The Evolutionary Void

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Edeard gave Dinlay a shrug. ‘She has a point.’

  ‘Yes, but . . . Who would the city’s militia regiments side with?’

  ‘Neither. We oppose both, of course.’ Edeard was trying to work out what course of events they could play out. Clearly, the city forces would have to stall the provincial regiments while domination was used against the individual militiamen, pulling them in to Makkathran’s unification. But ultimately there would be a showdown with the strong psychics at the core of each independent province. It was a situation he’d been avoiding for two years, hating the idea of yet more confrontation. But the only alternative was travelling back for yet another restart, making good the mistakes and problems before they emerged; and that was something he could simply not contemplate. Not again. I can’t do it. Living those same years yet again would be a death for me.

  Dinlay nodded sagely. ‘Shall I tell Larose to prepare?’

  People were going to die; Edeard knew that. The number would depend on him. Riding the city militia into the conflict was the only way to keep the number of deaths to a minimum. ‘Yes. I’ll ride with them myself.’

  ‘Edeard—’

  He held a hand up. ‘I have to. You know this.’

  ‘Then I will come with you.’

  ‘The Chief Constable has no business riding with the militia.’

  ‘Nor does the Mayor.’

  ‘I know. Nonetheless, it is my responsibility, so I will be there to do what I can. But someone with authority must remain in the city.’

  ‘The Grand Council . . .’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Yes,’ Dinlay admitted. ‘I do.’

  ‘Besides, we don’t want to make Gealee a widow now, do we?’

  Dinlay glanced up from his croissant. ‘Gealee? Who’s Gealee?’

  Edeard grimaced as he silently cursed his stupidity. ‘Sorry. My mind wanders these days. I mean Folopa. You can’t take the risk. You’re barely back off honeymoon.’

  ‘There’s an equal risk.’

  ‘No, Dinlay, there isn’t. We both know that.’ He pushed. Ever so slightly, sending his longtalk whisper slithering into Dinlay’s thoughts to soothe the agitated peaks of thought. Dinlay’s reluctance faded away.

  ‘Aye, I suppose so.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Edeard said, hoping his guilt wasn’t showing. ‘I know this isn’t easy for you.’

  ‘You normally know what you’re doing.’

  It was all he could do not to bark a bitter laugh. ‘One day I will. Now come on.’ He rose and gave Hilitte a quick kiss. ‘We have to get to the sanctum. Argian and Marcol are the first meeting. They seem pleased with themselves.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Dinlay said, finishing his coffee before getting to his feet. ‘Information on the criminals resisting our city’s embrace. They have some new names for you.’

  ‘They’re not criminals.’ Not yet, he added silently, wondering where all his guilt was coming from this morning. As if I don’t know, those Ladydamned Skylords.

  ‘They should be,’ Dinlay muttered darkly.

  It was the way of his days now. Meeting with people who were at odds with the city’s unity. Acting as moderator, smoothing the way for understanding between everyone. A version of being Mayor he’d never quite envisioned during the caravan trip to Makkathran too many decades ago. He’d always thought he’d be elected in a free vote, arguing with his opponents and winning people over. Instead, he’d been the only candidate in a city where everyone’s mind was attuned to his. Well, not everyone, he admitted, and that’s a big part of the problem. Some people knew how to resist or deflect dominance. But they still gave the appearance of sharing, of unity with everybody else. Everything would be running along smoothly for weeks, then one morning the constables would be called to premises which had been smashed up, or a gondolier yard where boats had been broken. More worrying were the warehouses where fruit and meat had been ruined, chopped open or doused in cartloads of genistar excrement. That was happing too often for his liking, and it was always performed by genistars, leaving no trace of the perpetrator, even in the city’s memory.

  So Argain and Marcol and Felax tracked down those resisting the unification one by one, but their true numbers were unknown. Rumour had it in the thousands. Edeard suspected a few hundred. Which left him content that his dedicated team would gradually wear down the resistance. It was almost like the good old days of the Grand Council committee on organized crime. Except even that was an illusion, a memory which when examined properly wasn’t so joyful. It was just another achingly long time spent shuffling reports and dossiers.

  If anything was becoming a true constant in his life, it was the mountains of paperwork and those endless boring meetings. Can that really lead to my fulfilment? And if not, what?

  The evening didn’t start well. One of the girls Hilitte brought to the bed chamber wasn’t used to so much food being available and ate too much during the meal beforehand, which led to her feeling sick when they all retired to the master bed chamber. With unity came minds wide open to each other. That meant the sensations of her nausea spread like a contagion.

  After she’d hurried out, leaving those left behind to take deep breaths and calm their queasy stomachs, Edeard decided a quiet night spent by himself might be preferable to the usual frenetic physical performance. Sure enough, his day had been long, uneventful and ultimately thankless. His one attempt to longtalk Jiska had resulted in the usual quick rebuff. His children had all taken their mother’s side. It was probably the main reason he’d turned to Hilitte and the others. Their cheap adoration was an easy way of easing the pain of loss, no matter how shallow and flimsy the act. His one genuine thread of comfort amid the estrangement came from knowing that a unified world would provide them with fulfilment, and that he hadn’t failed them, even though they would never acknowledge it.

  He asked Hilitte and the remaining girl to leave him. Hilitte stomped out in a wake of hurt feelings and sourness with just an undercurrent of worry that her time as favourite was drawing to a close. Such was his languor he couldn’t be bothered to reassure her. He wove a thick shield around his feelings, cutting himself off from the mellow reassuring contentment of the unified minds glowing around him, and fell asleep.

  He was woken out of his outlandish dream by the strength of worry from the approaching mind. For a second he was back in the forest with the other Ashwell apprentices on their galby hunt, beset with fear without knowing why. But it was only Argain, breezing his way past staff with cool purpose, ignoring any requests to wait for the sleeping Waterwalker to be formally woken and informed of his presence.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Edeard longtalked through the bed chamber’s closed door. ‘Come in.’ His third hand hauled a robe over as Argain strode in. Now Edeard was shaking off the sleep he became aware of just how deep the currents of anxiety were running in the man’s mind. Bitter regret was like the burn of bile. ‘What is it?’ Edeard asked in trepidation.

  ‘We caught them,’ Argain said, but there wasn’t a trace of elation in the tone. That morning he and Marcol had been excited at the new leads they’d gathered, the information that there would be a raid on a shipyard in the port district that night, where two half-built trading schooners would be burnt.

  ‘And?’ Edeard asked.

  ‘They fought back.’ There were tears glinting in Argain’s eyes now. ‘I’m so sorry, Edeard. Her concealment was good, we didn’t even know she was there.’

  Edeard became still, the hot blood pounding round his body suddenly turning to ice as he perceived the picture forming amid Argain’s thoughts. ‘No,’ he moaned.

  ‘We didn’t know, I swear on the Lady. Marcol hauled her out of the flames as soon as we farsighted her.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘The hospital on Half Bracelet Lane in Neph, it was the closest.’

  Edeard flung his farsight into the district, pushing through the thick walls of the hospital. As always, the
sense revealed only gauzy radiant shadows, but he could perceive the body that lay on a cot in the ground-floor ward, he knew the signature anywhere. It was ablaze with pain. ‘Oh great Lady,’ he groaned in horror.

  The travel tunnels took him down to Neph in minutes. As he passed under Abad, he sensed someone else flying along ahead of him. Two girls, holding hands as they hurtled headfirst, radiating fear and concern as their long dark skirts flapped wildly in the slipstream.

  ‘Marilee? Analee?’ he called. He had no idea they knew of the travel tunnels. Their thoughts vanished behind an astonishingly strong shield. The rejection was as shocking as it was absolute.

  He rose up through the floor of the hospital a few seconds behind the twins. They were already hurrying towards the ward, glimpsed as shadows in the dark corridors, their heels clattering on the floor. He followed, every step slower than the last. The farsight of his whole family was converging on the hospital, their presence like malign souls.

  Jiska was lying on a cot, a terrible reedy wail bubbling out of her throat. The level of pain filling the long room was enough to make Edeard’s legs falter. He was crying as he approached. Three doctors were bent over his daughter, trying to remove the burnt cloth from her ruined skin. Potions and ointments were poured over the blackened, crisping flesh, doing little to alleviate the awful thudding pain.

  He took another step forward. Marilee and Analee moved quickly to form a barrier between him and the bed, minds fiercely steadfast. They were clad in robes similar to his own signature black cloak, hoods thrown over their heads leaving their faces in shadow. Steely guardians of their mortally injured sister, determined to prevent any last violation of her sanctity.

  ‘She has suffered enough, Father.’

  ‘She doesn’t need you here to make it worse.’

  ‘Jiska,’ he pleaded. ‘Why?’

  ‘Don’t do that.’

  ‘Not here.’

  ‘Not now.’

  ‘Don’t pretend your ignorance is some kind of innocence.’

  ‘You’re not ignorant. Nor innocent.’

  ‘You are evil.’

  ‘A monster.’

  ‘We will do whatever we can to ruin your empire.’

  ‘And destroy you.’

  The two black-clad figures wavered in his vision, and he saw them on the tropical beach as it had never happened so many years ago, both in long cotton rainbow skirts, bare feet on the hot sand, both clinging adoringly to Marvane, rapturously happy as Natran performed the marriage ceremony.

  ‘I do this for all of you,’ Edeard wept. ‘I am bringing you fulfilment. The Lady knows I try to bring fulfilment to the whole world. Why do you reject me?’

  ‘Your evil would enslave everyone on Querencia, and you ask us why.’

  ‘Evil. Evil. Evil man. Honious will take you.’

  Jiska convulsed. Edeard groaned through clenched teeth as he forced himself to share every aspect of her agony. He deserved nothing less. His legs gave way.

  ‘We will bring you down.’

  ‘We are still free.’

  ‘We have taught others how to liberate themselves.’

  ‘Your slaves will rise up against you.’

  ‘Domination does not deliver eternal loyalty.’

  ‘Already your hold on the provinces crumbles away.’

  ‘You?’ he asked through the sickening pain. ‘You are the resistance?’

  Then the longtalk he dreaded most spoke. ‘Who else was left?’ Kristabel asked. ‘Whose mind has your megalomania left unbroken?’

  Jiska’s head turned slightly.

  ‘Don’t move, don’t move,’ the doctors chorused in concern.

  Red scabbed eyelids fluttered, sending a yellow fluid seeping out of freshly opened cracks. The remaining good eye stared right at him. ‘We will beat you,’ Jiska’s weak longtalk told him determinedly. ‘My soul will wonder the Void, but I will die knowing this. I am fulfilled, Father, but not how you desired me to be, thank the Lady.’

  Edeard fell to his knees. ‘You’re not to be lost. I can stop this,’ he told her with a whisper. ‘I can.’ Two hours, that’s all. Just go back two hours and stop the fire from ever happening. I’ll talk reason to them. We will find common ground.

  ‘If you try—’

  ‘—you will have to kill us first.’

  ‘All of us,’ Kristabel longtalked.

  Edeard raised his head to the shadowed ceiling. ‘You do not die. Not again. Not ever while I live. I have suffered too much for that to be allowed.’

  In the streets outside the hospital, minds were emerging from their concealment. Their presence shocked him. Rolar, Dylorn, Marakas, even Taralee. The oldest five grandchildren, all emboldened and resolute. But not Burlal – he at least is spared this. And they weren’t alone. Macsen and Kanseen emerged with them, as did their children. Then at the last Kristabel came forth.

  ‘You can rule this world,’ they told him with a loving unity whose nobility was infinitely more beautiful than any he had ever imposed. ‘But we will not be a part of it. One way or another.’

  ‘But we must be one,’ he shouted back frantically. ‘One—’ Nation. With that he crumpled to the ground and cried out in anguish as the shock of what he now believed in hit him with a physical impact. Oh my great Lady, I have become my enemies: Bise, Owain, Buate, the Gilmorn, Tahal, all the others I struggled to overcome. How was I so weak to let them win, to adopt their methods? This cannot stand. This is why fewer Skylords have come. Fulfilment is slipping away from me, from all of us. I knew that. Lady, I always knew that.

  He had sworn not to go back again, but that was an irrelevance now – he was going back to save Jiska. Not two hours. That would not be salvation. There was only one option left.

  ‘You are right,’ he told them, and opened his mind so they could see whatever love and humility he had left. ‘I have fallen to arrogance and sin, but I swear to the Lady I will show no more weakness.’ And reached for that wretched moment—

  —to land on the ground at the foot of the Eyrie tower. His ankles gave way and he stumbled, falling forwards. Strong third hands reached out to steady him. A blaze of concern and adoration bathed his bruised thoughts.

  The crowd drew its collective breath in a loud: ‘Ohoooo,’ at his dangerous landing. Then as he straightened up they began to applaud the ostentatious resurgence of their old Waterwalker.

  For a moment he feared his jumbled recollections and shaky emotions meant he’d completely misjudged the twisting passage through the Void’s memory. But there was no powerful farsight following him, no Tathal, no nest. This was the time immediately after he had vanquished that foe, when events were so close to what they had been the first time, the genuine life he’d forgone so long ago.

  Macsen gave him a derisory sneer, while Dinlay’s hardened thoughts registered his disapproval at the madcap jump from the tower. As they always do, thank you Lady.

  Kristabel’s expression was one of unwavering anger. He looked at her, and smiled weakly. ‘I’m sorry’ he whispered inaudibly. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Her fury subsided as she measured the confusion and sadness filling his mind. He held his arms out to her. After the briefest hesitations she walked over.

  ‘Daddy,’ Marilee scolded.

  ‘That was so bad.’

  ‘Teach us how to do that.’

  Edeard nodded slowly. ‘One day I might just do that. But for now there’s a young man I want you to meet, a sailor.’

  ‘Which one of us?’ Analee asked, playfully mistrustful.

  ‘Both of you. Both of you should meet him. I think you all might be very happy together.’

  The twins turned to give each other a look of complete astonishment.

  Kristabel moved into his arms. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Edeard took a long time to answer. ‘I’m sorry for the way I’ve been lately. I’m going to stop that now.’

  She shrugged awkwardly inside his embrace. ‘I can’t be the easiest per
son to live with.’

  He pointed out across the city to the Lyot Sea. ‘The Skylord comes.’

  ‘Really?’ Like everyone in Makkathran, she extended her farsight to the horizon as the astounded residents of Myco and Neph gifted their sight of the giant creature.

  ‘It will bring such change to our lives,’ Edeard said quietly. ‘I think I know how to moderate any difficulties. But I don’t know everything, I truly don’t. I will need help. It will not be easy.’

  ‘I’m here,’ she said with a soft reassuring hug. ‘As are all your friends; and together we will live through this. So just banish that horrible old Ashwell optimism, Edeard Waterwalker. This is the life you were made for.’

  ‘Yes.’ And this is the last one, whatever happens, this is what I will live with. Sweet Lady, please, in your infinite wisdom, give me the strength to get it right.

  7

  The capsule came down close to the centre of Octoron’s little township. Acrid smoke layered the air. Several of the buildings surrounding Entranceway Plaza were damaged. Energy weapons had briefly turned the iron structures molten, causing them to sag and twist as they started to lean over. The wreckage of crashed capsules was sticking out of the ruins. Heat from the impact in combination with all the munitions had ignited a great many fires, which the chamber’s drones were only just extinguishing. They’d used a lot of crystalfoam, covering vast swathes of the plaza in blue-green mush that was still emitting sulphurous belches.

  Human paramedics were scuttling round, performing triage. Serious cases were carried to waiting capsules to be ferried off to the hospital on the edge of town. Fifteen heavily armoured and badly pissed Chikoya were strutting round, getting in the way of the human emergency teams. Resentment was starting to rise on both sides. There’d be another clash if tempers didn’t start cooling quickly.

  The capsule’s door dilated, and he stepped out. It wasn’t a bad entrance, he felt; he was wearing some really quite stylish mauve shorts and a loose-fitting shirt of semiorganic white silk open down the front, like the top half of a robe. Top-grade Advancer-heritage genetic sequences and a decent diet had toned him up, and his slightly elevated position gave him that commanding full-of-confidence appearance, as if he’d arrived ready to take charge and everyone else could now relax. The frayed leather flip-flops admittedly detracted from the image, but he’d been in a hurry so nothing he could do about that now. In any case, no one was looking at his feet. They were all looking up at him. Except the fifteen armoured Chikoya, who had swung their weapons round to splash their targeting lasers across his pristine shirt.