The Dreaming

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Kazimir seemed unperturbed. “The Navy acts only in defence. I urge you to allow the Commonwealth to solve an internal problem in our own way. Humans will not trigger a large-scale devourment.”

  “We will watch you,” the Ambassador boomed. “If you do not prevent these Pilgrimage ships from being built and launched, then we and our new, powerful, allies will act in self-defence.”

  “I do understand your concern,” Justine said. “But I would ask you to trust us.”

  “You have never given us a reason to,” the Ambassador said. “I thank you for your time. I will return to my ship, I find your environment unpleasant.”

  Which was quite subtle for an Ocisen, Justine thought. She stood and accompanied the Ambassador back out to its ship. Gore materialized beside her as the hulking machine rose into the sky.

  “Allies, huh? You know anything about that?” he asked Kazimir.

  “Not a thing,” Kazimir said. “They could be bluffing. Then again, if they are serious about stopping the Pilgrimage, they will need allies. They certainly can’t do it alone.”

  “Could it be the Raiel?” Justine asked in surprise.

  Kazimir shrugged. “I doubt it. The Raiel don’t go sneaking round doing deals to pitch one species against another. If the Empire had approached them, I feel confident they would have told us.”

  “A post-physical, then?”

  “Not impossible,” Gore conceded. “Most of them regard us as vulgar little newcomers to an exclusive club. Those that talk to us, anyway. Most can’t even be arsed to do that. But I’d be very surprised if one had. They’d probably be quite interested in observing the final devourment phase.”

  “How about you?” Justine enquired lightly.

  Gore smiled, snow-white teeth shining coldly between gold lips. “I admit, it would be a hell of a sight. From a distance. A very large distance.”

  “So what do you recommend?” Justine asked.

  “We certainly need to start the motion in the Senate,” Kazimir said. “The Ambassador was quite right. I don’t think we can allow the Pilgrimage to launch.”

  “Can’t stop ‘em,” Gore said with indecent cheerfulness. “It’s in the constitution.”

  “We do have to find a solution,” Justine said. “A political one. And quickly.”

  “That’s my girl. Are you going to address the Senate yourself? You carry a lot of weight out there: history in the flesh.”

  “And it would be helpful to get confirmation from the Raiel,” Kazimir said. “You do have the personal connection.”

  “What?” Justine’s shoulders slumped. “Oh hellfire. I wasn’t planning on leaving Earth.”

  “I expect the Hancher Ambassador would like some reassurance, as well,” Gore added maliciously.

  Justine turned to give her father a level stare. “Yes, there’s a lot of people and Factions we need to keep an eye on.”

  “I’m sure Governance knows what it’s doing. After all, you were its first choice. Can’t beat that.”

  “Actually, I was second.”

  “Who was first?” Kazimir asked curiously.

  “Toniea Gall.”

  “That bitch!” Gore spat. “She couldn’t get laid in a Silent World house the day after she rejuved. Everyone hates her.”

  “Now Dad, history decided the resettlement period was a minor golden age.”

  “Fucking minuscule, more like.”

  Justine and Kazimir smiled at each other. “She was a good President as I recall,” Kazimir said.

  “Bullshit.”

  “I’ll go and visit the Hancher Embassy on my way to the Senate,” Justine said. “It would be nice to know about the Empire’s military movements.”

  “I’ll start reassigning our observation systems inside the Empire to see if we can get a clearer picture of what’s going on,” Kazimir said.

  ***

  As Justine’s body teleported out of Tulip Mansion, Gore’s primary consciousness retreated to his secure environment within the vastness of ANA. As perceptual reality locations went, it was modest. Some people had created entire universes for their own private playground, setting up self-governing parameters to maintain the configuration. The bodies, or cores, or focal points they occupied within their concepts were equally varied, with abilities defined purely by the individual milieu. Quite where such domains extended to was no longer apparent. ANA had ceased to be limited to the physical machinery which had birthed it. The operational medium was now tunnelled into the quantum structure of spacetime around Earth, fashioning a unique province in which its manifold post-human intelligences could function. The multiple interstices propagated through quantum fields with the tenacity and fragile beauty of a nebula, an edifice forever shifting in tandem with the whims of its creators. It was no longer machine, or even artificial life. It had become alive. What it might evolve into was the subject of considerable and obsessive internal debate.

  The Factions were not openly at war over ANA’s ultimate configuration, but it was a vicious battle of ideas. Gore hadn’t been entirely truthful when he claimed to be a Conservative. He did support the idea of maintaining the status quo, but only because he felt the other more extreme factions were being far too hasty in offering their solutions. Apart from the Dividers, of course, who wanted ANA to fission into as many parts as there were Factions, allowing each to go their own way. He didn’t agree with them either; what he wanted was more time and more information, that way he believed the direction they should take would become a lot more evident.

  He appeared on a long beach, with a rocky headland a few hundred metres ahead of him. Perched on top was an old stone tower with crumbling walls and a white pavilion structure attached to the rear. The sun was hot on his head and hands; he was wearing a loose short-sleeve shirt and knee-length trousers. His skin was ordinary, without any enrichments. The self-image and surroundings were taken from the early twenty-first century, back when life was easier even without sentient machines. This was Hawksbill Bay, Antigua, where he used to come with his yacht, Moonlight Madison. There had been a resort clustered along the shore in those days, but in this representation the land behind the beach was nothing more than a tangle of palm trees and lush grass, with brightly coloured parrots zipping between the branches. It didn’t have the wind that blew constantly through the real Caribbean, either; although the sea was an astonishingly clear turquoise where fish swam close to shore.

  There was a simple dirt path up the headland, leading to the tower. The pavilion with its fabric roof covered a broad wooden deck and a small swimming pool. There was a big oval table at one end, with five heavily cushioned chairs around it. Nelson Sheldon was already sitting there, a tall drink resting on the table in front of him.

  In the days before ANA, Nelson had been the security chief for the Sheldon Dynasty, the largest and most powerful economic empire that had ever existed. When the original Commonwealth society and economy split apart and reconfigured as the Greater Commonwealth, the Dynasty retained a great deal of its wealth and power, but things weren’t the same. After Nigel Sheldon left, it lost cohesion and dispersed out among the External Worlds; still a force to be reckoned with, politically and economically, but lacking the true clout of before.

  Over two centuries spent looking after the Dynasty’s welfare had turned Nelson into a pragmatist of the first order. It meant he and Gore saw the whole ANA evolution outcome in more or less the same terms.

  Gore sat at the table and poured himself an iced tea from the pitcher. “You accessed all that?”

  “Yeah. I’m interested who the Empire has as an ally, or even allies.”

  “Probably just a bluff.”

  “You’re overestimating the Ocisens, they lack the imagination for a bluff. I’d say they’ve managed to dig up some ancient reactionary race with a hard-on for the good old days and a backyard full of obsolete weapons.”

  “ANA:Governance is going to have to give that one some serious attention,” Gore said. “We
can’t have alien warships invading the Commonwealth. Been there, done that. Ain’t going to let it happen twice. It was one of the reasons we started building ANA, so that humanity is never at a technological disadvantage again. There’s a lot of very nasty hardware lying round this galaxy.”

  “Amongst other things,” Nelson agreed sagely. “We are going to have to give the Void some serious attention soon—just as the Accelerators wanted.”

  “I want us to give the Void serious attention,” Gore said. “We can hardly claim to be masters of cosmological theory if we can’t even figure it out. It’s only the analysis timescale which everyone disagrees on.”

  “And the method of analysis, but yes I’ll grant you we do need know how the damn thing is generated. It’s one of the reasons I’m with you on our little conspiracy.”

  “Think of us as a very small Faction.”

  “Whatever. I stopped screwing round with semantics a long time ago. Purpose is absolute, and if you can’t define it: tough. And our purpose is to undo the damage the Accelerators have caused.”

  “To a degree, yes. The Conservatives will be most active on that front, we can trust them to do a decent job. I want to try and think a couple of steps ahead. After all we’re not animal any more, we don’t just react to a situation. We’re supposed to be able to see it coming. Ultimately something has to be done about the Void problem. Understanding its internal mechanism is all very well, but it cannot be allowed to carry on threatening the galaxy.”

  Nelson raised a glass to his lips, and smiled in salute. “Way to go, tough guy. Where the Raiel failed…”

  “Where the Raiel tell us they failed. We have no independent confirmation.”

  “Nothing lasts long enough, apart from the Raiel themselves.”

  “Bullshit. Half the post-physicals in the galaxy have been around for a lot longer.”

  “Yeah, and those that were don’t bother to communicate any more. They’re all quiet, or dead, or transcended, or retroevolved. So unless you want to go around and poke them with a big stick, the Raiel are our source. Face it, ANA is good, great even, we’re damn nearly proto-gods, but in terms of development we are still lacking behind the Raiel, and they plateaued millions of years ago. The Void defeated them. They converted entire star systems into defence machines, they invaded the fucking place with an armada, and they still couldn’t switch it off, or kill it or blow it to hell.”

  “They went at it the wrong way.” Nelson laughed.

  “And you know the right way?”

  “We have an advantage they never did. We have insider knowledge, a mole.”

  “The Waterwalker? In Ozzie’s name, tell me you’re joking.”

  “You know who paid the most attention to Inigo’s dreams right at the start? The Raiel. They didn’t know what was inside. They built ships which could theoretically withstand any quantum environment, yet not one of them ever returned. We’re the ones who showed them what’s in there.”

  “It’s a very small glimpse, a single city on a standard H-congruous planet.”

  “You’re missing the point.” His arm swept round Hawksbill to point at the thick pillar of black rock protruding from the water several hundred metres out to sea. Small waves broke apart on it, churning up a ruck of spume. “You bring any human prior to the twenty-fifth century into here, and they’d think they were in a physical reality. But if you or I were to observe the environment through them, we’d soon realize there were artificial factors involved. The Waterwalker gives us the same opportunity. His telepathic abilities have provided a very informative glimpse into the nature of the universe hiding inside that bastard event horizon. For all it looks like our universe with planets and stars, it most definitely is not. This Skylord of the Second Dream confirms that. The Void has a Heart which is most distinctive, even though we haven’t been shown it yet.”

  “Knowing it’s different in there doesn’t give us any real advantage.”

  “Wrong. We know nothing can be achieved on a physical level; you can’t use quantumbusters against it, you can’t send an army in to wipe out the chief villain’s control room. The Void is the ultimate post-physical in the galaxy, and probably all the other galaxies we can see. What we have to do is communicate with it if we ever want to achieve any resolution to the problem it presents to our stars. I don’t believe the Firstlife ever intended it to be dangerous; they didn’t know there was anything left outside it could ever threaten. That’s our window. We know humans can get inside, even though we’re not sure how they did it that first time. We know there are humans in there who are attuned to its fabric. Through them we may be able to affect change.”

  “The Waterwalker is dead. He has been for millennia of internal time.”

  “Even if he were unique, which I don’t believe for a minute, time is not a problem, not in there. We all know that. What we have to do is get inside and forge that tenuous little link to the Heart. That’s the key to this.”

  “You want to visit the Void? To fly through the event horizon?”

  “Not me. Much as my ego would love being the union point, there’s no empirical evidence that I would have the telepathic ability inside. Even if we took ANA inside there’s no certainty it could become the conduit. No. We have to employ a method that has a greater chance of success.”

  Nelson shook his head in dismay and not a bit of disappointment. “Which is?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  ***

  It wasn’t an auspicious start to the day. Araminta hadn’t overslept. Not exactly. She had an Advancer heritage which gave her a complete set of macrocellular clusters, all functioning efficiently; she could order her secondary thought routines competently. So naturally she’d woken up on time with a phantom bleeping in her ears and synchronized blue light flashing along her optic nerve. It was just after that wake-up spike she always had difficulty. Her flat only had two rooms, a bathroom cubical and a combi main room; that was all she could afford on her waitress pay. For all that it was cheap, the expanded bed with its a-foam mattress was very comfortable. After the spike she lay curled up in her cotton pyjamas, cosy as a nesting frangle. Hazy morning sunlight stole round the curtains, not bright enough to be disturbing, the room maintained itself at a comfortable warmth. If she bothered to check the flat’s management programs everything was ready and waiting; the day’s clothes washed and aired, a quick light breakfast in the cuisine cabinet.

  So I can afford to laze for a bit.

  The second alarm spike jerked her awake again, vanquishing the weird dream. This spike was harsher than the first, deliberately so, as it was an urgent order to get the hell up—one she never needed. When she cancelled the noise and light she assumed she’d messed up the secondary routines, somehow switching the order of the spikes. Then she focused on the timer in her exoimages.

  “Shit!”

  So it became a struggle to pull on her clothes whilst drinking the Assam tea and chewing some toast. A leisurely shower was replaced by spraying on some travel-clean, which never worked like the ads promised, leaving busy glamorous people fresh and cleansed as they zipped between meetings and clubs. Instead she hurried out of the flat with her mouse-brown hair badly brushed, her eyes red-rimmed and stinging slightly from the travel-clean, and her skin smelling of pine bleach.

  Great. That should earn me some big tips, she thought grouchily as she hurried down to the big building’s underground garage. Her trike pod purred its way out into Colwyn City’s crowded streets and joined the morning rush of commuters. In theory the traffic should have been light, most people these days used regrav capsules, floating in serene comfort above the wheeled vehicles except when they touched down on dedicated parking slots along the side of the roads or rooftop pads. But at this early hour the city’s not-so-well-off were all on their way to work, filling the concrete grid close to capacity with pods, cars, and bikes; and jamming the public rail cabs.

  Araminta was half an hour late when her pod pulled up at
the back of Nik’s. She rushed in through the kitchen door, and got filthy looks from the rest of the staff. “Sorry!” The restaurant was already full of the breakfast crowd, mid-level executives who liked their food natural, prepared by chefs rather than cuisine units, and served by humans not bots.

  Tandra managed to lean in close as Araminta fastened her apron. She sniffed suspiciously and winked. “Travel-clean, huh. I guess you didn’t get home last night?”

  Araminta hung her head, wishing she did have an excuse like that. “I was up late last night, another design course.”

  “Honey, you’ve got to start burning the candle at both ends. You’re real young and a looker, get yourself out there again.”

  “I know. I will.” Araminta took a deep breath. Went over to Matthew who was so disgusted he didn’t even rebuke her. She lifted three plates from the ready counter, checked the table number, cranked her mouth open to a smile, and pushed through the doors.

  The breakfast session at Nik’s usually lasted for about ninety minutes. There wasn’t a time limit, but by quarter to nine the last customers were heading for the office or store. Occasionally, a tourist or two would linger, or a business meeting would run over time. Today there weren’t many lagging behind. Araminta did her penance by supervising the cleaning bots as the tables were changed ready to serve morning coffee to shoppers and visitors. Nik’s had a good position in the commercial district, five blocks from the docks down on the river.

  Tables started to fill up again after ten o’clock. The restaurant had a curving front wall, with a slim terrace running around it. Araminta went along the outside tables, adjusting the flowers in the small vases and taking orders for chocolettos and cappuccinos. It kept her out of Matthew’s way. He still hadn’t said anything to her, a bad sign.

  Some time after eleven the woman appeared and started moving along the tables, talking to the customers. Araminta could see several of them were annoyed, waving her away. Since Ethan declared Pilgrimage ten days ago, Living Dream disciples from the local fane had been coming in and pestering people. It was starting to be a problem.