The Evolutionary Void

by Peter F. Hamilton

  ‘Don’t push me, Ranalee.’

  ‘I’m trying to be helpful.’

  ‘Then tell me about Tathal.’

  Her glance slipped down to her full belly. ‘What about him?’

  ‘Did you ever . . .’ Then he realized why she was looking at her unborn, and groaned. ‘Oh Lady, it’s not?’

  ‘Of course it’s his.’ Her hand touched the bulge fondly. ‘He is stronger than you in so many ways. My own deceits were nothing before him; he saw through me so easily, swifter than you ever did. But he forgave me, he allowed me to join the nest, and in return I taught him my art.’

  Edeard examined what he could of her thoughts shimmering beneath a thick shield. The gaps were the tops of chasms opening into darkness. It was as if her head was filled with ebony shadow. That wasn’t Ranalee. ‘He used domination on you.’

  Her smile was one of sensual recollection. The shadows began to take shape, revealing themselves as the nest members. They engulfed her, obliterating sight, sound. She couldn’t move, couldn’t cry out. Then she was suddenly no longer alone in the darkness, he was there with her, fear was surpassed by consummate pleasure. She welcomed it, turning to the source, weeping her gratitude. ‘It was so exciting, to see all I’d hoped for finally come to pass. His strength is intoxicating, Edeard. He is raw, like you used to be; but not the shackled fool that you were. He is free and unafraid. My child will be as glorious as his father.’

  ‘That’s not you talking.’

  ‘Wrong as always, Edeard. I didn’t need the encouragement the others of the nest received. My thoughts already ran along these paths. He held my hand and took me exactly where I wanted to go. That was a kindness you never showed.’

  ‘So you taught him domination.’

  ‘He already knew. I simply showed him subtlety where all he had before was crude strength.’

  ‘Lady! Do you have any idea what you’ve helped create? What you’ve let loose on the rest of us?’

  Her hands tightened on the bulge. ‘Yes,’ she hissed. ‘I’m not blinded by him Edeard, I’m not like the rest of the nest. I admire him. I belong with him, he knows that, why else would he take me as consort? My child will be a part of Querencia’s future, a big part.’ She laughed. ‘Perhaps he will even be stronger than his father.’

  ‘Your dream,’ he said brokenly. ‘But he’s taken it for his own.’

  ‘Join us, Edeard,’ she said, leaning forward eagerly. ‘This could be your moment, your real triumph.’

  He turned and walked for the door. ‘You know the answer to that.’

  ‘Yes.’ She paused. ‘Thankfully, not all of your family is as stupid and reactionary as you.’

  He stopped, knowing he was doing exactly as she wanted. A puppet to her manipulations again. ‘What do you mean?’

  Her answer was a triumphant smile. ‘I told you once, we would have your blood.’

  ‘What have you done?’

  ‘I have done nothing. But all children leave their parents behind eventually. You know this in your heart.’

  People turned round to look in astonishment as the Waterwalker slid up through the solid pavement of Boldar Avenue. None of them said anything, none of them moved. They simply watched as he strode purposefully to the door of Apricot Cottage, his black cloak flapping as if a hurricane was blowing. Only then did he notice their placid interest, the identical calmness. The residents of Boldar Avenue belonged to the nest.

  Edeard sensed them inside, upstairs in the big lounge. Marilee and Analee were with them, their thoughts content, fluttering with excitement. Not quite their thoughts as they used to be.

  Enraged, Edeard’s third hand smashed down the front door. He marched up the stairs.

  Tathal had a knowing smile on his lips as Edeard burst into the lounge. It was echoed by the faces of the nest. Marilee and Analee wore it, too. They were standing on either side of Tathal; Marilee with her head resting on his shoulder, Analee with her arm around his waist.

  ‘Undo it,’ Edeard demanded.

  Tathal gave Analee an indolent look, then glanced round at Marilee. ‘No,’ he said. Marilee smiled adoringly up at him.

  ‘I will destroy you.’

  ‘If you could, you would have done so by now. This was all the proof I needed. Besides, your daughters were almost a part of us already. They had learned to share.’

  ‘Don’t be cross, Daddy,’ Marilee urged.

  ‘Be happy for us.’

  ‘This is so wonderful.’

  ‘Belonging like this.’

  ‘Now everyone can share and grow like we always did.’

  ‘Everyone will be happy together.’

  Tears threatened to clog Edeard’s eyes. ‘You did this to them.’

  ‘We are together,’ Tathal said. ‘We are happy.’

  ‘Because you tell everyone to be.’ Edeard was certain he wouldn’t stand a chance against them if he went on the offensive. That didn’t leave him much choice.

  ‘Please Waterwalker, join us, join me, you and I are equals. As Mayor, you can make the transition so smooth, so painless.’

  ‘Not a chance, as the Lady is my witness.’

  Tathal took a slow step forwards. ‘You’ve already done it once.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve been so curious. Exactly what is your power? Is it more than communing with the city? We all have that now.’

  ‘Give this up,’ Edeard said. ‘Now. I will not ask again.’

  ‘So curious.’ He took another step forwards. ‘You know you cannot defeat us, yet you make threats. I see through you. You believe, you truly believe you have the upper hand.’ He cocked his head to one side, regarding Edeard in fascination. ‘What is it? What have I not got?’

  ‘My daughters first.’

  ‘I saw something when I studied you at Colfal’s shop. There was a certainty about you, a confidence that I’ve never seen in anyone before. You think yourself unassailable. Why?’

  It was all Edeard could do not to shrink away as Tathal moved closer still; it was like a kitten being stalked by a fil-rat. ‘Let. Them. Go. Free.’

  ‘I’ve already seen what happens if you win,’ Tathal murmured.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your words. Spoken in the seconds before you slaughtered Owain and his conspirators. I have watched the memory of the chamber below the Spiral Tower many times. You were impressively brutal, Waterwalker. Even Mistress Florrel was ripped apart by that frightening gun. An old woman; though not a harmless one, I imagine. But what did you mean by that? I have been sorely puzzled. You spoke as if you’d seen the future.’

  Edeard said nothing, he was too shocked by the revelation of his dreadful act being uncovered.

  ‘Is that it?’ Tathal asked. ‘Is that your secret? Your timesense?’ A frown creased his handsome young face. ‘But no. If you could see the future, you would know what I am, what I am to become.’

  ‘You are to become nothing.’

  ‘What are you?’

  Edeard screamed as the question seared its way into his brain, falling like acid on every nerve fibre. He had to confess. Every one of the nest had joined their minds to Tathal’s, offering their strength to the compulsion. Third hands closed around him, crushing his body, suffocating him. Their thoughts began to seep into his mind, corroding his free will.

  He didn’t have time to be neat and clever, nor did he have the time to summon up the focus to go far. He thought of when he was free, they allowed him that, the moments before he broke down the door to the Apricot Cottage. And reached for that—

  *

  Edeard gasped for breath as he slid up through the pavement of Boldar Avenue. Everyone was turning to stare at him, their heads filled with identical placid thoughts. Above him, the nest awaited. He didn’t even wait to sense if there was a glimmer of suspicion rising amid their unified mind. His memory conjured up that evening . . . no just before then, a few hours earlier, the astronomer’s parlour—

  Edeard stood outsi
de the House of Blue Petals, waiting patiently. It was late afternoon, and away at the other end of the city, the Grand Council was called to session. While over in the Tosella district, Finitan railed against his infirmity and pain.

  Eventually, a young Tathal walked confidently across the street to the House of Blue Petals. He stopped abruptly, and turned to stare at Edeard.

  ‘You’ve been watching me,’ Edeard said.

  Tathal’s adolescent face screwed up into a suspicious grimace. ‘So?’

  ‘You’re afraid I can stop you.’

  ‘Ladyfuckit,’ Tathal spat. His third hand began to extend as his mind was veiled behind an inordinately powerful shield.

  ‘You have an extraordinary talent,’ Edeard said calmly. ‘Why don’t you join me? The people of this world need help. There’s so much good you can do.’

  ‘Join you? Not even you can dominate me, Waterwalker. I’m nobody’s genistar.’

  ‘I have no intention of attempting that trick.’ His gaze flicked to the House of Blue Petals. ‘She tried it on me once, you know.’

  ‘Yeah? Must be pretty stupid not to learn from that mistake. But I made her teach me a lot.’ He sneered. ‘I like that. She still thinks she’s in control, but she bends over when I tell her to.’

  ‘Honious! You’ve already started to bind the nest to you, haven’t you?’

  Tathal narrowed his eyes. Misgivings leaked out from his shield. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Not you. You’re too late.’ Edeard remembered a day from a couple of years previously. Reached for it—

  Edeard tried. He even impressed himself with his tenacity, seeking that one moment when Tathal had an ounce of humanity in his soul. If it existed, he never found it. In the end he doubted its existence.

  But he tried. Waiting outside the city gates when a fifteen-year-old Tathal arrived with a caravan. That too was long after his personality had established itself. He’d already dominated the entire caravan, lording it over them in the master’s wagon. It wasn’t as subtle as the nest; men and women served him while their daughters became his stable of whores. The old and the recalcitrant had been discarded along the route.

  Before that . . . Edeard found Tathal came from Ustaven province. He missed Taralee’s seventeenth birthday to travel to the capital, Growan, nine months before the caravan arrived and Tathal left with them. Just in time to sense the fourteen-year-old finally kill Matrar, his abusive father, with a display of telekinesis that was shocking to witness. Minutes later he threw his broken alcoholic mother out of their house.

  Further back . . . Five years previously, Edeard spent a month in Growan, drinking in Matrar’s tavern, trying to reason with the miserable man, to steer him away from using violence against his family. To no avail.

  Two years beforehand, and Edeard bribed the owner of the carpentry lodge where Matrar worked, promoting him so his life might be a little easier. There would be more money, and Matrar might see a brighter future opening up if he strove to better himself. But the new money was spent on longer binges, and his obvious failings bred resentment among the men he was supposed to supervise.

  Eventually Edeard found himself outside the tavern Matrar favoured for the last time. It had taken some admirable detective work among the badly maintained civic records of Growan’s Guild of Clerks, but eventually he’d tracked down Tathal’s birth certificate. Not that he entirely trusted it. Which was why he was outside the tavern ten days before the probable night. He was dressed in simple fieldworker clothes and a heavy coat; with his face disguised by a shallow concealment mirage. Not even Kristabel would recognize him.

  As a waitress squirmed between battered old wooden tables he surreptitiously tipped a phial of vinac juice into Matrar’s ale. It was an act he performed every night for a fortnight.

  Tathal was never conceived. Never existed, so could never be remembered, nor even mourned.

  Edeard arrived back in Makkathran in time for Taralee’s second birthday. Just as he recalled, she developed chicken pox two days later. Then in autumn that year a ridiculously happy Mirnatha announced her surprise engagement. Finitan was at the height of his powers, and supporting the special Grand Council committee on organized crime, which was producing good results.

  He recalled it all. The events. The conversations. Even the weather. There was little he wanted to change. At first. Then he grew weary of the sameness. Knowing became a burden as he became exasperated with people repeating the same mistakes once more.

  The only thing which differed now were his dreams; still bizarre, impossible, but fresh, new.

  5

  Cheriton McOnna was tired, irritable, and unwashed to the extent that his clothes were starting to smell; what he needed was coffee, proper sunlight and a decent blast of fresh air. The conditioning unit in the confluence nest supervisor’s office was struggling under constant use by too many people. But Dream Master Yenrol was insistent that they kept a full watch for any sign of the Second Dreamer. That meant a special module grafted on to the nest itself, one with a direct connection to the team. It boosted perception and sensitivity to an exceptionally high level. Cheriton didn’t like that at all; opening his mind to the gaiafield at such an intensity was equivalent to staring into the sun. Fortunately he had some filter routines which he quietly slipped in to protect himself. The other members of Yenrol’s team weren’t so well off. Slavishly obedient and devout, they scoured the emotional resonance routines for the slightest hint of their absconded messiah.

  Around him, he could see their faces grimace from the strength of impressions pulsing down that singular linkage, yet still they loyally persevered. If they weren’t careful they were going to suffer some pretty severe brainburns. Yenrol was adamant, though, convinced that whatever had happened over in Francola Wood was caused by the Second Dreamer. It was Phelim’s strong belief, complacently accepted by the Dream Masters, that she was trying to return from Chobamba.

  The brief ultrasecure message Cheriton had received from Oscar was clear that she hadn’t emerged from the Silfen path. Not that anyone had the remotest idea of what had actually set off all the agents into yet another deranged fracas. The path had registered somehow within the gaiafield as it changed, but no one had walked out. Now it had inevitably shrunk away again in that way Silfen paths always did when scrutinized by curious humans. Cheriton knew that meant the Second Dreamer wouldn’t be using it now, she was still out there walking between worlds – but try telling Yenrol that. The Dream Master was obsessed to the point of recklessness. He truly believed he was this close.

  Cheriton snatched another quick look round the small stuffy office where his co-workers were crammed. Two flinched from some emotion twanging away on their raw neurones, shuddering from a near-physical pain. Yenrol himself was twitching constantly.

  This is ridiculous, Cheriton thought. She’s not an idiot. The whole invasion force has one goal: to find her. She’s not going to walk right back into the middle of them.

  Most of the ordinary Living Dream followers shared his logic. He could sense their despondency dripping into the gaiafield as they made their way reluctantly to the wormhole at Colwyn City’s dock. Those of them that could. Surges of anger were also erupting into the gaiafield wherever Viotia’s citizens physically encountered any of their erstwhile oppressors. If he chose to examine those particular stormwells of emotion closely, there was also fear to be found, and pain. After the first instances, Cheriton kept his mind well clear of them. More and more were occurring, especially in Colwyn City.

  Some were close by. Despite his reluctance, he felt a mind he knew flaring out of the norm, boosted by terror: Mareble, with whom he’d grown familiar for all the wrong reasons. Against his better judgement he allowed the sensations to bubble in through his gaiamotes, seeing as she did the slope of a broad street falling away ahead of her. A street now cut off by the tumultuous mob.

  ‘Oh crap,’ he murmured under his breath. Nothing I can do.

  Even as he o
bserved the scene through a myriad emotional outpourings everything changed. A mind rose into the gaiafield, so close to Mareble and her prat of a husband; a mind of incredible strength, its presence flaring bright and loud. Cheri-ton’s filter routines were just enough to shield him from its astonishing magnitude. Yenrol and the others screamed with one voice, their cry of anguish deafening in the confined office.

  Mareble wanted nothing else but to be off this dreadful world. She and Danal had come here with such soaring spirits, believing they would be close to the Second Dreamer. But instead, their lives had degenerated with increasing speed, culminating in Danal’s arrest by Living Dream. Those who had taken him away were not a part of the movement as she understood it. The Welcome Team moved with Cleric Phelim’s authority, but they certainly lacked any of the gentle humility of the most devout. Men of violence and hauteur. What they’d done to poor Danal was an atrocity. Not that they cared.

  Her husband had been released into her arms, a frightened trembling wreck, unrecognizable as the kind-hearted man she’d married. They couldn’t even return to the pleasant apartment they’d bought. That was the reason Danal had been arrested in the first place. It was ridiculous, but the Ellezelin forces suspected them of colluding with the Second Dreamer herself. And Araminta being the Second Dreamer was the one thing Mareble could never quite bring herself to understand. Araminta, that pretty young woman, slightly nervous and on edge, eager to sell the apartment she’d been labouring over to renovate. Somehow, that just didn’t connect. Mareble was expecting something quite different, but there had been no hint, no inkling when they’d talked and haggled over the price. She’d shared a cup of tea with the Second Dreamer and never known. Such a thing was simply wrong.

  Danal didn’t care about any of that when she tried to explain. When they were free of the Welcome Team he sank into a bitter depression, jumping at shadows and shouting at her. The things he shouted she tried to ignore; it wasn’t him saying such hurtful things, it was the confusion and hurt left behind by his interrogators.