The Dreaming

by Peter F. Hamilton

  “Umm. Yes.”

  “You go my girl. So what was the Likan thing all about?”

  “Trying out options while I consider what to do.”

  “Wow.”

  “Have you ever considered going multiple? Likan said it was purely a lifestyle choice, not a business one. I’m not so sure. Ten pairs of extra hands would be very useful in my line of work.”

  “I haven’t considered it, no. It’s still only one mind, which is all a lawyer needs. But if you’re serious about property development then I can see the practical advantages.”

  “It’s self limiting, though, isn’t it? It’s saying I’ll always be somebody stuck doing some kind of manual job.”

  “Your pride seems to be a very fluid thing.”

  “I just want—” She didn’t know how to finish that sentence, not at all. “I don’t know. I was just shaken up by what happened at the weekend. And I had this really awful dream, too. I was like this really big creature flying over a planet when someone tried to smother me. Been having a few of those lately. Do you suppose it’s stress?”

  Cressida gave her a puzzled look. “Darling, everyone had that dream. It was the Second Dreamer’s dream of the Skylord over Querencia. And that wasn’t someone trying to smother you, that was Ethan trying to talk to the Skylord direct. They say he’s still in a coma in hospital with his minions trying to repair his burned out brain.”

  “I couldn’t have dreamed that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t have gaiamotes. It always seemed a bit silly to me, like a weak version of the Unisphere.”

  Cressida became very still; she pushed her glass aside and took Araminta’s hand. “Are you being serious?”

  “Serious about what?”

  “Didn’t your mother tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” Araminta felt panicky. She wanted another drink, but Cressida’s grasp was surprisingly strong. “About our great-great-great-grandmother.”

  “What about her?”

  “It was Mellanie Rescorai.”

  After all that work up, Araminta felt badly disappointed. She’d at least been expecting some Dynasty heir—maybe old Earth royalty. Not someone she’d never heard of. “Oh. Who is she?”

  “A friend of the Silfen. She was named their friend. You know what that means?”

  “Not really, no.” Araminta’s knowledge of the Silfen was a little vague. A weird humanoid race that everyone called elves. They sang gibberish and had a bizarre wormhole network that stretched across half the galaxy allowing them to literally walk between worlds. An ability which a depressing number of humans found incredibly romantic and so they tried to follow them down their twisting interstellar paths. Few returned, but those that did told fanciful tales of adventure on new worlds and the exotic creatures they found there.

  “Okay,” Cressida said. “It goes like this. The Silfen named Ozzie their friend too. They gave him a magic pendant which allowed him to understand their paths, and even join their communal mind, their Motherholme.”

  “Ozzie? You mean our Ozzie? The one we—”

  “Yes. Now Ozzie being Ozzie, he broke open the pendant and figured out how the magic worked. That it wasn’t magic but quantum entanglement. So humans then started to produce gaiamotes. Our gaiafield is basically a poor copy of the Silfen communal mind.”

  “Right. So where does our ancestor come in to this?”

  “Mellanie was also a Silfen friend. Which is actually a little more than just being given the pendant. Their Motherholme accepts your mind and shares its wisdom with you. The pendant only initiates that contact. After a while, the ability becomes natural—well, relatively speaking. And like all magic it’s believed to be inherited.” Cressida let go of Araminta’s hands and smiled softly.

  “You just said it wasn’t magic.”

  “Of course not. But consider this. Mellanie and her husband, Orion, came back. They had a little girl, Sophie, while they were out there walking across the galaxy. One of very few humans ever born on the paths, and certainly the first of two Silfen friends. She was attuned to the Motherholme right from the start, and passed the magic on to her children. Thanks to her, most of our family can feel the gaiafield, though it’s weaker now with our generation. But on a good night, you can sometimes sense the Motherholme itself. I even ventured down one of the Silfen paths myself when I was younger; it’s just outside Colwyn City in Francola Wood. I was thirteen, I wanted adventure. Stupid, but…”

  “There’s a Silfen path on Viotia?”

  “Yes. They don’t use it much. They don’t enjoy planets with civilizations like ours on them.”

  “Where does it lead?” Araminta asked breathlessly.

  “They don’t lead to any one place, they join up and twist. Time is different along them as well. That’s why humans who aren’t Silfen friends are always lost along them. I was lucky, I managed to get back after a couple of days. Mother was furious with me.”

  “So… my dreams. They’re not actually mine?”

  “That Skylord one the other night wasn’t, no.”

  “It felt so real.”

  “Didn’t it just.” She glanced pointedly round the bar packed with its Living Dream followers. “Now you see why they’re so devout. If you’re offered that kind of temptation every time you go to sleep, well who would want to wake up? That’s what the Void is to them. Their dreams, forever.”

  Inigo’s Sixth Dream

  « ^ »

  Nearly eighty probationary constables sat together in a block of seats on the ultra-black floor of the Malfit Hall, while the vast arching ceiling above played images of wispy clouds traversing the beautiful gold and pink dawn sky. Edeard had one of the seats on the second row, his head tipped back so he could watch the giant ceiling in astonishment. He was sure it must be the marvel of the world. His fellow squadmates were all amused by his reaction. Not that they’d actually been in the Orchard Palace before—except for Dinlay. But at least they’d known about the moving imagery. And they hadn’t thought to warn him.

  Edeard gasped as Nikran rose up into the replica sky. The ruddy-brown planet here was a lot larger than it every appeared in Querencia’s skies. He could see tiny features etched on the world’s eternal deserts. For some reason it made him think of it as an actual place rather than an element of the celestial panorama.

  “Does anyone live there?” he whispered to Kanseen, who was in the chair next to him.

  She looked at him, frowning, then glanced up at the image of Nikran, and giggled.

  “What?” Macsen hissed.

  “Edeard wants to know if anyone lives on Nikran,” Kanseen announced solemnly.

  The whole squad snickered; surrounding squads joined in.

  Edeard felt his face heating up. “Why not?” he protested. “Rah’s ship fell on to this world, why not another ship to Nikran?”

  “Absolutely,” Macsen said. “Perfectly valid question. In fact, there’s a whole other Makkathran up there.”

  Edeard ignored them, and simply looked straight ahead in a dignified manner. He resolved to never ever tell his friends of his dreams, and what they showed him.

  The block of probationary constables settled down. Edeard started to concentrate on what he was seeing. They were facing the grand curving staircase that dominated one side of the Hall. Owain, the Mayor of Makkathran, had appeared at the top, followed by the Guild Masters and District Masters who made up the Upper Council. They were all wearing their full ceremonial robes, producing a splendid blaze of colour as they filed down to the floor of the Hall.

  “Oh Lady,” Dinlay groaned.

  Edeard caught a sensation of queasiness emanating from his friend. “Ten seconds maximum,” he told Dinlay using a tiny directed longtalk voice. “Then it’s all over. Just hold it together for ten seconds. You can do that.”

  Dinlay nodded, whilst appearing completely unconvinced.

  Edeard resisted looking round at the much bigger block of seating behind
him, where the families and friends of the probationary constables were gathered to watch them receive their bronze epaulettes. Probably an exaggeration, but half of them were Dinlay’s family, and all of them were in uniform.

  “I bet there’s a crime wave going on in every district,” Macsen had muttered while they were all taking their seats earlier. “There aren’t any constables left out there to patrol.”

  Owain reached the platform that had been set up at the bottom of the stairs. He smiled round at the attentive audience. “It is always an honour and a privilege for me to perform this ceremony,” he said. “In my position I hear so many people complain about the state which not just the city is in, but of the chaos which supposedly reigns in the lands outside our crystal walls. I wish they were standing here now, to see so many young people coming forward to serve their city. I am heartened by the sense of duty you are displaying in taking this commitment to serve your fellow citizens. You give me confidence for the future.”

  Now that’s a real politician, Edeard thought uncharitably. The Mayor of all people must have known how inadequate the number of constables was. That the eighty of them here today wasn’t enough; that at least an equal number of constables had left in the last few months to become private bodyguards or for a better paid and respected job as a sheriff in some provincial town. Why doesn’t he do something about it?

  The Mayor finished his inspirational speech. The probationary constables stood up as one, then the first row trooped up to the platform to be greeted by the Mayor. The Chief Constable read the probationer’s name out to the Hall, while an assistant handed a pair of epaulettes to the Mayor to be presented with a handshake and a smile.

  Edeard’s row started to move forward. He’d thought this would be boring at the least, that it was stupid, an irritation he could have done without. Especially as the only person in the audience clapping for him was Salrana, who’d been given the day off her duties. But now he was here, now he was walking up to the Mayor of the entire city, he actually began to feel a sense of occasion. Behind him, the audience was radiant with pride. They believed in the constables. In front, the Upper Council was registering their approval. None of the councillors had to be here, it was a ceremony repeated three times a year, every year. They’d been to dozens, and would have to come to dozens more. If they’d wanted to cry off, they could have done. But no, it was important enough for them to turn out every time.

  And here he was himself, coming forward to make a public pledge to the citizens of Makkathran that he would do his best to protect them and implement the rule of law. This was why Rah and those who followed him into office had created this ceremony and others like it, to recognize and honour the commitment the constables made to their city and lives. It was neither silly nor a waste of time, it was a show of respect.

  Edeard stood in front of the Mayor, who smiled politely, and shook his hand as the Chief Constable read out his name. A pair of bronze epaulettes were pressed into his hand. “Thank you, sir,” Edeard said. There was a lump in his throat. “I won’t let you down.” Ashwell will never happen here.

  If the Mayor was surprised, he didn’t show it. Edeard caught sight of Finitan standing on the grand staircase. The Master of the Eggshaper Guild looked rather splendid in a gold and purple gown, with elaborate scarlet symbols embroidered down the front; his silver-tipped hood was arranged over the left shoulder. He caught Edeard’s eye and winked. “Well done, lad,” his longtalk whispered.

  Edeard stepped off the platform. There was a burst of applause. He nearly laughed, it was as if the audience was rejoicing he was out of the way. In fact it was Dinlay’s considerable family clapping loudly as their relative received his epaulettes. Dinlay managed to not trip, or throw up, or collapse from fright. He followed Edeard back to their seats with a glowing face, grinning back at his kin.

  Afterwards there was a formal reception party, with the Mayor and the Upper Council mixing with the new constables and their families, while ge-monkeys circled the Malfit Hall with trays of drinks. It was scheduled to last an hour. Edeard might have warmed to the graduation ceremony itself, but he planned to be out of the party in under ten minutes.

  “No you don’t,” Salrana decreed. “Just look at who’s here.”

  Edeard frowned round at the people babbling away; the families in their finery, the resplendent Upper Council members. “Who?”

  She gave him a withering look. “The Pythia for a start. And she noticed me. I felt her farsight on me during the ceremony.”

  Edeard took another look round. “Fair enough, you’re the only novice here. She probably thinks you ducked out of your assignments to pick up the free booze.”

  Salrana drew herself up. It shifted the fabric of her white and blue robe in a way Edeard couldn’t help but notice. If he kept doing that, and kept thinking those accompanying thoughts about how she was growing up, the Lady really would blast him out of existence one day.

  “Edeard, you can still be disappointingly childish at times. We are both citizens of Makkathran now; you especially today. Try and act in an appropriate fashion.”

  Edeard’s mouth dropped open.

  “Now we are going over to thank Grand Master Finitan for sponsoring you, as is the right expression of gratitude, which you do feel; and see if we can be introduced to others in the Upper Council as well. If you’re to become Chief Constable, you need to start paying attention to the city’s political dynamics.”

  “Uh. Yes,” Edeard admitted. “Chief Constable?”

  “That’s your route onto the Upper Council now you’ve chosen the constables over a Guild.”

  “I’ve been graduated eight minutes.”

  “Those that hesitate, lose. The Lady’s book, fifth chapter.”

  His lips twitched. “I knew that.”

  “Did you now?” Salrana raised an eyebrow. “I might have to test you later.”

  “I’ve had quite enough of exams these last few weeks, thank you.”

  “Poor Edeard. Come on.” She pulled at his hand, all girlish again.

  Grand Master Finitan was talking to a pair of fellow Upper Council members as Edeard and Salrana approached him. He smiled and turned to them. “Congratulations, my boy. A proud day for you.”

  “Yes sir. Thank you again for sponsoring me.”

  “Well, it seems to have put me in credit with the Chief Constable. You graduated third in your class. That’s an astonishing result for someone unfamiliar with our city.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Allow me to introduce Masters Graley of the Geography Guild and Imilan of the Chemistry Guild. This is Constable Edeard from the Rulan province; a friend of my old Master.”

  “Masters,” Edeard bowed formally. Then he saw Salrana pluck at her skirt and hold the fabric up daintily on one side as she performed a peculiar little bow which involved bending her knees and keeping her back straight.

  “And Novice Salrana,” Finitan said smoothly. “Also from Rulan.”

  “A pleasure,” Imilan said.

  Edeard didn’t care for the way the Master’s eyes lingered on Salrana.

  “You’re a long way from home, Novice,” the Master said.

  “No sir,” she said in a polite tone. “Makkathran is my home now.”

  “Well said, Novice,” Finitan said. “I wish all our citizens were as appreciative of their city as you are.”

  “Now Finitan,” Graley chided. “This is not the day.”

  “Apologies.” Finitan inclined his head at the youngsters. “So Edeard, have you had a run in with our criminal element yet?”

  “A few, sir, yes.”

  “He’s being very modest, sir,” Salrana said. “He led his squad after some thieves in the Silvarum market. He recovered the stolen items, as well.”

  Edeard shifted awkwardly under the scrutiny of all three Masters.

  “And are these miscreants now labouring away at the Trampello mine to pay for their crime?” Imilan asked.

&n
bsp; “No sir,” Edeard admitted. “They got away. That time. They won’t again.”

  “I imagine they won’t,” Finitan said with an edge of amusement. “Come along, Edeard, let me introduce you to the Mayor. It’s about time he saw an honourable man again.”

  “Sir?”

  “Old joke. We often clash in Council.” He signalled them to follow him. “Not over anything important to the lives of real people, of course.”

  The Mayor of Makkathran was talking to the Pythia just beside the little platform where he’d handed out the epaulettes. If he was bored or annoyed to be introduced to a new constable he didn’t show it; Edeard had never encountered a mind so perfectly shielded. Not that he paid much attention. He was entranced by the Pythia. He’d been expecting some ancient woman, full of grandmotherly warmth. Instead, he was disconcerted to find the Pythia retained the beauty of a woman still awaiting her half-century. A beauty only emphasized by her gold-trimmed white robe with its flowing hood which she wore forward, casting her face in a slight shadow.

  Salrana did her strange bow again to the Pythia.

  “The Lady’s blessing upon you my child,” the Pythia said. She sounded bored in that way Makkathran’s aristocracy always did when they had to deal with those they considered to be of a lower order. Which wasn’t what Edeard expected from a Pythia. Then she turned her attention to him. Startling light-blue eyes fixed on him, surrounded by a mass of thick bronze hair twined with gold and silver leaves. The eyes narrowed in judgement, which Edeard found heartbreaking. He felt like he’d disappointed her, which was a terrible thing. Then she smiled, banishing his worry. “Now you are interesting, Constable,” she said.

  “My Lady?” he stammered. He could somehow feel the Pythia’s farsight upon him, as if she were picking through his mind. There was something disconcertingly intimate about the contact. And she was very beautiful. Merely a yard away. Her half-smile open and inviting.

  Salrana made a groaning sound in her throat.

  “I’m not quite that exalted,” the Pythia said lightly. “There is only one true Lady. My usual form of address is Dear Mother.”