The Dreaming

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Two was trying to swing his pistol round, tracking a target that was moving with inhuman speed. All his enriched senses revealed was a blurred shape as Aaron danced across the path. He never got a lock, Aaron’s hand materialized out of a dim streak to chop across his throat, overloading the force field. His neck snapped instantly, and the corpse flew through the air. Aaron snatched the jelly gun from Two’s hand at the same time, wrenching the fingers off with a liquid crunching sound. It took Aaron a fraction of a second to spin round again. His force field expanded into the ground, an anchor snatching away inertia, allowing him to stop instantly, the pistol aligned on One as the dazed man was clambering unsteadily to his feet. Blood from the severed fingers dripped down on to the path. One froze, sucking down air as he stared at the nozzle of the jelly gun. Aaron opened his grip, allowing the fingers to slither away. “Who are they?” he yelled at Corrie-Lyn, who was lying on the sodden grass where she’d landed. She was giving One a bewildered look. “Who?” Aaron demanded.

  “The… the police. That’s Captain Manby, special protection division.”

  “That’s right,” Manby wheezed as he flinched against the pain. “So you just put that fucking gun down. You’re already drowning in shit so deep you’ll never see the universe again.”

  “Join me at the bottom.” Aaron pressed the trigger on the jelly gun, holding it down on continuous fire mode. He added his own distortion pulse to the barrage. Manby’s force field held out for almost two seconds before collapsing. The jelly gun pulses struck the exposed body. Aaron turned and fired again, overloading Three’s force field.

  Corrie-Lyn threw up as waves of bloody sludge from both ruined corpses cascaded across the ground. She was wailing like a wounded kitten when Aaron hauled her to her feet. “We have to go,” he shouted at her. She shrank back from his hold. “Come on, now! Move!” His u-shadow was already calling down a taxi.

  “No,” she whimpered. “No, no. They didn’t… you just killed them. You killed them.”

  “Do you understand what this is?” he growled at her, his voice loud, aggressive; using belligerence to keep her off balance. “Do you understand what just happened? Do you? They’re an assassination squad. Ethan wants you dead. Permanently dead. You can’t stay here. They’ll keep coming after you, Corrie-Lyn! I can protect you.”

  “Me?” she sobbed. “They wanted me?”

  “Yes. Now come on, we’re not safe here.”

  “Oh sweet Ozzie.”

  He shook her. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. By the way she was shaking Aaron thought she was going into mild shock. “Good,” he started to walk towards the descending taxi, hauling her along, heedless of the way she stumbled to keep up. It was hard not to smile. He couldn’t have delivered a better result to the evening if he’d planned it.

  Inigo’s First Dream

  « ^ »

  When Edeard woke, his dream was already a confused fading memory. The same thing happened every morning. No matter how hard he tried he could never hold on to the images and sounds afflicting him every night. Akeem said not to worry; that his dreams were made up from the gentle spillage of other sleeping minds around him. Edeard didn’t believe the things he dreamed of came from anywhere like their village, the fragments he occasionally did manage to cling to were too strange and fascinating for that.

  Cool pre-dawn light was showing up the cracks in the window’s wooden shutters. Edeard lay still for a while, cosy under the pile of blankets that covered his cot. It was a big room, with whitewashed plaster walls and bare floorboards. The rafters of the hammer-beam roof above were ancient martoz wood that had blackened and hardened over the decades until they resembled iron. There wasn’t much by way of furniture, two thirds of the floor space was completely empty. Edeard had shoved what was left down to the end which had a broad window. At the foot of the cot was a crude chest where he kept his meagre collection of clothes; there was a long table covered in his enthusiastic sketches of possible genistar animals; several chairs; a dresser with a plain white bowl and pitcher of water. Over in the corner opposite the cot, the fire had burnt out sometime in the night, with a few embers left glimmering in the grate. It was difficult to heat such a large volume, especially in winter, and Edeard could see his breath as a fine white mist. Technically, he lived in the apprentice dormitory of Ashwell village’s Eggshaper Guild, but he was the only occupant. He’d lived there for the past six years, ever since his parents died when he was eight years old. Master Akeem, the village’s sole remaining shaper, had taken him in after the caravan they had joined in order to travel through the hills to the east was attacked by bandits.

  Edeard wrapped a blanket round his shoulders and hurried over the cold floor to the small brick-arch fireplace. The embers were still giving off a little heat, warming the clothes he’d left on the back of a chair. He dressed hurriedly, pulling up badly worn leather trousers and tucking an equally worn shirt into the waist before struggling into a thick green sweater. As always the fabric smelled of the stables and their varied occupants, a mélange of fur and food and cages; but after six years at the Guild he was so used to it he hardly noticed. He sat back on the cot to pull his boots on; they really were too small for him now. With the last eighteen months seeing more genistars in the stables and Edeard taking on official commission duties, their little branch of the Eggshaper Guild had seen a lot more money coming it. Hardly a fortune, but sufficient to pay for new clothes and boots, it was just that he never had time to visit the cobbler. He winced slightly as he stood up, trying to wriggle his toes which were squashed together. It was no good, he was definitely going to take an hour out of his busy day to visit the cobbler. He grinned. But not today.

  Today was when the village’s new well was finished. It was a project in which the Eggshaper Guild was playing an unusually large part. Better than that, for him, it was an innovative part. Edeard knew how many doubters there were in the village: basically everybody. But Master Akeem had quietly persuaded the elder council to give his young apprentice a chance. They said yes only because they had nothing to lose.

  He made his way downstairs, then hurried across the narrow rear yard to the warmth of the Guild dining hall. Like the dormitory, it was a sharp reminder that the Eggshaper Guild had known better times. A lot better. There were still two rows of long bench tables in the big hall, enough to seat fifty shapers and their guests on feast nights. At the far end the huge fireplace had iron baking ovens built in to the stonework on either side, and the roasting spit was large enough to handle a whole pig. This morning, the fire was just a small blaze tended by a couple of ge-monkeys. Normally, people didn’t let the genistars get anywhere near naked flames, they were as skittish as any terrestrial animal, but Edeard’s orders were lucid and embedded deeply enough that the ge-monkeys could manage the routine without panicking.

  Edeard sat at the table closest to the fire. His mind directed a batch of instructions to the ge-monkeys using simple telepathic longtalk. He used a pidgin version of Querencia’s mental language, visualizing the sequence of events he wanted in conjunction with simple command phrases, making sure the emotional content was zero (so many people forgot that, and then couldn’t understand why the genistars didn’t obey properly). The ge-monkeys started scurrying round; they were big creatures, easily the weight of a full-gown human male, with six long legs along the lower half of their body, and six even longer arms on top, the first two pairs so close together they seemed to be sharing a shoulder joint, while the third pair were set further back along a very flexible spine. Their bodies were covered in a wiry white fur, with patches worn away on joints and palms to reveal a leathery cinder-coloured hide. The head profile was the same as all the genistar variants, a plain globe with a snout very close to a terrestrial dog; the ears were situated on the lower part of the head back towards the stumpy neck, each one sprouting three petals of long creased skin thin enough to be translucent.

  A big mug of tea was pla
ced in front of Edeard, swiftly followed by thick slices of toast, a bowl of fruit and a plate of scrambled eggs. He tucked in heartily enough, already running through the critical part of the day’s operation at the bottom of the well. His farsight picked up Akeem when the old man was still in the lodge, the residence for senior shapers annexed to the hall. Edeard could already perceive through a couple of stone walls, sensing physical structures as if they were shadows, while minds buzzed with an iridescent glow. That vision was of a calibre which eluded a lot of adults; it made Akeem inordinately proud of his apprentice’s ability, claiming his own training was the true key to developing Edeard’s potential.

  The old shaper came into the hall to find the ge-monkeys ready with his breakfast. He grunted favourably as he gave Edeard’s shoulder a paternal squeeze. “Did you sense me getting up in my bedroom, boy?” he asked, gesturing at his waiting plate of sausage and tomato.

  “No sir,” Edeard said happily. “Can’t manage to get through four walls yet.”

  “Won’t be long,” Akeem said as he lifted up his tea. “The way you’re developing I’ll be sleeping outside the village walls by midsummer. Everyone’s entitled to some privacy.”

  “I would never intrude,” Edeard protested. He mellowed and grinned sheepishly as he caught the amusement in the old shaper’s mind. Master Akeem had passed his hundred and eightieth birthday several years back, so he claimed, though he was always vague about the precise year that happened. Life expectancy on Querencia was supposed to be around two hundred years, though Edeard didn’t know of anyone in Ashwell or the surrounding villages who’d actually managed to live that long. However, Akeem’s undeniable age had given him a rounded face with at least three chins rolling back into a thick neck, and a lacework of red and purple capillaries decorated the pale skin of his cheeks and nose, producing a terribly wan appearance. A thin stubble left behind after his perfunctory daily shave was now mostly grey, which didn’t help the careworn impression everyone received when they saw him for the first time. Once a week the old man used the same razor on what was left of his silver hair.

  Despite his declining years, he always insisted on dressing smartly. His personal ge-monkeys were well versed in laundry work. Today his tailored leather trousers were clean, boots polished; a pale yellow shirt washed and pressed. He wore a jacket woven from magenta and jade yarn, with the egg-in-a-twisted-circle crest of the Eggshaper Guild on the lapel. The jacket might not be as impressive as the robes worn by Guild members in Makkathran, but in Ashwell it was a symbol of prestige, earning him respect. None of the other village elders dressed as well.

  Edeard sheepishly realized he was fingering his own junior apprentice badge, a simple metal button on his collar; the emblem similar to Akeem’s, but with only a quarter circle. Half the time he forgot to pin it on in the morning. After all, nobody showed him any respect, ever. But if all went well today he’d be entitled to a badge with half a circle. Akeem said he could never remember anyone attempting a shaping so sophisticated for their senior apprentice assessment. “Nervous?” the old man asked.

  “No,” Edeard said immediately. Then he ducked his head. “They work in the tank, anyway.”

  “Of course they do. They always do. Our true skill comes in determining what works in real life. From what I’ve seen, I don’t believe there will be a problem. That’s not a guarantee, mind. Nothing in life is certain.”

  “What did you shape for your senior apprentice assessment?” Edeard asked.

  “Ah, now well, that was a long time ago. Things were different back then, more formal. They always are in the capital. I suspect they haven’t changed much.”

  “Akeem!” Edeard pleaded, he loved the old man dearly; but oh how his mind wandered these days.

  “Yes yes. As I recall, the assessment required four ge-spiders; functional ones, mind. They had to spin drosilk at the Grand Master’s presentation, so everyone wound up shaping at least six or seven to be safe. We also had to shape a wolf, a chimp, and an eagle. Ah,” he sighed. “They were hard days. I remember my Master used to beat me continually. And the larks we used to get up to in the dormitory at night.”

  Edeard was slightly disappointed. “But I can do ge-spiders and all the rest.”

  “I know,” Akeem said proudly, and patted the boy’s hand. “But we both know how gifted you are. A junior apprentice is normally seventeen before taking the kind of assessment you’re getting today, and even then a lot of them fail the first time. This is why I’ve made your task all the harder. A reshaped form that works is the standard graduation from apprenticehood to practitioner.”

  “It is?”

  “Oh yes. Of course I’ve been dreadfully remiss in the rest of the Guild teachings. It was hard enough to make you sit down long enough to learn your letters. And you’re really not old enough to take in the Guild ethics and all that boring old theory, no matter how precise they are when I gift them to you. Though you seem to grasp things at an instinctive level. That’s why you’re still only going to be an apprentice after this.”

  Edeard frowned. “What kind of ethics could be involved in shaping?”

  “Can’t you think?”

  “No, not really. Genistars are such a boon. They help everyone. Now I’m helping you sculpt, we can produce more standard genera than before, the village will grow strong and rich again.”

  “Well I suppose as you’re due to become a senior apprentice we should start to consider these notions. We’d need more apprentices if that were to truly come about.”

  “There’s Sancia, and little Evox has a powerful longtalk.”

  “We’ll see. Who knows? We might prove a little more acceptable after today. Families are reluctant to offer their children for us to train. And your friend Obron doesn’t help matters.”

  Edeard blushed. Obron was the village’s chief bully, a boy a couple of years older than him, who delighted in making Edeard’s life a misery outside the walls of the Guild compound. He hadn’t realized Akeem had known about that. “I should sort him out properly.”

  “The Lady knows you’ve had enough provocation of late. I’m proud you haven’t struck back. Eggshapers are always naturally strong telepaths, but part of that ethics course you’re missing is how we shouldn’t abuse our advantage.”

  “I just haven’t because…” He shrugged.

  “It’s not right thing to do, and you know that,” Akeem concluded. “You’re a good boy, Edeard.” The old man looked at him, his thoughts a powerful mixture of pride and sadness.

  Proximity to the emotional turmoil made Edeard blink away the water now unexpectedly springing into his eyes. He shook his head, as if to disentangle himself from the old man’s mind. “Did you ever have someone like Obron ragging you when you were an apprentice?”

  “Let’s just say one of the reasons I came to stay in Ashwell was because my interpretation of our Guild ethics differed to the Masters of the Blue Tower. And please remember, although I am your Master and tutor, I also require Guild standards to be fulfilled. If I judge you lacking you will not get your senior apprentice badge today. That includes taking care of your ordinary duties.”

  Edeard pushed his empty plate away and downed the last of his tea. “I’d better get to it, then. Master.”

  “I also fail anyone who shows disrespect.”

  Edeard pulled a woolly hat on against the chill air, and went out into the Guild compound’s main courtyard. It was unusual in that it had nine sides. Seven were made up from stable blocks, then there was a large barn, and the hatchery. None of them were the same size or height. When he first moved in, Edeard had been impressed. The Eggshaper Guild compound was the largest collection of buildings in the village; to someone who’d been brought up in a small cottage with a leaky thatch roof it was a palatial castle. Back then he’d never noticed the deep cloak of kimoss staining every roof a vivid purple; nor how pervasive and tangled the gurkvine was, covering the dark stone walls of the courtyard with its ragged pale-yellow lea
ves, while its roots wormed their way into the mortar between the blocks, weakening the structure. This morning he just sighed at the sight, wondering if he’d ever get round to directing the ge-monkeys on a clean-up mission. Now would be a good time. The gurkvine leaves had all fallen to gather in the corners of the courtyard in great mouldering piles, while the moss was soaking up the season’s moisture, turning into great spongy mats which would be easy to peel off. Like everything else in his life, it would have to wait. If only Akeem could find another apprentice, he thought wistfully. We spend our whole lives running to catch up, just one extra person in the Guild would make so much difference.

  It would take a miracle granted by the Lady, he acknowledged grudgingly. The village families were reluctant to allow their children to train at the Eggshaper Guild. They appreciated how dependent they were on genistars, but even so they couldn’t afford to lose able hands. The Guild was just like the rest of Ashwell, struggling to keep going.

  Edeard hurried across the courtyard to the tanks where his new reshaped cats were kept, silently asking the Lady why he bothered to stay in this backward place on the edge of the wilds. To his right were the largest stables, where the defaults shuffled round their stalls. They were simple beasts, unshaped egg-laying genistars, the same size as terrestrial ponies, with six legs supporting a bulbous body. The six upper limbs were vestigial, producing bumps along the creature’s back, while in the female over thirty per cent of the internal organs were ovaries, producing an egg every fifteen days. Males, of which there were three, lumbered round in a big pen at one end, while the females were kept in a row of fifteen separate stalls. For the first time since Akeem had taken him in, the stalls were all occupied; a source of considerable satisfaction to Edeard. Not even a Master as accomplished as Akeem, and despite his age he was a singular talent, could manage fifteen defaults by himself. Shaping an egg took a long time, and Edeard had as many grotesque failures as he had successes. First of all, the timing had to be right. An egg needed to be shaped no earlier than ten hours after fertilization, and no later than twenty-five. How long it took depended on the nature of the genus required.