The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  “I see.”

  “So are you in or out?”

  “I … I don’t know.”

  “There’s one thing, darling, which I’m going to have to bring up. It won’t be cheap. Where do you stand on selling the apartments?”

  “Oh. Not good. I still don’t have deposits on the last two, and I haven’t completed any of the others. Nobody’s going to buy anything now.”

  “Yes, that is a problem. You didn’t find that off-load sucker like I told you, then? Never mind. You should never underestimate the market when it comes to making things happen for a profit. Give it a day and there’ll be venture groups on half the External worlds offering Viotia citizens cash for their businesses and properties; it’ll be way below yesterday’s market rate, but they’ll be thinking long term. Once Living Dream grabs the Second Dreamer, things will start to stabilize. Give it twenty years and everything will be back to normal, and those properties will be five times the value.”

  “If it’s going to be normal again, why are you leaving?”

  “Normal for a Free Trade Zone hagiocracy planet, darling. Which I have no intention of spending the rest of my lives on, thank you very much. I want a nice liberal market-based democracy with all the opportunities for misunderstanding and conflict that it entails. Wherever there’s an argument, you’ll find us lawyers offering to help. And help equals lots of money. On which subject, I’ve already transferred my cash accounts offworld.”

  “Already?”

  “Certainly, darling; the banks were keen to welcome me. And I wasn’t exactly the first. There’s enough money flying offplanet right now to leave our beloved Prime Minister a magnificent economic nightmare by lunchtime, never mind tomorrow. The only thing she has left to worry about is how painful her bodyloss is going to be when her previously loyal voters get their hands on her. So, do you want me to see if I can off-load your apartments for you? I have some finance seeker semisentients I can assign the problem to.”

  “Um, yes. Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Great; so I’ll reserve that ticket for you.”

  “Yes. Do that.” Araminta said it without thinking. She didn’t want to leave, but Cressida had to be placated somehow, and anything else might be suspicious. Ozzie, it didn’t take me long to become a paranoid schemer, did it?

  “Don’t worry,” Cressida said. “Ten days from now we’ll be sipping cocktails on the pool terrace of La Cinal on Etinna. It’ll be fun, a new beginning.”

  The call ended, and Araminta stared at the semidecorated open-plan living room in a mild daze. She couldn’t believe that even Cressida could abandon her whole life with such casual ease. But then, that was Cressida for you, thinking faster and smarter than anyone else. She’d probably run through the whole shock, anger, assessment, calculation, and action stages in the first hour while Araminta was still firmly mired in the shock segment. Certainly she’d never thought what life on Viotia would be like after things settled down. Of course Cressida was right; they would be part of the Free Trade Zone forever now. Unless the Senate and navy intervened or Viotia’s residents organized a rebellion.

  Or the Void devours us.

  Whatever the outcome, Cressida was right about one thing: Araminta couldn’t just wait around hoping to avoid detection. She started to think what it must cost politically and economically to invade a planet. Cleric Conservator Ethan and his sidekick Phelim wouldn’t do that and then just hope they’d stumble across the Second Dreamer. They’d have a plan. And it would be a good one.

  Araminta forced herself to get to her feet. She didn’t know what she was going to do, but doing nothing was not an option.

  It took two hours, and a stint in the ship’s medical chamber, but Troblum eventually stopped shaking. When he emerged, he could barely manage to cover the couple of meters from the chamber to his big chair. He sank into its padding, fearful he would start trembling again. The medical readout in his exovision showed him just how many drugs were coursing through his bloodstream, working in conjunction with his biononics to suppress his body’s animal reactions. He had been terrified.

  He was also rather surprised that he was still alive. All he could remember of the neutron laser shot was a dazzling flash and a noise that was so great, his bones had felt it rather than his ears. His biononics were still repairing his retinas and inner ears. How he had staggered into the ship’s airlock was some kind of miracle; the smartcore had had to give him directions, telling him how to move every limb.

  But he was alive and almost intact. The smartcore had used sensors to follow the Cat’s starship flying away from the villa, then vanishing. Her stealth systems were as good as his own if not better. He hadn’t waited around to find out how good Paula’s ship was; he’d simply stealthed up and dropped into hyperdrive. Now he was sitting in transdimensional suspension ten light-years out from Sholapur.

  “You were lucky,” Catriona Saleeb said.

  “I know.” He glanced at the single item of his collection to survive. Mellanie Rescorai’s handheld array lay on the decking where he’d dropped it. The foxory casing was blackened around the edges, the outline of his hand clearly visible. He closed his eyes and turned his head, making sure he was looking up at the ceiling before he opened his eyelids again. All of it, gone. The entire collection. Destroyed by his own hand. Every unique, significant piece. It was as if history itself had been weakened.

  “You won’t be again,” Trisha Halgarth said, twirling a strand of Catriona’s hair around her index finger as she nestled up against her friend. “I’m surprised the Cat didn’t finish you off.” “I’m not,” Catriona said. “She’s going to come after you, Troblum. She’s going to catch you. And then you’ll die. It’ll probably take several years.”

  “Shut up!” he yelled. “Shut up. Support me.”

  “Okay,” Catriona said as she cuddled Trisha. “You’re not safe as long as the Cat is around.”

  “And Paula didn’t kill her off,” Trisha said, sounding vaguely puzzled. “So you’ve got two options left.”

  “Two?” he queried.

  “Go after her yourself and finish the job.”

  “No! That’s not an option. Only Paula can do that. She’s still the only one I trust. I can’t believe ANA is so compromised. That’s got to be due to flaws in the unisphere which a faction can manipulate.”

  “Think about it,” Catriona said earnestly. “The Cat is allied with the Accelerators. They gave her everything she wanted—ship, weapons, the lot—and somehow she knew where you’d be. You can’t trust ANA, not anymore. I certainly don’t,” she added haughtily.

  “It has to be the unisphere,” he said more to himself than to the girls. “They intercepted my message.”

  “Which only makes your position worse,” Trisha said. “That leaves option two. Run! Run far and run fast. We’ve got to make it to another galaxy. Mellanie’s Redemption can do it. You’ll be safe there.”

  “What if Living Dream is right and the Void works for them?” he asked. “What if the Cat gets inside? What if she can manipulate it the way the Waterwalker did?”

  The girls exchanged a look. Both pouted. “What are you thinking?” Catriona asked.

  “I should warn them,” Troblum said. “Paula at least. She understands about the Cat. Paula knows she has to be stopped. Paula wouldn’t give up.”

  “So give her a call and let’s get out of here,” Catriona said.

  Troblum couldn’t help it; his gaze had dropped to Mellanie’s array again. “My collection is gone because of her. The damage.” Just thinking about it was threatening to send his body back into shock again. Medical readouts edged back toward amber alerts. “It was all I ever had,” Troblum wailed. He began to curl up as much as he ever could, his belly squashing across his upper legs. “It took me centuries to collect them all. They were safe with me, I was their guardian.” He was sobbing so hard, the words were virtually unintelligible. “They were so precious, so valuable. They helped make us what we are;
they were a part of our evolution. Why did nobody ever understand how important they were?”

  “Troblum,” Trisha crooned. “Poor Troblum.”

  “There are other pieces,” Catriona said. “Remember, you visited the Smithsonian. They actually let you touch the Charybdis, the curator was so impressed with your preservation work. She knew you were an equal. You see, so much still remains. And its legacy is forever.”

  “Not with her still alive,” he muttered darkly. His hand came up to wipe the moisture from his eyes. “She is the destroyer. She is death. She is the Void: her.”

  “Call Paula,” Trisha said urgently. “Do it.”

  “I have to know,” he whispered. “I have to know we’re safe. That she’s dead for good. I can’t live thinking she might appear behind me. That she’ll take me, and … and …”

  Catriona sighed. “You can never know that.”

  “Yes, I can.” He pushed himself up out of the chair and walked to the back of the cabin. A small doorway expanded, and he squeezed himself through. An equally small companionway let him through into the starboard midsection hold. There wasn’t quite enough room for him to stand; he had to crouch and hunch his shoulders. No matter how he twisted, his worn toga suit always brushed against the stolen cargo. The little space was crammed with machinery, piled up at random like a cybernetic dragon hoard. One thousand three hundred seventy-two components, Troblum recalled. He frowned and picked up the first one: a hyperfield power manifold, a curving sliver of some substance that seemed to alternate between being crystal and being metal. He knew what each component was, but there was no structure to the piles; everything had been shoved in at random as his commandeered bots had pilfered it from the Accelerator station’s replicators.

  So all he had to do was assemble it, start with the central units and slowly create the new machine in the correct sequence, then integrate it with the starship’s existing hyperdrive, and he’d have a fully functional ultradrive ship quite capable of flying to Andromeda or beyond.

  “Can you do it?” Catriona asked. Her head was poking through the hatchway, a dubious expression in place.

  “It’ll work,” Troblum said. “In theory.” He couldn’t even see the central units.

  “Then what?”

  “We’ll have a genuine escape route. But I’m still going to contact Paula.”

  “Through the unisphere?”

  “No. I’m too frightened of the Accelerators’ capability. They were the ones who set the Cat on me. Next time it’ll be Marius or someone else who isn’t going to be distracted by an old grudge.”

  “Then how are you going to get in touch?”

  Troblum picked up a carbon-black icosahedron, trying to index it. “There is one other person left that I trust implicitly. He’s connected to Paula, or at least he was back during the war. I’ll tell him what I know about the Accelerators. He can carry the message to Paula. Maybe once ANA knows about the swarm, it will stop the Accelerators. The Cat will be on her own then. That’s when Paula can finish her.”

  “Who?” Catriona asked. “Who do you trust?”

  “Oscar the Martyr.”

  Inigo’s Eighth Dream

  Edeard awoke to the marvel of soft fingers caressing his abdomen. It was a lovely sensation matched with the warmth of the supple mattress, the touch of fresh cotton sheets, the fading blossom scent of Jessile’s perfume. He smiled, his eyes still closed as he sighed a delighted welcome to the new day. A kiss fell on his cheek. Her nose nuzzled his ear. His smile widened, and the possessive hand slipped along his skin, past his belly button, and farther yet. Jessile giggled.

  “Now, that’s what I call rising to greet the dawn,” she murmured lecherously.

  The other girl giggled as well.

  Edeard’s eyes snapped open. Memories came flooding back. Just to confirm them, Kristiana was lying on his other side watching him and Jessile with covetous intent, her flimsy white negligee far too small to contain her full figure even if the lace bows down the front had been fastened. He recalled how enjoyable it had been undoing those bows last night.

  A weak “Haaaa” was all Edeard could manage.

  “Me first,” Jessile insisted, her sharp teeth emphasizing the claim on his earlobe.

  Kristiana produced a reproving pout. “Don’t forget me, Waterwalker.”

  Edeard couldn’t answer. Jessile’s kiss had engulfed his mouth. He folded his arms around her as she slithered on top of him. The memories of last night gained texture, and he remembered her delight and exactly how to cause it. His hands moved in the way that made her shudder helplessly, and then he applied his third hand just so.

  For the last three weeks, as autumn embraced Makkathran, Edeard had learned how to harness his telekinetic ability in the bedroom to the best possible advantage. It was another arena of life in which poor old Ashwell lagged far behind the sophisticated decadence of the city. But he hadn’t lacked for girls eager to teach him the most intimate secrets of this darkest art. His fame and strength had proved irresistible to the beautiful mischievous daughters of the nobility. They relished demonstrating their ill-gotten skill almost as much as he enjoyed being the beneficiary. He never was sure exactly who was corrupting whom.

  “I’ve never seen steps into a bathing pool before,” Kristiana remarked as she walked down into the bubble-coated water. “We have these awful wooden ladder things hanging on the side in all the pools in Great-Grandfather’s mansion.” Her hand stroked Edeard’s face as she sat on the seat shelf beside him. “This is much better.”

  “There are quite a few pools in the constables’ tenement that have steps like these,” Edeard assured her, confident she wouldn’t be going in any to find out.

  “Not fair you’ve got them and we haven’t,” Jessile complained. She pouted. Jessile had a very pretty pout, Edeard decided. It certainly got her just about everything she wanted.

  He relaxed between them, which spoke volumes about how his life had changed since that day in Birmingham Pool. On several evenings, there had been fights in the theaters over who got to bed him—such reputable girls, too. He’d never really considered what kind of life popularity would bring. And he had enough of his dour Ashwell upbringing left to convince himself it wouldn’t last. But in the meantime …

  At his instruction, a ge-chimp brought two sponges and a bottle of soap oil to the rim of the pool. “Would you do my back?” he asked, and leaned forward.

  Both girls took a sponge. Even with shielded thoughts, they clearly didn’t have cleanliness in mind as they began to apply the liquid with languid movements.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Jessile asked.

  “Celebrating, I hope,” Edeard told her. It was the last day of Arminel’s trial; his verdict was a formality. At least Edeard sincerely hoped so, but then, he’d thought that the last time. That good old Ashwell optimism again. The trial was the biggest event in Makkathran and had been for the last four days as the opposing lawyers had presented their respective cases. Only the grandest of the city’s aristocracy managed to get into the public gallery; everyone else relied on sight and sound gifting from the official court recorder. “How about you?”

  “My fiancé will be back from patrol this afternoon,” she told him. “Eustace is a lieutenant in the militia. Guarding our borders,” she added with a large dollop of irony.

  “Ah,” Edeard said. He glanced at her left hand, seeing a slim silver band like twined vines. A single diamond was set in its crest.

  She bent around to look at his expression. “That doesn’t bother you, does it? You’re the Waterwalker.”

  “No. Not worried.” He did wonder what kind of marriage it would be, a thought that must have shone through his shielding.

  “I’m a third daughter,” Jessile said with a kindly smile. “We’re marrying because after twenty-three years I’ll finally get out of the family mansion, and he gets a dowry to live off. Poor boy’s a fifth son of the family Norret’s second son, which entitles h
im to a big slice of nothing. Daddy’s promised me an estate in Walton province; they say it has a nice big house.”

  “That’s why you’re marrying?”

  “Of course.” She paused with the sponge on the top of his spine. “I know I’m going to miss Makkathran, but I suppose I’ll get used to country life. I’ll visit the city every season.”

  “What about love?” he asked.

  Both girls smiled delightedly, letting wistful admiration flow free from behind their veiled thoughts.

  “You’re so sweet,” Jessile said. “That’s one of the things about you. I can sense it so easily. We all can. You’re just endlessly fascinating. Is it true the first time the Pythia met you she said you’d be Mayor?”

  “What? No! She said no such thing.” He struggled to remember what she had said.

  “I’d like you to meet my friend Ranalee,” Kristiana said. “She’s a Gilmorn; they’re a merchant family. Horribly rich. She’s a second daughter, very marriageable, and she’s expressed, in complete confidence to me, how strongly she’d enjoy knowing you.”

  “Uh, right.”

  Kristiana stood up in front of him, wiping long damp hair from her shoulders with deliberate slow movements. “She’s pretty, too, and young, in case you were wondering. If I introduce you, we could all celebrate together tonight.”

  Edeard found himself short of breath.

  Boyd was waiting outside Edeard’s maisonette, wearing a long fur-lined coat over his smartest uniform. A slushy rain was dribbling out of an overcast sky, dampening his hair. He started to say something, then stopped abruptly as Kristiana and Jessile emerged just behind Edeard. The girls were swathed in the long woolen wraps that were currently fashionable. They just about covered up their expensive theater dresses.

  “Ladies,” Edeard said courteously.

  They both smiled demurely and allowed him to kiss them on the cheek.