The Abyss Beyond Dreams

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Kysandra put on her best belligerent expression, not understanding what was happening.

  ‘So,’ Ma said. ‘You have a choice now, Kysandra. You either work for Madeline, here – you’ll be popular, a pretty young thing like you. We’ll dose you up at the start so you don’t struggle too much, then after a while you’ll be used to it. Or you marry Akstan and lead a normal life, with money, comfort and children. And believe me when I say I am very protective of my grandchildren. Nobody will mess with you or disrespect you, not even Akstan.’

  ‘And when are you going to tell me what the choice is?’ Kysandra sneered sarcastically. She managed to look at Ma without flinching.

  Ma chuckled. ‘I think Akstan should be the nervous one.’

  Kysandra tipped her head back, staring defiantly at Ma. I can afford to be bold, because you’ll be dead within a week. Eaten alive. If I can, I’ll make sure you know I’m the one who’s responsible.

  With only a small flicker of uncertainty at this unexpected resistance, Ma turned to Madeline. ‘Take her upstairs and clean her up for Giu’s sake. She looks like something they dragged out of the river mud. Every girl should look splendid for her wedding day, especially my future daughter-in-law.’

  Kysandra allowed herself to be led upstairs by Madeline. She was given one of the larger guest rooms at the back, with its own bathroom. The boiler at the farmhouse which was part of the range stove hadn’t worked too well for a couple of years now. She stared in guilty longing at the enamelled rolltop bath as abundant hot water poured out of the tap. Soaps and salts were added by Madeline, producing a marvellous lavender scent in the air. The water was covered by a thick layer of white bubbles.

  ‘Enjoy,’ Madeline said as she left the room. ‘I’d suggest at least half an hour soaking. Honestly, kiddo, you need to treat your pores a lot better. When you’re out we’ll start on the hair. It may take a while.’

  When the door shut, Kysandra turned the Ysdom lock, then spun out a big fuzz, which was quite reasonable for a girl getting undressed in a public building. There didn’t seem to be anyone’s ex-sight pervading the room.

  Her skirt came off. Underneath she was wearing a pair of tough denim shorts that came down to her knees. Her frilly blouse followed. The T-shirt worn below was one of Dad’s, saved from her mother’s cull; it was baggy but acceptable. This was hardly usual attire for a teenage girl, but nobody in this town would be bothered. And the docks were only a quarter of a mile away. She had five silver shillings. That was more than enough to buy her passage on some boat. She didn’t care where it was sailing to, just that it left Adeone behind.

  The bathroom’s sash window slid up easily enough. She swung a leg out over the sill. It was six metres to the ground, but a drain-pipe was only a metre to one side. She grabbed it and began to shin down into the alley.

  With just a couple of metres to go, the window slammed shut above her. She glanced up, but it didn’t matter. Then the fuzz in an arched doorway below faded out. Three of Ma’s people were waiting for her. Their combined teekay yanked her off the drain-pipe. She hit the ground painfully and yelped.

  ‘Oh, you are so predictable,’ Ma ’pathed mockingly. ‘Bring her back, boys.’

  Kysandra screamed as they closed in on her, but there was nothing she could do. They were big and strong and didn’t care how much she squirmed, kicked and shouted. They picked her up and held her so tightly she knew she’d have bruise rings around every limb.

  She was carried unceremoniously inside. Madeline was waiting, a small bottle in her hand. ‘Hold her down.’

  Kysandra started to fight as hard as she could. It made no difference. She was shoved onto the floor and immobilized with a combination of hands and teekay. Then Madeline pinched her nose shut. Teekay expanded in her mouth like a ball that was inflating, a very prickly ball. It forced her jaw open.

  ‘You’re all going to die, and I made it happen,’ her ’path blazed at them.

  They just laughed as the neck of the bottle was shoved between her teeth. The liquid glugged out. Kysandra tried not to swallow, but it was impossible. The bitter liquid went down her throat. Madeline withdrew the bottle.

  After a minute, the men let go of her. Kysandra stood up; it was difficult. ‘What was that?’ she asked, or thought she did. Her words sounded strangely slurred. Then her legs wobbled. Madeline grabbed her, stopping her from falling. ‘Bitch . . . What . . . ?’

  The world seemed to dissolve into really pretty colours, so nice she cooed enthusiastically at them. Then they started spinning, which made her dizzy. ‘I need to sit.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ Madeline’s voice said somewhere off in the distance.

  There was a strange ripping sound, like cloth being torn. Lovely cool air glided like silk over her bare skin. Kysandra smiled at the sensation. Then frowned. This was all wrong; she shouldn’t be enjoying this. She frowned harder, which sent purple waves swishing through the air. Madeline bent over her as the bathwater warmed her skin. The soap bubbles came alive. Each one popped and released a tiny Faller. Kysandra started screaming as they wriggled over her body, miniature teeth snapping.

  *

  ‘. . . Do you take this noble woman as your wife, to love and cherish during your mortal life, and then to take Guidance with her into the loving embrace of Giu?’

  ‘I do.’

  Kysandra blinked slowly, barely able to stand. Nothing had made sense for . . . well, a while now. The universe had become weird and blurred, sometimes warm and nice, sometimes sharp and terrifying so that she screamed and screamed. They kept making her swallow the bitter liquid. A lot of the time she was cold and shaking. She dreamt, or thought she did, or maybe her dreams had surged out of the night to live in her head permanently.

  And now there was a dress. A white dress with a ridiculous puffy skirt, and gold silk bows, and a veil. Is that still over my eyes? Is that why everything looks so odd?

  ‘And Kysandra, do you take this good man as your husband, to love without question during your mortal life, and then to take Guidance with him into the loving embrace of Giu?’

  ‘Say yes,’ the man said.

  Swaying about, Kysandra peered at the man standing beside her, holding her arm. ‘Who the crud are you?’ she blurted. Even with the drug buzzing loud and warm in her blood, she knew this wasn’t Akstan. He wasn’t old enough, certainly wasn’t fat enough, and anyway he had blond hair. His green eyes were looking expectantly at her.

  ‘Just say yes,’ he said with so much sympathy and kindness she thought she might cry. Nobody had looked at her like that. Not since Dad . . .

  Thoughts that weren’t entirely her own produced a word that simply had to push past her lips. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I now pronounce you man and wife from this day forth. May Giu bless your immortal souls.’

  Kysandra started to laugh. ‘You’re all going to die.’

  ‘You may kiss the bride.’

  The man settled for giving her a quick hug, patting her back. Over his shoulder she saw Ma Ulvon, and Akstan and Julias and Madeline and two more of Ma’s sons with their wives. All of them lined up in a row along the side of the registry office, not saying anything, their faces blank. Kysandra’s laugh became hysterical. ‘Yes! Oh yes, you’re already dead, aren’t you? They got you. They ate you already. You’re not you, none of you is. I didn’t warn you it’d landed, see, I didn’t tell you. I did this to you.’ She giggled exuberantly. ‘This really is the happiest day of my life.’

  ‘That’s my girl,’ said the man holding her, the man she was married to.

  Her legs started to buckle. ‘Are you going to eat me now?’

  ‘No. Time to go home, Kysandra.’

  ‘Oh, goodie.’ She passed out.

  *

  There were new planks spliced into her bedroom ceiling. Four of them, fresh wood neatly cut, forming a square not quite a metre on each side. Kysandra frowned up at them, not understanding why they should be there. Shotgun blast. Then the memo
ries came rushing back. Julias arriving. That last day she’d argued with her mother. The shotgun. Ma. Trying to escape through the Hevlin’s bathroom window. Drugs forced down her throat. The wedding. Man with blond hair!

  She gasped and sat upright in bed. She was still wearing the wedding dress, though someone had removed the skirt, allowing her to see the frilly knee-length bloomers covering her legs. It was a ridiculous sight.

  Very conscious of the way the drugs had messed with her, she tried standing up. There was no dizziness, no shaking limbs. In fact she felt amazingly clear headed and refreshed, as if she’d just had the best sleep of her life. And she was very, very hungry. To emphasize the point, her stomach gurgled like bad plumbing – because there was the most incredible smell of cooking bacon drifting through the farmhouse.

  Kysandra took a step towards the door. Stopped. Looked round properly. Her bedroom wasn’t just tidy, it was immaculate. And the sheets on the bed were clean. New! She touched them gingerly, marvelling at how soft they were. A dress was hanging over the back of the chair. Not her dress; she’d never seen it before. This was a nice dark blue cotton with a square-cut neck – brand new and looked like her exact size. Fresh underwear was folded neatly beside it. A decent pair of dark-brown ankle boots.

  ‘What the crud?’

  The landing outside was clean. Furniture polished. The glass in the windows was perfectly transparent; someone had washed the dirt and mould off.

  She went downstairs. He was in the kitchen: the man with the shaggy blond hair and green eyes. The quite good-looking man, who was probably in his mid- to late twenties. He wore a simple white shirt and green denim trousers. And his smile when she came in was . . . nice.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Big shock for you, I guess. Don’t worry, you’re doing fine. Sit down, I’ll get you some breakfast. You must be hungry. I gave you a sedative so you’d be able to sleep off the drugs they forced into you.’

  ‘Whaaa—?’

  ‘It’s okay. Sit. I’m not going to hurt you. Promise. After all, I am your husband.’ He grinned. ‘Formal introduction: my name is Nigel.’ He stuck out his hand.

  Kysandra stared at it, worried she was going to start crying.

  ‘Oh, hey, please. I really don’t mean you any harm. I know we started off . . . strangely. But I want us to be friends at least. Now come on, eat; it’ll help.’

  Kysandra sat down heavily. It was one of the kitchen chairs, but clean, just like the table. He fetched a plate from the warming surface on the range stove. And, yes, the stove had been completely repaired, the iron brushed to a dull sheen. A lively fire burnt behind its lower grate door. I wonder if we have hot water again? She hardened her shell so he wouldn’t know she’d just thought that. His own shell was incredibly solid, stronger than anyone she’d ever known.

  The plate (new) had bacon, scrambled egg on heavily buttered toast, grilled folberries in thick tomato sauce, sausages, and . . . ‘What are those?’ she blurted.

  ‘Hash browns. Potato, but done – well, like that. You shred them and fry them. Try it. But I won’t be offended if you don’t like it.’ He smiled hopefully.

  The smell was just too strong, and her stomach was reacting loudly. Kysandra tried some of the scrambled eggs. She’d never known they could be so creamy.

  ‘Tea, coffee or orange juice?’ Nigel asked.

  ‘Tea, please.’

  One of the farm’s mod-dwarfs put the cup down in front of her. It had been spruced up as well, its short fur washed and brushed.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she croaked. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Short version,’ Nigel said. ‘I’m new in town. I want a remote place to live where I won’t be bothered, and Blair Farm fits that requirement perfectly. I’m also very rich. So I paid off your mother’s debts to Ma Ulvon and bought the farm. I admit I wasn’t quite expecting you to be part of the deal, but you have title to the farm and, frankly, I thought you’d prefer me to Akstan. My apologies if I was wrong.’

  Which was a mad story. Kysandra wasn’t sure she believed it. She gave him a surly look. ‘Are you going to fuck me?’ she asked with as much defiance as she could manage.

  ‘Oh, hell, no. No. Look, I know we’re officially married, but I want you to think of me as your guardian; you’re really still a child despite what the law here says. Sex isn’t part of the arrangement. I just need the farm. Okay?’

  She nodded, still uncertain. ‘Okay.’ And some small bad part of her brain was asking: Why not? All the boys in town would, and most of their dads, too. She pouted. ‘Thank you. Er, what about my mother?’

  ‘Living above the cloth store, as agreed with Ma Ulvon. Why? Would you be happier if she moved back here?’

  ‘Uracus, no!’

  The bacon was cooked to perfection as well. Kysandra had another large helping of eggs, then suddenly stopped and stood up, glancing nervously out of the window. The river was just visible, as were the woods on the other side. It all seemed normal. But it wasn’t, of course – it couldn’t be. ‘How long was I asleep?’

  ‘Nearly eighteen hours. It’s the day after we got married.’

  ‘Uracus! We have to leave. Now!’

  ‘Would you like to tell me why?’

  ‘Something . . . A Faller egg, but bigger, a new type, big enough to carry a whole nest of them. It came down in the woods on the other side of the river three nights ago. They’ll eat us, Nigel! I didn’t tell anyone. I know I should have done, I’m sorry, but I didn’t. I was so angry about the wedding, about everything.’

  He sat at the table opposite her, hands wrapped round a mug of tea. His smile was reassuring. ‘Ah. Yes. Don’t worry. Actually, that wasn’t from the Forest. It’s not a Faller invasion. You’re safe.’

  Her skin chilled as she looked at him. Slowly, slowly, she tensed her leg muscles, ready to make a dash for the door. Is the shotgun back in its cabinet? Has he found it?

  ‘Now try and keep calm,’ Nigel said. ‘This is the biggie coming up: that thing you saw land was my spaceship.’

  ‘Riiiight—’ Kysandra sprinted as fast as she could in those stupid bloomers. Straight through the hall and out into the compound. The ground with its small sharp stones stung and cut her bare feet, but she didn’t stop. Refused to let the pain distract her. Ahead was the gate in the sagging fence round the overgrown garden. Except the vegetable garden was now in good order, with the soil beds freshly dug. Someone was kneeling to sort out the tangle of runner beans on their bamboo canes. Someone dressed in simple dungarees and a rust-red T-shirt. Someone who was standing up and turning to face her. And his face was—

  Kysandra screamed and lost her footing, tumbling over in a flurry of flailing arms. Pain shot up both knees.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  She looked round fearfully. Nigel was coming out of the house, his expression full of concern. She looked from him to the thing by the vegetables. It was human shaped, but its face – it was completely devoid of any characteristics. Like an adult-size doll, she thought. Waiting to take someone’s identity. ‘Fallers,’ she cried. ‘You’re Fallers!’

  ‘Kysandra, please,’ Nigel said. And his shell softened to let her perceive his thoughts; the genuine compassion, and more, a trace of amusement at her reaction.

  A spark of anger fired into her brain. ‘You think I’m a crudding joke?’ she shouted.

  ‘No. I think you’re holding up well . . . given the circumstances. How do you think Akstan would react? I met him, remember. I think he’d have fainted clean away by now.’

  ‘You’re going to eat me!’

  Nigel sighed, and knelt down beside her. ‘No, Kysandra. I’m not going to eat you. I’m human, just like you.’

  She twisted her head round to look fearfully at the doll-man. ‘That’s not.’

  ‘No. It’s not. It’s what we call an ANAdroid. It’s a machine. Biological, but manufactured. Think of it as a giant mod-dwarf, just a little smarter.’

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ the doll
-man said. Its pale lips curved up, approximating a smile. ‘I apologize if my appearance startled you. I assure you I am not hostile. Nigel is correct, I am a biological machine.’

  Kysandra started crying.

  ‘Come on,’ Nigel said kindly. ‘Let’s get you back inside. Those cuts need cleaning.’

  Kysandra stared up helplessly at him as he stood above her. She was all out of fight. I can’t stop them. I’m already dead. So she didn’t resist when he picked her up and carried her back inside.

  As he walked back to the house she saw another of the doll-men up on the roof, fixing the shingle. There is no escape.

  Nigel put her down on the settee in what had originally been the dining room until her father had covered the walls with shelves which he filled with his treasured books. The room hadn’t been refurbished yet. Somehow that made the worn cushions she lay on quite comforting. She’d often sat on this same settee with her father when he read to her.

  A mod-dwarf brought in a small green bag with a white cross on the top. Nigel knelt beside her and put an old towel underneath her heels. Kysandra watched dully. Blood was staining the bottom of the bloomers, and her feet were a mess, too.

  Nigel took a slim tube from the bag. ‘This may sting for a moment,’ he warned. Kysandra shrugged. The tube hissed as he brought it close to the torn skin on her soles. He moved it in a strange motion as if he was painting her feet.

  He was right: it did sting. She sucked down some air sharply at the biting sensation. Then her feet became numb.

  ‘Antiseptic and a mild anaesthetic,’ Nigel said quietly. ‘Let’s see, the dermsynth should work here.’ He took out another tube.

  Kysandra peered down curiously now, just in time to see a faint blue mist spray out of the second cylinder. The substance stuck to her skin, flowing over it and foaming to form a thin, even layer.

  ‘Good. I was worried the Void wouldn’t permit that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Void inhibits a whole range of electrical functions. I didn’t know if it would affect the dermsynth. But that’s mostly a biochemical reaction.’

  ‘Oh.’ She didn’t really understand.