Peter Hamilton - The Evolutionary Void

“A last word for you, if I may,” Bradley Johansson said. “Anger is a fine heat, one which you are now experiencing. Anger from being put in this position through no real fault of your own, anger at the stupidity of Living Dream. This anger behind your determination will power you at the start, allowing you to be the force you want to be. Then there will come a moment when you look around and see all you have carried before you. That is the most dangerous time, the time when you can lose faith in yourself and falter. That cannot happen, Friend Araminta. Keep your anger, fuel it, let it carry you forward. See this through to the final bitter end no matter what. That is the only way to take others with you: to be a force of nature, the proverbial unstoppable force. You can do this. You have so much in you.”

She smiled bashfully. “I will. I promise. I can keep focused.” Like you wouldn’t believe .

Bradley Johansson stopped, and a four-fingered hand ushered her onward with a grand gesture as his wings extended fully. He made an imposing figure, poised between two species, two styles of life. She turned her back to him and strode forward, refusing to let any doubt gain refuge in her mind. Ahead of her the path began to open.

The building had been a single house once, designed as an extravagant ten-bedroom residence for a wealthy owner, with expansive reception rooms opening out onto a big garden that dropped down to the crowded forest of dapol trees that marked the city boundary. There was even a teardrop-shaped swimming pool beneath a spectacular white wing roof. It fit in perfectly with the Francola district’s original ethos as an enclave of successful, wealthy residents who would enjoy a modicum of privacy afforded by the tree hedges between their imposing properties. A taste of the countryside inside the city.

After a promising start, the district had drifted on Colwyn City’s economic tides. The houses fell from fashion and were snapped up by developers to be turned into even more stylish apartments. Redevelopment took the district further downmarket, depressing prices still more.

On the upside, that same depressed market meant that there were a lot of empty apartments for rent. Oscar and the team managed to secure a well-positioned apartment on the old house’s ground floor. It had two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a lounge squeezed into what used to be one of the brash reception rooms. But the lounge had a panoramic window wall opening onto a lawn that ran all the way down to the edge of Francola Wood itself, giving them a perfect observation post.

Sitting on a pyramid of cushions they’d moved in front of the window wall, Oscar could just glimpse the shimmer of the city force field through the dark trees. He wasn’t using his field scan function; that would be too much of a giveaway. Not that it stopped other teams. His biononics occasionally would catch a quick scan originating close by. Liatris had identified seven other apartments along the street that had been leased out in the last twenty hours. Two other perfectly legitimate flats had been quietly taken over by teams who thought their subterfuge would leave them less visible. They weren’t good enough to evade Liatris.

But what comes around … thought Oscar. He was sure everyone else knew about them as well.

Three of the rival teams had reduced their personnel after it became clear Araminta had left Chobamba. With a whole galaxy of worlds now available to her, they’d decided it was extremely unlikely she’d ever return here to the heart of Living Dream’s occupation army. That view was one he shared, but waiting here on the off chance was better than trying to guess where else she could turn up.

It was midmorning, and as it was his shift, Oscar had been in his armor suit for five hours watching the forest when Paula called.

“Any sign of her?”

Oscar resisted the urge to roll his eyes; the gesture would be completely wasted. “None of the thirteen teams scanning from all along the street have noticed anything. And the eight Ellezelin capsules on permanent patrol overhead report an equally negative result. I imagine the new Welcome Team, which is actually lying in wait in the woods, is bereft, too.”

“There’s no need for sarcasm.”

“Face it, Paula, this is a dead end. We did our best. We got her clear of Living Dream and the others; it’s up to her now.”

“I know. But several agents followed her onto the Chobamba Silfen path before it closed up.”

“Then we’ll never see them again. Not for centuries, anyway.”

“I’d like to think we have centuries.”

“We’ll stay here for another day or two. Unless you know better. How about it, Paula? Do you have contacts among the Silfen?”

“Not really.”

“Ah, you surprise me. If anyone has …”

“But I have just been talking to the SI.”

Oscar couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing. On the other side of the lounge, Beckia shot him a puzzled look.

“Only you, Paula,” Oscar said happily. “How is the SI?”

“Unchanged. It claims. However, it has taken care of one potentially dangerous loose end. Araminta now has no one else left in the Commonwealth to turn to.”

“So the theory is she’ll ask the navy for help?”

“It’s a theory. Right now it’s the only one we’ve got.”

“Well, let’s hope it works.”

“Yes. And the one trustworthy contact she has with officialdom is you.”

“Oh, bloody hell.”

“There’s something else.”

Oscar gave up and rolled his eyes. “What?”

“Someone called Troblum may get in touch. If he does, I need to know immediately. And you must not lose track of him. If possible, take him directly into custody.”

“Okay, so who is he?”

“A slightly strange physicist who may know how to get through the Sol barrier. I’m sending his file. Oh, and the Cat is after him as well, so be careful.”

“Is she? Well, that’s just made my day. Anything else?”

“That’s all, Oscar. Thank you.”

Oscar watched the file load into his storage lacuna, and then the secure link closed. He let out a breath and started to review Troblum. He kept on getting distracted by Beckia. Her mind was emitting little pulses of dismay and anger into the gaiafield. The gaiafield was Oscar’s private additional method of watching for Araminta. They already had thirty stealthed sensors scattered across Francola Wood to try to spot her should she return. On top of that, Liatris had tapped into sensors and communication links from the other agents and the Welcome Team. But Oscar was hopeful that he would somehow get advance warning of her arrival from the path. He thought, though he was in no way sure, that he could sense the alien wormhole. There was something there, some intrusion into the gaiafield that wasn’t quite right, a feeling of age and incredible distance. Very faint, and the more he concentrated on it, the more elusive it became. So he was content to let it wash against the edge of his perception, which meant he had to open his gaiamotes up to their full sensitivity. That was why Beckia’s little outbursts were becoming quite intrusive.

“What?” he finally asked when a particularly sharp burst of indignation shunted his attention from Troblum’s amazing collection of Starflyer War memorabilia. He shifted around so that he was looking back into the lounge. His visor was open, so she could see his ire as well as feel it in the gaiafield.

Beckia gave him a look etched with rebuke. She was curled up on a long corner couch, sipping a hot chocolate. Her armor was open and ready on the floor beside her. “Haven’t you been following the news?” she replied.