Ballistic (The Palladium Wars), стр. 91
She did her nighttime ablutions and slipped into bed. Outside, Coriolis City was still humming with people and activity, unaffected by the drama that was unfolding a hundred million kilometers away on Rhodia. Solveig felt a strange sense of calmness as she listened to the faint sounds of the busy city outside her suite’s windows. It was oddly freeing to finally have some bigger worries than her father’s disapproval.
CHAPTER 23
ADEN
The bar was called Halo 212. The directions Tess had sent him led Aden to one of the superslender Coriolis City towers that jutted into the sky underneath the dome like needles. Aden’s stomach lurched a little when he stepped onto the skylift platform in the atrium of the building and realized that the number in the bar’s name stood for the floor where it was located.
When he walked into the lobby of the 212th floor only a minute later, he understood the complete logic behind the name. Halo 212 was a circular platform that wrapped around the building and jutted out high over Coriolis City. The effect was unsettling and breathtaking at the same time because the bar was constructed almost entirely out of transparent material.
After a moment of hesitation, Aden stepped out onto the floor, which afforded a clear view of the cityscape below. The ring that made up the bar was cantilevered on a thin frame of what looked like titanium and graphite composites, but the wide spaces between the thin spokes of the load-bearing structure were filled in with long slabs of Alon that looked to be at least thirty centimeters thick. Aden knew the properties of the material, but even the knowledge that a slab of that thickness would stop an antiship missile didn’t entirely mollify the primitive part of his brain that objected to walking out into seemingly thin air. He hadn’t kept up with the current price of Alon, but he had a good idea that the cost of this bar’s materials constituted a fair percentage of the building’s total construction bill. They had aligned the thermal welds of the Alon slabs with the spokes of the frame to make the floor look as seamlessly clear as possible, and the end result was frighteningly effective. He knew they could have simulated the same view at a much lower cost and effort with viewscreens in the floors, so the whole thing was an ostentatious display of extreme wealth and engineering prowess.
Drinks in this place are going to start at fifty ags, he thought as he walked out into the middle of the transparent floor.
The walls and ceiling were almost entirely transparent as well, with only the most minimal concessions to the need for a visible support structure. The floor jutted out from the building for thirty meters, and the farther Aden got out into the ring, the more complete the illusion of floating in midair became—the streets below, the dark night sky above, all in a grand panoramic vista that was only occasionally broken by a razor-thin composite spar between the massive slabs of Alon.
It took a little while to spot the other members of the Zephyr crew, which gave Aden a bit of time to adjust to the feeling of being suspended high above the city streets.
“This is an interesting spot for a bar,” he said when he walked up to his crewmates, who were sitting in a group of skeletonized chairs by one of the windows on the outer edge of the bar. There were two empty chairs in the group, and he sat down on one very carefully, dubious that the thin latticework of the furniture could hold his weight. But it did so with ease, and it was far more comfortable than it looked.
“Isn’t it?” Tristan said. “I love this place. Even if it is an overpriced tourist trap. But you can’t beat the view.”
“No, you sure can’t,” Aden said. He looked down at the space between his feet, which gave a clear view of the plaza in front of the building. “How high up is the 212th floor?”
“Eight hundred fifty meters, give or take a few,” Maya said. “That’s a thirteen-second free fall in one g, in case you’re curious.”
“I’m sure he could have done without that information,” Tess said.
“It’s fine,” Aden assured her.
“Have a drink or two, and you’ll enjoy it much more,” Tristan said. He was leaning back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. His white linen shirt was unbuttoned to a point just under his sternum, and there was the light-gray stubble of a three-day beard on his face. He looked supremely relaxed, sipping an amber liquid from a bulb-shaped glass.
“How does one go about doing that in this place?” Aden asked.
“There’s a bartender station every ten meters on the inner wall,” Tristan pointed. “Or you can summon the live waiter, but that’ll cost you fifteen percent extra.”
“I’ll do the station,” Aden said. “At least until I know how much they charge for a drink here.”
He walked over to the nearest bartender station and selected the cocktail menu on the service screen. It wasn’t quite as bad as he had feared, but the place didn’t give anything away either. They had been allowed alcohol in the prison arcology, but only beer, wine, and cider. He still wasn’t used to drinking anything stronger, so he selected a local brew. The service station produced an ice-cold aluminum bottle