The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Thirty-seven large commercial freighters had just dropped out of hyperspace two thousand kilometers above the planet. A secure link to the Ellezelin defense force fleet headquarters informed her that five squadrons of Ellezelin warships were emerging around the freighters in a protective formation. This was the critical stage, the one window of vulnerability left to those who opposed the Pilgrimage. Until the freighters got under the construction yard’s force fields, they were dangerously exposed.

  The freighters were given clearance to descend. Sure enough, eight craft lurking in orbit dropped their stealth effect and opened fire. Weird mauve and green light flooded across the ground at Araminta’s feet at the same instant the exovision displays reported what was happening. She tipped her head back reflexively to see what was going on, but the dome had opaqued above her. All she saw was rapidly expanding colored blotches in the grayed sky, like borealis storms as bright as sunlight.

  More icons appeared, assuring her that the Greater Makkathran2 force fields were also up and protecting citizens from the terrible torrent of hard radiation slicing through the atmosphere. She even felt a start of anxiety leaking out of Ethan’s gaiamotes and smiled in sympathy. The pilgrimage fleet probably could make it with standard hyperdrives, but without the force fields the Raiel would reduce the ships to radioactive fog.

  Though the Void might just be able to stop them, she thought. The Raiel could never beat it.

  Her u-shadow told her the head of planetary defense, Admiral Colris, was opening a secure channel. “Dreamer, we’ve eliminated the enemy ships.”

  “Are our ships all right?”

  “Three badly damaged; eight took temporary overload hits, but they’re still flightworthy.”

  “How badly damaged?”

  “We’ll recover the crews. Don’t worry; it’s what we train for, Dreamer.”

  “Thank you. Was there any damage to the freighters?”

  “No. Lady be praised. It looks like those new force fields are as tough as advertised.”

  The whole Greater Commonwealth that was gaiafield-attuned blinked at the burst of Araminta’s surprise. “The freighters are protected by Sol barrier force fields?”

  “Yes, Dreamer.”

  “I see. Please pass my thanks to your crews.”

  “Of course. They’ll appreciate your concern, Dreamer.”

  Ethan and Darraklan were both watching the force field overhead gradually clear. The sky beyond was reverting to its usual pristine blue. A few violet scintillations burned through the ionosphere as disintegrating wreckage hurtled downward. Ethan’s delight and relief were open. “Those would be the best ships our opponents could deploy,” the Cleric said.

  “Yes,” Araminta replied, not quite knowing if she should be celebrating.

  “We can begin installation at once,” Taranse said.

  “How long until we’re ready?” she asked.

  “If the systems function in accordance with the details they supplied, we’ll be looking at a week.”

  “Excellent,” she said. Then I can finally try and stop this madness. I just hope there’s enough time left.

  They waited in the construction yard as the freighters dropped down through the atmosphere. Taranse left them to organize the unloading. Araminta and Ethan watched the operation begin from the front of the big office tower where their capsule was parked. She was a little disappointed at how dull it all was. The units were all encased in smooth metal shells, providing no hint as to their function. For all she knew, they were just water tanks.

  “Your moment draws near, Dreamer,” Ethan said.

  She wasn’t surprised by the way he was studying her so intently. She’d felt his curious thoughts wiggling through the gaiafield, trying to gain a hint of her true feelings. She suspected that when they arrived in the Void, he would prove a formidable telepath.

  “It does indeed,” she said levelly. “Where do you suppose all this came from?”

  “It is irrelevant now. That it is here is what matters.”

  “And because of that we can reach the Void. Yes. That just leaves me and the Skylord now.”

  “I will be honored to fly with you in the flagship to offer what support I can.”

  “Which one …” Her hand waved idly at the row of ships.

  “That one. The Lady’s Light.”

  Araminta had to smile at that. “Of course. But shouldn’t that be Lady’s Light Two?”

  “If you wish it to be so, Dreamer.”

  “No. The original has been unmade, and it was a redoubtable ship. Let us hope our own voyage is as successful.”

  Ethan’s smile was tight. He clearly still couldn’t work out what Araminta’s game was, which was exactly how she wanted it.

  The capsule lifted through a thick sea mist that was rolling in fast from the shore. As soon as they were above it, Araminta saw the change that had spread across the fields and forests that stretched away from the city’s perimeter. The lush green squares of grassland and crop fields had become a sickly yellow. Long lines of wildfire burned furiously through the forests.

  “What happened?” she asked in confusion.

  “Radiation downspill,” Ethan explained. “The orbital fight was directly above us. Those who understand such things explained to me last time that starship weapons today are extraordinarily powerful.”

  “Last time?”

  “Two ships fought above Ellezelin shortly before you came forward. We never did find out why.”

  “Great”—she nearly said “Ozzie”—“Lady. What about people caught outside the city force field?” The mist as well, she realized, was a part of it: surface water flash-boiled by the energy deluge.

  “Not good. A majority of Living Dream followers don’t have biononics or memorycell inserts.”

  “Because the Waterwalker didn’t.” It almost came out with contempt.

  “Quite. But the clinics will be able to re-life those that did.”

  “May the Lady watch over the souls of those that didn’t,” she said, appalled by how pious she sounded.

  “We’re a long way from the Lady,” Ethan said.

  “Not for much longer.”

  “Araminta is disgusted with them,” Neskia declared as the gifted vision swirled around her, partially blocking her view of the ship’s cabin. “It didn’t leak into the gaiafield, but I could tell how horrified she was when Ethan told her the moronic faithful didn’t even have memorycells because of their belief.”

  “That’s reasonable enough,” Ilanthe said. “I’m equally disgusted. They chose to remain animal when they could elevate themselves. They certainly don’t deserve pity.”

  Neskia’s head swept from side to side as her long neck undulated sinuously. “If she’s truly taken up the cause of Living Dream and become their Dreamer as she claims, then she would exhibit sympathy. This is simply evidence she is attempting some kind of subterfuge.”

  “I fail to see what she can do. She is committed now, as few have ever been. She has claimed her position as the head of Living Dream on the promise of delivering Pilgrimage. To go back on her word now would bring dire personal consequences. At the least, Ethan would break into her mind and compel her to communicate with the Skylord. In that he would have the tacit support of most followers. Either way I gain entry to the Void.”

  Exovision images showed Neskia the inversion core resting cleanly in the ship’s one and only cargo hold. There was no gaiafield connection, so she couldn’t determine the timbre of Ilanthe’s thoughts, if that was what they could still be called. “Her conversion was too swift, too complete. I do not believe in her.”

  “Nor do I,” Ilanthe agreed. “But in gaining political power, choice has been taken from her. You heard her. She trusts the Void will defeat me.”

  “And how did she find out about you? She was all alone and running from everyone.”

  “I suspect the Silfen.”

  “Or she has allies among the remnants of the factions. Gore is stil
l at large, the Third Dreamer. That could indicate a connection.”

  “Gore told Justine to travel to Makkathran. Whatever he’s planning, it involves a connection between him and his daughter, not Araminta. None of us knew her identity until a few days ago; she was never part of any of Gore’s schemes.”

  “He’s going to go postphysical, isn’t he? That’s what he’s doing on the Anomine homeworld. It has to be; the Anomine elevation mechanism must still be there. Such an advance will grant him the power to ruin everything.”

  “If that is his goal, he will fail.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I researched the Anomine elevation mechanism a century ago. It won’t elevate Gore.”

  “Why not?” Neskia asked.

  “He is not an Anomine.”

  Neskia’s long throat trilled with delight. “I had no idea.”

  “The process I am committing to is not one I undertook lightly. Every option was reviewed.”

  “Of course, my apologies. But you really should get Marius to eliminate him.”

  “Marius may or may not succeed in such an endeavor. Gore’s ship is undoubtedly the equal to the one Marius is flying, and the borderguards will intervene.”

  “You can’t risk him interfering with Fusion,” Neskia insisted.

  “You say that because you do not understand what I will initiate when we enter the Void. Gore and all the others are a complete irrelevance. Araminta is all that matters now.”

  “We will initiate Fusion. I understand and approve.”

  “No. Fusion was a misdirection The inversion core is destined to seed a far greater revolution.”

  Neskia became still, perturbed by this change of direction. Everything she had become was dedicated to the Accelerator goal of Fusion. “What?” she asked, mildly surprised that she was questioning Ilanthe’s purpose. But still …

  “The Void is rightly feared because it requires energy from an external source in order to function. It is the epitome of entropy, the final enemy of all things. But the Void is a beautiful concept; mind over matter is the ultimate evolutionary trait. I propose to achieve the full function of the Void without the failing of its energy demands. That will be the Accelerator gift to existence itself.”

  “In what way?”

  “I was inspired by Ozzie. His mindspace works by altering the fundamental nature of spacetime to accommodate the telepathic function. I don’t know how he worked out the specific alteration to make such a thing viable, but its implementation was a phenomenal achievement, sadly underappreciated thanks to his sulky withdrawal from the Commonwealth. But to change the very nature of spacetime across hundreds of light-years is remarkable. It opened vistas of possibilities I had never conceived of before. I realized I should be aiming so much higher than simply wedding the Accelerator Faction to the Void. The potential of the Void is far greater. That it is locked away behind the boundary, dependent on a dwindling source of power, is a disaster for the evolution of sentience everywhere. It needs to be liberated for the boundary to be thrown down.”

  “You mean you want to bring all sentient species into the Void?”

  “Quite the opposite. As Ozzie’s mindspace is only a localized alteration powered, presumably, by the Spike’s anchor mechanism, so the Void can only function as long as it has mass to feed on, and that is finite. What the inversion core will do is instigate a permanent change. It will grasp the fundamental nature of the Void and impress spacetime to that pattern, forcing reality itself to transform. The Void’s final magnificent reset of everything will begin. Change will shine out from the center of this galaxy—in time, a very short time, illuminating the entire universe. Entropy will no longer exist because its principles will simply not be a part of the new cosmos. With the laws of spacetime itself rewritten, the true controller of reality will become the sentient mind, allowing evolution to reach a height impossible even for the postphysicals which this limited, flawed universe can gestate.”

  “You’re going to change the fundamental laws of the universe?” a shocked Neskia murmured.

  “Such a goal is the pinnacle of evolution, elevating an entire universe. We will be the instigators of a genesis from which our mythical gods would cower in awe. Now do you see why I don’t concern myself with the antics of Gore and his kind? I will simply wish them out of existence. And it shall be so.”

  Inigo’s Forty-seventh Dream:

  The Waterwalker’s Triumph

  It was Mattuel who had the privilege of helping Edeard up the long winding steps to the top of the tower. Edeard wouldn’t put up with it from any of his other children, or grandchildren, or great-grandchildren, or even the great-great-grandchildren and certainly not the great-great-great-grandchildren, most of whom who were just children. And Grolral, the first of his fifth-generation offspring and one whom he adored, was only seven weeks old and really not interested in much apart from feeding and sleeping. But Mattuel was the favored son, mainly because he’d been born so much later than the others, four and a half years after Finitan’s guidance. That shouldn’t have made him any more special—and by that time none of the first seven cared about such things—but Edeard always regarded him as proof of success in living this life as he’d sworn to do. By the time the four Skylords appeared in Querencia’s skies, events across the planet weren’t going too badly this time around. Each town and most larger villages had a big park designated for the gathering of those who sought guidance. The open areas were based on the Waterwalker’s solemn advice that the Skylords didn’t really like the towers of Eyrie and used them only out of respect for the bygone race that had sculpted them in the first place. Simple and cheap, the parks prevented any economic problems and petty rivalries. That also meant nobody trekked across half the continent to the towers of Eyrie, with all the problems that entailed.

  Except that today Makkathran was once again host to crowds not seen in a hundred years. The last time so many had thronged its streets was when the eight huge galleons of the flotilla had returned from their exploratory voyage circumnavigating the world. Edeard had sailed with them, enjoying the occasional bout of nostalgic sadness as they discovered the coastlines and seas he recalled from over a century before on his own private time line. This time he’d made sure the problems afflicting Querencia in the wake of the Skylords were well and truly eliminated before setting out. There were no more attempts to dominate and bind people to a cause or family or individual. The newer generations of stronger psychics were welcomed and integrated into a society whose prosperity was on a steady climb thanks to the expansion of the Eggshaper Guild and an abundance of genistars. New lands were being opened in what once had been the western wilds. Even the youngsters of Makkathran’s Grand Families were encouraged to seek their fortune amid the fresh opportunities to extend the old estates and businesses, though that process was clearly going to outlast him by some considerable period.

  This day was the day when Querencia paid tribute to the Waterwalker for transforming their world to one of enlightenment and potential. Already his era was being proclaimed the planet’s golden age.

  “I hope to the Lady they’re right,” he’d muttered to Kristabel as they woke together that last morning.

  She’d given him a warning stare as one of their great-great-granddaughters helped comb her thin strands of white hair. “Don’t give me the Ashwell optimism now. Not today.”

  Amusement and appreciation made him smile, which triggered a nasty bout of coughing deep in his chest. Two of the Novices attending him eased him forward on the bed. One proffered a steaming potion for him to inhale. He almost refused out of pure age-driven obstinacy but relented when he recalled Finitan’s last days. The sweet girls were only trying to help. He breathed the vapor down and was relieved to find the muscle quakes subsiding. “Yes, dear.”

  “Ha!”

  He smiled again. One of the Novices started unbuttoning his bed shirt. “I can still manage that, thank you,” he told her smartly. Of course
he couldn’t, not with his hands, horrible swollen, gnarled things that they were now. The potions the doctors made him drink did nothing for his terribly arthritic joints anymore. But thankfully, his third hand remained more than capable. Finitan had remarked on something similar, he recalled.

  When he blinked and looked around, everyone in the big room was staring anxiously at him. “What?” he asked.

  “You drifted off there again,” Kristabel said.

  “Honious! Let’s hope I last till they arrive.”

  That earned him another disapproving stare from Kristabel while the Novices drew sharp nervous breaths and assured him he would. “Actually, I was thinking of Finitan, if you must know,” he told a bedroom full of too many people.

  “Goodness, I can’t even remember what he looks like anymore,” Kristabel said regretfully.

  “It was nearly two hundred years ago,” Edeard reminded her. “But we’ll be seeing him again soon enough.”

  “Aye, that we will.”

  Edeard smiled at her again, blocking out the awful indignity of their well-meaning attendants bustling around. His farsight found the rest of his family assembling in the lounges on the upper floors of the ziggurat, all of them abuzz with conflicting emotion. Contrary to expectation, their presence actually comforted him. There were so many, and all had done well—or at least hadn’t turned to the bad. That was his true measure.

  Eventually he and Kristabel were dressed in their finest robes without too much assistance. He’d decided against the Waterwalker’s black cloak; at his age it would have made him look ridiculous. Besides, after eleven tenures as Mayor, he felt the robes of office were more appropriate.

  Edeard managed to walk out of the bedroom to the first big lounge, but that was about as far as his muscles could manage without a decent rest. Mattuel’s third hand steadied him as he sank down into a tall straight-backed chair. He was about to throw the youngster an angry look but relented. In truth, he’d needed the support. Landing on his ass at the start of this ceremony would hardly be dignified.