The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  No to the Skylord. No to the entity that was offering to guide a goodly portion of humanity to what they regarded as their Nirvana.

  No. Said because: I’m the Second Dreamer.

  It’s me. Me!

  Oh, Ozzie, please help me. This simply cannot be.

  Me. She kept turning that over and over. How could it be me? Because of some distant ancestor she’d never even heard of until the other day, this Mellanie and her friendship with the Silfen. All that, all those unknowns from centuries ago had come pressing down on her, had taken away her destiny, her self-determination. Fate had chosen her.

  Me!

  And now the millions, the billions, of Living Dream followers would look to her to help them join with the Skylord. And she’d said no.

  The Skylord had been surprised. Shocked even. She’d felt that wounded astonishment linger as she withdrew her mind from contact. That wasn’t an answer that fit its reality. She might just as well have said no to gravity, for all the sense it made.

  What she’d done terrified her, but it had been instinctive. She didn’t want to be the Second Dreamer. Just hours before the contact she’d decided about her future after days of soul-searching and self-discovery. She was going to be Mrs. Bovey(s). She was going to get herself more bodies and become multiple. And they’d live here in this grand house or a new one she’d build, equally delightful. And half of their bodies would be in bed together the whole time. She would make him as happy as he made her, and the future would be bright and lovely and full of promise. There might be children. What kind of children did multiples have? Did he want them? They’d never talked about any of this yet. So much was waiting for her out there in the years to come, so many discoveries. So much joy.

  Of course she’d said no. What else could she say?

  I will not be a part of that. That is not me.

  Billions wanted it to be. They were going to insist.

  But they will never know who I am. I will never talk to the Skylord again.

  That was the decision she’d made when dawn had come to the sky outside the bedroom. She was wretchedly tired and shaking. There were dried tears on her cheeks from the quiet sobbing in the lonely hours as gentle rain pattered against the window. But she knew her mind now. She would stand firm.

  On the big bed beside her the blond teenage Mr. Bovey lay on his back with a slight frown, mouth twitching as he dealt with a sour dream.

  Nothing as bad as mine, she told him silently. He, too, would never know, she decided; the burden would be too much. This will end. Eventually. I will endure and ride it out.

  Araminta bent over and kissed the youthful body. Gently at first. On his brow. His cheek. His mouth.

  He stirred. The frown eased away. She smiled at that and kissed his throat. Her hands caressed the supple muscle on his chest as the mélange program rose out of her lacunae. Her raging thoughts stilled as she breathed slowly and carefully, following her own deep rhythms to achieve the composure she sought. Now she could concentrate fully on the body beside her.

  For the full hour that followed there were no distractions, no external thoughts and doubts. It was so good to forget Skylords and Second Dreamers and Living Dream, replacing them with good dirty human sex.

  “Forgive me, especially after this morning, but you don’t look so good,” Mr. Bovey said.

  Araminta nodded grudgingly as she finally climbed out of the big bath. It was such a luxury to lounge in oiled, scented water rather than snatch a quick minute in a spore shower. One her poor body deserved. “Your fault,” she teased. She couldn’t quite put the right emphasis behind it. Her thoughts were drifting back to the revelations of last night with the surety of a tide.

  It was the young Celtic one who handed her a huge towel. “Are you all right? You’re not having second thoughts?”

  “Ozzie, no! This is the only truly good decision I’ve made. Probably ever.”

  He smiled proudly but couldn’t completely hide his worry. “You seem … troubled. I’m concerned.”

  She started to rub the water off her legs. “It’s been a big week. I’m all right, just didn’t sleep well, that’s all. I’ll take some kind of pep infuser when I get home.”

  “Home?” He frowned.

  “I’ve still got to get the apartments finished. We both know I need the money.”

  “Right.” He scratched at his hair, looking perplexed. Araminta wasn’t used to that. Whenever they had serious conversations, Mr. Bovey always preferred to use his middle-aged black-skinned body, the one she’d had their very first date with, the one who almost qualified as the father figure. She never had worked out if that was deliberate on his part.

  “Look,” he said. “I hate to be the one with the bad news, but you clearly haven’t accessed the unisphere this morning.”

  Just the way he said it made her heart sink. She had told her u-shadow to suspend any unisphere contact before they went to bed last night; now it reconnected her and began pulling out priority news items. “Oh, great Ozzie,” she gasped. It was all there. The invasion by Ellezelin forces down by the docks. Paramilitary troops moving across the city. Large capsules patrolling the skies, halting any civilian traffic.

  When she rushed over to the window, she could make out several of the capsules floating passively above the river Cairns, insidious dark ovoids set against the dusky dawn-lit clouds. Colwyn’s weather-protection force field was on, covering the entire city. It wasn’t any storm the invaders were interested in; they were preventing any capsules from leaving.

  And worse, much, much worse, the message from Director Trachtenberg at Centurion Station about the Void starting to expand. A devourment phase, all the commentators were calling it. And they were equally clear that it was the fault of the Second Dreamer for rejecting the Skylord. “No such thing as coincidence” was the phrase that kept reverberating around in her head. Everyone was using it.

  “I can’t stay here,” Araminta moaned.

  “You’re not serious? It’s dangerous out there. They’re restricting the reports, but our fellow citizens are not taking this lightly. There have been several clashes already, and it’s not even breakfast time yet.”

  They’re here for me, she realized. A whole world invaded, violated because of me. Ozzie, forgive me.

  “I’ll just go straight home,” she said stubbornly. “I have to get to the apartments. They’re all I’ve got; you can see that, can’t you?” She felt shabby saying that; it was emotional bullying, but all she wanted to do was get away from him. It was completely wrong. This was the person she was planning to marry; hes should be trusted. She just couldn’t risk trusting him with something of this magnitude. He’d agreed to marry a girl struggling to make it as a property developer, not some walking galactic catastrophe.

  “I do understand,” he said, so very reluctantly. “But they’ve shut down all the capsule traffic. Half of mes are stuck all across town.”

  Araminta started to pull her clothes on. There was a whole closet in the bathroom that was hers, so at least she could dress practically with dark jeans and a blue sweater. “My trike pod is in the garage. I left it here a couple of weeks back.” Her u-shadow was hurriedly checking travel restrictions in Colwyn City. The traffic management net carried a full proscription on nonofficial air vehicles, backed by the certificate of the Mayor’s office and the Viotia Federal Transport Agency. However, ground vehicles were still permitted to operate within the city precincts, with an advisory caution that citizens should use them only for essential trips. There were a great many links to official Viotia government bulletins about their inclusion in the Free Trade Zone at core planet level and how after a brief transition period everything would return to normal and a strong economic growth phase would begin, bringing a major upswing to everyone’s lifestyle. Just for an instant she recalled Likan 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 t
he 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 favor 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 onto 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 that 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 what 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 the previous 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 had been 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 that 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 have drawn attention. 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 to Araminta’s easy life. Was she some kind of tough government agent, a war hero? Why was she a Silfen friend? Araminta promised herself that when she got back to the apartments, the first thing she’d do was look up the woman whose fault this all was.

  The paramilitaries were simply standing waiting in intimidating ranks, holding long rifles across their chests as everyone from the bridge walked or drove past them. The unisphere nodes at the end of the bridge were querying u-shadows. Araminta sent her identity certificate, looking nervously at the bulky figures, wondering what their faces looked like. They were sharing nothing with the gaiafield, which was strange, for anyone affiliated with Living Dream surely must have gaiamotes. Were they nervous? They had to know an entire planet hated them.

  Whatever smartcore the Living Dream forces were using to try to identify the Second Dreamer didn’t seem unduly interested in Araminta. None of the paramilitaries showed any interest in her as the trike trundled past them. Just on the other side, a group of local youths was gathering. Shouts echoed through the damp air, directed at the paramilitaries. Several brands of construction site bots waddled and rolled toward the dark ranks, waving power tools threateningly and leaking miscreant programs that blocked and distorted the cybersphere nodes.

  By the time she was a hundred meters along Gathano Avenue past the bridge, the paramilitary squad commander finally took action against the taunts and belligerent bots. The shouting increased in volume and anger, interspersed with the unpleasant high-pitched hum of energy weapons directed at the bots. Araminta increased her speed as a pair of capsules swept overhead to reinforce their colleagues. The last thing she could afford now was to be taken into custody.

  By the time she reached her apartments in the Bodant district forty minutes later, the number of people milling around in the park outside was disturbing. She knew she was being prejudiced, but most of them looked like the kinds of gang members the unisphere news always claimed had a stranglehold on the neighboring Helie district. When she allowed their gaiafield emissions to register, she found an atmosphere of dark resentment swirling across the park, more frightening than the anger of the commuters. There was purpose here. Violence wasn’t far away.

  She steered the trike down into the underground garage, thankful for the dual-gate security, then took the elevator up. When the doors opened on the fourth floor, Araminta prayed that Danal and Mareble were out or wouldn’t hear her crossing the vestibule. How good had she made the soundproofing? The Living Dream followers had moved in two days ago, declaring they could no longer wait until the official completion date, which left her with a load of work to finish for them before the full price was deposited in her account. Not today!

  The door of the apartment she was using closed behind her, and she pressed her back against it, as if reinforcing the charming old-fashioned brass lock. Breath hissed out of her in a sorrowful gasp, and she slowly slid down onto the parquet floor.

  I can just stay here. I don’t need to go out. I can get nutrient fluid for the culinary unit pumped in. I can work on getting the last two apartments finished. By the time that’s done, all this will have blown over.

  Except for the Void expansion phase. But the Raiel will fight that; that’s what the unisphere shows say.

  It was a pitiful delusion, she knew.

  Maybe thirty minutes later Cressida called. Just seeing her icon appear cheered Araminta up no end. If anyone knew what to do, it would be Cressida. And maybe, just maybe, she could tell her cousin about being the Second Dreamer.

  “Darling, how are you? Where are you?”

  “I’m okay, thanks. I’m at the apartments.”

  “Oh. I thought you were with Mr. Bovey.”

  “I was. I came home this morning.”

  “You crossed the city yourself?”

  “Yes. It wasn’t any trouble. I used my trike pod.”

  “Dear Ozzie, that was stupid, darling. You’re not to do anything like that again, do you understand? I mean it. Life is about to get very ugly here. I’ve been talking with my contacts in City Hall and the state government house. These Living Dream bastards are not going to go home. Viotia has been royally screwed by our crap-for-brains Prime Minister.”

  “Yes. I know,” she said weakly.

  “And the worst place for anyone to be right now is Colwyn City. They think that dickhead the Second Dreamer is living here. And there’s no way he’ll escape. They’ve broken just about every single article of the Commonwealth constitution by i
nvading us; they’re not going to stop now. Do you know who they’ve sent to oversee the search?”

  “No.”

  “Well, don’t tell anyone, but Cleric Phelim himself has come through the wormhole to take charge.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Oh, darling, keep up! He’s Ethan’s chief of staff, the enforcer himself. A greater turd you will not meet, and I include your old chum Likan in that list.”

  “Oh, great Ozzie.” Araminta drew her knees up to her chin and hugged her legs tight.

  “Sorry, darling, didn’t mean to worry you excessively. We’ll be all right, of course. Which is actually why I’m calling. There’s a way out if you’re interested.”

  “What way out? The weather dome is on; no one can get out.”

  “Ha, that just deters capsules. After all, the damn thing is only there to protect us from clouds and wind, not ward off Ocisen Empire warships or the Void boundary. There’s actually a big gap, well, twenty meters anyway, between the lower edge of the dome and the ground to allow normal airflow. We’d all suffocate in a week without that.”

  “So we can get through?”

  “We can just walk out until they seal that up with their troops, yes. Even then there are various tunnels available if you know the right people. My u-shadow will send the files over for you. Anyway, the point is that some friends and I are chartering a starship. We’re leaving completely, not just Colwyn but Viotia itself. There’s a seat on it for you if you want. I’m holding it as part of our family’s block booking.”

  “Um … but Mr. Bovey?”

  “Darling, you’d need five starships to get all of hims off. Be realistic. And be sensible. In times like this you have to think about your own ass.”

  “But they’re not letting anyone out of the city, let alone off-planet.”

  “You leave that to us. Anybody who believes Living Dream is some kind of irresistible force has clearly forgotten about lawyers. We’re chartering a foreign-owned starship with full diplomatic status. If Phelim tries restricting that, he’ll find himself staring down a Commonwealth Navy warship disrupter cannon. Let’s see who blinks first then.”