The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  She gave a small victory smile. “But you don’t remember any combat, do you? Not previous to this particular incarnation. That means that whatever event you participated in was truly epochal for it to have survived in your subconscious. Wipe techniques are generally pretty good these days, and I suspect you had access to the very best.”

  “Come off it. That was too weird to be a memory.”

  “Most dreams are engendered by memory, except Inigo’s, of course. They have their roots in reality, in experience. What you see is the event as your real personality recognizes it. Dreams are very truthful things, Aaron. They’re not something you can ignore or take an aerosol to ward off. Unless you face that which you dream, you will never truly be at peace with yourself.”

  “Do I cross your palm with silver now?”

  “Sarcasm is a very pitiful social defense mechanism, especially in these circumstances. Both of us know how disturbed you were. You cannot shield yourself and your emotions from someone as experienced as myself. The gaiafield will show you for what you are.”

  Aaron made very sure the gaiamotes were completely closed, allowing nothing to escape from inside his skull. “Okay, then,” he grumbled. “What was I dreaming?”

  “Something in your past.”

  “Hey, wow. Surely I am in the presence of a truly galactic master of the art.”

  Unperturbed, Corrie-Lyn took another drink of tea. “More relevantly, a darkness from your past. In order to have survived erasure and to manifest so strongly, I would evaluate it as a crux in your psychological development. Those people were very frightened, terrified even. For so many to be running so fearfully, the threat must have been lethal. That is rare in the Commonwealth today, even among the outermost External worlds.”

  “So I was running an evacuation mission out of some disaster. Rare but not unfeasible. There’s a lot that goes on among the External worlds that the more developed planets turn a blind eye to.”

  Corrie-Lyn gave him a sad smile. “You were above them, Aaron. Remember? Not running with them. You were what they feared. You and what you represented.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Men. Women. Children. All fleeing you. All hysterical and horror-struck. What were you going to do to them? I wonder. We established back at the fane that you have no conscience.”

  “Very clever.” He sneered. “I pissed you off, and now you come gunning for a little psychological payback. Lady, I have to tell you, it takes a great deal more than anything you’ve got to spook me out, and that’s Ozzie’s honest truth.”

  “I’m not trying to spook you anywhere, Aaron,” she said with quiet earnestness. “That’s not what Living Dream, the true Living Dream, is about. We exist to guide human life to its fulfillment. The promise of the Void is a huge part of that, yes, but it is not the only component to understanding what you are, your basic nature. I want to liberate the potential inside you. There is more than senseless violence lurking inside your mind; I can sense that. You can be so much more than what you are today if you’d just let me help. We can explore your dreams together.”

  “Call me old-fashioned, but my dreams are my own.”

  “The darkness you witnessed at the end interests me.”

  “That shadow?” Despite himself, Aaron was curious she’d picked up on it.

  “A winged shadow, which has a strong resonance for most humans no matter which cultural stream they come from. But it was more than a simple shadow. It held significant meaning for you. A representation of your subconscious, I think. After all, it didn’t surprise you. If anything, you felt almost comfortable with it.”

  “Whatever. We have more important things to concentrate on right now. Touchdown is in five and a half hours.” Something in his mind was telling him to close this conversation now. She was trying to distract him, to throw him off guard. He could not allow that; he had to remain completely focused on his mission to locate Inigo.

  Corrie-Lyn raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously saying you’re not interested? This is the real you we’re talking about.”

  “I keep telling you: I’m happy with what I am. Now, you said Inigo came to Anagaska to visit his family.”

  She gave him a disheartened gaze. “I said he visited his homeworld on occasion, when everything got too much for him. All I know is that he had family. Any further inference is all your own.”

  “His mother migrated inward, then downloaded into ANA. What about the aunt?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did the aunt have children? Cousins he would have grown up with?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Was there a family estate? A refuge he felt secure in?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He sat back and just about resisted glaring at her. “His official biography says he grew up in Kuhmo. Please tell me that isn’t a lie.”

  “I’d assume it was correct. That is, I have no reason to doubt it. It’s where Living Dream built his library.”

  “Central worship point for your living god, huh?”

  “I’m not surprised you don’t want to know yourself. You’re a real shit. You know that?”

  The good ship Artful Dodger slipped back into real space a thousand kilometers above Anagaska. Aaron told the smartcore to register with the local spacewatch network and request landing permission at Kuhum spaceport. The request was granted immediately, and the starship began its descent into the middle of the cloud-smeared eastern continent.

  When it was confirmed as H-congruous and assigned for settlement by Compression Space Transport back in 2375, Anagaska was an unremarkable world in what then was called phase three space, destined for a long slow development. Then the Starflyer plunged the Commonwealth into war against the Prime aliens, and its future changed radically.

  Hanko was one of the forty-seven planets that had been wrecked during the Prime’s last great assault against the Commonwealth, its sun pummeled by flare bombs and quantumbusters, saturating the defenseless planet’s climate and biosphere with a torrent of lethal radiation for weeks on end. Its hundred-fifty-million-strong population was trapped under city force fields on a dying world whose very air was now deadly poison. Evacuation was the only possible option. And thanks to Nigel Sheldon and the CST company operating Hanko’s wormhole link, its citizens were shunted across forty-two light-years to Anagaska.

  Unfortunately, Anagaska at the time was nothing more than wild forest, native prairie, and hostile jungle, with a grand total of five pre-settlement research stations housing a few hundred scientists. Nigel had a solution even to that. The interior of the wormhole transporting Hanko’s population to their new home was given a different, very slow temporal flow rate relative to the outside universe. With the war over, trillions of dollars was poured into creating an infrastructure on Anagaska and the other forty-six refuge worlds. It took over a century to complete the basic civic amenities and housing, producing cities and towns that were nearly Stalinist in their layout and architecture. But when the wormhole from Hanko finally opened on Anagaska, all those who came through were provided with a roof over their heads and enough food to sustain them while they built up their new home’s agriculture and industry.

  It was perhaps inevitable that after such a trauma the refuge worlds were slow to develop economically. Their major cities progressed sluggishly in an era when the rest of the Commonwealth was undergoing profound change. As to the outlying towns, they became nearly stagnant backwaters. Nobody starved, nobody was particularly poor, but they lacked the dynamism that was sweeping the rest of humanity as biononics became available, ANA came online, and new political and cultural blocs were formed.

  Kuhmo was such a town. Little had changed in the seven centuries between the day its new residents arrived, stumbling out of giant government transporters, and the time Inigo was born. When he was a child, the massive hexagonal arcology built to house his ancestors still dominated the center of the civic zone, its uninhabited upper levels
decaying alarmingly while its lower floors offered cheap accommodation to underprivileged families and third-rate businesses. In fact, it was still there sixty years later when he left, a monstrous civic embarrassment to a town that did not have the money to refurbish or demolish it.

  A hundred years later, the arcology’s upper third finally had been dismantled with funds from Anagaska’s federal government made available for public safety. Then Living Dream made the town council a financial offer it couldn’t really refuse. The arcology finally was razed, and its denizens rehoused in plush new suburbs built expressly for them. Where it had stood, a new building emerged, nowhere near as big but far more important. Living Dream had constructed what was to be Anagaska’s primary fane with a substantial library and a free college attached. It attracted the devout from across the planet and a good many nearby star systems, many of them staying, changing the nature of Kuhmo forever.

  Aaron stood under the tall novik trees that dominated the fane’s encircling park and looked up at the tapering turrets with their bristling bracelets of stone sculptures, his nose wrinkling in dismay. “The arcology couldn’t have been worse than this,” he declared. “This is your leader’s ultimate temple, his statement to his birthplace that he’s moved onward and upward? Damn! He must have really hated his old town to do this to it. All this says to me is beware of Kuhmoians bearing gifts.”

  Corrie-Lyn sighed and shook her head. “Ozzie, but you are such a philistine.”

  “Know what I like, though. And lady, this ain’t it. Even the old Big15 worlds had better architecture than this.”

  “So what are you going to do, hit it with a disrupter pulse?”

  “Tempting, I have to admit. But no. We’ll indulge in a little data mining first.”

  The Inigo museum, in reality a shrine, was every bit as bad as Aaron had expected it to be. For a start, they couldn’t just wonder around. They had to join the line of the devout outside the main entrance and were assigned a “guide.” The tour was official and structured. Each item was accompanied by a full sense recording and corresponding emotional content radiating out into the gaiafield.

  He gritted his teeth and put on a passive smile as they were led around Inigo’s childhood home, which had been uprooted diligently from its original location two kilometers away and lovingly restored using era-authentic methods and materials. Each room contained a boring yet worshipful account of his childhood days. There were solidos of his mother, Sabine; cute dramas of his grandparents, whose house it was; a sad section devoted to his father, Erik Horovi, who left Sabine a few short months after the birth; and a reconstruction of the local hospital’s maternity ward.

  Aaron gave the solido of Erik a thoughtful stare and sent his u-shadow into its public datastore to extract useful information. Erik had been eighteen years old when Inigo was born. Aaron checked: Sabine had been a month short of her eighteenth birthday when she gave birth.

  “Didn’t they have a contraception program here in those days?” he asked the guide abruptly.

  Corrie-Lyn groaned and flushed a mild pink. The guide’s pleasant smile flickered slightly, returning in a somewhat harder manifestation. “Excuse me?”

  “Contraception? It’s pretty standard for teenagers no matter what cultural stream you grow up in.” He paused, reviewing the essentially nonexistent information on Sabine’s parents. “Unless the family was old-style Catholics or initiated Taliban or Evangelical Orthodox. Were they?”

  “They were not,” the guide said stiffly. “Inigo was proud that he did not derive from any of Earth’s appalling medieval religious sects. It means his goals remain untainted.”

  “I see. So his birth was planned, then?”

  “His birth was a blessing to humanity. He is the one chosen by the Waterwalker to show us what lies within the Void. Why do you ask? Are you some kind of unisphere journalist?”

  “Certainly not. I’m a cultural anthropologist. Naturally I’m interested in procreation rituals.”

  The guide gave him a suspicious stare but let it pass. Aaron’s u-shadow had been ready to block any query the man shot into the local net. They had managed to get through the museum’s entrance without any alarm, which meant Living Dream had not issued a Commonwealth-wide alert yet. But they’d certainly respond swiftly enough to any identity file matching himself and Corrie-Lyn no matter what planet it originated from. And the fact that it came from Anagaska barely two days after the Riasi incident would reveal exactly what type of starship they were using. He could not allow that.

  “Hardly a ritual,” the guide sniffed.

  “Anthropologists think everything we do is summed up in terms of rituals,” Corrie-Lyn said smoothly. “Now tell me, is this really Inigo’s university dorm?” She waved her hand eagerly at the drab holographic room in front of them. Various shabby and decayed pieces of furniture that resembled those shown in full 3Dcolor were on display in transparent stasis chambers.

  “Yes,” the guide said, returning to equilibrium. “Yes, it is. This is where he began his training as an astrophysicist, the first step on the path that took him to Centurion Station. As an environment, its significance cannot be overstated.”

  “Gosh,” Corrie-Lyn cooed.

  Aaron was impressed that she kept a straight face.

  “What was that all about?” Corrie-Lyn asked when they were in a taxi capsule and heading back for the spaceport hotel.

  “You didn’t think it was odd?”

  “So two horny teenagers decided to have a kid. It’s not unheard of.”

  “Yes, it is. They were both still at school. Then Erik vanishes a few months after the birth. Plus you tell me Inigo had an aunt who has been very effectively written out of his family. And you claim Inigo is Higher, which must have happened either at birth or early in his life, that is, prior to his Centurion mission.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because as you said, he took extreme care to hide it from his followers; it’s not logical to assume he’d acquire biononics after he began Living Dream.”

  “Granted, but where does all this theorizing get you?”

  “It tells me just what a load of bullshit his official past is,” Aaron said, waving a hand back at the museum. “That farce is a perfect way of covering up his true history; it provides a flawless alternative version with just enough true points touching verifiable reality as to go unquestioned. Unless of course you’re like us and happen to know some awkward facts which don’t fit. If he was born Higher, then one of his parents had to be Higher. Sabine almost certainly wasn’t, and Erik conveniently walks out on his child a few months after the birth.”

  “It was too much for the boy, that’s all. If Inigo’s birth was an accident like you think, that’s hardly surprising.”

  “No. That’s not it. I don’t think it was an accident. Quite the opposite.” He told his u-shadow to review local events for the year prior to Inigo’s birth, using non–Living Dream archives. They’d almost reached the hotel when the answer came back. “Aha, this is it.” He shared the file with her. “Local news company archive. They were bought out by an intersolar two hundred years ago and the town office downgraded to closure, which is why the files were deep cached. The art block in Kuhmo’s college burned down eight and a half months before Inigo was born.”

  “It says the block was the center of a gang fight,” Corrie-Lyn said as she speed reviewed. “A bunch of hothead kids duking out a turf war.”

  “Yeah, right. Now launch a search for Kuhmo gang culture, specifically for incidents with weapons use. Go ahead. I’ll give you thousand-to-one odds there aren’t any other files, not for fifty years either side of that date. Look at the history of this place before Inigo built his monstrosity. There was nothing here worth fighting over, not even for kids on the bottom of the pile. The council switched between three parties, and they were all virtually indistinguishable. Their policies were certainly the same: low taxes, cut back on official wastage, attract business inv
estment, and make sure the parks look pretty. Hell, they didn’t even manage to get rid of the arcology by themselves. That thing stood there for nearly nine hundred years. Nine hundred, for Ozzie’s sake! And they couldn’t get their act together for all that time. Kuhmo is the ultimate middle-class dead end, drifting along in the same rut for a thousand years. Bad boys don’t want a part of that purgatory; it’s like a suspension sentence but with sensory torture thrown in. They just want to leave.”

  “All right, all right, I submit. Inigo has a dodgy family history. What’s your point?”

  “My theory is a radical infiltration; it’s about the right time period. And that certainly won’t be on any news file, deep cached or otherwise.”

  “So how do we find out what really happened?”

  “Only one way. We have to ask the Protectorate.”

  Corrie-Lyn groaned in dismay, dropping her head into her hands.

  The maintenance hangar was on the edge of Daroca’s spaceport, one of twenty-three identical black-sheen cubes in a row, the last row in a block of ten. There were eighteen blocks in total. It was a big spaceport, much larger than the navy compound on the other side of the city. Daroca’s residents were a heavily starfaring folk, and the Air project had added considerably to the numbers of spaceships in recent centuries. Without any connection to the unisphere’s guidance function, a person could wander around the area all day and not be able to distinguish among any of the hangars. A subtle modification to the spaceport net management software provided a nearly identical disorientation function to any uninvited person who was using electronic navigation to find Troblum’s hangar. While the other structures were always opening their doors to receive or disgorge starships, Troblum’s was kept resolutely shut except for his very rare flights. When the doors did iris back, a security shield prevented any visual or electronic observation of the interior. Even the small workforce that loyally turned up day after day parked their capsules outside and used a little side door to enter. They then had to pass through another three shielded doors to enter the hangar’s central section. Nearly two-thirds of the big building was taken up by extremely sophisticated synthesis and fabrication machinery. All the systems were custom-built; the current layout had taken Troblum over fifteen years to refine. That was why he needed other people to help him. Neumann cybernetics and biononic extrusion were magnificent systems for everyday life, but for anything beyond the ordinary one first had to design the machinery to build the machines that fabricated the devices.