The Abyss Beyond Dreams

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Keturah and Thelonious, his assistants, were waiting for him as he settled behind his desk. Both of them held bundles of files and papers, which made him shudder inwardly. Thelonious had bruised-looking eyes set in a pale face, and his shell was none too stable, allowing little bursts of nausea to trickle out – clearly badly hungover. Slvasta chose to ignore it.

  ‘What have I got?’ he asked.

  ‘Transport policy sub-committee meeting at ten,’ Keturah said. She checked her clipboard. ‘Aflar nest incursion briefing at fifteen hundred hours – the Marine Commandant will be chairing that one himself. Inter-region communication and cooperation budget sub-committee meeting, seventeen hundred hours.’

  It was an effort, but Slvasta managed not to groan. ‘Okay. Reports?’

  Thelonious stepped up to the desk and put his pile of files down on the oak top. ‘Two Falls in the last ten days. We’re just getting the notice from Portlynn. The other was way down south in Vondara.’

  ‘Thanks. I’d like the final Portlynn report when it comes in. For now, just get me some tea, please, and remind me about the transport meeting a quarter of an hour before it starts.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Keturah said with a hesitant smile.

  Slvasta waved them both out. When the heavy door had shut behind them, he looked at the map of Bienvenido, which took up an entire wall. It was covered in tiny yellow pins, indicating Falls. They were denser in the tropics, becoming progressively sparser further from the equator. According to the Watcher Guild, the Faller eggs, which always came from the section of the Forest closest to Bienvenido, would naturally fall along the equator; it was only little inaccuracies in their trajectory as they left the trees, and the way they drifted on the long flight through space, that left them peppering the whole planet.

  He went over and stuck two yellow pins in the new Fall zones. His map had several clusters of red pins for sweeps in which their officers had reported suspected impacts devoid of an egg. And, according to the Marine Commandant’s office, the Faller Research Institute hadn’t issued any requests for a new egg to experiment on for years now. He’d sent Keturah over there to check; she’d come back with a date with one of the junior clerks and his promise to report any such request when it happened.

  The first red pin Slvasta had ever put in the map, the day he arrived, was just below Adice, where he’d encountered Nigel. Black pins were based on reports of people disappearing without explanation. He’d set the criteria as three or more people in one area to qualify. The heaviest concentrations, naturally enough, were in Rakwesh Province and the Aflar peninsula, west of the Spine mountains.

  As always, he stared at the ‘Nigel’ pin. There were few other red ones near it, and no black ones within two hundred miles. If Nigel had taken any more eggs, it wasn’t anywhere within five hundred miles of Adice. In fact, Slvasta hadn’t read any report of missing eggs that matched the profile.

  ‘Where are you?’ he asked the map.

  *

  The transport policy sub-committee meeting was held in one of the big conference rooms on the fifth floor. Twenty-three officers (seven of them majors) sat around a long mercedar table; that left another seventeen chairs empty. Age-darkened oil paintings of past regimental commanders gazed down at them from the walls. Aides and staff bustled round, served tea and coffee to the officers, then took their seats around the wall, notepads open and pens ready.

  Arnice sat next to Slvasta and told his staff to fetch him a coffee. ‘My third this morning,’ he confessed. ‘How about you? Did you have a good night?’

  ‘Very pleasant,’ Slvasta said, keeping his smile to a minimum.

  ‘You sly old dog, you. Jaix said Lanicia told her you both had a great time together.’

  ‘That’s what I like to hear – first-hand information.’

  ‘In this city? Listen, that’s like a licensed news gazette. So when are you seeing her again?’

  ‘No real plans.’

  ‘My dear fellow, you must strike while the iron’s hot. Her family owns part of the South-Western Rail Line company. Admittedly, she’s only the fourth daughter, but nonetheless there’ll be a handsome dowry for you there.’

  ‘And what about the person herself?’

  ‘You really do have a lot to learn about society, don’t you? I now officially consider it my personal challenge to see you wed properly by year’s end.’

  ‘Really? Then do please tell me what her father is going to say when he meets a one-armed pauper.’

  ‘And that is going to be the first part of your education. Do away with your modesty, learn to emphasize your finer points. None of the chaps in this town is a tenth as honourable or heroic as you. Admit it, you’re a fine catch. And, married well, you could go back to Cham and take over the regiment.’

  ‘In another fifty years.’

  ‘Ah, great Giu, that’s clearly my second challenge. You’re in such a hurry to get things done. Life here has a pace, a rhythm.’

  ‘One that suits you, not me.’

  ‘I’m on your side. Come now, shall I ’path Jaix to set up a meal tonight? A splendid, fun double date? What do you say? And don’t try and claim you’re frightfully busy, for I know you’re not.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Excellent answer. We’re meeting the gals at the Piarro restaurant at eight thirty.’

  Slvasta shook his head, grinning ruefully. ‘You are impossible.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  Colonel Gelasis from the Captain’s Marines called the meeting to order. There were twenty-seven items on the agenda, from the provision of trains and increasing the cooperation of the rail companies (by National Council law if necessary) to boot leather selection for tropical-based regiments. The only item Slvasta cared about was fourteenth, the one he’d proposed; he’d had to back numerous other items and policies to even have it considered. That had been a hard and rapid introduction to political horse trading. Item fourteen was the legal requirement for all regiments to abandon mod-horses in favour of terrestrial ones when engaged in a Fall sweep.

  ‘Excellent notion,’ Colonel Gelasis said. ‘Especially in view of Captain Slvasta’s testimony concerning abnormal Faller control of mod-animals. I trust everyone read the report?’

  There was a general wave of amusement round the table, which Slvasta did his best to play along with. He didn’t need dropped shells to know the answer to that one: no. It was his own response to all the other appended reports on the items. It was always a puzzle, given that he spent his days achieving nothing, that he had no time for anything.

  ‘If I may,’ Major Rennart said.

  Slvasta looked at Rennart with interest. He wasn’t a regiment officer, but on assignment from the Lord General’s staff.

  Gelasis gave him the floor.

  ‘I’d like to second the proposal, and move that it is forwarded to the Treasury for a detailed cost–benefit and implementation timescale analysis.’

  ‘Is that good?’ Slvasta ’pathed privately to Arnice.

  ‘They’re taking it seriously, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘How long will that take?’ Slvasta asked out loud.

  ‘I will see that it gets a top team,’ Rennart replied.

  ‘Yes, but how long until they finish reviewing it?’

  Rennart glanced round the table, with a what-can-you-do? mien showing through his shell. ‘Those of us serving for a while are familiar with the progress of review teams.’

  That brought several chortles from the officers. The aides were starting to watch keenly.

  ‘Could you tell us newbies?’ Slvasta asked impassively.

  ‘The preliminary report shouldn’t take more than a year.’

  ‘A year?’ Slvasta couldn’t believe it. Aside from his attempts to try and spot any sign of Nigel within the myriad of reports he could request, Slvasta had devoted all his efforts to engineering a switch to terrestrial horses. It was the first stage in what he considered the essential mode
rnization of regimental practices. ‘Why does it need a year? And why involve the National Treasury? This is a matter for individual adjutants, surely? My own Cham regiment was instigating the change when I left.’

  ‘That’s very commendable of them,’ Rennart said. ‘But if we start to issue advisement notices that involve any sizeable purchase, those same county adjutants will send the bill back to the Treasury. And, believe me, young captain, you do not want to be held responsible for annoying the Captain’s Chief Chancellor.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I’d advise you to listen to Major Rennart,’ Colonel Gelasis said. ‘We have a way of doing things here. I understand that they are slow and irritating to any serving officer recently brought in from the field, but nonetheless this is the way that three thousand years of government has produced as best method. You cannot argue with that much history. Now, captain, you have an excellent opportunity to see your proposal move forward towards enactment. If it is not approved for Treasury review, I will have no choice but to strike it from Council policy. How do you wish to proceed?’

  Arnice didn’t move. He wasn’t looking at Slvasta, and his face was perfectly impassive. ‘Take it,’ he ’pathed privately. ‘For the love of Giu, Slvasta, be practical. The more paperwork you create, the harder it is for the administration to ignore it.’

  Slvasta nodded formally to Major Rennart. ‘My apologies, I meant no disrespect. I am indeed accustomed to faster decisions. But, given this opportunity, I would like to second the proposal for Treasury review.’

  ‘Splendid,’ Colonel Gelasis said. ‘Vote, gentlemen, please.’

  Everyone raised a hand.

  ‘Excellent. Major Rennart, kindly see that through. Now, item fifteen, provision to increase sweep deployment remuneration for reserve forces’ daily food consumption.’

  Slvasta didn’t even bother to listen. Once again he hated himself for being beaten, for playing their game. He hated Arnice for being right, too. There was only one way to do things – the same way there’d always been. Friends of the Treasury officials who owned stud stables would be brought up to speed about the proposal, allowing them to prepare their responses to the official request to purchase bid, when it was eventually issued. In about ten years’ time.

  ‘You did well,’ Arnice assured him as they walked down the stairs together afterwards.

  ‘It doesn’t feel like it,’ Slvasta told him.

  ‘Nonsense. You’ve only been here eighteen months, and you’ve already got the Lord General reviewing a proposal.’

  ‘I suppose . . .’

  ‘Well, not the Lord General himself, more like his staff.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Actually, if we’re being realistic: his staff’s clerks.’

  ‘You’re always such a comfort, aren’t you?’

  ‘Look at it this way: I’ve never had an item moved up to that level.’

  ‘All right. So what happens now?’

  ‘They’ll spend a year and a vast amount of money messing it about and watering it down, then it’ll be shown to one of the Chancellor’s junior under-secretaries, who’ll add his own notes and send it back for further review. After it’s been bounced around for a while with everyone contributing to show their own worth and importance, it’ll be sent up to the National Council financial review board for a final vote. Oh yes, and you’ll be the one who presents it to them. A wife like Lanicia will give you greater kudos when you do.’

  ‘Water it down?’ Slvasta asked incredulously. ‘We either buy the horses or we don’t. How can that be watered down?

  Arnice raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ll find out. Treasury chaps can be rather inventive when it comes to purchase proposals. Always have been. That’s just the way of it.’

  Slvasta wanted to bellow in frustration. To think, when he woke this morning he’d assumed he would finally be making progress. ‘Then maybe it shouldn’t be the way of it.’

  ‘Ah, a revolution,’ Arnice said. ‘Now there’s a true goal for you. Be nice to your old upper-crust friends when it comes to putting us aristos in front of the firing squad, eh?’

  ‘I certainly won’t forget what you’ve done for me.’

  ‘I should think not. Starting with the Piarro at eight thirty tonight. Don’t be late.’ Arnice patted him on the shoulder and hurried on down the stairs to hail another group of officers.

  Slvasta watched him talk to them, the easy chat and smiles. He almost envied the way Arnice knew everyone, knew what to say and how to comport himself. If it had been Arnice putting the proposal forward, it wouldn’t be diverted by Major crudding Rennart. He had the connections, knew the way to smooth progress. The embodiment of the very system that was thwarting Slvasta.

  ‘I’m out for the afternoon,’ Slvasta told Keturah and Thelonious when he reached his office.

  ‘But, sir, you’ve got—’

  ‘Don’t argue,’ he snapped at Keturah. ‘Rearrange things.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Her shell didn’t quite harden fast enough to conceal her resentment at the way she was being treated.

  Join the club, he thought, and stomped out.

  *

  It wasn’t that far to the National Tax Office, a walk down Walton Boulevard towards the palace, then cross over at the junction with Struzaburg Avenue where the statue of the Landing Plane stood – a weird triangular sculpture, badly worn by time and constant bird droppings. Half a mile along Wahren Street, the granite façade of the Tax Office’s hall of records loomed over the delicate bundwine trees with their ruddy spine-leaves waving in the wind. Eight storeys of offices and archives with small dark windows that didn’t open. He’d been told there were more archives below it as well – ten basement levels, apparently.

  The circular entrance galleria was clad in a drab brown marble, with broad stairs spiralling up all eight storeys, where it was topped by an elaborate glass cupola. There were two receptionists behind the curving desk, and five civic guards. If it hadn’t been for his uniform, he doubted he would have been allowed through the door.

  ‘Do you have an appointment, captain?’ one of the receptionists asked. He was an elderly man in a black tailcoat with a grey striped waistcoat. His glasses were thick pebbles. The whole place with its silent, timeless existence was draining Slvasta’s anger and determination away fast.

  ‘I’d like to see a clerk called Bethaneve, please,’ he said, hoping his rank was enough to ensure compliance.

  ‘Is she expecting you?’

  ‘She is dealing with a case for me. It has become an urgent matter for the Joint Regimental Council.’

  ‘I see.’ The receptionist wrote something on a small chit and handed it to a mod-dwarf, the smallest one Slvasta had ever seen. The creature disappeared into a little archway behind the desk. ‘If you’d like to wait, captain.’

  Slvasta sat on one of the two wooden benches, which looked out of place in the big space. By the time the mod-dwarf returned, all his early determination had gone, evaporated into the cool air, and he was feeling slightly foolish at his impetuosity. But the setback in the policy meeting had been infuriating. He wanted to achieve something today. Just for once.

  ‘Bethaneve will see you,’ the receptionist said. ‘Office five-thirty-two.’ He gestured to one of the guards.

  The five flights of curving stairs made Slvasta realize how long it had been since he’d done a run. He was breathing heavily when they started walking down one of the long corridors on the fifth floor. They must have passed fifty doors, his ex-sight revealed clerks sitting behind desks in their individual offices. The long rooms between them contained row after row of shelving, with every centimetre crammed with files and ledgers.

  ‘No ex-sight perception, please,’ the guard told him. ‘Tax material is classified.’

  Slvasta almost protested that ex-sight couldn’t read entries on paper even if he could distinguish individual sheets, but of course that was one of the rules. It didn’t matter if it was relevant or not.


  The guard knocked on a door.

  ‘Come in,’ a ’path voice said.

  The guard opened the door. ‘I will wait until you’ve finished, then escort you out,’ he told Slvasta, and indicated a wooden seat back at the last junction.

  Bethaneve was a surprise. He’d been expecting someone at least as old as the receptionists downstairs. Instead she was about his age, with thick unstyled auburn hair that hung just below her shoulders. She wore a green cardigan over a shapeless blue polkadot dress which had a slim white lace collar and a skirt that fell almost to her ankles, but allowed a view of her black leather shoes. It was the kind of outfit he would expect to see on a centenarian. But then it fitted the location, no matter how young and bright the wearer.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve been here seventeen months, and nobody has ever asked for an appointment before,’ she said with a small smile. ‘Actually, I don’t know anyone on this floor who’s ever had a visitor. I’ll be talked about for weeks in the canteen.’

  He smiled back. Bethaneve wasn’t as pretty as Lanicia. Her features were too broad, and her nose larger – which was an unfair comparison, he told himself sternly. For Bethaneve had a lightness which was especially noticeable in this small dreary office with its single high window.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It was just that I did put in a review request four months ago. You sent me an acknowledgement and said it was underway. I’d appreciate a progress report.’

  ‘Yes, that was unusual. We’ve never had a request from the military before.’

  ‘Is that a problem? I was told I had the authority to make the request.’ It was Arnice who’d suggested it as a way of tracking down his elusive quarry after he’d found nothing in the Erond regiment personnel records. Everybody on Bienvenido had a Tax Office file, the one inescapable constant.