The Dreaming

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Aaron presumed that was the reason why ex-Councillor the Honourable Corrie-Lyn kept returning here. This was the third night he’d sat at a small corner table and watched her up at the counter knocking back an impressive amount of alcohol. She wasn’t a large woman, though at first glance her slender figure made her seem taller than she was. Ivory skin was stippled by a mass of freckles whose highest density was in a broad swathe across her eyes. Her hair was the darkest red he’d ever seen. Depending on how the light caught her, it varied from shiny ebony to gold-flecked maroon. It was cut short which, given how thick it was, made it curl heavily; the way it framed her dainty features made her appear like a particularly diabolic teenager. In reality she was three hundred and seventy. He knew she wasn’t Higher, so she must have a superb Advancer metabolism; which presumably was how she could drink any badboy under the table.

  For the fourth time that evening, one of the faithful but not terribly devout went over to try his luck. After all, the good citizens of Makkathran had very healthy active sex lives. Inigo showed that. The group of blokes he was with, sitting at the big window seat, watched with sly grins and minimal sniggering as their friend claimed the empty stool beside her. Corrie-Lyn wasn’t wearing her Cleric robes, otherwise he would never have dared to go within ten metres. A simple dark purple dress, slit under each arm to reveal alluring amounts of skin wound up the lad’s courage. She listened without comment to his opening lines, nodded reasonably when he offered to buy a drink, and beckoned the barkeeper over.

  Aaron wished he could go over and draw the lad away. It was painful to watch, he’d seen this exact scene play out many times over the last few nights. The barkeeper came over with two heavy shot glasses and a frosted bottle of golden Adlier 88Vodka. Brewed on Vitchan, it bore no real relation to original Earth vodka, except for the kick. This was refined from a seasonal vine, Adlier, producing a liqueur that was eighty per cent alcohol and eight per cent tricetholyn, a powerful narcotic. The barkeeper filled both glasses and left the bottle.

  Corrie-Lyn lifted hers in salute, and downed it in one. The hopeful lad followed suit. As he winced a smile against the burn of the icy liquid Corrie-Lyn filled both glasses again. She lifted hers. Somewhat apprehensively, the lad did the same. She tossed it down straight away.

  There was laughter coming from the group at the window now. Their friend slugged back the drink. There were tears in his eyes; an involuntary shudder ran along his chest as if he was suppressing a cough. Corrie-Lyn poured them both a third shot with mechanical precision. She downed hers in a single gulp. The lad gave a disgusted wave with one hand and backed away to jeering from his erstwhile pals. Aaron wasn’t impressed; last night one of the would-be suitors had kept up for five shots before retreating, hurt and confused.

  Corrie-Lyn slid the bottle back along the counter top, where the barkeeper caught it with an easy twist of his wrist and deposited it back on the shelf. She turned back to the tall beer she’d been drinking before the interruption, resting her elbows on either side of the glass, and resumed staring at nothing.

  Watching her, Aaron acknowledged that cultivating Corrie-Lyn was never going to be a subtle play of seduction. There was only going to be one chance, and if he blew that he’d have to waste days finding another angle. He got to his feet and walked over. As he approached he could sense her gaiafield emission, which was reduced to a minimum. It was like a breath of polar air, cold enough to make him shiver; her silhouette within the ethereal field was black, a rift into interstellar space. Most people would have hesitated at that alone, never mind the Adlier 88 humiliation. He sat on the stool which the lad had just vacated. She turned to give him a dismissive look, eyes running over his cheap suit with insulting apathy.

  Aaron called the barkeeper over and asked for a beer. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t go through the ritual degradation,” he said. “I’m not actually here to get inside your panties.”

  “Thong.” She took a long drink of her beer, not looking at him.

  “I… what?” That wasn’t quite the answer he was prepared for.

  “Inside my thong.”

  “I suddenly feel an urge to get ordained into your religion.”

  She grinned to herself and swirled the remains of her beer round. “You’ve had enough time, you’ve been hanging round here for a few days now.”

  His beer arrived and Corrie-Lyn silently swapped it for her own.

  Aaron raised his finger to the barkeeper. “Another. Make that two.”

  “And it’s not a religion,” she said.

  “Of course not, how silly of me. Priest robes. Worshiping a lost prophet. The promise of salvation. Giving money to the city temple. Going on Pilgrimage. I apologize, easy mistake to make.”

  “Keep talking like that offworlder, you’ll wind up head first in a canal before dawn.”

  “Head first or head-less?”

  Corrie-Lyn finally turned and gave him her full attention; her smile matched up to her impish allure. “What in Ozzie’s Great Universe do you want?

  “To make you very rich indeed.”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “So I can make myself even richer.”

  “I’m not very good at bank heists.”

  “Yeah, guess it doesn’t come up much at Priest school.”

  “Priests ask you to have faith. We can take you straight to heaven, we even give you a sneak preview so you know what you’re getting.”

  “And that’s where we come in.”

  “We?”

  “FarFlight Charters. I believe your not-religion is currently in need of starships, Councillor Emeritus.”

  Corrie-Lyn laughed. “Oh, you are dangerous, aren’t you?”

  “No danger, just an aching to be rich.”

  “But I’m on my way to our heaven in the Void. What do I need with Commonwealth money?”

  “Even the Waterwalker used money. But I’m not going to argue that case with you; or any other for that matter. I’m just here to make the proposition. You have contacts I need, and it is my belief you’re none too happy with your old friends on the Cleric Council right now. Might be willing to bend a few ethics here and there—especially here. Am I speaking the right of things, Councillor Emeritus?”

  “Why use the formal mode of address? Be bold, go the whole way, call me shitlisted. Everyone else does.”

  “The Unisphere news clowns have many labels for all of us. That doesn’t mean you haven’t got the names I need up here.” He tapped the side of his head. “And I suspect there’s enough residual respect for you in the Orchard Palace to open a few doors for me. Isn’t that the way of it?”

  “Could be. So what’s your name?”

  “Aaron.”

  Corrie-Lyn smiled into her beer. “Top of the list, huh?”

  “Number one, Councillor Emeritus. So how about I buy you dinner? And you either have fun stringing me along, or give me your private bank account code so I can fill it up. Take your time to decide.”

  “I will.”

  ***

  FarFlight Charters was a legitimately registered company on Falnox. Anyone searching its datacore would have found it brokered for several spacelines and cargo couriers on seven External planets, not a huge operation but profitable enough to employ thirty personnel. Luckily for Aaron it was a simple front which had been put in place should he need it. He didn’t know by whom. Didn’t care. But if it had been real, then his expenses would have had a serious implications for this year’s profitability. This was the third night he’d wined and dined Corrie-Lyn, with much emphasis on the wine. The meals had all been five star gourmet, as well. She liked Bertrand’s in Greater Makkathran; a restaurant which made the Hotel Buckingham look like a flophouse for yokels. He didn’t know if she was testing his resolve or not. Given the state she was in most nights she probably didn’t know herself.

  She did dress well, though. Tonight she wore a simple little black cocktail dress whose short skirt produced a seduct
ive hem of mist that swirled provocatively every time she crossed or uncrossed her legs. Their table was in a perfectly transparent overhanging alcove on the seventy-second floor, providing an unenhanced view out across the huge night-time city. Directly below Aaron’s feet, capsules slid along their designated traffic routes in a thick glare of navigation strobes. Once he’d recovered from the creepy feeling of vertigo needling his legs the view was actually quite invigorating. The seven course meal they were eating was a sensory delight. Each dish accompanied by a wine the chef had selected to complement it. The waiter had given up offering a single glass to Corrie-Lyn, now he just left the bottle each time.

  “He was a remarkable man,” Corrie-Lyn said when she finished her gilcherry leaf chocolate torte. She was talking about her favourite topic again. It wasn’t difficult to get her started on Inigo.

  “Anyone who can create a movement like Living Dream in just a couple of centuries is bound to be out-of-the-ordinary.”

  “No no,” Corrie-Lyn waved her glass dismissively. “That’s not the point. If you or I had been given those dreams, there would still be Living Dream. They inspire people. Everyone can see for themselves what a beautiful simple life can be lived in the Void, one you can perfect no matter how screwed up or stupid you are, no matter how long it takes. You can only do that inside the Void, so if you promise to make that ability available to everyone you can’t not gather a whole load of followers, now can you? It’s inevitable. What I’m talking about is the man himself. Mister Incorruptible. That’s rare. Give most people that much power and they’ll abuse it. I would. Ethan certainly fucking does.” She poured the last of a two-and-a-half century old Mithan port into an equally ancient crystal glass.

  Aaron smiled tightly. The alcove was open to the main restaurant floor, and Corrie-Lyn had downed her usual amount.

  “That’s why Inigo set up the movement hierarchy like an order of monks. Not that you couldn’t have lots of sex,” she sniggered. “You just weren’t supposed to take advantage of the desperate faithful; you just screw around among your own level.”

  “So far, so pretty standard.”

  “Course, I wasn’t very pure. We had quite a thing going, me and Inigo. Did you know that?”

  “I do believe you mentioned it once or twice.”

  “Course you did, that’s why you hit on me.”

  “This isn’t hitting on you, Corrie-Lyn.”

  “Slim and fit.” She licked her lips. “That’s what I am, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Very much so.” Actually, he didn’t want to admit how physically attractive she was. It helped that any sexual impulse he might have felt was effectively neutralized by her drinking. After the first hour of any evening, she wasn’t a pleasant person to be around.

  Corrie-Lyn smiled down at her dress. “Yeah, that’s me all right. So… we had this thing, this fling. I mean, sure, he saw other women. For Ozzie’s sake, the poor shit had a billion females willing and eager to rip their clothes off for him and have his babies. And I enjoyed it too, I mean, hell, Aaron, some of them made me look like I’d been hit hard by the ugly stick.”

  “I thought you said he was incorruptible.”

  “He was. He didn’t take advantage is what I’m saying. But he’s human. So am I. There were distractions, that’s all. The cause. The vision. He stayed true to that, he gave us the dreams of the Void. He believed, Aaron, he believed utterly in what he was shown. The Void really is a better place for all of us. He made me believe, too. I’d always been a loyal follower. I had faith. Then I actually met him, I saw his belief, his devotion, and through that I became a true apostle.” She finished the port and slumped back in her chair. “I’m a zealot, Aaron. A true zealot. That’s why Ethan kicked me off the Council. He doesn’t like the old guard, those of us who remain true. So you, mister, you just keep your snide patronizing bollocks to yourself, you bastard, I don’t fucking care what you think, I hate your smartarse weasel words. You don’t believe and that makes you evil. I bet you haven’t even experienced one of the dreams. That’s your mistake, because they’re real. For humans the Void is heaven.”

  “It could be heaven. You don’t know for sure.”

  “See!” She wagged a finger in his direction, barely able to focus. “You do it every time. Smartarse words. Not stupid enough to agree with me, oh no, but enough to make me have a go preaching at you. Setting it up so I can save you.”

  “You’re wrong. This is all about the money.”

  “Ha!” She held up the empty bottle of port, and scowled at it.

  Aaron hesitated, he could never quite tell how much control she had. He took a risk and pushed. “Anyway, if the Void is salvation, why did he leave?”

  The result wasn’t quite what he’d expected. Corrie-Lyn started sobbing.

  “I don’t know!” she wailed. “He left us. Left all of us. Oh where are you, Inigo? Where did you go? I loved you so much.”

  Aaron groaned in dismay. Their quiet meal was now a full-blown public spectacle. Her sobs were increasing in volume. He hurriedly called the waiter and shuffled round the seats to sit next to Corrie-Lyn, putting himself between her and the other curious patrons. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s go.”

  There was a landing platform on the thirtieth floor, but he wanted her to get some fresh air, so they took a lift straight down to the skyscraper’s lobby. The boulevard outside was almost deserted. A slim road running down the middle was partially hidden behind a long row of tall bushy evergreen trees. The footpath alongside was illuminated by slender glowing arches.

  “Do you think I’m attractive?” Corrie-Lyn slurred as he encouraged her to walk. Past the skyscraper there were a couple of blocks of apartments, all surrounded by raised gardens. Local nightbirds swooped and flittered silently through the arches. It was a warm air, with the smell of sea ozone accompanying the humid gusts coming in from the coast.

  “Very attractive,” Aaron assured her. He wondered if he should insist she take the detox aerosol he’d brought along for this very eventuality. The trouble with drinkers of this stature was that they didn’t want to sober up that quickly, especially not when they were burdened with as much grief as Corrie-Lyn.

  “Then how come you don’t try it on? Is it the drink? Do you not like me drinking?” She broke away to look at him, swaying slightly, her eyes blurred from tears, hauntingly miserable. With her light coat undone to show off the exclusive cocktail dress, she presented a profoundly unappealing sight.

  “Business before pleasure,” Aaron said, hoping she’d accept that and just shut the hell up. He should have caught a taxi from the skyscraper’s platform. As if she was finally picking up on his exasperation, she turned fast and started walking.

  Someone appeared on the path barely five metres in front of them, a man in a one-piece suit that still had the remnants of its black stealth envelope swirling away like water in low gravity. Aaron scanned round with his full field functions. Two more people were shedding their envelopes as they walked up behind him. His combat routines moved smoothly to active status, accessing the situation. The first of the group to confront them was designated One. Eighty per cent probability he was the commander. The subordinates were tagged Two and Three. His close-range situation exoimage showed all three of them glowing with enrichments. He actually relaxed: by confronting him they’d taken away all choice. With that accepted, there would only be one outcome now. He simply waited for them to present him with the maximum target opportunity.

  Corrie-Lyn blinked in mild bewilderment, peering forward at the first man as she clutched her small scarlet bag to her belly. “I didn’t see you. Where were you?”

  “You don’t look too good, your honour,” One replied. “Why don’t you come along with us?”

  Corrie-Lyn pressed back into Aaron’s side, degrading his strike ability by a third. “No,” she moaned. “No, I don’t want to.”

  “You’re bringing the Living Dream into disrepute, Your Honour,” One said. “
Is that what Inigo would have wanted?”

  “I know you,” she said wretchedly. “I’m not going with you. Aaron, don’t leave me. Please.”

  “Nobody is going anywhere they don’t want to.”

  One didn’t even look at him. “You. Fuck off. If you ever want a sales meeting with a Councillor, be smart now.”

  “Ah, well now, here’s the thing,” Aaron said affably. “I’m so stupid I can’t afford an IQ boost come regeneration time. So I just stay this way for ever.” Behind him, Two and Three were standing very close now. They both drew small pistols. Aaron’s routines identified their hardware as jelly guns. Developed a century and a half ago as a lethal short-range weapon, they did exactly as specified on human flesh. He could feel accelerants slipping through his neurones, quickening his mental reaction time. Biononic energy currents synchronized with them, upgrading his physical responses to match. The effect dragged out spoken words, so much so he could easily predict what was going to be said long before One finished his sentence.

  “Then I’m sorry for you.” One sent a fast message to subordinates, which Aaron intercepted, it was nothing more than a simple code. He didn’t even need to decrypt it. Both of them raised their weapons. Aaron’s combat routines were already moving him smoothly. He twisted Corrie-Lyn out of the way as he bent down. The first shot from Two’s jelly gun seared through the air where Aaron’s head had been less than a second before. The beam struck the wall, producing a squirt of concrete dust. Aaron’s foot came up fast, smashing into the knee of Three. Their force fields clashed with a screech, electrons flaring in a rosette of blue-white light. The velocity and power behind Aaron’s kick was enough to distort his opponent’s protection. Three’s leg shattered as it was punched backwards, throwing the whole body sideways. Aaron’s energy currents formatted a distortion pulse which slammed into One. He was flung back six metres into the garden wall, hitting it with a dull thud. His straining force field pushed out a dangerous bruised-purple nimbus as another of Aaron’s distorter pulses pummelled him, trying to shove him clean through the wall. His back arched at the impact, force field close to outright failure.