The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  The man smiling at them from a table in front of the window was dressed in natural fabric clothes styled as only a Makkathran resident would wear.

  “No,” Araminta and Cressida chorused.

  The waiter smiled, understanding, and started pouring.

  Araminta watched morosely as her glass was filled. “Do you think I should go to the police?”

  “No,” Cressida said emphatically. “You do not go down that road, not ever. He sat you next to the Prime Minister at dinner, for Ozzie’s sake. You know how powerful he is. Besides which, no police force on the planet would investigate him, and even if they did, they’d never be able to prove anything. Those girls—if you were right, and I’m not saying you’re not—wouldn’t ever be found, let alone analyzed to see if their brains were wired up illegally. Forget it.”

  “How about the Commonwealth government? Don’t they have some kind of crime agency?”

  “The Intersolar Serious Crimes Directorate. So you take a trip to their local office, which is probably on Ellezelin, and you walk in and say you think some of his wives might be psychoneural profiled because of how they behaved while you were all having sex together, an orgy during which, incidentally, your macrocellular clusters were running a sexual narcotic program.”

  “It wasn’t a narcotic,” Araminta said automatically.

  “Point in your favor, then. That should do it.”

  “All right! What if I told them about his commercial plans? The way he’s built up Albany’s capacity?”

  “Tell whom?”

  Araminta pouted. For a friend, Cressida was not being very helpful. “I’m not sure. The industrial association of Ellezelin or whatever it’s called.”

  “Do you think they don’t know? Albany isn’t something you can hide. And exactly what has that got to do with psychoneural profiling?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Sounds more like vengeance than justice to me.”

  “He’s a shit. He deserves it.”

  “Was he good in bed?”

  Araminta hoped she wasn’t blushing as she concentrated on pouring more wine. “He was adequate.”

  “Listen, darling, I’m afraid this is one of those nasty times when you just have to forget him and move on. You learned a valuable lesson: just how ruthless you have to be to get on in this sad old universe of ours.”

  Araminta’s head collapsed down into her hands, sending her hair tumbling around her glass. “Oh, great Ozzie, I went and had sex with him! How humiliating is that?” She wished she could get rid of the memory, at least the bit about how much she had enjoyed herself. Actually, there were various commercially available routines and drugs capable of performing neat little memory edits. Oh, stop being so self-pitying, girl.

  “There, there.” Cressida reached over and patted Araminta’s hand. “By now he’ll have had half a dozen more girls in his bed and won’t even remember your name. It never meant as much to him as it does to you.”

  “And you’re telling me this to cheer me up?”

  “That was his deal, wasn’t it? You would be the second Friday on months with an ‘r’ in them?”

  “Yeah, I know. Hell, I’m a big girl. I knew what I was doing.”

  “With hindsight, yes, the view is always clear.”

  Araminta brought her head up and grinned. “Thank you for not judging.”

  “You’re still a work in progress. And I think you’re improving under my tuition. This was a much smaller mistake than Laril.”

  “When you want to cheer someone up, you really go for it, don’t you?”

  Cressida pushed her glass across the table, and clinked it to the rim of Araminta’s. “You’re starting to understand life. That’s good. So what are you going to do about Mr. Bovey?”

  Araminta grimaced. “Mr. Bovey’s proposal, actually.”

  “What! He didn’t?”

  “He did. Marriage with me once I’ve gone multiple.”

  “And you think I’m pushy! Wait a minute. Did he ask you this before you had your little visit to Likan?”

  “Umm. Yes.”

  “You go, my girl. So what was the Likan thing all about?”

  “Trying out options while I consider what to do.”

  “Wow.”

  “Have you ever considered going multiple? Likan said it was purely a lifestyle choice, not a business one. I’m not so sure. Ten pairs of extra hands would be very useful in my line of work.”

  “I haven’t considered it, no. It’s still only one mind, which is all a lawyer needs. But if you’re serious about property development, then I can see the practical advantages.”

  “It’s self-limiting, though, isn’t it? It’s saying I’ll always be somebody stuck doing some kind of manual job.”

  “Your pride seems to be a very fluid thing.”

  “I just want …” She didn’t know how to finish that sentence, not at all. “I don’t know. I was just shaken up by what happened on the weekend. And I had this really awful dream, too. I was like this really big creature flying over a planet when someone tried to smother me. Been having a few of those lately. Do you suppose it’s stress?”

  Cressida gave her a puzzled look. “Darling, everyone has had that dream. It was the Second Dreamer’s dream of the Skylord over Querencia. And that wasn’t someone trying to smother you; that was Ethan trying to talk to the Skylord direct. They say he’s still in a coma in the hospital with his minions trying to repair his burned-out brain.”

  “I couldn’t have dreamed that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t have gaiamotes. It always seemed a bit silly to me, like a weak version of the unisphere.”

  Cressida became very still; she pushed her glass aside and took Araminta’s hand. “Are you being serious?”

  “Serious about what?”

  “Didn’t your mother tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” Araminta felt panicky. She wanted another drink, but Cressida’s grasp was surprisingly strong.

  “About our great-great-great-grandmother.”

  “What about her?”

  “It was Mellanie Rescorai.”

  After all that buildup, Araminta felt badly disappointed. She’d at least been expecting some dynasty heir, maybe Old Earth royalty, not someone she’d never heard of. “Oh. Who is she?”

  “A friend of the Silfen. She was named their friend. You know what that means?”

  “Not really, no.” Araminta’s knowledge of the Silfen was a little vague: a weird humanoid race that everyone called elves. They sang gibberish and had a bizarre wormhole network that stretched across half the galaxy, allowing them literally to walk between worlds—an ability that a depressing number of humans found incredibly romantic. Few who tried to follow them down their twisting interstellar paths returned, but those who did told fanciful tales of adventure on new worlds and the exotic creatures they had found there.

  “Okay,” Cressida said. “It goes like this: The Silfen named Ozzie their friend, too. They gave him a magic pendant which allowed him to understand their paths and even join their communal mind, their Motherholme.”

  “Ozzie? You mean our Ozzie? The one we—”

  “Yes. Now, Ozzie being Ozzie, he broke open the pendant and figured out how the magic worked, that it wasn’t magic but quantum entanglement. So humans then started to produce gaiamotes. Our gaiafield is basically a poor copy of the Silfen communal mind.”

  “Right. So where does our ancestor come into this?”

  “Mellanie was also a Silfen friend, which actually involves a little more than just being given the pendant. Their Motherholme accepts your mind and shares its wisdom with you. The pendant only initiates the contact. After a while, the ability becomes natural—well, relatively speaking. And like all magic, it’s believed to be inherited.” Cressida let go of Araminta’s hands and smiled softly.

  “You just said it wasn’t magic.”

  “Of course not. But consider this. Mellanie and her husba
nd, Orion, came back. They had a little girl, Sophie, while they were out there walking across the galaxy. One of very few humans ever born on the paths and certainly the first of two Silfen friends. She was attuned to the Motherholme right from the start and passed the magic on to her children. Thanks to her, most of our family can feel the gaiafield, though it’s weaker with our generation. But on a good night, you can sometimes sense the Motherholme itself. I even ventured down one of the Silfen paths myself when I was younger; it’s just outside Colwyn City in Francola Wood. I was thirteen; I wanted adventure. Stupid, but …”

  “There’s a Silfen path on Viotia?”

  “Yes. They don’t use it much. They don’t enjoy planets with civilizations like ours on them.”

  “Where does it lead?” Araminta asked breathlessly.

  “They don’t lead to any one place; they join up and twist. Time is different along them as well. That’s why humans who aren’t Silfen friends are always lost along them. I was lucky; I managed to get back after a couple of days. Mother was furious with me.”

  “So … my dreams. They’re not actually mine?”

  “That Skylord one the other night wasn’t, no.”

  “It felt so real.”

  “Didn’t it just?” She glanced pointedly around the bar packed with Living Dream followers. “Now you see why they’re so devout. If you’re offered that kind of temptation every time you go to sleep, well, who would want to wake up? That’s what the Void is to them. Their dreams, forever.”

  “I don’t get it. So what if they’re real? That city they always go on about: Makkathran. It’s medieval, isn’t it? And their Waterwalker fights all the time. That’s awful. Even if you’ve got telepathic powers, they’re not that special. Our technology is just as good. Who wants to live like that?”

  “You seriously need to review Inigo’s dreams before you make that sort of judgment. The Waterwalker transforms an entire human society.”

  “So he’s a talented politician?”

  “Oh, no, darling, he’s much more than that. He revealed the true nature of the Void to us. He showed us what it can do. That kind of power scares me shitless, which is precisely what so many find so attractive.” Cressida waved her elegant hand at the Living Dream supporters. “Ozzie help us if these dreadful little fools ever gain the same ability the Waterwalker discovered. Eating up the galaxy would be the least of our worries.”

  Inigo’s Sixth Dream

  Nearly eighty probationary constables sat together in a block of seats on the ultrablack floor of Malfit Hall as the vast arching ceiling above played images of wispy clouds traversing the beautiful gold and pink dawn sky. Edeard had one of the seats in the second row and kept his head tipped back so he could watch the giant ceiling in astonishment. He was sure it must be the marvel of the world. His fellow squadmates were all amused by his reaction, not that they’d actually been in the Orchard Palace before except for Dinlay. But at least they’d known about the moving imagery, and they hadn’t thought to warn him.

  Edeard gasped as Nikran rose up into the replica sky. The ruddy brown planet here was a lot larger than it ever appeared in Querencia’s skies. He could see tiny features etched on the world’s eternal deserts. For some reason that made him think of it as an actual place rather than an element of the celestial panorama.

  “Does anyone live there?” he whispered to Kanseen, who was in the chair next to him.

  She looked at him, frowning, then glanced up at the image of Nikran and giggled.

  “What?” Macsen hissed.

  “Edeard wants to know if anyone lives on Nikran,” Kanseen announced solemnly.

  The whole squad snickered; surrounding squads joined in. Edeard felt his face heating up. “Why not?” he protested. “Rah’s ship fell onto this world; why not another ship to Nikran?”

  “Absolutely,” Macsen said. “Perfectly valid question. In fact, there’s a whole other Makkathran up there.”

  Edeard ignored them and simply looked straight ahead in a dignified manner. He resolved never to tell his friends of his dreams and what they showed him.

  The block of probationary constables settled down. Edeard started to concentrate on what he was seeing. They were facing the grand curving staircase that dominated one side of the hall. Owain, the Mayor of Makkathran, had appeared at the top, followed by the Guild Masters and District Masters who made up the Upper Council. They were all wearing their full ceremonial robes, producing a splendid blaze of color as they filed down to the floor of the hall.

  “Oh, Lady,” Dinlay groaned.

  Edeard caught a sensation of queasiness emanating from his friend. “Ten seconds maximum,” he told Dinlay, using a tiny directed longtalk voice. “Then it’s all over. Just hold it together for ten seconds. You can do that.”

  Dinlay nodded while appearing completely unconvinced.

  Edeard resisted looking at the much bigger block of seats behind him, where the families and friends of the probationary constables were gathered to watch them receive their bronze epaulets. It was probably an exaggeration, but half of them were Dinlay’s family and all of them were in uniform.

  “I bet there’s a crime wave going on in every district,” Macsen had muttered while they were taking their seats earlier. “There aren’t any constables left out there to patrol.”

  Owain reached the platform that had been set up at the bottom of the stairs. He smiled at the attentive audience. “It is always an honor and a privilege for me to perform this ceremony,” he said. “In my position I hear so many people complain not just about the state which the city is in but of the chaos which supposedly reigns in the lands outside our crystal walls. I wish they were standing here now to see so many young people coming forward to serve their city. I am heartened by the sense of duty you are displaying in making this commitment to serve your fellow citizens. You give me confidence for the future.”

  Now, that’s a real politician, Edeard thought uncharitably. The Mayor, of all people, must have known how inadequate the number of constables was, known that the eighty of them there weren’t enough, that at least an equal number of constables had left in the last few months to become private bodyguards or for a better paid and respected job as a sheriff in some provincial town. Why doesn’t he do something about it?

  The Mayor finished his inspirational speech. The probationary constables stood up as one, and then the first row trooped up to the platform to be greeted by the Mayor. The Chief Constable read each probationer’s name out to the hall while an assistant handed a pair of epaulets to the Mayor to be presented with a handshake and a smile.

  Edeard’s row started to move forward. He had thought that this would be boring at the least, that it was stupid, an irritation he could have done without, especially as the only person in the audience clapping for him was Salrana, who had been given the day off from her duties. But now he was here, now he was walking up to the Mayor of the entire city, he actually began to feel a sense of occasion. Behind him the audience was radiant with pride. They believed in the constables. In front, the Upper Council was registering its approval. None of the councillors had to be there; it was a ceremony repeated three times a year, every year. They had been to dozens and would have to come to dozens more. If they had wanted to cry off, they could have done that. But it was important enough for them to turn out every time.

  And here he was himself, coming forward to make a public pledge to the citizens of Makkathran that he would do his best to protect them and implement the rule of law. This was why Rah and those who followed him into office had created this ceremony and others like it: to recognize and honor the commitment the constables made to their city and lives. It was neither silly nor a waste of time; it was a show of respect.

  Edeard stood in front of the Mayor, who smiled politely and shook his hand as the Chief Constable read out his name. A pair of bronze epaulets was pressed into his hand. “Thank you, sir,” Edeard said. There was a lump in his throat. “I won’t let you
down.” Ashwell will never happen here.

  If the Mayor was surprised, he did not show it. Edeard caught sight of Finitan standing on the grand staircase. The Master of the Eggshaper Guild looked rather splendid in a gold and purple gown with elaborate scarlet symbols embroidered down the front; his silver-tipped hood was arranged over the left shoulder. He caught Edeard’s eye and winked. “Well done, lad,” his longtalk whispered.

  Edeard stepped off the platform. There was a burst of applause. He nearly laughed; it was as if the audience were rejoicing that he was out of the way. In fact, it was Dinlay’s considerable family clapping loudly as their relative received his epaulets. Dinlay managed not to trip or throw up or collapse from fright. He followed Edeard back to their seats with a glowing face, grinning back at his kin.

  Afterward there was a formal reception party, with the Mayor and the Upper Council mixing with the new constables and their families while ge-monkeys circled Malfit Hall with trays of drinks. It was scheduled to last an hour. Edeard might have warmed to the graduation ceremony itself, but he planned to be out of the party in under ten minutes.

  “No you don’t,” Salrana decreed. “Just look at who’s here.”

  Edeard frowned at the people babbling away, the families in their finery, the resplendent Upper Council members. “Who?”

  She gave him a withering look. “The Pythia for a start. And she noticed me. I felt her farsight on me during the ceremony.”

  Edeard took another look. “Fair enough; you’re the only novice here. She probably thinks you ducked out of your assignments to pick up the free booze.”

  Salrana drew herself up. It shifted the fabric of her white and blue robe in a way Edeard could not help noticing. If he kept doing that and kept thinking those accompanying thoughts about how she was growing up, the Lady really would blast him out of existence one day.