The Saints of Salvation [British Ed.] by Peter F. Hamilton

Author:Peter F. Hamilton [Hamilton, Peter F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan Australia Pty
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The Avenging Heretic

Year Four

When he thought back to what the Avenging Heretic’s bridge used to be like during S-Day, all Alik could remember was basically a blank room with a big holographic projection in the middle. Now, it was the kind of chamber that belonged in a drama series – which he guessed was where a lot of it had been bootlegged from. The chief suspect was Callum, with Kandara as his accomplice – though she just laughed when he asked her. The alterations had been slow to materialize. One day the shape of the chairs had changed. They were bigger and bulkier, something that belonged in early twenty-first-century war vehicles, but they were comfier, so no one said anything. Consoles increased in increments throughout the second year, their surfaces becoming army-green metal, acquiring black trim, which then developed glowing blue edging as the overall light was reduced. Control functions became more intuitive. The tactical display graphics grew into hemispherical bubbles around everyone’s head with added neon ziz. Chrome toggle switches popped up like cautious mushrooms – a few at first, then they were complemented by U-shaped guards, and eventually lined up in long rows. The chairs expanded again, with added protection, and straps, and crash webs. Red strobes and battle-station klaxons protruded from the ceiling.

‘For fuck’s sake, people!’ Alik bellowed the first time Jessika tested them. His virtual avatar ears were ringing, while he blinked simulated blotches from his vision. ‘This is turning into a gamer fetish bunker. We’re neurovirtual in here.’

‘Ambiance helps instil the right attitude,’ Yuri said.

Alik’s teeth ground together at the mockery in that voice.

‘Yeah,’ Kandara chipped in. ‘Live the experience, man.’

He glowered at her and saw Callum trying to suppress laughter. Despite being on a ship with people who could be really fucking annoying when they wanted to be, he did admit the new formation was a considerable improvement. It made it somehow easier for his mind to mesh with the Avenging Heretic’s network. The simulation was, after all, window dressing, but it was customized to accelerate response time during the drills. So he supposed – grudgingly – that it did generate the right level of alert tension. Their mission was tactical at heart; they needed clear commands and unrestricted target and threat intelligence. But still, edging that glowed . . .

In addition to all the precise information coming at him through the console displays, Alik had the Salvation onemind’s more prosaic thoughts at the back of his mind. He could understand them better now; years of the spectral presence lurking like a malign secondary subconscious every time he opened the neural interface had given him the practice to focus on individual routines. That and Jessika’s invaluable tuition meant it was easier for him to sort through the cascade of alien impulses, teasing out the relevant aspects without the onemind realizing.

Right now he was experiencing something that the onemind had never projected before: eagerness. The end of the wormhole was close. They would arrive at the enclave, where it would be welcomed and become accepted.

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