The Saints of Salvation

by Peter F. Hamilton

  “Nice?” he asked cautiously.

  Yirella shrugged.

  Plenty of people were gathering at the house, and Dellian knew most of them. All the binaries who’d grown up on the Immerle estate back on Juloss, or at least those who’d survived the fateful Strike at Vayan two years ago; how many they’d lost still took some getting used to. Mingling with them were omnia who’d been on the Calibar when it was ambushed by the Olyix.

  They found Alexandre on the terrace, a tall glass of sparkling rosé in hir hand. Dellian couldn’t remember ever seeing hir drinking before and didn’t quite know how to react. Disapproval would seem like disrespect, and that was something he would never allow to happen. Alexandre’s apparent youth didn’t help his attitude, either. Sie now looked positively adolescent thanks to hir rebuilt body. In fact, Dellian had a sneaking suspicion he might now look the older of the two.

  If Alexandre was as perturbed by the age-switch, sie didn’t show it. Sie gave them both a warm hug. “Thank you for coming. I need people who’ll ground me.”

  “Happy housewarming,” Yirella said.

  “Sweet Saints, a housewarming.” Sie shook hir head in bemusement. “I never imagined I’d have a housewarming. It seems so final, like: This is it. You’re never going to move on from this, it’s your peak in life.”

  “Nonsense,” Dellian said. “This is the start of your new life. That’s why we’re celebrating it.”

  “Thank you, but I was quite happy with my old life.”

  “So was everyone on Earth before the Olyix came.”

  “Ouch! Who’s the teacher now?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  But Alexandre was chortling, so Dellian grinned weakly and used his databud to call a server remote over—one loaded with plenty of alcohol.

  “How are you coping?” Yirella asked. “Physically, I mean?”

  “To be honest, I’m not sure,” Alexandre admitted. “Most of this new body was grown inside a biologic initiator, which gives me a sense of…I don’t know. Imposter syndrome?”

  “But your brain is still a hundred percent original,” she insisted.

  “I know. One of the big original human fantasies, right? Having your time over. But there’s got to be a lot of senescent cells left up here.” Sie tapped hir head. “I guess wisdom and caution rule over impetuosity after all. I know I can run up mountains, but despite the urging of fizzing hormones, I just don’t particularly want to.”

  “That’s psychology, not physiology. We’re all still in a state of shock and depression—you from when the Olyix intercepted the Calibar and cocooned the lot of you, us from being ambushed at Vayan when we thought we were the ones ambushing them. I can’t conceive of a greater, more humiliating failure than that.”

  “Oh, my dear, no,” sie protested. “That’s so far from where we are. We have these splendid new habitats to live in safely, and all of us rescued from the Calibar have been re-bodied. What could be better for morale than that?”

  “That’s just a short-term feeling,” Yirella said. “In reality, the foundation for our whole Strike mission has been wrecked. The Olyix knew everything we planned to do, and they fooled us completely. They knew about our exodus habitats and worked out the limits of our expansion into the galaxy. They knew what to look for and where. They found us. I can’t believe the effort they must have dedicated to pursuing us. It’s almost impossible in a galaxy as vast as this one, but they did it. They are hubris to our arrogance. Saints, we built an entire fake civilization on Vayan as a lure. It was so real it even convinced the Neána. Yet it was all pointless. We wasted years—and took a terrible beating at the end of it. If it hadn’t been for Ainsley turning up, we’d be in the cocoons next to you. There is no failure greater than that.”

  Dellian laughed.

  “What?” Yirella asked.

  “Ever wonder why we don’t get invited to many parties?”

  “Ever wonder why she puts up with you?” Alexandre taunted. “Because I haven’t got a clue.”

  A server remote trundled up to them, and Yirella snagged a glass of wine. “Here’s to a future relived—and relived properly.”

  They drank to that.

  “Double celebration,” Alexandre said. “This is also the day when the last of the Calibar personnel walked out of medical.”

  “Two hundred and seventy-three thousand, eight hundred and fifty-three successfully de-cocooned,” Yirella said. “And only a hundred and three casualties.”

  “They were very old,” Dellian said sadly.

  “I know the feeling,” Alexandre said. “This is a quite surreal experience I’m undergoing. I have a young body, and when I woke up, there you all were. Everyone who grew up in the Immerle estate, decades after I waved a final goodbye to you. What are the odds?”

  Dellian groaned. “You had to ask.”

  “Not as long as everyone is presuming,” Yirella said. “The Olyix sensor station was only twenty light-years from Vayan. It covered a bubble of space five hundred light-years in diameter. So actually, it’s surprising the Calibar was the only generation ship they’d captured. There were several flying away from Juloss that must still be inside their operational range. But I’m glad it was you.”

  “How do you know where their sensor station is?” Alexandre asked.

  “Ainsley told us. He extracted the coordinates out of the Olyix ship’s onemind when he found the gateway location.”

  “I still can’t get my head around that. Ainsley Zangari, an alien warship.”

  “A mostly human warship. And a huge bonus for us.”

  “Is he? Really?”

  “We’ve already started retro-engineering some of his weapons technology.”

  “Trying to retro-engineer. Some of that mysterious Creator technology is beyond anything we know—or even understand.”

  “They’re called the Katos,” Yirella corrected primly. “And it’s not just their technology; the Angelis and the Neána were part of the Factory, too.”

  “Allegedly. I mean, do we actually have any proof?”

  “About the alien species, no—apart from the fact Ainsley must have been made somewhere. And he’s definitely on our side. Thank the Saints.” Her hand went out to rest on Dellian’s shoulder. “He saved Del, too.”

  “You saved me,” Dellian said, and lifted her hand up to kiss it.

  “You two,” Alexandre said thickly. “You’ll get me all weepy. That’s a curse of a young body. It’s too emotional.”

  Yirella grinned. “Again: psychology, not physiology. You don’t get to blame emotions on your body. They’re all yours.”

  Alexandre put hir arms around both of them. “Saints bless you. Neither of you have changed. How strange; you’ve become my rock now.”

  “That might become a cyclic thing if we all wind up using biologic initiators to body-rebuild,” Yirella said.

  “You mean become immortal,” Alexandre said.

  “Yeah,” Dellian said. “How come nobody did that on Juloss?”

  “There are plenty of people who did that back on Juloss,” sie replied. “Some who came on the founding generation ship were still alive to leave five hundred years later. However, given our life expectancy is around two hundred and fifty years, many citizens felt that was long enough for them. I don’t know if it’s a valid factor, but the majority of those who rejuve come from the early days of the exodus. I suspect it’s a comment on the societies we build on the new worlds that they don’t inspire as many to live even longer.”

  “I didn’t know rejuvenation was common,” Yirella said.

  “It used to be common. Remember, you lived at the end of our time on Juloss; most of the population had flown away by the time you were born. You never got to experience our civilization in full swing.”

  “Did you get rejuvenated before
?” Dellian asked.

  “No. I thought about it a lot, but being a parent to all of you was satisfying in a way I knew would never happen again. And by then I was nearly two hundred. So I left to see a new planet begin, and I thought that would be a good place for my final days. It would have immersed me in optimism.”

  “That’s so you,” Yirella said happily.

  Dellian looked up. Something had caught his attention, and he wasn’t quite sure what.

  “Ah, it’s starting,” Alexandre said.

  Above them, the spindle light had begun to dim, sliding to a planet’s rose-gold twilight. Shadows expanded out of the valleys of the cylindrical landscape, cloaking the interior. The lights of paths and houses glimmered all around. Dellian sipped his beer, then squinted at the endcap, which was…“Great Saints,” he muttered incredulously.

  The surface of the endcap was changing, its dark color draining away. Within a minute, the entire structure had turned transparent. He was staring out at the starfield, where each point of light was a steady burn, not the sparkle he was used to from a planet’s atmospheric distortion.

  “So many stars,” Yirella said in an awed voice. “They’re lovely like this.”

  “This is why I chose a house right up close to the endcap,” Alexandre said. “There’s something about seeing the stars at night that’s fundamentally reassuring—to me, anyway.”

  Dellian forced a grin as he studied the panorama. It wasn’t reassuring at all. The vertiginous way the stars rotated just intensified the knowledge he was standing inside an artificial habitat with a relatively thin shell. It emphasized how pitifully tiny and vulnerable they were.

  He closed his eyes against the disorienting view, and once again the Saints’ small ship exploded, enveloped by a dazzling nuclear plasmasphere. Glowing wreckage hurtled across the big structures orbiting an alien star. The loss of the Avenging Heretic electrocuted his soul.

  Yirella’s arm closed around him as he swayed, beer slopping out over his hand.

  “Del!”

  “I’m fine,” he protested. “Just dizzy.” He pointed an accusing finger at the stars as they tracked around the endcap. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Haven’t you been in the habitats?” Alexandre asked in surprise.

  “Not much. And not at night.”

  “Where are you two living?”

  “We have quarters in the Morgan,” Yirella said.

  “I see.”

  “That sounds disapproving,” Dellian said. “I’m a serving officer. We have to be ready.”

  Alexandre put hir hand on Dellian’s shoulder. “I know. And believe me, we’re all grateful for your service.”

  “Much use it does. We’re alone, the exodus plan has failed, and the Saints are dead.”

  “My dear Dellian, you have to stop this. We’re alive, the Morgan rescued a quarter of a million people, and we’re going to start the real fight soon.”

  “Yeah, sorry.” Dellian hung his head, ashamed not for what he’d said but for allowing the bleakness to creep up on him again. Since the Strike, he spent half the time thinking that the Olyix neurovirus was still in his brain—a depression worming its way insidiously through his thoughts, corrupting his outlook. Before, he looked at everything with optimism, knowing the Strike was going to work, that he’d live to see the inside of the Olyix enclave. Now he didn’t even understand why he used to think like that.

  “Look,” Yirella said, a little too quickly. “In a couple of days, Kenelm’s going to have the FinalStrike proposal council meeting. That’s a huge statement of confidence in itself, of how we move on from here. Whatever we decide, this will mark the start of our resurgence.”

  “Damn Saints it does,” Dellian confirmed. He tried to sound convincing. Supportive, even. But…Another meeting, more sitting around a table talking about things they might do. People supporting proposals, people arguing against, deals being made between factions. He truly hated this part of life after the Vayan ambush. There was no solid goal anymore—nothing he could grab hold of and dedicate himself to. Nothing to keep his mind off what had happened. So instead he was free to worry. Not a good thing in a squad leader.

  “An important moment for everyone,” Alexandre said.

  “I’m worried people will want to take the Neána option and hide,” Yirella said.

  “Many will,” sie agreed. “Among my Calibar compatriots, anyway. But not all. Anger and fear make for an unpredictable combination. Revenge isn’t necessarily a good motivator, but it certainly helps recruit waverers.”

  “Maybe. I think the meeting will be more symbolic than anything else. But you’ll come, won’t you?”

  “Try and stop me.”

  * * *

  —

  Yirella waited until Del fell asleep, then another half hour beyond. He didn’t sleep well these days—not that she was much better. She knew he kept having nightmares of the Avenging Heretic exploding, tormented by the question if he was truly cured or if the Olyix neurovirus was simply hiding in the caverns of his mind, biding its time. He no longer trusted himself, which was savaging his self-confidence.

  While she…The bleak despair was returning—the one that had broken her before, a sense of the utter futility that their lives had become. She’d never truly beaten it, but being with Del had kept it in abeyance. Yet now that particular version of Del had vanished, claimed by the neurovirus, and the darkness was threatening to close in on her once more.

  Her optik displayed the white icon, and she opened it.

  “Good party?” Ainsley asked.

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “You’re picking up my speech patterns.”

  “When in Rome…”

  “Oh, sweetheart, Rome is so far away now—and not just in space.”

  “We’ll rebuild it when we return to Earth.”

  “Really? The Colosseum? You’ll build a ruin?”

  “Why are you always such a contrarian? Novus Rome will be a memorial to the past. Obviously.”

  “Novus, huh? Smartass.”

  “I wish. I still hate the paradox.”

  “Not this again.”

  “This all the time.”

  “Look, it’s just superficial logic.”

  “No, if we’re right about what you found in the onemind’s memory, something sent the Olyix a tachyon message from the future, and they built their whole insane crusade around it. If we win, if we exterminate the Olyix, then the God at the End of Time will know it, because the Olyix won’t be there delivering all the elevated species as requested.”

  “…so it won’t bother sending the message to them from up there in the future in the first place. Or it sends them another message warning them about our attack plans. Yeah, I get that.”

  “We didn’t know the message was real. We always assumed it was some kind of religious bullshit, just like we used to have back on Earth.”

  “Are you becoming a believer, Yirella?”

  “Belief implies faith. That I don’t have, not in mythology. But a tachyon message from the future? It makes you focus on what’s real. The human race is now down to three tiny habitats adrift in a smallish galaxy that’s lost in a vast universe. So vast that our animal brains can’t even ‘get’ how big it is. The best I can do is know that I don’t ‘get’ it.”

  “You guys really worship bleak, don’t you? So what? The size of the universe is an abstract. It doesn’t change the threat we’re facing.”

  “Maybe not, but it undermines the threat. You realize how irrelevant everything is. So why fight? The Neána have a point; we should just slip into the dark and party away. Enjoy ourselves before the end comes crashing down.”

  “For fuck’s sake, get a grip! You were supposed to be working through options for us. I’m depending on you.”

 
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just the stress of responsibility. If we don’t get this perfect…How did you call it? Game over.”

  “All right, if it helps, forget thinking the Olyix have a religious component. But you can’t deny they’re fanatics, controlled by whatever hellspawned entity is lurking up there in the future. No, not controlled: conned. The message gave them purpose, which makes them weak.”

  “Weak? How so?”

  “They need a cause,” Ainsley said. “An outside emperor to make them what they are. A tachyon beam message from a future god—that could so easily have been us. You know, when I was alive, there were cults and conspiracy theorists all over the world that predicted benign aliens would come and save us from ourselves.”

  “Do you think there were Neána on Earth back then, putting the theory out there?”

  “No. That’s not the point here. We don’t need saving from ourselves; we never did. We’ve always had catastrophe preachers walking among us, profiting off the fear they create—either to sell something or to keep the population in line. But if you look at the progress we’ve made as a species, from clunkheads who chased antelopes across the savanna up to a society that settled distant stars— Hell, if I still had eyes I would weep with pride. Sure, whatever time you’re born into, that progress was never fast enough, and fuck knows enough personal injustices were never redeemed. But overall, we have nothing to be ashamed of. So I don’t care who sent that message to the Olyix or from when, because it doesn’t give any fucker the right to intervene in our evolution. So my belief is very simple: The Olyix have to be stopped. By whatever means possible.”

  “Yeah.” She looked over at Del, lying beside her. Even when he’s sleeping he looks troubled. “That’s kind of ingrained in me, too.”

  “So how’s that grand strategy coming on?”

  “Same as always. It’s that Saints-damned sensor station that’s the problem; it screws up every attack route scenario. We always thought the wormholes the Olyix arkships brought with them led right back to the enclave gateway. That way we could get there in one easy flight.”