Kristabel’s kiss was gentle yet so intense, so rich with desire and love. “That’s why I love you,” she whispered. There could be no doubt how sincere she was. A boundless love that promised a lifetime of happiness. And Edeard finally knew he’d done the right thing.
Araminta sighed in perfect contentment, blinking as the chalet’s ceiling took shape above her. Tears were trailing out from the corners of her eyes as she came down off the emotional high. “Great Ozzie,” she murmured, still dazed by the dream. Now she understood why Living Dream had so many adherents, why they were all desperate to live in the Void. Time travel. Except it wasn’t. It was resetting the universe around yourself, the ultimate solipsism. How many times had she said to herself: If I only knew then what I know now. With that ability she could go back to the moment she met Laril and laugh off his charm and seductive promises. She could refuse Likan and never visit his mansion for the weekend. Go back into her teens and tolerate her parents, knowing that life offered so much more than the farm, not worrying that she’d be condemned to the family business for centuries, yet at the same time enjoying her youth. The way it should be enjoyed. And then growing up truly free of regrets. Meet Mr. Bovey in a Commonwealth that had never heard of the Second Dreamer.
That was the life—the lives—that awaited her in the Void.
She could even feel the Skylord’s thoughts at the back of her mind. All she had to do was call it. Say: take me in.
Such a simple thing to do. Three little words, and I would be happy forever.
But it was also the life that awaited everyone who went with her. And the energy it took to fuel such egotistic wish fulfillment came from consuming the rest of the galaxy. Every star, every planet, every biological body—they were what supplied the atoms it took to make the Void’s magnificent ability possible. The ones who paid the price.
“I can’t,” she told the darkened chalet. “I will not do that.”
The decision made her skin chill and her heart flutter. But it had been made now. Her resolution would not waver. Logic and instinct were as one. This is who I am. This is what makes me.
Araminta slowly sat upright. It was still night outside, with maybe three hours left until dawn. She needed a drink and some decent dreamless sleep. There was still some of the English breakfast tea in the flask from Smoky James. She rolled off the bed and saw the red text drifting down the unisphere node’s little screen on top of the bedside cabinet. She blinked at it and read it again.
Tea and sleep abruptly forgotten, she knelt in front of the bedside cabinet and used the keyboard to bring up the news articles. Her gaiamotes opened slightly, allowing her to know the horror and fear flooding through the gaiafield. It wasn’t a hoax. The Accelerator Faction had imprisoned Earth. ANA was gone. The rest of the Commonwealth was on its own. She stared numbly at the screen for a long moment, then accessed the code in her storage lacuna and typed it in.
Laril’s face appeared, gaunt and apprehensive, with drawn skin and deep bags under his eyes. “Oh, thank fuck,” he wheezed. “Are you okay? I’ve been going frantic.”
She smiled. It was the only way she could stop herself from bursting into tears. “I’m okay,” she promised him with a voice that wavered dangerously.
“And you’re—” He frowned, his head shaking from side to side as he focused on exovision displays. “You’re on Chobamba. How did you get there?”
“Long story. Laril, they’ve taken away the Earth!”
“I know. ANA was the only thing that could stop this.”
“Yes. Someone helped me. Oscar, his name was Oscar. I’d never have gotten out of Bodant Park without him. He said he worked for ANA. He said he would help me. I was thinking I might call him, ask ANA to help me. What do I do now?”
“That depends on what you’ve decided. Are you going to help Living Dream get into the Void?”
“No. It can’t happen. They’ll wipe out the galaxy.”
“Okay, that brings your options down to three.”
“Go on.”
“Ask the navy for protection. If anyone has the firepower to stand up to the Accelerators, it’s them.”
“Yes. That’s good. What else?”
“This Oscar person. If he does work for ANA, he should also be able to keep you away from Living Dream. He’ll probably have resources which none of the others do.”
“What’s the last one?”
“Side with a faction that is opposed to the Advancers and Living Dream.”
“But there aren’t any factions left.”
“They’re locked up inside the Sol barrier, but their agents are still out here in the Commonwealth. And they’re all looking for you. I can negotiate with one for you. Get them to take you away, safe, where no one will ever find you.”
“Then what? Running away doesn’t solve anything. This has to be finished.”
“My darling Araminta, there is no ‘finish.’ The Void has been there for a billion years, more probably. The Raiel couldn’t get rid of it; the Commonwealth certainly can’t.”
“Somebody must be able to. There has to be a way.”
“Maybe ANA knew how.”
“They’ll get the Earth out eventually,” she said, suddenly fearful. “Won’t they? They’ll be trying? They must be.”
“Yes. Of course they will. They’ll be trying very hard indeed. The rest of the Commonwealth, certainly the Inner worlds, have a lot of talent and ability and resources, more than you realize. They’ll bring down the barrier.”
“Right, then,” she said, trying to convince herself. “I’ll take that option. I’ll call Oscar.”
Laril smiled weakly. “That’s my Araminta. Would you like me to call him for you?”
She nodded. “Please. I’m too scared to access the unisphere.”
“All right. Have you got a code for him?”
“Yes.” She started typing it in.
“That’s good. I’ll make—”
The image on the screen broke apart into a hash of blue and red static.
“Laril!” she gasped.
The static swirled, then formed bright green letters: Araminta, please access this.
She scuttled backward across the floor. “No,” she gasped. “No, what is this? What’s happening?”
“Araminta,” the node’s speaker said. It was a female voice, composed and authoritative. “This is a shotgun message into Chobamba’s cybersphere. All nodes will receive it and broadcast it to every address code; it will also be held in storage until purged, which should take a while. Hopefully that gives it long enough to reach you somehow. I am not aiming it at you directly, because I don’t know precisely where you are. Living Dream has discovered you are on Chobamba, but they haven’t yet determined your exact position. Don’t use the gaiafield again; they have very sophisticated tracking routines in the confluence nests. Several teams of combat-enriched operatives are working on finding you, the same type of people responsible for the Bodant Park massacre. You must leave immediately. I’d advise you to use the route you took to get there. It is relatively safe. Do not hesitate. Time is now a critical factor. Please know, there are people working to help you. The Commonwealth Navy is capable of protecting you. Ask for their aid. Go now.”
Araminta stared at the node in disbelief; the green lettering remained on the screen, casting a pale glow across the darkened chalet. “Oh, sweet Ozzie!” It came out in a pitiful squeal. They know I’m here. Everyone knows I’m here. The woman was right; she had to leave. But it would take hours to reach the start of the path out in the desert. She looked around the chalet as her initial panic tipped over into desperation, seeing everything she’d bought, the gear that was essential for a trek along the paths between worlds. It was heavy. She could hardly run carrying it all with her, certainly not that far. Then she glanced at the Smoky James wrappers, which she hadn’t got around to putting in the trash chute, and an idea formed.
Smoky James was good. Araminta had to admit that. It was three
o’clock in the morning, and they took only twenty minutes to deliver the pizza and fries with a flask of coffee. The contraption Ranto was riding as he pulled up in front of Araminta’s chalet was something she’d never seen before—an absurdly primitive three-wheeled bike of some kind, presumably the great-great-granddaddy of a modern trike pod. It didn’t look safe, with a leather saddle seat slung in the center of an open black carbon frame that had its fair share of repair patches, like epoxy bandages swelling the struts. The axle-drive wheels were connected to the frame on long magnetic suspension dampers, which didn’t quite seem to match. Ranto was steering it manually with a set of chrome-orange handlebars. With a sinking heart, Araminta guessed this was necessity rather than preference. It wasn’t going to have any kind of smart technology ready to assume the driving and navigation functions.
He clambered off and pulled the pizza carton out of a big pannier behind the saddle.
Finally, she thought, a plus point. That’ll hold all my gear.
“Here you go,” he said with the kind of miserabalist cheer exclusive to night-shift workers on very basic pay.
Araminta was fairly sure Ranto didn’t have an Advancer heritage. Too many spots on his glum teenage face, his long nose made sure he wasn’t handsome, and even though he was already tall, he was still growing, producing long gangling arms and legs from a torso that seemed oddly thin. From her point of view that was good; he wouldn’t have macrocellular clusters. He couldn’t connect directly to the unisphere.
Araminta took the carton from him. “Thanks.” She held up her cash coin. “How much for the bike-thing?”
Ranto’s slightly awkward smile turned to incredulity. “What?”
“How much?”
“It’s my bike,” he protested.
“I know that. I need it.”
“Why?”
“That’s not important. I just need it. Now.”
“I can’t sell my bike! I fixed it up myself.”
“It’s yours, so you can sell it. And it’s a seller’s market. You’ll never get another chance like this.”
He looked from her to the bike, then back again. Araminta was sure she could hear his brain working, little cogs clicking around under unaccustomed stress. His cheeks colored.
“You could buy a new one,” she said with gentle encouragement. For a moment she visualized Ranto riding around on some massive glowing scarlet sports bike with floating wheels. Come on, focus! If he didn’t want to part with it, there were unarmed combat routines in her lacuna she could use, loaded a long time ago when the whole divorce mess started and she had to go into districts of Colwyn City that had a bad rep. She really didn’t want to. For a start, she didn’t quite trust them, or herself. Besides, hitting someone like Ranto was just naked cruelty. But I will. If I have to. This is far more important than his pride. She brought the lacuna index up into her exovision, ready to access the routine.
“Five thousand Chobamba francs,” Ranto announced nervously. “I couldn’t let it go for anything less.”
“Deal.” Araminta shoved her cash card toward him.
“Really?” Her immediate agreement startled him.
“Yes.” She authorized the money.
Ranto blinked in surprise as his own card registered the transfer. Then he grinned. It made him look quite endearing.
Araminta slung her backpack into the open pannier and turned back to the dazed teenager. “How do I drive it?” she asked.
It took a couple of minutes on the broad road outside the StarSide Motel, with Ranto running about after her shouting instructions as his long arms waved frantically, but Araminta soon got the hang of it. The handlebars had a manual throttle and brake activator. She really had to concentrate on using the brake; all her life she’d driven vehicles with automatic braking. After the first couple of semi-disasters she began to overcompensate, which nearly flung her forward out of the saddle.
“Doesn’t it have any safety systems?” she yelled at Ranto as she curved around again.
He shrugged. “Drive safe,” he suggested.
After another three practice circuits on the street she did just that and set off for the one road out of Miledeep Water. Ranto waved goodbye. She could see that in the little mirrors sticking up from the handlebars. There was no three-sixty sensor coverage—actually, there were no sensors. His lanky frame was backdropped by the green-lit motel reception building, one hand held up and an expression of mild regret on his face.
Araminta concentrated on the route out of Miledeep Water, retracing her walk in not a day before. The bike’s headlight produced a wide fan of pink-tinged light across the road ahead. It was okayish, but she couldn’t see much outside of its beam, and the streetlights grew farther apart as the road climbed the crater wall. She quickly activated every biononic optical enrichment she had, bringing analysis and image resolution programs on line to help. The resulting vision was a lot better, taking away her total dependence on the headlight.
Once the last building was behind her, and she hadn’t fallen off or crashed, and nothing mechanically disastrous had happened, she eased the throttle up, and her speed increased. The axle motors were quite smooth, and the suspension kept her a lot more stable than she’d expected. It was just the wind that was a problem, flapping her fleece about and stinging her eyes. She really should have worn glasses of some kind. There was a pair of big shades in her backpack, but somehow she preferred the discomfort to stopping and fishing them out. The unknown woman’s blanket warning on the unisphere had unnerved her.
Five minutes after leaving the motel behind, she reached the crest of the crater. The last streetlight stood on the side of the road, not far from where she’d dumped her flagon harness. She was almost tempted to pick it up again, but sentiment at this point translated to blatant stupidity. Araminta gunned the throttle and zoomed off down the slope into the desert.
As soon as she was past the field of illumination thrown out from the streetlight, she switched the bike’s headlight off. Her image resolution routines produced a reasonable gray-green view of the long straight road ahead, enough to give her the confidence to keep going at the same speed. After all, there was nothing else traveling along it. She could see all the way to the horizon, where the intensifiers showed the stars burning brightly behind a wavering curtain of warm desert air.
It was a six-minute ride to the bottom of the crater wall. By the time she reached the desert floor, the bike’s tiny display panel told her she was doing close to a hundred kilometers an hour. It felt more like five hundred. The wind was a constant blast in her face, and her clothes felt like they were being pulled out behind her. She bared her teeth into the airstream, actually starting to enjoy the experience.
Did Ranto and his friends come out here in the evenings and race along the empty road? She knew if she and her friends had had these kind of machines when she was growing up on the farm, she would have had a whole lot more fun.
And I can have them. In the Void.
She grimaced. Actually, no, I can’t. Stop thinking like this. It’s weak, and anyway, the Void won’t allow technology.
Not that she really counted this bike as technology. The battery under the saddle actually hummed as the axle motors drew power. Something in the left rear wheel clicked as it spun around (which should be impossible with frictionless bearings). And the tires made a low growling sound as they charged along the gritty concrete. Maybe it’ll actually work on the Silfen paths.
There were no landmarks out on the desert road, nothing distinctive on the side of the road. She wasn’t sure where the side track was. Not that it had been much of a track, just a couple of tire ruts across the hard ground. Even with the headlights she wasn’t going to see those in the night. Instead she reached for it with her mind, nervous that spreading her thoughts in such a fashion might allow Living Dream to find her once again. But the difference between the gaiafield and the Silfen community was clear enough to her, allowing her to avoid the former studio
usly.
The Silfen path felt her as much as she felt it. And somewhere up ahead and to the side of the road it opened fully like a flower whose time had come to bloom. Araminta slowed the bike and gingerly turned off the road. The uneven desert was littered with small stones. Their impact kept shunting her front tire off the track, leaving her to wrestle the handlebars back. It was difficult, taking her full strength. Her arms were soon aching from the constant struggle. Sweat built up on her shoulders and forehead.
That was when she heard the hypersonic booms rolling in through the clear desert air, thunderous cracks that hurt her eardrums. Her head swung around, searching anxiously. Behind her, the top of the crater containing Miledeep Water glowed with the haze of the town’s street lighting, creating a mellow nimbus that caressed the dark night sky. She saw bright glimmers of purple light streaking across the foreign constellations, curving down toward the lonely town. There must have been six or seven of them.
“Oh, crap,” she grunted, and gunned the throttle hard. “Here we go again.” The bike started to buck about as it jolted its way over the coarse ground. Dry bushes snapped as she rode right over them, spiky twigs snaring in the hub spokes to thrash around and around, their tips whipping her boots. Holding a straight line was a huge effort with the bike fighting every motion.
A couple more booms announced the arrival of more capsules at high velocity. Any second now Araminta expected the sky to light with laserfire in a repeat of Bodant Park. The bike was bouncing wildly; she could actually hear the axle drives whining. She fought to keep it straight as the front wheel shook from side to side. There was nothing for it but to slow down, though by now she could feel the start of the path lapping toward her like the advancing waves of an incoming tide.
The bike’s power fell off, then surged, ebbed again– Little amber lights winked on across the handlebars. She had no idea what they meant. She throttled back, and the outlandish machine freewheeled on forward. They were on a shallow incline now, leading down to an ancient winding streambed, so all she did was steer, keeping away from the larger stones and boulders.
The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle Page 159
