Read Online The Temporal Void by Peter F. Hamilton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Peter F. Hamilton
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bringing a major upswing to everyone’s lifestyle. Just for an instant she recalled Liken and his grand plans for the Free Trade Zone, but she dismissed those thoughts at once.
‘Let some of mes go,’ Mr Bovey said. ‘I can check the place over for you.’
‘I am not going to start our life together by being dependent on you,’ she said, hating herself now.
He looked even more unhappy. ‘All right. Ozzie, but you’re obdurate.’
‘Think of it as tenacious, and how that works in your favour in bed.’
‘Ozzie help the paramilitaries if they get in your way.’ But his sympathetic smile wasn’t exactly wholehearted. ‘I don’t suppose one of mes can come with you?’
‘Have you got a ground vehicle?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘You’re really sweet. Still want to marry me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Even when there’s going to be many mes?’
‘Just take care.’
There was a whole team of hims assembled to wave goodbye to her when she clambered on to the trike pod. She was mildly surprised to find the power cell still had half a charge left. All his familiar faces wore the same mournful expression as she waved airily. Then she set off down the narrow gravel track which cut through the grounds to the road outside. There was a point when she’d just passed the last of hims when she thought her resolution might buckle and send her rushing back, confessing everything. It was coupled with a horror that she’d never see him again, that no matter her determination this was all too big for her to cope with.
If that’s so, then I can’t drag him down into it .
So she kept the trike steady and true, riding across the garden that retained its light coating of glistening moisture from last night’s rain. The old iron gate at the end of the track creaked as its actuators swung it open for her. Then she was out on the empty road lined with tall lackfol trees whose reddish-green leaves were chittering in the gentle breeze that stirred under the city’s force field dome.
The worst part of the trip was riding over the big single-arch bridge to the northern bank. She felt horribly exposed to the big capsules that slid through the air on either side of the bridge. It was so strange seeing the city without its normal capsule traffic zipping about, as if the metropolis was injured somehow. People on the bridge seemed to share the feeling. Many citizens had decided to walk to work, showing their defiance through an obstinate insistence on pursuing their normal day as best they could. Public cabs still hummed along the central rails, packed tight with commuters. And she’d never known so many people actually had trike pods; a great many of them clearly hadn’t been outside their garages for years.
As she cleared the apex of the long bridge, Araminta allowed herself to dip into the local gaiafield, receiving the strident emotions of her fellow residents, the determination and anger they radiated and supported each other with. It was a buoyant kinship; though she didn’t dare allow any of her own feelings to trickle out. She was all too conscious of people like Danal delving into the confluence nests, trying to locate any hint of her thoughts, her location, her identity. And how was that for irony, one of her hunters buying an apartment from her, actually living next door to his prey, neither of them knowing. She wondered if he’d be able to scent the guilt on her.
Ahead of her she could see three capsules hovering over the far end of the bridge. Dozens of the suited paramilitaries were clustered there, examining everyone coming over. She almost turned around there and then, but that would draw attention to her. And they’d be watching the whole bridge for such a reaction, she was sure of that. So she pressed on, wondering what that ancestor Mellanie would do: she who’d bequeathed so much trouble into Araminta’s easy life. Was she some kind of tough government agent, a War hero; why was she a Silfen friend? Araminta
‘Let some of mes go,’ Mr Bovey said. ‘I can check the place over for you.’
‘I am not going to start our life together by being dependent on you,’ she said, hating herself now.
He looked even more unhappy. ‘All right. Ozzie, but you’re obdurate.’
‘Think of it as tenacious, and how that works in your favour in bed.’
‘Ozzie help the paramilitaries if they get in your way.’ But his sympathetic smile wasn’t exactly wholehearted. ‘I don’t suppose one of mes can come with you?’
‘Have you got a ground vehicle?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘You’re really sweet. Still want to marry me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Even when there’s going to be many mes?’
‘Just take care.’
There was a whole team of hims assembled to wave goodbye to her when she clambered on to the trike pod. She was mildly surprised to find the power cell still had half a charge left. All his familiar faces wore the same mournful expression as she waved airily. Then she set off down the narrow gravel track which cut through the grounds to the road outside. There was a point when she’d just passed the last of hims when she thought her resolution might buckle and send her rushing back, confessing everything. It was coupled with a horror that she’d never see him again, that no matter her determination this was all too big for her to cope with.
If that’s so, then I can’t drag him down into it .
So she kept the trike steady and true, riding across the garden that retained its light coating of glistening moisture from last night’s rain. The old iron gate at the end of the track creaked as its actuators swung it open for her. Then she was out on the empty road lined with tall lackfol trees whose reddish-green leaves were chittering in the gentle breeze that stirred under the city’s force field dome.
The worst part of the trip was riding over the big single-arch bridge to the northern bank. She felt horribly exposed to the big capsules that slid through the air on either side of the bridge. It was so strange seeing the city without its normal capsule traffic zipping about, as if the metropolis was injured somehow. People on the bridge seemed to share the feeling. Many citizens had decided to walk to work, showing their defiance through an obstinate insistence on pursuing their normal day as best they could. Public cabs still hummed along the central rails, packed tight with commuters. And she’d never known so many people actually had trike pods; a great many of them clearly hadn’t been outside their garages for years.
As she cleared the apex of the long bridge, Araminta allowed herself to dip into the local gaiafield, receiving the strident emotions of her fellow residents, the determination and anger they radiated and supported each other with. It was a buoyant kinship; though she didn’t dare allow any of her own feelings to trickle out. She was all too conscious of people like Danal delving into the confluence nests, trying to locate any hint of her thoughts, her location, her identity. And how was that for irony, one of her hunters buying an apartment from her, actually living next door to his prey, neither of them knowing. She wondered if he’d be able to scent the guilt on her.
Ahead of her she could see three capsules hovering over the far end of the bridge. Dozens of the suited paramilitaries were clustered there, examining everyone coming over. She almost turned around there and then, but that would draw attention to her. And they’d be watching the whole bridge for such a reaction, she was sure of that. So she pressed on, wondering what that ancestor Mellanie would do: she who’d bequeathed so much trouble into Araminta’s easy life. Was she some kind of tough government agent, a War hero; why was she a Silfen friend? Araminta
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