The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  “What?” he mumbled.

  “What?”

  “What happened?”

  “You’ve been in the ship’s medical chamber for a couple of days.”

  He winced as he tried to move his arms. His whole left side was stiff, as if the skin had shrunk. “A moment,” he told her. His u-shadow flipped medical records into his exovision. He skipped the details, concentrating on the major repairs. The damage had been more extensive that he had expected. The projectile entry wounds combined with firewire mutilation and toxin contamination meant the medical chamber had had to cut and extract a lot of ruined tissue and bone from his chest. Foreign meat had been inserted, neutral-function cells that could have their preactive DNA switched to mold them into whatever organ, bone, or muscle function they were replacing. He spotted a supplementary file and opened it. The foreign meat stored in the chamber actually was not so foreign. The DNA was his; it also had full-complement biononic organelles.

  The repairs had been woven into his body by the chamber and his existing biononics. They were still integrating, and that was why he felt so awful. Estimated time for the biononics to complete the binding and the cells to acclimatize to their new function was a further seventy-two hours.

  “Could have been better, could have been worse,” he decided.

  “I was worried,” she said. “Your wound was huge. The blood …” Her face paled; even the freckles faded.

  Aaron slowly shifted his arms back along the chamber padding, propping himself up, at which point he realized he did not have any clothes on. “Thank you.”

  She gave him a blank look.

  “I should be thanking you, shouldn’t I? What happened? The last thing I remember was you hitting Ruth Stol.”

  “That little princess bitch.”

  “So? What came next?” Aaron swung his feet over the lip of the capsule; his inner ears seemed to take a lot longer than usual to register the movement. Bulkheads spun around him, then twisted back. The starship’s cabin was in its lounge mode, with long couches extending out from the bulkhead walls. He hobbled over to the closest one as the medical chamber withdrew into the floor. Sitting down, he tentatively poked his chest with a forefinger. Half of his torso was a nasty salmon pink, covered with a glistening protective membrane.

  “I did what you suggested,” Corrie-Lyn said. “The capsule smashed its way into the reception hall. I just got inside when there was this almighty explosion over the forest. It knocked the capsule around quite a bit, but I was caught by the internal safety field. We zipped over to the administration block. You were … a mess, but I managed to pull you inside. Then we rendezvoused with the Artful Dodger outside the clinic, the way you set it up. The starship put its force field around the capsule while we transferred in. Good job. The police were going apeshit with me. They were shooting every weapon they had at us; there were craters all over the place when we took off. I told the smartcore to get us out of the system, but it followed your preloaded flight plan. We’re just sitting in some kind of hyperspace hole a light-year out from Anagaska. I can’t make a unisphere connection. The smartcore won’t obey me.”

  “I loaded a few options in,” he said. His u-shadow gave the smartcore an instruction, and a storage locker opened. “Do you think you could get me that robe, please?”

  She frowned disapprovingly but pulled the robe out. “I was really worried. I thought I was going to be stuck here forever if you died. It was horrible. The medical chamber would rejuvenate me every fifty years, and I’d just sit in the lounge plugged into the sensory drama library, being drip fed by the culinary unit. That’s not how I want to spend eternity, thank you.”

  He grinned at her drama queen outrage as he slipped on the robe. “If the chamber could rejuvenate you, it could certainly re-life me.”

  “Oh.”

  “In any case, if I die, the smartcore allows you full control.”

  “Right.”

  “But!” He caught hold of her hand. She jerked around, suddenly apprehensive. “None of this would have happened if you’d been ready to pick me up when I told you.”

  “I haven’t seen any decent clothes in weeks,” she protested. “I just lost track of time, that’s all. I didn’t mean to be late. Besides, I thought you got wounded before the scheduled rendezvous.”

  He closed his eyes in despair. “Corrie-Lyn, if you’re on a combat mission, you don’t call a fucking time-out to go shopping. Understand?”

  “You never said combat. A quick raid sneaking into their vault, you said.”

  “For future reference, a covert mission in which all sides are armed is a combat situation.”

  She pulled a face. “ ‘Nothing they have will be a match for my biononics.’ ”

  “I never said that.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “I …” He let out a breath and made an effort to stay calm. Yoga. She always made us do yoga. It was fucking stupid.

  Corrie-Lyn was frowning at him. “You okay? You need to get back in the chamber?”

  “I’m fine. Look, thank you for picking me up. I know this kind of thing is not what your life is about.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said gruffly.

  “Please tell me we still have the memorycell.”

  Corrie-Lyn produced a minx smile and held up the little plastic kube. “We still have the memorycell.”

  “Thank Ozzie for that.” His u-shadow told the smartcore to show him the ship’s log; he wanted to check how much effort had been made to try to track them. Since they had left Anagaska in a hurry, several starships had run sophisticated hysradar scans out to several light-years, but nobody could spot an ultradrive ship in transdimensional suspension. The log also recorded that Corrie-Lyn had managed to circumvent the lockout he had placed on the culinary unit to prevent it from making alcoholic drinks. This really wasn’t the time to make an issue of it.

  “Okay,” he told her. “I don’t think anyone’s spotted us, though there were some mighty interesting comings and goings just after our raid. Several ships with unusual quantum signatures popped out of hyperspace above Anagaska; the smartcore thinks they might be ultradrives in disguise.”

  “Who would they be?”

  “Don’t know and don’t intend to hang around to ask. Let’s get going.”

  “Finally.”

  He held his hand out, carefully maintaining a neutral expression.

  Corrie-Lyn gave the kube a sentimental look and took awhile to drop it into his palm. “I’m not sure I like the idea of you reading Inigo’s mind.”

  “I’m not going to. Memory assimilation isn’t like accessing a sensory drama off the unisphere or accepting experiences through the gaiafield. A genuine memory takes a long time to absorb; you can compress it down from real time, but still this kube contains nearly forty years of his life. That would take months to shunt into a human brain; it’s one of the governing factors in creating re-life clones. If we’re going to find him before the Pilgrimage, we don’t have that much time to spare.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Take it to someone who can absorb it a lot quicker than I can and ask nicely.”

  “You just said human brains can’t absorb stored memories that quickly.”

  “So I did, which is why we’re setting course for the High Angel.”

  Corrie-Lyn looked shocked. “The Raiel starship?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would the Raiel help you?”

  He smiled at the kube. “Let’s just say that we now have an excellent bargaining chip.”

  Corrie-Lyn did not have the kind of patience for extensive research. Aaron had to fill in the decades and centuries she skipped through when she started to access the files her u-shadow trawled up on the Raiel. Humans had discovered the High Angel back in 2163, he explained, when a wormhole was opened in its star system to search for any H-congruous planets. CST’s exploratory division quickly confirmed that there was no world that humans could live o
n, but the astronomers did notice a microwave signal coming from the orbit of the gas giant Icalanise.

  “What’s that got to do with angels?” she asked. “Were they all religious?”

  “Not astronomers, no.”

  When they focused their sensors on the microwave source, they saw a moonlet sixty-three kilometers long with what looked like wings of hazy pearl light: the wings of an angel.

  “Sounds like they were religious to me if that’s the first thing they think of.”

  Aaron groaned. With more sensors urgently brought online, the true nature of the artifact was revealed: a core of rock sprouting twelve stems that supported vast domes, five of which had transparent cupolas. Cities and parkland were visible inside.

  It was a starship, a living creature or a machine that had evolved into sentience. Origin unknown, and it wasn’t telling. Several species lived in the domes. Only the Raiel consented to talk to humanity, and they did not say very much.

  Several of the biggest astroengineering companies negotiated a lease on three of the domes, and the High Angel became a dormitory town for an archipelago of microgravity factory stations producing some of the Commonwealth’s most advanced and profitable technology. The workforce and their families soon grew large enough to declare autonomy (with High Angel’s approval) and qualify for a seat in the Senate.

  With the outbreak of the Starflyer War, High Angel became the Commonwealth’s premier navy base while the astroengineering companies turned their industrial stations over to warship production. More domes were grown, or extruded, or magically manifested into existence to accommodate the navy personnel. Even today nobody understood the High Angel’s technology.

  “Do we know more about it now?” she asked.

  “Not really. ANA might; the Central worlds can duplicate some functions with biononics, but the External worlds haven’t managed to produce anything like it.”

  Humans, he told her, had to wait for two hundred years after the war before the massive alien starship’s history became a little clearer. Wilson Kime’s epic voyage in the Endeavor to circumnavigate the galaxy revealed the existence of the Void to the Commonwealth, complete with Centurion Station and Raiel defense systems maintaining the Wall stars. Other navy exploration ships discovered more High Angel–class ships; the one species common to all of them was the Raiel.

  Confronted with that evidence, the Raiel finally explained that they had created the High Angel class of ships over a million years earlier while their species had been at its apex. It was a golden age during which the Raiel civilization spread across thousands of planets; they mixed with hundreds of other sentients, guided and observed as dozens of species transcended to a postphysical state. They even knew the Silfen before their Motherholme dreamed its paths into existence.

  Then the Void underwent one of its periodic expansion phases. Nothing the Raiel could do stopped the barrier from engulfing entire star clusters. Gravity shifted around the galactic core as stars were torn down into the event horizon. The effect on civilizations just outside the Wall stars was catastrophic. Stars shifted position as the core gravity field fluctuated; their planets changed orbits. Thousands of unique biospheres were lost before evolution had any chance to flourish. Whole societies had to be evacuated before storm fronts of ultra-hard radiation that measured thousands of light-years across came streaming out into the base of the galaxy’s spiral arms.

  After it was over, after rescue and salvage operations that went on for millennia, the Raiel declared that the Void no longer could be tolerated. The Firstlifes who had created it while the galaxy was still in its infancy clearly had not recognized the horrendous consequences it would have on those who lived after their era. The Raiel created an armada of ships that could function in any quantum state that theoretically might exist within the Void, and they invaded. A hundred thousand ships surrounded the terrible barrier and flew inside, ready for anything.

  None returned.

  The Void remained unbroken.

  What was left of the once-colossal Raiel civilization launched a rearguard action. A defense system to reinforce the Wall stars was built in the small hope that it might contain the next macroexpansion. More ships were created to act as arks for emergent species, carrying them away from the doomed galaxy across the greater gulf outside, where they could reestablish themselves on new worlds in peaceful star clusters. It was the last act of beneficence from a race that had failed its ultimate challenge; if they could not save the galaxy, the Raiel swore they would endure to the bitter end, shepherding entities less capable than themselves to safety.

  “That’s not a version of history I can believe in,” Corrie-Lyn said softly as the file images shrank to the center of the cabin and vanished. “It’s very hard for me to accept the Void as something hostile when I know the beauty which lies within.” She took a sip of her hot chocolate and brandy, curling up tighter on the couch.

  “That version?” Aaron queried from the other side of the cabin.

  “Well, it’s not as if we can ever verify it, is it?”

  “Unless I’ve got a false memory, you’ve got nearly six hundred years of human observations from Centurion Station to confirm the very unnatural way in which the barrier consumes star systems. And who was it, now, that took some of them? Oh, yes, that’s right: Inigo himself.”

  “Yes, but this whole crusading armada claim? Come on. A hundred thousand ships with weapons that can crunch entire stars. Where are they? None of Inigo’s dreams showed the smallest relic.”

  “Dead. Vaporized into component atoms and consumed like every other particle of matter that passes through the barrier.” He paused, slightly troubled. “Except for the human ship which got through and landed on Querencia.”

  “Pretty crappy tactics for a species of self-proclaimed masterminds. Didn’t they think of sending a scout or two in first?”

  “Maybe they did. You can ask when we get to the High Angel.”

  She gave him a pitying look. “If they even let us dock.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith.”

  The Artful Dodger fell back into spacetime ten thousand kilometers from the High Angel. Icalanise was waxing behind the alien starship, a horned crescent of warring topaz and platinum storm bands. Four small black circles were strung out along the equator: the tip of the umbra cones projected by a conjunction cluster of its thirty-eight moons.

  Several sensor sweeps flashed across the starship. High Angel still hosted a large Commonwealth Navy presence. The base admiral took security seriously. A fresh identity complete with official certification was already loaded into the smartcore for examination. Aaron’s u-shadow requested docking permission with the New Glasgow dome for the Alini. They received almost immediate approach authority.

  The archipelago of industrial stations glided lazily along a thousand-kilometer orbit, forming a dense loop of silver specks around the High Angel. Service shuttles zipped between them and the human-inhabited domes, collecting advanced technology and materials for forward shipment to the External worlds, where such systems still were prized.

  “How about that,” Aaron muttered appreciatively as he accessed the ship’s sensor imagery. “An angel with a halo.”

  “You can take religious analogies too far,” Corrie-Lyn chided.

  There were seventeen domes rising out of the core’s rocky surface now. The six occupied by humans all had crystal cupolas, allowing them to see the cities and parkland inside. Four of the remainder were also transparent to a degree; the spectra of alien suns shone out of them, following their own diurnal cycles. Strange city silhouettes could be seen parked on the landscapes within. At night they would shine with enticing colorful light points. One of them belonged to the Raiel. The remaining domes were closed to external observation, and neither High Angel nor the Raiel would discuss their residents.

  Following Aaron’s instruction, the starship’s smartcore aimed a communication maser at the Raiel dome. “I would like permission to dock
at the Raiel dome, please,” Aaron said. “There is a resident I wish to speak to.”

  “That is an unusual request for a private individual,” the High Angel replied with the voice of a human male. “I can speak on behalf of the Raiel.”

  “Not good enough. You’re aware of the nature of this ship?”

  “I do recognize it. Very few of ANA’s ultradrive vessels have ever come into my proximity; the technology is extremely sophisticated. You must be one of its representatives.”

  “Something like that, and I need to speak with a specific Raiel.”

  “Very well. I am sending you a new flight path; please follow it.”

  “Thank you. The Raiel I’d like to meet is Qatux.”

  “Of course.”

  The Artful Dodger changed course slightly, curving around the massive dark rock of the High Angel’s core toward the stem of the Raiel dome. Large dark ovals were positioned at the base, just before the point where the pewter-colored shaft fused with the rock crust. One of the ovals dematerialized, revealing a featureless white chamber beyond. The Artful Dodger nosed inside, and the outer wall rematerialized behind it.

  “Please stand by for teleport,” the High Angel said.

  Corrie-Lyn looked startled.

  “Once again,” Aaron said, “and yet still without any hope of you paying the slightest attention, let me do the talking.”

  Her mouth opened to answer.

  The cabin vanished, immediately replaced by a broad circular space with a floor that glowed a pale emerald. If there was a ceiling, it was invisible somewhere in the gloom far above. An adult Raiel was standing right in front of them. Corrie-Lyn gasped and almost stumbled. Aaron hurriedly reached out and caught her arm. He did not have any memory of being on Earth and using the planetary T-sphere, but the abrupt translation was about what he had expected.

  “Dear Ozzie,” Corrie-Lyn grunted.

  “I hope you are not too shocked,” the Raiel said in its mellow whisper.

  Aaron bowed formally. The Raiel was as big as all the adults of its species, larger than a terrestrial elephant, with gray-brown skin that bristled with thick hairs. Aaron was no expert, but this one looked like an exceptionally healthy specimen. From the front its bulbous head was surrounded by a collar of tentacle limbs, with a thick pair at the bottom, four meters long and tipped with segmented paddles that were intended for heavy work. The remaining limbs were progressively smaller up to a clump of slender manipulators resembling particularly sinuous serpents. Each side of its head had a cluster of five small hemispherical eyes that swiveled in unison. Below them on the underside of the head, the skin creased into a number of loose folds to form the mouth zone. When it spoke, Aaron could just glimpse deep wet crevices and a row of sharp brown fangs.