The Dreaming Void

by Peter F. Hamilton

  There was another pause as the bandits watched it clatter against a tree. Telekinetic fingers skittered across Edeard’s skin, easily warded off. All three bandits drew short swords. Edeard slammed an order into the fastfox’s mind, sensing its original compulsions changing. It stopped trying to run and snarled at the bandits. One of them gave it a startled look. Edeard dropped it lightly on the ground.

  ‘Kill,’ he purred.

  The fastfox moved with incredible speed. Then its hindlimb slapped the earth and powered it forward in a low arc. Telekinetic shields hardened round the bandits. Against one demented predator they might have stood a chance. The ge-wolf hit them from the side.

  ‘Oh, Lady,’ Obron shuddered as the screaming began. He paled at the carnage, yet couldn’t pull his gaze away.

  ‘Come on,’ Edeard caught his arm. ‘We have to find Fahin. Melzar said to join up.’

  Obron stumbled forward. A burst of pistol fire reverberated through the trees. It must be from the shooting line, Edeard thought, they’ve come to help. The turbulent shouting was turning into distinct calls. Edeard heard several apprentice names yelled. Longtalk was hysterical snatches of thought mostly overwhelmed with emotional outpourings, a few raw visions threatened to overwhelm him. Pain, twinned with blood pumping out from a long gash in Alcie’s thigh. Arrow sticking out of a tunic, numbness from its entry point spreading quickly. Mud-caked faces bobbing as punches were thrown. Impact pain. Camouflaged bandit sprinting between trees as the rifle barrel tracked. Fastfox a streak of grey-black. Blood forming a huge puddle around a torn corpse.

  Edeard ran round the side of the zebrathorn thicket. ‘Fahin! Fahin, it’s us. Where are you?’ He couldn’t see anyone. There was no revealing glimmer of thought in his farsight. ‘Fahin!’

  ‘He’s gone,’ Obron panted. ‘Did they get him? Oh, Lady!’

  ‘Is there any blood?’ Edeard was scanning the leaves and soil.

  ‘Nothing. Oh—’

  Edeard followed Obron’s gaze and caught sight of a bandit running through the woods. The man had a sword in his hand, dripping with blood. Anger surged through Edeard, and he reached out with his third hand, yanking at the man’s ankle, then pushing him down hard. As the bandit fell, Edeard twisted the sword, bringing the blade vertical. The agonized bellow as he was impaled made Edeard recoil in shock. The bandit’s dying mind wept with frustration and anguish. Then the glimmer of thoughts were extinguished.

  ‘He was fifty yards away,’ Obron whispered in astonishment and no small measure of apprehension.

  ‘Fahin,’ Edeard called. ‘Fahin, can you hear me?’ His farsight picked out a tiny iridescent glow that suddenly appeared inside the thicket. ‘Fahin?’

  ‘Edeard?’ the lanky boy’s longtalk asked fearfully.

  ‘Yes! Yes, it’s me and Obron. Come on, come out. It’s safe. I think.’

  They both watched as Fahin crawled out of the bushes. His face and hands had been scratched mercilessly, his loose woollen sweater was missing completely. Tacky berry juice was smeared into his hair and over his glasses, which hung from one ear. Amazingly, he was still clutching his physick satchel. Obron helped him up, and abruptly found himself being hugged. ‘I was so frightened,’ Fahin mumbled piteously. ‘I fled. I’m sorry. I should have helped.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Obron said. ‘I wasn’t much use either.’ He turned and gave Edeard a long thoughtful look, his mind tightening up pensively. ‘Edeard saved me. He’s killed a score of them.’

  ‘No,’ Edeard protested. ‘Nothing like that—’ then trailed off as he realized he really had killed people today. His guilty glance stole back to the bandit impaled on his own sword. A man was dead, and he’d done it. But the sword had been slick with blood. And the other bandits … they would have killed us. I didn’t have a choice.

  Sometimes you have to do what’s wrong in order to do what’s right.

  ‘Can anyone still see or sense bandits?’

  Edeard’s head came up as he received Melzar’s weak longtalk. Obron and Fahin were also looking round.

  ‘Anyone?’ Melzar asked. ‘Okay, then please make your way towards me. If anyone is injured, please help bring them along. Fahin, are you here?’

  Somehow, Melzar being alive made the world a little less intimidating for Edeard. He even managed a small grin. Obron let out a whistle of relief.

  ‘Yes, sir, I’m here,’ Fahin replied.

  ‘Good lad, hurry up please, we have injured.’

  ‘Oh, Lady,’ Fahin groaned. ‘I’m just an apprentice. The doctor won’t even let me prepare some of her leaves.’

  ‘Just do the best you can,’ Edeard said.

  ‘But—’

  ‘You cured our hangovers,’ Edeard said. ‘Nobody will start mouthing off at you for helping the injured. We’re not expecting you to be as good as old Doc Seneo. But Fahin, you have to do something. You can’t turn your back on wounded people. You just can’t. They need you.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Obron said. ‘I think I heard Janene scream. What would her parents say if you walked away?’

  ‘Right, yes,’ Fahin said. ‘You’re right, of course. Oh Lady, where are my glasses? I can’t do everything by farsight.’ He turned back to the thicket.

  ‘They’re here,’ Edeard said. His third hand lifted them gently into place, at the same time wiping the berry goop from them.

  ‘Thank you,’ Fahin said.

  They hurried through the forest towards Melzar. Other figures were moving with them in the same direction. Several apprentices sent panicky hellos via longtalk. Edeard remembered an image of Alcie, the wound in his thigh. It had looked bad.

  Toran and the apprentices with pistols had gathered into a defensive group with Melzar. Edeard exchanged a relieved greeting with Genril, who was all jitters. He said he had one bullet left in his revolver, and he was sure he’d hit at least one bandit. ‘I got really scared when the fastfoxes charged us. Toran killed one with his rifle. Lady! He’s a good shot.’

  ‘You should see what Edeard did,’ Obron said flatly. ‘He doesn’t need guns.’

  ‘What?’ Genril asked. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Edeard said. ‘I know how to deal with animals, that’s all. You know that.’

  ‘Just how strong are you?’ Obron asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Genril said. ‘We heard your longtalk right over on the ridge, it was like you were next to me screaming into my skull. Lady, I almost ducked when that arrow came at you.’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Edeard asked. He was looking round, wondering where the others were. Out of the twelve apprentices and four adults in the flusher line, only five had made it so far, including the three of them. Then Canan the carpenter arrived carrying an unconscious Alcie. Fahin gave his friend a worried look, seeing the crudely wrapped wound already soaked in blood. His mind started to get agitated.

  ‘Go,’ Edeard directed with a quiet longtalk. ‘Do as much as you can.’

  ‘P-p-put him down,’ Fahin said. He knelt beside Alcie and started rummaging through his satchel.

  Edeard turned back to the forest, sending his farsight ranging out. Where are the others? His heart quickened as he detected some movement. A couple of apprentices came running through the trees.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Melzar said soothingly. ‘You’re safe now.’

  ‘We left Janene,’ one of them wailed. ‘We tried to save her, but she took an arrow. I ran—’ He collapsed on the ground, sobbing.

  ‘Nine,’ Edeard whispered as he kept his vigil. ‘Nine out of twelve.’

  Melzar’s hand came down on his shoulder. ‘It would have been none without you,’ he said quietly. ‘Your warning saved us. Saved me, in fact. I owe you my life, Edeard. We all do.’

  ‘No,’ Edeard shook his head sadly. ‘I didn’t warn you. I was terrified. That was all. You heard my fear.’

  ‘I know. It was – powerful. What happened? What tipped you off?’

  ‘I …’ He frowned, remembering the s
ensation of fear that had gripped him. There was no reason for it. ‘I heard something,’ he said lamely.

  ‘Whatever, I’m glad.’

  ‘Why couldn’t we sense them? I thought I had good farsight. They were closer to me than Obron and Fahin and I never knew.’

  ‘There are ways you can eclipse your thoughts, bend them away from farsight. It’s not a technique we’re very familiar with in Ashwell, and I’ve never seen it practised so well as today. The Lady knows where they learned it from. And they tamed fastfoxes, too. That’s astonishing. We’ll have to send messengers out to the other towns and warn them of this new development.’

  ‘Do you think there are more of them out there?’ Edeard could imagine whole armies of bandits converging on their little caravan.

  ‘No. We put them to flight today. And even if there were others lurking about, they have pause for thought now. Their ambush failed. Thanks to you.’

  ‘I bet Janene and the others don’t think it failed,’ Edeard said bitterly. He didn’t care that he was being rude to Melzar. After this, nothing much seemed to matter.

  ‘There’s no answer I can give you to that, lad. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why do they do this?’ Edeard asked. ‘Why do these people live out here hurting others? Why don’t they live in the villages, in a house? They’re just savages.’

  ‘I know, lad. But this is all they know. They’re brought up in the wilds and they’ll bring their children up the same way. It’s not a cycle we can break. There are always going to be people living out beyond civilization.’

  ‘I hate them. They killed my parents. Now they’ve killed my friends. We should wipe them out. All of them. It’s the only way we’ll ever be allowed to live in peace.’

  ‘That’s anger talking.’

  ‘I don’t care, that’s what I feel. That’s what I’ll always feel.’

  ‘It probably is. Right now I almost agree with you. But it’s my job to get everyone home safely.’ Melzar leaned in close, studying Edeard’s expression and thoughts. ‘Are you going to help me with that?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I will.’

  ‘Okay, now call back our ge-wolves.’

  ‘Right. What about the fastfox?’ Edeard was still aware of the animal prowling round at the limit of his farsight. It was confused, missing its original master.

  ‘The fastfox?’

  ‘Edeard tamed it,’ Obron said. ‘His third hand scooped it up, and he made it attack the bandits.’

  The other apprentices turned to look at Edeard. Despite the exhaustion and apprehension dominating their thoughts a lot of them were registering surprise, and even some concern.

  ‘I told you,’ Edeard said sullenly. ‘I know how to deal with animals. It’s what my whole Guild does.’

  ‘Nobody’s ever tamed a fastfox,’ Toran said. Melzar flashed him an annoyed glance.

  ‘The bandits did,’ Genril said. ‘I saw the collars on them.’

  ‘They’d already learned to obey,’ Edeard explained. ‘My orders were stronger, that’s all.’

  ‘All right,’ Melzar said. ‘Call the fastfox in. If you can control it, we’ll use it to guard the caravan. If not, well …’ He patted his rifle. ‘But I’ll warn you now, lad, the village elders won’t allow you to keep it.’

  3

  In Aaron’s opinion, Riasi had benefited from being stripped of its capital city status. It retained the grand structures intrinsic to any capital, as well as the expansive public parks, a well-financed transport grid, and excellent leisure facilities, yet with the ministries and their bureaucrats decamped across the ocean to Makkathran2 the stress and hassle had been purged from everyday life. So too had exorbitant housing costs. What was left was a rich city with every possible amenity; consequently, its population were kicking back and enjoying themselves.

  It made things a lot easier for Aaron. The taxi flight from Makkathran2 had taken nine hours; they’d landed at the spaceport, one of hundreds of identical arrivals. Mercifully, Corrie-Lyn had spent most of the journey asleep. When she did wake she placidly did whatever he told her. So they moved through the vast passenger terminus on the ped walks, visiting just about every lounge there was. Only then did he go back out to the taxi rank and take a trip to the old Parliament building at the centre of the city. It was late morning by then, with a lot of activity in the surrounding district. They swapped taxis again. Then again. Three taxis later they finally touched down in a residential zone on the east bank of the Camoa River.

  During the flight from Makkathran2, Aaron had rented a ground-floor apartment in a fifteen-storey tower. It was anonymous enough, a safe house he called it. To Corrie-Lyn it probably seemed secure. Aaron knew his multiple taxi journeys and untraceable coin payment for the apartment were strictly amateur stuff. Any half-decent police officer could track them down within a day.

  For two days he did nothing. It took Corrie-Lyn the entire first day just to sober up. He allowed her to order anything she wanted by way of clothes and food, but forbade any alcohol or aerosols. For the second day she just sulked, a state exacerbated by a monster hangover. He knew there was plenty of trauma involved too as she reconciled what had happened with Captain Manby’s squad. That night he heard her crying in her room.

  Aaron decided to go all out with breakfast the next morning to try and reach through her mood. He combined the culinary unit’s most sophisticated synthesis with items delivered fresh from a local delicatessen. The meal started with Olberon bluefruit, followed by French toast with caramelized banana; their main course was buckwheat crepes with fried duck eggs, grilled Uban mushroom, and smoked Ayrshire bacon, topped by a delicate omelette aux caviar. The tea was genuine Assam, which was all he could ever drink in the morning – it wasn’t his best time of day.

  ‘Wowie,’ Corrie-Lyn said in admiration. She’d wandered in from her bedroom all bleary eyed, dressed in a fluffy blue towelling robe. When she saw what was being laid out she perked up immediately.

  ‘There’s sugar for the bluefruit,’ he told her. ‘It’s refined from Dranscome tubers, best in the galaxy.’

  Corrie-Lyn sprinkled some of the silvery powder over the bluefruit, and tried a segment. ‘Umm, that is good.’ She spooned out some more.

  Aaron sat opposite her and took his first sip of tea. Their table was next to a window wall, giving them a view out across the river. Several big ocean-going barges were already coasting along just above the rippling water; smaller river traffic curved round them. He didn’t see them, his eyes were on the loose front of her robe which revealed the slope of her breasts. Firm and excellently shaped, he admired cheerfully; she certainly had a great body, his gaze tracking down to her legs to confirm. There were no mental directives either way on having sex with her. So he suspected the hormonal admiration was all his own. It made him grin. Normal after all.

  ‘You’re not a starship-leasing agent,’ Corrie-Lyn said abruptly, her face pulled up in a peeved expression.

  He realized he was allowing some of his feelings to ooze out into the gaiafield. ‘No.’

  ‘So what are you?’

  ‘Some kind of secret agent, I guess.’

  ‘You guess?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Don’t you know?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Simple enough. If I don’t know anything I can’t reveal anything. I just have things I know I have to do.’

  ‘You mean you haven’t got any memories of who you are?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘Do you know who you’re working for?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So how do you know you should be working for them?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘How do you know you’re not working for the Ocisen Empire, that you’re helping bring down the Greater Commonwealth? Or what if you’re a left-over Starflyer agent? They say Paula Myo never did catch all of them.’

  ‘Unlikely, but admittedly I don’t know.’
/>
  ‘Then how can you live with yourself?’

  ‘I think it’s improbable that I’m doing something like that. If you asked me to do it now, I wouldn’t. So I wouldn’t have agreed to do it before my full memory was removed.’

  ‘Your full memory.’ Corrie-Lyn tasted the idea with the same care as she’d sampled the bluefruit. ‘Anyone who agrees to have their memory taken out just to get an illegal contract has got to be pretty extreme. And you kill people, too. You’re good at it.’

  ‘My combat software was superior to theirs. And they’ll be re-lifed. Your friend Captain Manby is probably already walking around looking for us. Think how much improved his motivation is now, thanks to me.’

  ‘Without your memories you can’t know what your true personality is.’

  Aaron reached for his French toast. ‘And your point is?’

  ‘For Ozzie’s sake, doesn’t that trouble you?’

  ‘No.’

  She shook her head in amazement. ‘That’s got to be an artificial feeling.’

  ‘Again, so what? It makes me efficient at what I do. Personality trait realignment is a useful procedure at re-life. If you want to be a management type, then have your neural structure altered to give yourself confidence and aggression.’

  ‘Choose a vocation and mould yourself to fit. Great, that’s so human.’

  ‘Now then what’s your definition of human these days? Higher? Advancer? Originals? How about the Hive? Huxley’s Haven has kept a regulated society functioning for close to one and a half thousand years; every one of them proscribed by genetic determination, and they’re still going strong, with a population that’s healthy and happy. Now you go and tell me plain and clear: which of us won the human race?’

  ‘I’m not arguing evolution with you. Besides it’s just a distraction to what you are.’

  ‘I thought we’d gone and agreed that neither of us knows what I am. Is that what fascinates you about me?’