The Abyss Beyond Dreams

by Peter F. Hamilton

  She sighed. ‘Go get yourself reprofiled and live on Huxley’s Haven; they’re all happy. Or they were last time I checked.’

  ‘It’s a goal worth aiming for, Paula.’

  She raised her glass to him. ‘I’m proud of you for thinking and acting selflessly. A thousand years ago, who’d have thought . . . Now you’re true evolution.’

  He laughed as they touched glasses. ‘I’ll miss you.’

  ‘All right, so now you’ve duly plied me with alcohol. And you’ve grabbed my attention with all this philosophy. Please tell me why. You know, tormenting me with this kind of suspense normally gets people thrown directly into memory read.’

  ‘I would like to hire you.’

  She pursed her lips coyly. ‘Are you sure you can afford me?’

  ‘On a consultancy basis. There’s something I personally have to do, and I need your expertise to pull it off.’

  ‘All right, I am officially intrigued. What expertise?’

  ‘I need to know how to commit a perfect crime.’

  May 22nd 3326

  Golden Park was massive. Paula hadn’t quite appreciated how big Makkathran2 was until she walked the mile and a half over the greensward which surrounded it. Because there were no capsules on Querencia where the original was sited, Inigo had imposed a no-overflight law which extended for ten miles around his city, which she thought was taking realism a step too far. The only way into the construction site, which was the full-scale replica of the city on Querencia, was in a ground vehicle, or on foot. She and Nigel had arrived at the project’s landing field in a scheduled commercial capsule, then taken a bus to the greensward – actually a misnomer; the ground that would one day mimic the forests and meadows outside the Void’s Makkathran was currently a muddy swathe of freshly ploughed and planted earth. From there they’d walked, as all the Living Dream followers did the first time, emulating Edeard who came to the city as a traveller with the Barkus caravan.

  Two thousand square miles of empty government land on the eastern coast of the Sinkang continent had been signed over to Inigo by the Ellezelin government eighteen months ago. Paula suspected a great many election campaign donations (among other payments) to local and national politicians by Inigo’s wealthier backers had secured it. The official explanation was that the quasi-religious movement would bring a huge influx of followers, who would boost the planet’s economy. Ellezelin had been founded as a capitalist Advancer culture and was quite devout in the pursuit of money.

  They trudged in through the North Gate (just as Edeard had) – although this gate was less impressive than the one cut through the wall by Rah. The wall of golden crystal around the real Makkathran was nothing more than a three-metre-high mesh fence here – so far. Inside it, the High Moat was another strip of flat grassland. Then came the North Curve Canal – two parallel trenches with slim trickles of brown water along the bottom marking where the excavation was scheduled to be. There was a bridge over the unborn waterway, leading to the Ilongo district. In Edeard’s city, it had small boxy buildings with walls that leaned at precarious angles. Here it was like a refugee camp of plyplastic tents and malmetal cabins. The tracks between them were laid with a mesh of carbon fibre through which mud was oozing. The long sections were being slowly tramped down by the sheer amount of foot traffic. It was like being in some pre-Commonwealth bazaar, appropriately enough.

  Three hundred metres above her, a realistic semiorganic ge-eagle was keeping pace with them, scanning the neighbourhood. Paula controlled it through a heavily shielded link. Several of the impressive-looking birds soared on the thermals above the proto-city; Inigo’s followers had resequenced them from terrestrial avian DNA, duplicating the birds that so many Makkathran citizens possessed. They competed for airspace with Ellezelin’s native seabirds. It wouldn’t be long before other replica Void creatures appeared.

  ‘I didn’t realize there were this many ardent followers,’ Paula said quietly as they stood back to allow a young goatherd to lead his animals past them. The other thing she’d noticed was the way people dressed. It was all natural cloth in old styles, some amazingly elaborate, like a costume convention; there was no semiorganic fabric or modern garments to be seen. For herself she’d chosen a simple green cotton skirt, a white blouse and a leather jacket with a satchel slung over her shoulder. Nigel had gone all out in the tunic of an Eggshaper Guild master, complete with fur-lined robe.

  He was gazing to the east. ‘They’re doing that wrong,’ he muttered.

  ‘What?’ Paula followed his gaze, seeing a tall tower surrounded by scaffolding that swarmed with constructionbots. The ge-eagle performed a fast scan of the incomplete structure. ‘That’s Blue Tower, the Eggshaper Guild headquarters. I recognize it from the Fourth Dream. It looks pretty accurate to me.’

  ‘The tower is fine,’ Nigel said as they started walking along the twisting tracks. ‘What I mean is, when you’ve got a project like this, you complete the drudgework first, then build the landmarks. That’s how you make sure the donations keep coming in.’

  Paula had her gaiamotes open, receiving the emotional wash of the eager followers and the general emissions of the city’s confluence nests. The gaiafield was an excellent simulacrum of Makkathran’s telepathic buzz, reproducing the same sensations of busyness and determination that Edeard experienced. ‘I don’t feel there’s going to be any shortage of donations.’ A couple of days previously, they had run a sweep through Living Dream’s official accounts. The figures involved had surprised her. Some seriously wealthy individuals had made large donations. Living Dream had refined its recruitment techniques to a degree which put most External world cults to shame. She’d almost assumed a degree of illegal coercion, maybe some advanced version of the old narcomemes, except for the sheer number of mid- and small-level devotees also handing over money – in some cases, everything they owned. It wasn’t entirely limited to Advancers and Naturals either: a significant percentage of Living Dream was made up from Highers.

  That level of universal commitment couldn’t be written down to fraud and dirty practices. Edeard’s life held genuine appeal, and from the four dreams she’d witnessed, she could actually sympathize with that. It helped that Inigo was now releasing the Fifth Dream, slowly unveiling it a few minutes each night.

  And that was what made her extremely suspicious. Those perfectly self-contained sequences were being offered up a little bit too neatly for a mythical vision which was supposedly gifted, and over which he had no control. It was one of the reasons she’d agreed to help Nigel. That and the whole mystery of Makkathran being a warrior Raiel armada ship – a puzzle she just couldn’t resist.

  They walked from Ilongo over into Isadi, across a hologram of the Pink Canal – a wide ribbon of blue light stretching across the ground. Then Ysidro district, where the first phase of genuine Makkathran buildings were being laid out. The ge-eagle looked down on foundations of enzyme-bonded concrete forming an intriguing jumble of shapes in the raw earth. There were as many constructionbots as there were people working on the site. Large trucks were being driven at speed along makeshift roads, shifting subsoil out and material in.

  ‘Those aren’t automated,’ a surprised Nigel protested as they had to scuttle quickly across one of the roads to dodge a ten-wheel digger. The driver gave them a long angry blast on the horn as he thundered by.

  ‘You have to admit, Inigo’s going for authenticity.’

  ‘No he’s not. Makkathran is actually a technology even we haven’t mastered.’

  Paula shook her head wryly. ‘Yeah, but he doesn’t know that. Or at least, if he does, he’s not admitting it yet.’

  Upper Grove Canal, which marked the boundary between Ysidro and Golden Park, was a giant gash in the ground six metres deep. Extruderbots were working their way slowly along the floor and walls, chewing up a thick stratum of the earth, and squeezing out a seamless sheet of enzyme-bonded concrete behind them. The ge-eagle showed her that the Zelda district was covered in b
ig biovats breeding enzymes; Living Dream was going to need an awful lot of it to complete this remarkable homage, she thought.

  They made their way over a rickety temporary bridge and into the featureless expanse that was Golden Park. Holograms of the white pillars that lined the real thing appeared insubstantial under Ellezelin’s hot late-afternoon sunlight, flickering into translucency every now and then. Over on the other side of the park, the Outer Circle Canal had been completed and filled. The intersecting roofs of the Orchard Palace rose up beyond it like a giant primitive crustacean left behind by a treacherous tide, engulfing most of the Anemone district. Insect-like bots crawled over the curving edifice, dismantling the scaffolding.

  ‘Now what?’ Nigel asked.

  ‘We wait.’

  Long open-sided marquees had been set up along the side of Outer Circle Canal, protecting tables from the elements. As the sun went down, people started to congregate there. Some tents were kitchens, others served drinks. A few had stages where acoustic bands started to play. The gaiafield was conducting some very mellow emotions.

  Paula sent the ge-eagle over to Orchard Palace as they found themselves a bench under one of the marquees. It circled low over the steep domes and dispensed several batches of tiny semiorganic microdrones. Modelled on Tetranychidae mites, they began to invade the massive headquarters of Living Dream, penetrating deeper and deeper into the maze of rooms. A three-dimensional map began to build up in her exovision.

  ‘These can’t be the actual rooms,’ she murmured. ‘It’s just a grid of cubes made from lokfix panels. Standard cheap throw-it-up construction material. Nothing fanciful here.’

  ‘I guess we’ll see the interior in one of the dreams eventually,’ Nigel said. ‘In the meantime, something that can be changed easily makes sense.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ She sent the ge-eagle back for another pass, scattering more of the microdrones.

  The cube rooms formed a stack of offices, living quarters for the senior disciples of Living Dream, kitchens, lounges, some labs where confluence nest technology was expanded, kilometres of identical corridors, store rooms, small replicators, a well-equipped clinic . . . It was like a government administration complex on a frontier planet. Every amenity present and correct, but basic.

  ‘Ah, the man himself,’ Paula muttered.

  As the sun dipped below the horizon, Inigo had appeared at the marquee next to the one they were using – a tall ginger-haired man with pale skin and a lot of freckles. He had the appearance of a fit Natural Faction human in his mid-thirties, with an easy, sincere smile.

  People were rising from their meal to greet him. He was polite and welcoming, working the crowd like a professional politician. When Paula checked his gaiafield emissions, he seemed genuinely to appreciate the attention – an emotion mixed in with just the right humility. I am not the chosen one, just the humble messenger.

  ‘He’s good,’ she admitted.

  Nigel had turned to look. It wasn’t something he had to be circumspect about. Everyone in their marquee was craning for a glimpse of the man who offered them a vision of a different existence. ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Seventy,’ Paula said.

  ‘Then he’s got some excellent Advancer genes to look that good at seventy.’

  ‘He’s not Higher,’ Paula said, ‘so maybe he had a quiet rejuve. People like their leaders to have youthful vigour.’

  ‘Yes, you truly are a professional cynic.’

  ‘Why else would I be here?’ she countered. ‘We both know that this is all too good to be true.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  They watched Inigo for several minutes until he finally accepted an invitation to sit with a group of people, most of them female and dressed like the daughters of Makkathran’s nobility, all low tops and skirts fluffed out by petticoats.

  ‘Let’s go try the local food,’ Nigel said.

  One of the kitchen tents was doing a hog roast. They queued up and collected their paper plate, piled high with meat and apple sauce and a wedge-chunk of bread. Both of them chose a fruit juice. Nigel paid with a gold coin, stamped with the Eggshaper Guild crest: egg-in-a-twisted-circle. When they’d bought a supply of the coins at the landing field, the exchange rate had proved exorbitant.

  ‘They must have a big problem with forgery,’ Nigel decided as they sat back down again. He held up some of the brass and copper coins he’d been given as change. ‘Any old fabricator could churn these out. Hell, even an old-style printer could manage it.’

  ‘I expect they’ll enrich them eventually. Right now, why would youwant to come here and cheat people?’

  ‘Good point.’

  Paula stabbed a slice of meat with a wooden prong she’d been given in the kitchen. ‘I’m more worried about the lack of vegetables. I know they had them in Makkathran. The whole Iguru Plain was a giant fruit and vegetable nursery.’

  ‘Did you get any crackling? I didn’t get any crackling.’

  ‘You’d think after two thousand years they’d have a better diet.’

  Nigel gave her a curious look. ‘Would you really turn down the chance to join a colony?’

  Paula chewed on the meat, which she had to admit was rather good. ‘You’re not exasperated with the Commonwealth. It’s your greatest triumph to date. It’s a spectacular triumph for our whole species, actually. But you are flawed by your insatiable drive. People think I’m obsessive, but I’m an amateur compared to you. Founding a whole new society is a challenge that’s just about worthy of you. Plus there’s the opportunity to explore a new galaxy – I assume that’s where you are heading?’

  He tipped his head. ‘Of course.’

  ‘And then there’s this ego trip.’

  ‘This?’

  ‘The Raiel, guardians of the galaxy – a race so advanced they probably know more than a post-physical species – flummoxed by the Void. And who do they turn to for help? Yeah, you could turn that request down so easily.’

  ‘Just like you could.’

  ‘Granted.’ She closed her eyes to study her exovision map closely. ‘Ah, interesting. There’s a very secure room right behind Inigo’s private chambers. It has a lot of shielding.’ She studied the telemetry from the microdrones which were starting to cluster around the room, combining their fieldscan. The room’s shielding was high-level, brought in from the Central worlds, but Paula’s microdrones were custom made by the Serious Crime Directorate’s technical division based on ANA’s designs. ‘It’s got a confluence nest inside,’ she reported.

  ‘Now why would a messiah who shares his precious gift openly and honestly need a private confluence nest?’

  ‘That isn’t actually contributing to Makkathran2’s gaiafield,’ Paula concluded as she studied the data.

  They turned to look at Inigo again. He had just finished his meal and started saying his goodbyes. A final wave, and he was walking back to the bridge that led over Outer Circle Canal. He was accompanied by five of the wannabe-noblewomen, who giggled and chattered contentedly as they went. The whole group was giving off a very definite carnal vibe into the gaiafield.

  ‘Oh, that takes me back to the good old days,’ Nigel said wistfully.

  ‘I thought you were happily monogamous now?’

  ‘I am. But a guy can remember his youth, can’t he?’

  ‘Men.’ Paula shook her head in disapproval.

  They waited another hour then started walking round the Outer Circle Canal, eventually coming to the small pool which joined it to Second Canal, which curved inwards alongside Anemone. They were out of sight from just about everyone on Golden Park. It was a dark area, and very silent. Paula activated a scan distortion effect in her biononics. To visual sensors and anyone watching, she would have faded from view as the air around her thickened into a dark haze. To a biononic fieldscan, she would simply have vanished.

  ‘Ready?’ she asked.

  The indistinct patch of dark air which was Nigel said: ‘Yes.’

  Paula acti
vated her biononic force-field function, and slipped over the side of the pool. She sank straight to the bottom. For such a short immersion she didn’t bother with a breather gill; her biononics could supplement her blood oxygenation for hours if necessary.

  Even her enriched retinas were useless in the water, apart from showing her a wavering infrared image of her arms as she used them as ineffective paddles. She had to use her biononic fieldscan function to sense her surroundings properly. Nigel was dropping down the concrete wall behind her. Once he reached the slimy bottom, they both started walking towards the other side of the pool, then carried on along Second Canal. Even with the force field reinforcing her limb movements, it was slow going.

  Second Canal ended at an even smaller pool, which connected it to Centre Circle Canal. Paula inflated the force field out into a four-metre sphere and simply bobbed to the surface. Both of them stepped out onto a pavement that boarded the rear of the Orchard Palace. Her force field switched off, leaving her standing there in perfectly dry clothes, looking up at the scaffolding which clung to the wall in front of her. Loud clanking sounds were coming from the bots high above as they dismantled the struts. Over to her left, a huge set of perron steps curved up to a high arching doorway that was the main entrance from this side. She slipped through the chunky mesh of struts up to the wall where there was an ordinary door.

  Her u-shadow took care of the lock codes, and the door swung inwards. It opened into a corridor. The lights were all off in readiness for their covert exploration. She checked her u-shadow’s subroutines had taken care of the alarms as well, and stepped inside.

  ‘Cool,’ Nigel said. ‘This is so much better than sitting in my office telling people what to do all day.’

  Paula sighed. ‘Until we get caught. This isn’t a game, Nigel.’