The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  So where in Ozzie’s name am I?

  Araminta looked around again, trying to make out the countryside. There wasn’t much to see, though she thought one section of the horizon was showing a tiny glow. Smiling, she sat down to wait.

  Half an hour later, she knew she was right. A pale pink wash of light began to creep upward as dawn arrived. Now she could see she was still in a desert, but this one was mostly ocher rocks and crumbling soil rather than the featureless ocean of sand she’d left behind. The drab brown ground was broken by small patches of green-blue vegetation, hardy little bushes that looked half-dead. Tall fronds of pale cream grass tufts lurked in fissures and stone spills, all of them dry and withered. Away in the distance, half-lost in air shimmer, a broad line of mountains spiked up into the sky. Their height was impressive, yet she couldn’t see any snow on their peaks. The desert stretched all the way across to them. In the other direction was a low ridge, which she began to appreciate was at least five miles away, if not farther. This landscape was so relentlessly monotonous, it was hard to judge perspective.

  Whatever, she was on a dirt track made by vehicles of some kind. It led down a long gentle slope to a junction with a solid concrete road. Just the sight of it was a huge relief. From living out in the boondocks of an External planet for nearly twenty years, she knew just how rare roads could be, and that was in the agricultural areas. Everybody used regrav capsules these days. To find this here in the middle of a desert, she’d been lucky. Very lucky.

  Thank you, she told the Silfen Motherholme.

  She took another drink of water and set off down the track. The distance had fooled her, after all; the road seemed to stay in the same place no matter how much ground she covered toward it. As she strode along the slope, she saw a few regrav capsules flying beyond the ridge; in the other direction nothing was moving above the vast desert. At least that told her which way to turn once she reached the junction. There was obviously some kind of settlement on the other side of the ridge. A few cautious examinations of the gaiafield confirmed that that was where the buzz of minds was situated.

  It took her another three hours to reach the crest of the ridge. Again, “ridge” was deceptive. The closer she got, the larger it rose above her. It was like an elongated hill. And the luck that had delivered the road had clearly abandoned her; there wasn’t a single vehicle moving along it all morning.

  By the time she finally limped to the crest, she was ready for just about any sight apart from the one that greeted her. She’d almost been right about the elongated hill. The ridge was actually a crater wall—a big crater, complete with a beautiful circular lake that must have been at least twenty miles across. This was the mother of all oases; the inner slopes were all smothered in verdant woodland and cultivated terraces she thought might be vineyards. The road dipped away ahead of her, winding into a small town whose colorful ornate buildings were visible amid a swath of tall trees. Despite being completely exhausted, aching everywhere, and feeling quite worried about the painful state of her feet, Araminta couldn’t help choking out a little laugh as she stared down at the exquisite vista before her. She wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes and slowly discarded the flagon harness from her back. It was placed carefully behind some rocks at the side of the road, followed by the basket of eggs. With her shoulders rejoicing at the absence of weight, she started off down the slope.

  People stared at her as she hobbled into town. Hardly surprising. She still had her silly conical hat on, and her clothes were a mess, filthy from mud and repeated deluges. She guessed she must smell, too. When she allowed herself to receive the local gaiafield, she could sense the instinctive surprise everyone felt at the sight of her. Plenty of dismay was mingled in there as well.

  The little town’s buildings were mostly clapboard, painted a variety of bright colors; there were very few modern construction materials visible. It gave the town a comfortably quaint feel. The quiet old style suited the placid lake.

  Even with the shade thrown by tall willowy trees, it was hot in the late-morning sun. There weren’t many people about. However, she eventually sensed one old couple who didn’t quite share the disquiet of their fellow citizens. The woman was even emitting a small amount of concern and sympathy from her gaiamotes.

  “Excuse me,” Araminta asked. “Can you tell me if there’s somewhere to stay in town?”

  The couple exchanged a look. “That’s an offworld accent,” the woman said.

  Araminta pressed down on a giggle. To her the woman’s accent was strange; she was almost slurring her words as she ran them together. Thankfully, the pair of them weren’t wearing the old-fashioned kind of clothes Living Dream followers usually favored. But then, it was unusual to see anyone whose body had aged to such a degree. “Yes, I’m afraid so. I’ve just arrived.”

  The woman emitted a glow of satisfaction. “Good for you, my dear. Have you been away long?”

  “I’m, er, not sure,” she replied honestly.

  “I tried once,” the woman said with a tinge of melancholia. “Never got anywhere. Maybe I’ll try again after rejuvenation.”

  “Um, yes. That hotel …?”

  “Why don’t you just get your u-shadow to find out?” the man asked. He had a thatch of white hair that was slowly thinning out. His whole appearance made him seem harmless, but the tone he used was quite sharp.

  “I’m a Natural human,” Araminta offered by way of explanation.

  “Now, Earl,” the woman chided. “There’s the SideStar Motel off Caston Street, my dear. That’s four blocks this way.” She pointed and gave Araminta a kindly smile. “Cheap, but clean with it. You’ll have no problem there.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  “Do you have money?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” Araminta gave them a jerky nod and set off. She stopped after a couple of paces. “Uh, what is this place?”

  “Miledeep Water,” the man said drily. “We’re on Chobamba’s equatorial continent; that’s an External world, you know.”

  “Right.” She smiled, trying to give the impression it had just slipped her mind for a moment.

  “In fact, we’re the only settlement on this entire continent, which is a desert from shore to shore. Lucky you found us, really.” The irony was quite blatant now, even through the odd accent.

  “Yes.”

  The woman gave him a mild jab with her hand, hushing him. Araminta smiled again and backed off fast. As she went down Caston Street, she was uncomfortably aware of the pair of them standing watching her. The man’s mind was filling with mild amusement coupled with a trace of exasperation.

  It could have been worse, she told herself. They could have been suspicious or recognized me.

  Araminta’s encyclopedia files said Chobamba had been settled for barely two hundred fifty years. She guessed that the StarSide Motel was one of the earlier businesses to be established. Its chalets were an exception to the town’s clapboard buildings. They’d been grown from drycoral, which was now long dead and starting to flake under the unremitting sun. It was a similar variety to the pale violet dry coral they’d used for barns back on the farm in Langham, so she knew that for it to reach such a state, it had to be at least a century old.

  The motel occupied a wide area, with the chalets spread out in a broad circle to surround a swimming pool. Their concrete landing pads for visiting capsules were all cracked, forced open by weeds and clumps of unpleasant-looking red fungus balls. Only one capsule was currently parked.

  Irrigation nozzles were squirting pulses of spray onto its front lawn as she walked up to the reception building. She supposed the whole crater wall must be irrigated.

  The owner was in the back office, tinkering with an ancient air-conditioning unit. He came out wiping his hands on his shabby white vest and introduced himself as Ragnar. His glance swept up and down, giving her clothes a quick appraisal. “Been a while since we’ve had anyone walk in,” he said, stressing “walk.” His accent was the sam
e as that of the old couple she’d met.

  “But I’m not the first?” she asked warily.

  “No, ma’am. The Silfen path ends somewhere out there beyond the crater wall. I’ve met a few travelers like yourself over the years.”

  “Right,” she said, relaxing slightly.

  Ragnar leaned over the counter, speaking quietly. “You been out there long?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Okay. Well, you’ve not chosen the best time to come back. These are troubled times for the old Greater Commonwealth, yes indeed.” His eyes narrowed at her blank expression. “You do know what the Commonwealth is?”

  “I know,” she said solemnly.

  “That’s good. Just checking. Those paths are pretty tangled, by all accounts. I had someone once come straight out of a pre-wormhole century. Boy, oh boy, were they confused.”

  Araminta didn’t argue about how unlikely that was. She smiled and held up her cash coin. “A room?”

  “No problemo. How long will you be staying?”

  “A week.” She handed over the coin.

  Ragnar gave her clothes another skeptical viewing as he handed the coin back. “I’ll give you number twelve; it’s a quiet one. And all our rooms have complimentary toiletries.”

  “Jolly good.”

  He sniffed. “I’ll get you an extra pack.”

  Room 12 measured about five meters by three, with a door on the back wall leading to a small bathroom that had a bath and a toilet. No spore shower, Araminta saw in disappointment. She sat on the double bed and stared at her feet; the pain was quite acute now. It took a while for her to tackle the problem of getting her boots off. When she did unfasten them, her socks were horribly bloody. She winced as she rolled them off. Blisters had abraded away, leaving the raw flesh bleeding. There was a lot of swelling, too.

  Araminta stared at them, resentful and teary. But most of all she was tired. She knew she should do something about her feet, bathe them at least. She just didn’t have the energy. Instead, she pulled the thin duvet over herself and went straight to sleep.

  Paramedics were still working in Bodant Park ten hours after the riot, or fight, or skirmish—whatever you called it. A lot of people were calling it mass murder. Cleric Phelim had thrown the Senate delegation out of his headquarters when they had leveled such an accusation against him, hinting broadly that the Commonwealth would convene a war crimes tribunal with him as the principal accused. But in an extraordinarily lame public relations exercise, five hours after the agents had finished blasting away at each other, he had finally lifted the restriction on local ambulance capsules. However, he wouldn’t switch off the force field weather dome or allow the injured to be transferred to hospitals in other cities. Colwyn’s own hospitals and clinics, already swamped by earlier injuries from clashes between citizens and paramilitaries, were left to cope by themselves.

  Casualty figures were difficult to compile, but the unisphere reporters on the ground were estimating close to a hundred fifty bodyloss victims. Injuries were easily over a thousand, probably two with varying degrees of seriousness.

  Oscar had directly added two people to the bodyloss count. He wasn’t sure about collateral damage, but it wasn’t going to be small, either; no one in that fight had held back. On one level he was quietly horrified at his own ruthlessness when he’d protected Araminta from the agents converging on her. He’d allowed the combat programs to dominate his responses. Yet his own instincts had contributed, adding a ferociousness to the fight that had exploited every mistake his opponents had made. And his biononics were top of the range, producing energy currents formatted by the best weapons-grade programs the Knights Guardian had designed. It had also helped that Tomansio and Beckia had bounced over to his fight within seconds, adding their firepower and aggression. Yet he’d held by himself for those first few vital moments; the feeling was the same as on the Hanko mission back in the good old days, flying nearly suicidal maneuvers above the star because it was necessary.

  Now, the morning after, guilt was starting to creep back. Maybe he should have shown some restraint, some consideration for the innocent bystanders trying to fling themselves clear—though a deeper rationality knew full well that he had had to cover Araminta’s escape. The fate of the Commonwealth had hung on that moment, determining which faction would grab her. Perhaps that was why he’d fought so ruthlessly: He knew he had to succeed. The alternative was too horrific to consider—or allow.

  Certainly Tomansio and Beckia had shown a measure of respect that had been absent before. He just wished he’d earned it some other way.

  Their borrowed capsule left the Ellezelin forces base in the docks and curved around to cruise above the Cairns, heading for the big single-span bridge.

  “Somebody must have got her,” Beckia said; it had almost become a mantra. After they all got clear from the fight in Bodant Park, they’d spent the rest of the night helping Liatris search for the elusive Second Dreamer. Her disappearance was partially their own fault; Liatris had killed every sensor within five kilometers of the park. They’d been so desperate for her to get away that the measure was justified at the time; what surprised them again was how well she’d done it. Their search hadn’t produced the slightest indication where she’d gone since she’d run away from Oscar in the park. On the plus side, no one else who was hunting her (and there were still five functional teams that Liatris had discovered) had found her, either.

  “Living Dream hasn’t,” Tomansio said calmly. “That’s what we focus on. Until we confirm her situation, we continue the mission. Right, Oscar?”

  “Right.” He saw her face again, that brief moment of connection when the startled, frightened girl had stared into him with frantic eyes. She’d seemed so fragile. How on Earth did she ever stay ahead of everyone? Yet he of all people should know that extraordinary situations so often kindled equally remarkable behavior.

  “Any luck with the image review?” Beckia asked.

  “No” was Liatris’s curt answer. With Araminta dropping out of sight, their technology expert had launched a search through old sensor recordings to see if they could find how she’d arrived at Bodant Park. The Welcome Team had been analyzing data from every public sensor in the city, trying to track her. Liatris (and the rival agent teams) had glitched the input to their semisentients, sending them off on wild-goose chases. But it was a telling point that none of their own scrutineers had managed to spot her during the day, not even approaching Bodant Park. The first anyone had determined her location was when her outraged thoughts burst into the gaiafield at the sight of her apartments going up in flame. As yet nobody had worked out how she’d managed to conceal herself. Whatever method she’d used, it had proved equally effective in spiriting her away during the height of the fight.

  So now Oscar and his team were falling back on two things. One, she would call him on the code he’d given her, possibly out of gratitude or maybe from sheer pragmatism. Two, they were following leads like a professional police detective. Paula would be proud, he thought with a private smile.

  Despite a barrage of urgent anonymous warnings, the Welcome Team had arrested most of Araminta’s family, with the notable exception of the redoubtable Cressida, who had pulled a vanishing act equal to Araminta’s. They’d all been brought to the Colwyn City docks for “questioning.” Liatris said Living Dream was bringing in more skilled teams from Ellezelin to perform memory reads.

  That just left them Araminta’s friends in the city, though, with the exception of Cressida, she didn’t seem to have many. Which was strange, Oscar thought. She was a very attractive young woman, free and independent. That would normally imply a big social group. So far Liatris had uncovered very few, though a building supply wholesaler called Mr. Bovey was a promising lead. They were due to pay him a discreet visit right after their first appointment.

  Tomansio steered the capsule away from the river and over the city’s Coredna district. They landed on a pad at the end of a st
reet and stepped out. The houses here were all made out of drycoral, single-story and small; their little gardens were either immaculately maintained or home to piles of rubbish and ancient furniture. It was one of the poorer areas in the city. All three of them stared at the Ellezelin forces capsule parked at the far end of the street.

  “En garde,” Tomansio said quietly.

  They were all dressed in a simple tunic of the occupying forces, not armor. Oscar brought his biononics up to full readiness. Defensive energy currents and his integral force field could snap on with a millisecond’s warning. He hoped that would be enough. As the three of them walked down the street, he ran a field scan on the capsule up ahead. It was inert, empty.

  “Assigned to squad FIK67,” Liatris told them when they relayed the serial number to him. “Currently on city boundary enforcement duty.”

  “Oh, crap,” Oscar muttered as they drew near the house they wanted. His field scan had picked up someone with biononics inside. Whoever they were, they also had their energy currents in readiness mode. “Accelerator?”

  “Darwinist,” Beckia decided.

  “Separatist,” Tomansio said.

  “I’ll take a piece of that action,” Liatris said. “Put me down for the Conservatives.”

  Tomansio walked up to the aluminum front door and knocked. They waited tensely as footsteps sounded. The door opened to reveal a shortish, harassed-looking woman wearing a dark blue house robe.