago. The van then drove to the docks. Where in the docks?”

  “Please,” Joaquin whimpered.

  “Ah, you were making such good progress, too.” Yuri held out his hand, and the paramilitary gave him the Bowie knife.

  “Shit. All right. Christ!” Joaquin eyed the blade frantically. “It’s the bioreactor complex.” His shoulders slumped in defeat. “Okay? That’s it. Please, just let me go.”

  Yuri slammed the knife down. Joaquin screamed. He looked down in terror to see the blade sticking into the chair, a centimeter from his crotch.

  “Oops, missed,” Yuri said. “Let me have another go, see if my aim improves, because that reactor complex is huge, and you fucking know that.”

  “Building seven! They’ve got them in building seven!”

  * * *

  —

  The docks were the reason Bronkal existed. They sat on the edge of Althaea’s lungs—the expansive sprawl of the plateau that was now a marshland that extended all the way to the cliffs. It was riddled with canals that had a flotilla of dredgers keeping them open, allowing the barges access to the entire area. Every day they would moor at the bioreactor next to the docks and load up with freshly grown algaox. Then they’d chug off down the canals, their powerful pumps squirting out long arcs of blue-green sludge to coat the saturated land. For thirty-eight years the genetically engineered algae had been photosynthesizing the oxygen which made Althaea’s atmosphere breathable for humans. The barges were scheduled to keep going for another fifteen years at least, until the Sol Senate’s climate monitoring board awarded Althaea its final clearance certificate.

  A good seventy percent of Bronkal’s working population was employed by the reactor complex or the docks, which is why eight of the town’s twenty-five hubs were sited in the district. Yuri ordered them to be closed down, along with the commercial transport hub, which was also adjacent to the docks.

  As soon as Joaquin had given them the location, Lucius and the paramilitaries got back into their vehicles and drove through the deluge of warm rain to the docks. Yuri had to grip the sides of his chair, the vehicles slid and skidded so much on the wet asphalt. He simply wasn’t used to ground transport, and the motion was making him feel queasy.

  “The rain is hindering our drones,” Lucius complained. “Especially the microdrone flocks.”

  “But on the bright side, it’s covering our approach,
too,” Jessika said.

  “We need to be certain,” Lucius said. “If Joaquin gave us the wrong information—”

  “He didn’t,” Yuri said, recalling just how hard Joaquin had pleaded to be believed at the end.

  “Okay,” the tactical squad captain agreed. “We’ll go with it.”

  Jessika peered out through the windscreen as the wipers flashed back and forth. “Must be getting closer,” she said. “I can see the hangars.”

  Yuri looked out over the inundated road. Squatting on the horizon were four massive airship hangars. As well as maintaining the algaox barges, Bronkal’s docks supported the airships that circled for months at a time over the ocean beyond the plateau’s cliffs. They all had ten-meter portal doors fixed underneath their hulls, which were twinned to portals carried by ice harvesters pushing inexorably across the frozen ocean of Reynolds. At forty-three AUs out, Reynolds was the most distant planet orbiting Pollux—a planet with a Mercury-sized rock core coated in a hundred-kilometer mantle of ice. All of Althaea’s water had come from there, arriving in colossal streams of ice shards that poured out of the airships to splash down and melt into the new seas. He stared at the big gray buildings in bemusement, remembering the first time Connexion had trialed icefalls in the Australian outback—now a lush savannah.

  “Wonder what Akkar would make of this,” he murmured.

  “What?” Jessika asked.

  “Nothing.” They were speeding through the outside rank of dock buildings now. Yuri checked the map Boris was spraying over his tarsus lenses. The bioreactor complex and the airship hangars were positioned at opposite ends of the docks. A small purple star was shining in one of the reactor complex buildings—number seven, an old three-level warehouse and office block, which was registered to an independent maintenance company. Drones were orbiting it, keeping a safe half-kilometer distance. Through the heavy rain, their visual image was very low resolution. Normally they would release a flock of microdrones—biomechanical flies that would swarm through the target area, sending back detailed information via secure comlaser. But Lucius hadn’t launched them; this rain would knock them out of the air.

  “They’ll know something’s wrong,” Jessika said. “Our Turing’s taken solnet offline across the complex.”