Peter Hamilton - The Evolutionary Void

That was when she heard the hypersonic booms rolling in through the clear desert air, thunderous cracks that hurt her eardrums. Her head swung around, searching anxiously. Behind her, the top of the crater containing Miledeep Water glowed with the haze of the town’s street lighting, creating a mellow nimbus that caressed the dark night sky. She saw bright glimmers of purple light streaking across the foreign constellations, curving down toward the lonely town. There must have been six or seven of them.

“Oh, crap,” she grunted, and gunned the throttle hard. “Here we go again.” The bike started to buck about as it jolted its way over the coarse ground. Dry bushes snapped as she rode right over them, spiky twigs snaring in the hub spokes to thrash around and around, their tips whipping her boots. Holding a straight line was a huge effort with the bike fighting every motion.

A couple more booms announced the arrival of more capsules at high velocity. Any second now Araminta expected the sky to light with laserfire in a repeat of Bodant Park. The bike was bouncing wildly; she could actually hear the axle drives whining. She fought to keep it straight as the front wheel shook from side to side. There was nothing for it but to slow down, though by now she could feel the start of the path lapping toward her like the advancing waves of an incoming tide.

The bike’s power fell off, then surged, ebbed again-Little amber lights winked on across the handlebars. She had no idea what they meant. She throttled back, and the outlandish machine freewheeled on forward. They were on a shallow incline now, leading down to an ancient winding streambed, so all she did was steer, keeping away from the larger stones and boulders.

By the time she jerked down onto the softer sand of the streambed, there was no power left and the bike rolled to an easy halt. Nothing worked. The screen was blank, the amber lights had gone out, and no matter how she squeezed the throttle, the axle motors didn’t engage.

Araminta sat there on the saddle for a long minute, letting the cramps and tension ease out of her shoulders and arms. Her bum was sore from the saddle, which plainly needed a lot more padding. Nonetheless, she grinned fondly at the bike.

I made it. The stupid thing got me out .

There was no doubt about it; she wasn’t on Chobamba anymore.

She climbed off slowly and pressed her fists into the small of her back, groaning as her spine creaked. The skin on her face was raw from the wind’s buffeting. It didn’t matter. She felt ridiculously pleased with herself for eluding her pursuers yet again, which was stupid, she knew. It had been due mainly to luck, though she had to give herself some credit. She’d responded to the situation well enough after she got the warning.

And what that woman did proves there are still people trying to help me, and not just her; there was Oscar back at Bodnant Park, too . A development that gave her a lot of hope. One thing she did know: Her decision meant that her time of running was over. There were no easy options ahead now, no waiting for someone else to do something. It’s down to me now . There was a lot of trepidation accompanying that thought, and maybe a tinge of fear, too, but there was also a degree of satisfaction. All I have to do now is find the people opposed to the Pilgrimage and take a stand with them .

With that she pulled the backpack out of the pannier, settled it on her shoulders, and set off along the streambed. That at least she didn’t have to think about; it was the right way.

In less than an hour her boots were starting to sink into the sand, which was becoming damp. Grass was growing on the banks. It was still night, and her enriched vision couldn’t make out much, but the desert had ended, she was sure of that. Then she caught sight of trees on the edge of her vision.

Water started to fill the imprints her boots left in the mushy ground. The streambed wasn’t sand anymore; it was fine soil. The stones on the banks were coated in moss and lichens. She scrambled up out of the gully and began to walk alongside it. Cooler air made her shiver, and she reset the thermal fibers woven into her fleece to keep more of her body warmth in. Not much farther on a thin trickle of water was running along the middle of the streambed. Far overhead huge dense star clusters filled the sky, imperial patches of silver-white scintillations so much more impressive than anything visible from anywhere in the Greater Commonwealth. Araminta smiled at that.

The water in the streambed grew deeper and wider as she walked on, turning from a rivulet to a broad current gurgling merrily around half-submerged rocks. Trees closed in, throwing tall branches up into the night, curtaining the starfield. Another stream merged into the one she was following. That was when she heard the first strands of song. The Silfen were somewhere close by; she could feel them as much as hear them. Simple harmonies slipping across the sylvan land, as much a part of it as the air. She halted and listened, drawing the melody down as she might sample a particularly pleasant perfume. It was enchanting, rising and flowing in its own rhythm and far higher than most human throats could reach.

Like a birdsong , she thought, a flock of birds singing a hymn .

Smiling pleasantly at the notion, she set off again, keeping to the edge of the stream, which was now almost wide enough to be classed as a river. The contentment growing in her mind was almost narcotic. This time she was going to meet them. It was inevitable.

The sky slowly lightened above her. Tall waving branches on either side of the surging watercourse transformed to black silhouettes against a pale gray pastel. The grand star clusters faded away in deference to the dawn sun. Dew began to coat the grass and small ferns, splashing off on her boots. Araminta couldn’t help the smile on her face, even though she knew any relief here could only be temporary.

The trees gave way abruptly, and she gasped in delighted astonishment at the vista before her. She was high up on the edge of a plateau that swept away into a wondrous primordial landscape. Perfectly clear air allowed her to see for what must have been over a hundred miles. Snowcapped mountains fenced the scene on two sides, and ahead of her the ground undulated away with hillocks and dells adorned in lush woodland. Morning mist eased gently around the slopes, blanketing the deepest hollows and basins like a living liquid. Threads of stream water sparkled and glistened down the sides of the mountains, thousands of tributaries lacing together into broader, darker rivers. Waterfalls tumbled hundreds of meters down rugged cliffs and clefts in the rocky foothills.

“Oh, my,” Araminta murmured in admiration. There she waited patiently for her escort while the big red-hued sun rose up into the empty sky, throwing vast fingers of light through the mountains to sweep across the magnificent landscape.

The madrigal grew louder, swelling to a crescendo. Araminta looked around as the Silfen rode out of the forest all around her. There must have been forty of them, mounted on huge shaggy-furred beasts. She gazed at them, enthralled with the spectacle. Elves right out of the deepest human folklore. As tall as legend had them, with long limbs and a torso that was proportionally shorter than the human version. Flat faces with wide feline eyes above a slight nose had a simple circular mouth without a jaw; instead, three concentric circles of sharp teeth flexed steadily, shredding food as it was pulled back into the gullet.

They wore simple togalike garments that glimmered with a metallic sheen. Gold, jewel-laden belts were pulled tight about the waist, and the shoulder strips were held together with large broaches whose gems glowed an eerie green. On top of the togas were waistcoats made from some kind of bright white mesh.