The Abyss Beyond Dreams

by Peter F. Hamilton

  A renewed wave of cheering swept over First Night Square like a gale, breaking upon the walls of the National Council building. Slvasta pumped his fist into the air, then hopped down and strode through the main entrance. Yannrith walked alongside him, motioning the Council guards away. They were mostly ceremonial officers, positions awarded to troopers retiring from regiments so they might spend their last decades in fine scarlet and navy-blue tunics, living in neat apartments and being given three full meals a day before accepting Guidance. They certainly had no contingency to repel large angry mobs.

  ‘Sheriffs are on their way, captain,’ the master at arms told Slvasta as he made his way across the ante-chamber. ‘Don’t worry.’

  He nodded briefly, and carried on towards the central amphitheatre.

  ‘Slvasta,’ Bethaneve private ’pathed. ‘The Meor is mobilizing.’

  ‘Crud.’ He couldn’t help a worried glance at Yannrith. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. They’re coming out of their barracks. Two ferries have been taken out of public service, and they’re docked on the south bank waiting for them. The crowds must have frightened the First Speaker. There’s a lot of discontent coming to the boil in the city.’

  ‘It’s supposed to, but . . . Crud, I thought we’d have more time.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll deploy some grade three comrades to the quayside to pin them down. We have several allocated for it. They won’t get into the centre of the city today.’

  Slvasta knew they had contingencies for everything – well, every screw-up they could think of. So stick with the plan and trust your people. ‘Okay.’

  He made it into the huge amphitheatre, where several hundred councillors were taking their seats. But it was by no means a full session. The disapproval of the crowd outside was penetrating the thick walls, contributing to the worried and sombre mood gripping the tiers of desks. Nobody knew what to make of the city’s economy crashing.

  Down on the floor of the amphitheatre, Slvasta saw Crispen, Trevene’s lieutenant, in a huddle with the First Speaker, who still hadn’t taken his polished throne on the podium. The two of them were having an intense discussion. The First Speaker glanced up at Slvasta, then hurriedly away.

  ‘Congratulations,’ someone said.

  Slvasta turned round to the tier of desks behind his. Newbon, the councillor for Wurzen, inclined his head. ‘That was a nice chunk of theatre outside. Well played.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What comes next?’

  ‘I meant what I said. I will give those people a voice in here. They can be denied no longer.’

  ‘Quite right. Though I’m curious that they have an opinion on bridges being blown up.’

  ‘Suppressed anger finds many outlets.’

  ‘You really do have integrity, don’t you?’

  ‘I try.’

  Newbon pressed his lips together and ’pathed privately, ‘Be careful. There are powerful people watching you today.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Slvasta said quietly. He took his seat, with Yannrith sitting behind him.

  It wasn’t just the emotions of the crowd outside which could be felt in the chamber; their chanting too was audible, faint but ever present as a disconcerting tremble in the air.

  ‘Sheriffs are moving into First Night Square,’ Yannrith murmured.

  Slvasta opened his shell to receive various giftings, and watched through another’s eyes as long carts filled with squads of sheriffs began to arrive at the back of the National Council building. On the other side of the Colbal, the Meor regiment was marching down to the jetty where the ferries Alfreed and Lanuux were berthed, waiting for them. ‘Uracus,’ he muttered. ‘There must be over a thousand of them. Their full strength.’

  ‘They can’t cover the whole city,’ Bethaneve ’pathed privately. ‘There are trouble spots erupting everywhere. People are angry and afraid. We were . . . more successful than we expected.’

  The First Speaker took to his throne on the podium and held up the gavel of silence. ‘I call this honourable assembly to order. You have been summoned to debate the unprecedented acts of sabotage perpetrated against the main railway lines vital to this city, and how we are to advise the Captain to respond. I call upon the representative for Feltham, who sits upon the Captain’s security committee, to give us an account of the night’s events.’

  ‘There’s still nothing from our Southern City Line teams,’ Bethaneve ’pathed as the councillor walked down to the podium. ‘I’m worried.’

  ‘They must have been arrested.’

  ‘There’s nothing from any sheriff informant about that. They’ve vanished. There were twenty people and a lot of explosives on those carts. How can they just vanish?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted.

  ‘Our agents confirm the bridges are still up, and now heavily guarded.’

  ‘Uracus! Should we send more teams, take out bridges further down the line?’

  ‘I talked that through with Coulan. We can’t see the point, not now. Trade is completely paralysed, everything is shutting down. We’ve got the anarchy we wanted.’

  ‘Okay. I’m about to make my stand.’

  The Feltham representative was finishing his account. It was clear that he knew only the barest details, just which bridges were down, and how it was triggering great economic hardship to everyone, not only the merchants. ‘So I would ask my honourable colleagues to unequivocally condemn those who perpetrated this appalling crime against all of us. The sheriffs and other government forces should have full authority to search out and apprehend these terrorists, and sentence them to take immediate Guidance. Let them swiftly discover for themselves if the Heart will accept them, or if they are bound for Uracus.’

  ‘They’ve done it,’ Javier private ’pathed as the Feltham representative walked up the aisle to his desk. ‘The Captain signed a suspension order. It’s starting to arrive in government offices. Trevene’s people are already in sheriff stations, telling them who to arrest.’

  ‘Do we have names?’ Slvasta asked as he dropped the red ball into his desk cup.

  ‘Union officials and Democratic Unity officers. They’re coming for us.’

  ‘Make sure that goes out across the network. Tell every cell member.’

  ‘We’re on it.’

  ‘I call the representative for Yeats to address Council,’ the First Speaker announced.

  Slvasta stood up at the same time as the Yeats councillor started walking down the aisle. Councillors behind their desks looked quite shocked.

  ‘Captain Slvasta,’ the First Speaker exclaimed loudly, ‘you have not been called.’

  ‘Nor am I likely to be,’ Slvasta declared. ‘For I know who is responsible.’

  Outside, the crowd in First Night Square was cheering.

  The representative from Yeats had stopped halfway down the aisle, looking uncertainly at the First Speaker. ‘I yield the floor to the representative from Langley,’ he said.

  Slvasta ignored him and walked over to the First Speaker’s podium. Every councillor was silent, leaving the muffled cheers and chanting of the crowd as the only sound in the cavernous amphitheatre.

  Slvasta paused, and slowly looked round the tiers of desks, his uncompromising stare demanding the attention of everyone in the amphitheatre. ‘I lost my arm in defence of this world. It is a small price to pay for ensuring another nest of Fallers was thwarted. But as to why I lost it? That is down to a multitude of compromises made by my regiment – compromises to the front-line budget necessary so barracks officers could live a comfortable life. Compromises which continue to this day. Compromises supported by the Treasury, desperate to maintain the status quo. Hundreds of people in New Angeles lost their lives – no, that is how the gazettes report it. Hundreds of people in New Angeles were eaten alive by a nest. Why? Because the Captain’s uncle was a corrupt, debauched bastard who cared only for his own welfare, and that of his family cronies.’

  Cries of protest rose
from the desks, ’pathed calls of shame swatted against his shell. Slvasta remained resolute, buoyed by the swell of approval from the massed minds outside.

  ‘Alfreed and Lanuux just started across the river,’ Bethaneve reported. ‘I’ve got some armed comrades in place on the quayside, but I don’t know how long they can delay the Meor.’

  ‘Almost done,’ Slvasta ’pathed back to her. He caught sight of Yannrith, who had risen from his seat. He nodded at Slvasta.

  ‘The water utilities debacle?’ Slvasta declared angrily. ‘Not a product of sabotage, as conveniently declared by this very assembly. No. It was caused by greed, by the privileged caring only for themselves. And now, now we are summoned here to make grand empty statements denouncing the destruction of the rail bridges. Well. I. Will. Not. This desperate act was inevitable. This act is a direct result of the oppression, both political and economic, imposed by our government. You crush hope. Yes, you! You destroy opportunity. You eradicate dignity. You do all that so you may maintain your filthy bigoted anti-democratic society. You leave the rest of us no choice. We are not allowed to protest. Any complaint sees you marked down for life as a troublemaker by that tyrannical murderer Trevene. Those explosions today, they are the true voice of the people. And they are loud voices – voices you will not be allowed to ignore, voices you cannot smother, not this time. This is the day the disenfranchised, the weak and the persecuted find their will and say: No more. You will listen to us! You ask who is responsible for blowing up the bridges, for hurting the government in the only place it values – its wealth, the method by which it maintains control? I tell you: it is you. You: the rich, degenerate, privileged filth. And for that, for your eternal crime against this beautiful world of ours: I denounce you. I will have no part of this assembly, which I declare unlawful.’

  The shouts of fury from the desks rose above the jubilant clamour from outside.

  ‘A new parliament will be formed!’ Slvasta shouted and ’pathed above the bedlam. ‘The Captain’s dictatorship will end. I ask all decent people of this world to join me in a democratic congress to establish a fresh constitution. Together we can build a new world based on fairness and democracy. Join me. Everyone.’

  His rallying cry was gifted across the unquiet city. Supporters, goaded by cell members everywhere, added their emotional blasts of enthusiasm and confirmation to the psychic maelstrom.

  Slvasta turned and gave the First Speaker an obscene finger gesture. Then he opened his mouth to deliver a final insult—

  An explosive in the keel of the Alfreed detonated when the ferry was halfway across the three-kilometre span of the Colbal. The burst of terror and shock from the seven hundred Meor troopers on board washed across Varlan, swamping the giftings from the National Council. Everybody was suddenly there, on board as the ferry broke in two uneven halves. Through multiple viewpoints everybody seemed to be hurled about by giant forces, slamming them into bulkheads and decks. Lucky ones were tossed overboard to be engulfed by brown river water, arms thrashing frantically as saturated clothes abruptly seemed to be made of lead. People felt them open their mouths to scream, felt the water rushing in, felt them choking. Those still alive on board were overwhelmed by giant waves of water seething through the decks as the halves of the boat sank with incredible speed. The boiler plunged below the surface, and exploded in a giant plume of steam and spume, its blast wave pummelling the hysterical survivors struggling to stay afloat.

  The Meor troopers on the Lanuux were watching in horror as their squadmates floundered in the treacherous surging water; they started to combine their teekay to pull people from the river. A second explosive blew the Lanuux’s hull open beneath the waterline, though it didn’t succeed in breaking the ship in half. Thick river water surged in, geysering up through the deck hatches as the ferry rolled alarmingly and began to sink. The aether was filled with anguish and fear as the Lanuux slid down, portside first. Troopers jumped to safety, only to be sucked under by the fierce swirling currents of water created by the descending hull. River water slammed into the Lanuux’s boiler. The explosion heaved the ruined hull up out of the river, echoing the death throes of some giant creature. It quickly slipped back under, pulling dozens of helpless troopers with it.

  Within minutes, both ferries had fallen below perception, leaving the lethal whirl-currents of their descent stirring the surface. Over two hundred troopers were still straining to stay afloat. They were the ones who’d successfully shed their equipment and weapons. Now they had to battle the inordinately fast flow of the Colbal itself. Dangerous undercurrents belied the smooth surface, tugging more to their deaths, their minds gushing out the atrocious sensation of drowning for all to perceive. Desperate panic clogged the aether, reinforcing the feeble screams that washed across the banks on both sides. All around them, ferries and barges and fishing boats tooted whistles and horns as they converged on the survivors. Varlan perceived every nuance of their weakening battle against the devouring water in stunned horror as the whole disaster swept rapidly downstream.

  ‘What the crud happened?’ Slvasta demanded as he and Yannrith hurried out of the National Council building by a small lower level service door – an exit route they’d scouted weeks ago.

  ‘I don’t know,’ a mortified Bethaneve ’pathed back. ‘It wasn’t us, Slvasta, I swear on Giu itself. We didn’t plan this!’

  ‘Fucking Uracus! There were fifteen hundred people on those ferries.’

  ‘Fifteen hundred armed troopers,’ Javier ’pathed. ‘Deploying to kill us.’

  ‘Did you do this?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Who? Who could plan such an atrocity?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it is a considerable help to us. And people, smart people, will want to know why the Meor was coming over the river. Don’t ignore such gifts.’

  ‘Uracus. It just seems . . . wrong.’

  ‘There is no good way to die. What we have started will kill many more.’

  ‘I know.’ Slvasta and Yannrith slipped through the door, into the bright morning light. A cab was waiting, driven by a cell member. They got in and fuzzed themselves. The driver set off down Breedon Avenue.

  Giftings from cell members in First Night Square showed the sheriffs moving round the National Council building, their faces angry, thoughts eager for revenge, for vengeance.

  ‘It’s starting,’ Bethaneve ’pathed in wonder and dread.

  ‘Then we must control it,’ Slvasta replied. Strangely, after all his doubts and hesitancy, he had never been more certain than he was now. He ’pathed to the members of the level one cells.

  ‘The code is: Avendia. This is our day, comrades. Be bold. Be strong. Together we will succeed. Go now. Liberate yourselves. Reclaim our world.’

  4

  Bethaneve’s elites weren’t entirely made up of quick-witted observers and infiltrators and scouts; they didn’t all dart about the city watching and gathering information. Over the last few months as the group’s plans for the day of the revolution came together she’d quietly gathered up a few of Coulan’s rejects for herself. Not bad people, just possibles he’d rejected for final inclusion in his militia, the teams that would storm the palace and Fifty-Eight Grosvner Place. But still good people. Tough people who could handle weapons, who weren’t afraid of violence, nor of carrying out orders fainter hearts might baulk at.

  There was something Bethaneve needed to do when the great day came. It would benefit the revolution – they’d even included it in their plans. But she had to be completely certain, and the only way that could happen was if she did it herself.

  Coulan had been right. Explosives (unobtrusively acquired from the railway bridge teams) blew the hinges on the Faller Research Institute’s sturdy doors without any trouble. It was just one more detonation in a city plagued by fire and violence. Nobody really noticed. It barely distracted Bethaneve, she kept sending her messages into the network, marshalling the ecstatic comrades, keeping them on track. It didn’t matter w
here she was, just that she kept on ’pathing. Slvasta, Coulan and Javier all had their own objectives, and were busy leading their teams to achieve them. Coulan the palace, Javier the financial district, Slvasta the government institutions. They all believed she was sitting safely at the safe house, directing their comrades.

  Guarded by her elites, she walked through the short smoke-filled tunnel and into the institute’s barren courtyard. Professor Gravin came out to meet her while his staff cowered nervously inside. He didn’t rush, but certainly managed to thrust his massive bulk forwards in an impressive fashion. ‘What have you done?’ he yelled. ‘Those gates must never be broken. The risk! Do you understand the risk?’

  Bethaneve marched right up to the huge man and smacked him hard across his rubbery cheek.

  He stared at her in shock. The blow was so fast, so unexpected he hadn’t even spun a protective shell. ‘What? Who are you?’

  ‘I am in charge of this institute now, professor,’ she told him. ‘I am going to ask you some questions. You will answer them without your shell so I can see the truth in your thoughts. Every time you refuse to answer a question, my people will shoot one of your colleagues.’

  He gaped in fear as the armed elites jogged past him and started to enter the institute’s main building.

  ‘Please,’ he moaned. ‘Please understand, the work we conduct here is the most valuable thing on Bienvenido. We are not political, we are scientists; we will work with whoever is in charge, but you cannot destroy the institute. You would endanger the whole world, every human alive depends on us even though they never know it.’

  ‘Question one,’ she said relentlessly. ‘What happens to the prisoners Trevene delivers to you?’

  Professor Gravin swallowed hard. ‘Oh crud,’ he whispered. ‘It wasn’t my idea. I swear on Giu itself, it wasn’t me.’

  *

  The stench was noxious, thick enough that Bethaneve half expected to see it as a thick rancid miasma contaminating the air. She’d spent the first ten minutes in the pit room almost gagging as she tried to get used to it. She never would, she knew. The reek would stay with her for the rest of her life, as would the memory of what caused it. But she stayed there, resolute, standing beside the railings that guarded the deep rectangular pit cut into the naked rock many centuries ago. The true heart of the Faller Research Institute.