The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Araminta suddenly realized what the problem was. The cordon the paramilitaries had thrown up around her apartment block was acting as a huge provocation.

  My fault. Again.

  She walked forward into the crowd. The gaiafield was a storm of hatred and resentment. Her macrocellular clusters reported a colossal amount of pings zipping across the park: directionless, without any author code, not routed through the cybersphere nodes and therefore untraceable.

  “>file≪ Binder frequency at the second segment.”

  “Counter that with a patch from Etol; they have the fixes.”

  “Managed to hit one scumfuck with a maser pulse.”

  “Cheer.” “Cheer.” “Cheer.” “Cheer.”

  “Left side of the building; road crumbling around a segment.”

  “Gather there, people.”

  “Free Viotia.”

  “Bot attack ready. Maybe. Are you listening, fuckheads? Are we joking?”

  “Fuckheads, we’re coming for you.”

  “Free Viotia.”

  “Gonna carve the memorycells right out of your Living Dreaming brains.”

  “None of you is ever going to see re-life.”

  “Gather at segment five. Push hard, people.”

  Araminta soon realized that the segments were part of the barricade the paramilitaries had set up. The mob was organizing for an assault. There was no obvious leader; they were reacting like antibodies to the invasion forces.

  “Got me some disrupter rifles that’ll cut clean through their armor.”

  “Good.” “Great.” “Laugh.”

  “Handing out the rifles.”

  “Hey, scum in armor; if you think your Waterwalker’s strong enough to save you from us, start screaming for her.”

  “Laugh.” “Laugh.” “Laugh.”

  “Ready? Go.”

  Araminta tensed. The paramilitaries fired a barrage of janglepulse shots through the barricade. Screams echoed over the park.

  “You believed me. Stupid dumb shits.”

  “Laugh.” “Laugh.”

  “We hurt now; you die later.”

  Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, she thought, looking across the sea of agitated people. But the nostalgia was reassuring.

  If she craned her neck, she could just see the six-story apartment block, strangely dark behind the bursts of purple light along the barricades. Its edges were framed by the blue and violet sparkles of the glass column corners.

  Okay, seen it. Let’s go.

  Araminta turned and began to push her way back through the rowdy crowd. Emotional pressure was building in the gaiafield, a compelling surety replacing the edgy tinge of anticipation. Something was about to happen—whatever “something” was. She paused, glancing back over her shoulder to see the flickering dapples of light become constant all along the barricades.

  Screaming and cheering rose to a single animal howl blanketing the park. The pings increased to an indecipherable smear of electronic noise. All around her people began to rush forward toward the barricades.

  Weapon fire was distinct.

  One ping peaked above the general clamor: “Got one!” relayed by everyone’s macrocellular clusters. A tone of evil glee bloomed amid the gaiafield at the news.

  “Oh, no,” Araminta muttered.

  People stared at her as they rushed past, mildly annoyed that she wasn’t joining them.

  Several urged, “Come on.”

  She hesitated, undecided.

  Dazzling pinpoints of scarlet light rose from various parts of the park, skimming overhead to converge on the paramilitaries behind the faltering barricade segments. More weapon fire greeted them. She saw the distinctive blue-green flash of disrupter pulses. A second salvo of red stars shot upward.

  This is well planned, she realized.

  A section of the lavender aura put out by the straining barricades went dark. From her viewpoint she saw bobbing heads surge into the dark opening. More red stars lit their way. A long scattering of weapon fire; it wasn’t all coming from the paramilitaries.

  Then windows in her apartment block began to glow with orange light. “Oh, no!” Araminta’s hands came up to cover her mouth as the shock hit her. Fire!

  It was on the third floor. Then flames began to lick up a top-floor balcony. Down on the street below the flashes from weapons became more pronounced.

  “Got them.” “Got them,” went the pings. “We’re through.”

  “Barricade’s down.”

  “Burn the fuckhead scum.”

  Araminta stood staring at the fire, which was spreading rapidly. None of the apartment block’s suppression systems seemed to be engaging. She remembered that the whole thing was being upgraded.

  Oh, sweet Ozzie, no!

  The engineers hadn’t left a temporary system operative while they upgraded. Everything she owned in the universe was going up in smoke. The work she’d put in! Insurance would take years to pay out for riot damage, if it ever did. She’d never be able to buy extra bodies. There would be no marriage.

  Tears began to well up in her eyes. She was losing the last remnants of her real life right in front of her eyes, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The screams and violence raged unheeded around her as flames chewed through the roof to shoot high into the funereal sky.

  “Ozzie damn you all!” she shrieked unheard at the rioters and paramilitaries whose fight had caused this, at the Ellezelin invaders, and at the biggest shit in the universe: Cleric Conservator bastard Ethan.

  “Araminta?”

  “Huh?” She looked around wildly at the voice whispering to her. Nobody was close enough.

  “Araminta. They know you’re there in the park. Your distress triggered an emotional resonance indicator in the gaiafield. Get out. Get out now.”

  She stood completely still. The voice had come slithering through the gaiafield, and she’d never known it could do that, could single her out. “Who are you?” she shouted into the tangle of bright emotions. And the whole gaiafield churned, its spectral colors suddenly burning with the light of a nova. Incredulity hammered against her.

  “It is you!”

  “Second Dreamer … please, we beseech you.”

  “The Void,” a billion Living Dream followers gasped in unison. “Lead us into the Void. You are the one chosen by the Skylord.”

  “Fuck off,” she cried back at them, delighting in their shock and dismay.

  “Get out of the park,” the first ethereal voice whispered at her again. “I can’t maintain this connection any longer. Get out. They’re coming for you.” Beautiful warm smile image rich with encouragement, a mental push.

  Sonic booms slammed down across the rioters. Suddenly the sky above the park was glaring with white light thrown off by big capsules. There must have been a dozen of them rushing in, looking like they were going to collide directly overhead. Araminta slapped her hands over her ears at the noise that shook her bones.

  “EVERYONE STAY PERFECTLY STILL,” a voice boomed down from above.

  Threads of crimson light flashed across the sky. A capsule exploded. Araminta screamed and flung herself down. Just before she hit the tattered grass, she could have sworn she saw people jumping from the capsules. They’re too high. They’ll kill themselves. More beam weapons clashed, overwhelming her sight. Debris thudded into the grass and earth as the capsules began to accelerate again. Long ion contrails spiraled through the night as they chased one another around and around, energy shots blazing between them.

  All across the park the rioting crowd started running—fast.

  Araminta didn’t need any more encouragement. She scrambled to her feet and began sprinting hard back to where she’d left the cab. The strobing lights of the dogfight illustrated everyone in weird stop-motion positions. Her secondary thought routines did their best to maintain a level vision for her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a long line of red and blue strobes tearing through the air above the Cairns.
r />   Reinforcements.

  Her feet pounded over the grass. Panic was bleeding everything else out of her mind. Damn, I was stupid.

  “Hey, you.” The voice was loud but calm.

  Araminta kept running.

  “You: woman with the black hair wearing the fleece. Stop. Last chance.”

  Oh, please, Ozzie, no!

  She stumbled to a halt and looked fearfully over her shoulder. A man was standing ten meters behind her, dressed in a simple leather one-piece. A force field shimmer layered the air around him. He smiled, ignoring the frantic people running past. “It’s over,” he said in a kindly voice, and held out his hand. “Come on. Nobody’s going to hurt you. You’re far too important.”

  Araminta’s jaw dropped as she saw the figure flying through the air behind him—actually, really flying, with arms outstretched and everything. It was a woman, Araminta saw that much before a bright purple nimbus sprang up around her. She landed directly on top of the man. The air detonated in a violent corona. Blast pressure sent Araminta and everyone else nearby tumbling across the ground. A whitesound wail eliminated every other noise.

  Somehow Araminta managed to stagger to her feet and totter away. Behind her the fight between the man and the woman was getting ferocious. Energy blasts pummeled away. Waves of smoldering earth cascaded upward as the lurid pair writhed together in a small crater of their own making.

  Two more dark figures were flying silently over the park. She could see their silhouettes against the indigo haze of the dogfight above. The line of paramilitary capsules was almost at the marina.

  She tripped over a prone figure to go sprawling into a small guralo tree. Tools in her belt jabbed painfully into her stomach and ribs. “Ouch!”

  “Up you come.”

  A hand gripped her, pulling her to her feet. She gasped into the face of her helper, seeing a wry smile. His youthful features were very handsome, yet she knew he was ancient. He had a level of self-confidence that even Laril hadn’t achieved. Then he was looking behind her, frowning. “Oh, crap.”

  She didn’t want to look. This is it. The end.

  Another capsule exploded just beneath the force field dome. Scintillating wreckage hurtled down.

  “Get out of here,” the man said urgently. “My team will hold them off. We’re killing every sensor in a five-kilometer radius. Living Dream won’t be able to follow you. Go!”

  “Huh?” she grunted, hating herself for being so dumb.

  He swung her around and let go. She stared at the two figures approaching through the terrified crowd. Both were clad in a liquid jade glow. Her helper pushed his arms out in some kind of martial arts pose. His hands ignited into sharp turquoise fireballs.

  “Go!” he growled at her.

  “Who are you?”

  The ping was short and very directional; no one else could pick it up. “Oscar Monroe; I work for ANA. We want to help; we want you to be free to make your own choice. When you’re clear and safe, call me. Please.” He smiled at his opponents. “Go, for fuck’s sake!” he yelled out loud.

  “Don’t even think about it,” one of the jade figures snarled.

  Araminta finally turned and ran. Behind her there was a thunderclap as the three of them clashed. The impact was almost enough to send her toppling over again, yet somehow she kept her balance, kept scrambling forward. Another of the eerie dark figures was flying fast above the heads of the panicked mob. The long line of paramilitary capsules came streaking down from above the river, curving around to encircle the park.

  She reached the Wurung Transport cab and fell inside, sobbing with relief. It slid smoothly along the rail. Outside, people were running over the road and the rail, their terrified expressions making her flinch. The cab slowed and then accelerated in juddering motions to avoid them. Garish light battles raged in and above the park. The sounds were muted by the cab’s bodywork. Araminta curled up into a ball on the seat, hugging her chest. Far inside her mind the gaiafield was in turmoil at the outpouring of fear. Living Dream followers were still praying to her—forcibly. She blotted it all out.

  After a couple of minutes the cab had outpaced everyone else fleeing the park. The dogfight above the city had finished, and the sickening sounds of raw conflict had died away. She was sliding gently through the Garlay district with its elegant houses and high toroidal pad malls. She could even see some people sitting under the awnings of the cafés and bars that had stayed open, their drinks and food left ignored on the tables as they looked anxiously toward the Bodant district.

  I have to get away. No matter what.

  She turned to the cab’s node and keyed in the drive program. “Francola district,” she told it.

  It had been a long time since Paula had been to Kerensk, officially, at least. During the Commonwealth’s first era Kerensk had been one of the Big15 worlds, the supercapitalist engines that had powered the Commonwealth’s expansion right up until the Starflyer War. It had been founded by Sergi Nikolayev, a Russian billionaire to whom the human exodus from Earth finally provided a way to free himself and his money from Moscow’s grasp. Like the other Big15, it had developed into an industrial world whose megacity produced an abundance of cheap heavy engineering and consumer products. Entire continents were strip-mined for raw materials, while others were factory farmed.

  After the war the economic slowdown caused by financing the New47 worlds, followed by the emergence of Higher culture, saw the Big15 slowly lose their stature. Their populations, always transient, drifted away, and their industries fell into decline. Inevitably, given their technology base, they became Higher worlds.

  Except for Kerensk. The Nikolayev Dynasty carried too much residual distrust and suspicion of the old central control ideology to knuckle under to Higher influences and ANA’s benign guidance. Following Far Away’s lead, it rejected both Higher and Advancer cultures, removing its representative from the Senate and becoming an “observer” nation. Those who stayed on in Kaluga, the old megacity, followed their own technoeconomic imperative. The rest of the planet was effectively abandoned.

  Paula scanned the area around Kingsville curiously as the Alexis Denken descended out of a cloudless sky. The old military base was in the middle of a huge desert on the other side of the planet from Kaluga. A relic of the Starflyer War, it had started out as a training camp for the insurgency teams dropped behind enemy lines to make life hell for the Prime invaders. Of course, it had been hard to find ruthless soldier types in the nice civilized First Commonwealth era. The new navy had recruited heavily from the criminal fraternity.

  Kingsville had trained over thirty thousand troops. Back then it had sprawled for miles over the rocky desert, prefabricated buildings arranged in unimaginative rows, their air-conditioning straining against the harsh sun. After the war it had reduced its size considerably. But with the dynasties chasing after new navy contracts, it was politically useful to keep the base going. It became a ship repair and refurbishment yard throughout the Firewall campaign. After that, with Kerensk steadily rejecting the Senate’s authority, it had been downgraded again, then again.

  However, the base had never been legally decommissioned, so technically it remained Commonwealth territory. It was a reserve station in case the Commonwealth was ever threatened again, its array of emergency communication systems maintained by a smartcore and an aging regiment of bots. There were no humans there anymore.

  The sensors showed Paula a cluster of long crumbling concrete blockhouses at the center of strangely straight lines that stretched out into the desert. After a thousand years’ exposure to Kerensk’s ferocious sun by day and freezing air each night, even the strongest construction materials crumbled away. The desert was slowly encroaching upon it. Only the blockhouses remained intact, switching on a small force field once every couple of years or so when the desert summoned up enough energy to spin another sandstorm.

  Kingsville reminded Paula of Centurion Station.

  The Alexis Denken touched down
on a dedicated landing zone that was simply a flattish area of sand and loose rock. She floated down out of the main airlock, with a trolley sledge hovering behind her. The air was as hot as she’d expected. She put on a pair of silver sunshades against the violet-tinged sun.

  A dull metal door on the nearest blockhouse slid open with a grating sound of small stone particles being crunched somewhere in the actuators. She gave it a glance as she went inside, wondering why they didn’t use malmetal. It closed behind her and the trolley sledge. Inside, there was less evidence of decay, though it had obviously been decades since the air-conditioning had been on. Fans were now making odd groaning sounds behind their grilles as power was fed into their motors. Light panels came on in the ceiling, revealing an empty rectangular room with a single elevator door ahead of her.

  Paula’s u-shadow gave the Kingsville smartcore her authority code, and the elevator doors flowed open. The base itself was buried three hundred meters below the desert. Thankfully, the elevator ride down was a smooth one.

  The transdimensional communication systems were housed in eight caverns that radiated out from a central engineering hub. Paula walked past the big silver-cased machines in Cavern 5, followed by the trolley sledge. The chamber was completely silent. She couldn’t even hear a mild power hum despite the huge energy flows her field scan revealed to her behind the silver casings.

  Tucked away at the end of an ancillary chamber was another elevator. It took her down a hundred meters to the oldest section of the base, which consisted of a single fortified compartment. This deep shelter had been designed to survive a nuclear strike by the Primes; force fields and molecular binding generators reinforced the super-strength carbon walls. None of them had been switched on for over five hundred years; the smartcore didn’t have the resources to maintain them at combat readiness. It didn’t really matter; all they protected was an ancient secure storage vault dating back to the Starflyer War.