The Dreaming Void

by Peter F. Hamilton

  ‘Yes, you do,’ the first man said. His gaze kept darting nervously to Boyd, who was standing at the other end of the counter from Isoix.

  Wrong, Edeard knew. Why would a gang member be worried about a shop assistant?

  ‘Boyd, he knows what you are,’ Edeard sent in the most direct longtalk he could manage, praying the gang members wouldn’t pick it out of the general background of Makkathran’s telepathic babble.

  ‘Huh?’ Boyd grunted.

  The gang member glanced at him again, then turned back to Isoix. ‘Give me twenty pounds, or we’ll torch this place,’ he said loudly.

  ‘No,’ Edeard said. The hairs on his neck were standing proud. ‘No no no.’ Wrong!

  ‘You,’ Boyd said. He pulled his apron aside to reveal a constable’s badge pinned on his waistcoat. The two gang members turned to face him.

  ‘I am a city constable, and I am placing you under arrest for threatening behaviour with intent to extort.’

  ‘How do you like that, you bastards?’ a gloating Isoix shouted.

  ‘Everyone, close in,’ Edeard ordered. He pushed through the narrow door on to the balcony. The gang member left on the street glanced up. And smiled.

  ‘Oh shit,’ Edeard growled.

  ‘It’s him,’ the gang member declared in a powerful longtalk. Then he started running.

  Inside the bakery, the first gang member pulled out a small knife. He flung it at Boyd, who swayed backwards. His third hand just managed to push the blade aside. Isoix snatched up a much larger knife, and threw it at the gang members as they fled through the doorway. It whirled out into the street, narrowly missing a woman who was walking by. She screamed.

  Edeard vaulted over the balcony rail and dropped to the street below. Landed badly, rolling as his ankle gave way. His shoulder smacked into one of the steps leading up to the clothing shop door. He yelled at the bright pulse of pain, tears squeezing out of his eyes.

  His farsight caught Boyd leaping over the bakery counter. Kanseen was sprinting up Macoun Street, her cloak abandoned on the ground by the stalls. Macsen and Dinlay were moving out of their shop, confident and eager. Their shields combined as they stood in the middle of the street, blocking the way. All three gang members were racing towards them.

  ‘Let them go,’ Edeard ordered.

  Macsen’s face registered bewilderment that came close to anger. ‘What?’

  Edeard had regained his feet, he started to totter down the street. ‘Leave them.’

  ‘You can’t be serious.’ The three gang members were barely twenty yards from Macsen and Dinlay.

  ‘It’s a set-up. They knew we were here.’

  ‘Crap,’ Dinlay sent. ‘I can scan them completely, they’ve got a couple of small blades between them. That’s all.’

  ‘There’ll be more, somewhere, waiting for us. Please, just let them go, I’ll track them with the ge-eagle.’

  Macsen hesitated. He took a step towards the side of the street.

  ‘No!’ Dinlay hissed fiercely. He opened his arms wide as the three gang members charged towards them.

  ‘Dinlay, stop it,’ Edeard yelled. He was running now, ignoring the pain in his ankle. Kanseen wasn’t far behind, charging along like a warhorse, her teeth gritted in determination. Boyd came skidding down the steps from the bakery, and took off after them.

  ‘Stop,’ Dinlay proclaimed loudly, holding out a hand as if that alone would bring the whole city to a halt. ‘You are under arrest.’

  ‘Oh crap,’ Macsen growled under his breath, and instinctively started to move back towards Dinlay. They came together as the three gang members ran into them. Fists swung, legs kicked out. Third hands scrabbled and pushed. Macsen went down with one of the gang members sprawling on top of him, his head cracked against the pavement. Dinlay was shoved hard against the wall of a hat shop, flailing wildly to regain balance. Then the gang member on top of Macsen was scrabbling to his feet, and fled with his companions. Dinlay started to chase after them.

  ‘Come back!’ Edeard howled in frustration. He reached Macsen, who was struggling upright, hand clamped on the back of his head. A trickle of blood was running down his fingers.

  ‘What do we do?’ Macsen demanded, wincing against the pain.

  Edeard’s farsight could follow Dinlay easily enough as he ran towards the northern end of Macoun Street. The three gang members were ten yards ahead of him. ‘Save him,’ he growled out, furious with Dinlay. He sent a single clear thought to his ge-eagle, who immediately took flight.

  Kanseen was slowing as she approached Edeard and Macsen. Her face red. Boyd was charging up behind. ‘Come on,’ Edeard said, and took off again. Kanseen flashed a look of exasperation, and hurried along.

  ‘You okay?’ Boyd shouted as he ran past Macsen.

  ‘Yeah.’ Macsen took a breath, and started running.

  The ge-eagle streaked along Macoun Street, swiftly overtaking Edeard and Kanseen. It shot forward, rising high above the roofs, looking down to see Dinlay racing on, his glasses askew. The three gang members had almost reached the end of the street. It came out just below Birmingham Pool, where a silver-blue bridge connected Jeavons with the lower point of Golden Park. As always, Birmingham Pool was thick with gondolas. A half-dozen moorings lined the edge beside the junction with the Outer Circle Canal all host to several waiting gondolas. The ge-eagle dipped down to the moorings as Edeard tried to work out which of the glossy black craft belonged to the gang. If this was a trap, they’d have their escape well planned.

  Just before it happened, the ge-eagle was aware of two other birds, close and closing. It pivoted on a wing, looking up in time to see its attacker plummeting down towards it. Another ge-eagle, bigger, with talons clad in sharpened iron spikes. The impact punched it savagely. Gold and emerald feathers burst out of the collision point. Spikes sank into its front wing shoulder, slicing through skin and muscle, severing veins. Then the bigger ge-eagle twisted to try and snap the central wing bone. Edeard’s ge-eagle fought back, writhing round to clamp its jaw on its attacker’s rear wing. The two of them tumbled, falling fast. Then the second attacker hit, iron-blade talons ripping into flesh. Edeard and his ge-eagle screamed as one as its wing broke. Edeard saw talons rake towards his face, and ducked. His ge-eagle’s mind abruptly vanished from perception, all that was left was a falling mass. The other two ge-eagles hurtled away over Birmingham pool. Edeard was sure he heard the splash as his bird’s body hit the water.

  ‘What happened?’ Kanseen cried.

  ‘Dear Lady, they are waiting for us.’ Edeard pulled his perception down to find Dinlay emerging from the end of Macoun Street. ‘Stop! Dinlay, for the Lady’s sake, I’m begging you.’ He pushed his tired legs harder, sprinting for the end of the street. Thirty yards.

  ‘I see them,’ Dinlay replied gleefully. He gifted the squad, who saw the three gang members clustering above one of the moorings. They grinned barbarously. For the first time, there was a pulse of uncertainty in Dinlay’s mind. He slowed to a halt, ten yards away, on the edge of the pool. Still the gang members did nothing but wait. ‘Stay there,’ Dinlay told them, taking big gulps of air after his helter-skelter dash, and waving a finger like an ancient schoolmaster dealing with a naughty class. They laughed at him.

  Edeard burst out of Macoun Street. Directly to his left was the Outer Circle Canal, with the silver-blue bridge ahead, arching over the side of the pool directly into Golden Park. On his right, the buildings ended to provide a curving alameda round the side of Birmingham Pool. Neat stacks of crates were piled up above the various moorings, with shopkeepers and ge-monkeys sorting out their goods with the gondoliers. Tall weeping hasfol trees formed a long line between the edge of the pool and the alameda’s crescent facade, their blue and yellow tiger-stripe leaves starting to crisp with the end of summer. A lot of pedestrians were strolling around.

  ‘Dinlay,’ Edeard shouted as he ran as fast as he could towards his isolated squadmate.

  Dinlay glanced round, a han
d adjusting his glasses.

  Arminel stepped out from behind one of the hasfol trees, fifteen yards from Dinlay. He had a revolver in his right hand. Edeard watched helplessly as Dinlay finally realized the danger, and began to turn. Arminel brought the pistol up.

  ‘No!’ Edeard bellowed at his adversary. ‘It’s me you want.’

  Dinlay opened his mouth to cry out in horror.

  Arminel fired. He was smiling as he pulled the trigger.

  Dinlay’s shield wasn’t strong enough to ward off a pistol shot. Arminel’s aim was excellent. The bullet struck Dinlay in the hip, just below his drosilk waistcoat. Half of the pedestrians around Birmingham Pool yelped at the blast of pain flooding out from Dinlay. Then the vile heat of the bullet’s penetration faded rapidly. Dinlay looked down disbelievingly at the blood pumping out of the wound. He collapsed.

  Edeard was with him in seconds, falling to his knees, skidding into his limp friend. Dinlay’s eyes were wide, he was panting in short gulps, one hand clasped over the bullet hole, skin covered in blood. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whimpered.

  A mass of screaming had broken out along the alameda. People were racing for cover. Families hugged each other, cowering away from the gunman.

  Right in the centre of all the commotion, Edeard heard the revolver’s mechanism snick. He widened his shield to encompass Dinlay. The bullet smacked into his side, shunting them over the rough ground. But his shield held. He snapped his head round to snarl at a disconcerted Arminel. ‘Not so fucking easy, is it?’ he yelled defiantly. Arminel fired again. Edeard groaned in effort as the bullet hit his neck. The shield held. Just. Then someone else fired a shot.

  Bastards. I knew this was an ambush.

  Amazingly, his shield held. If anything it was easier to maintain now. His heart was pounding hard. Anger had washed every other sensation away, making it simple to concentrate on the shield, to see his mind’s power, to channel it correctly.

  Two more revolver shots thudded into his shield as he lay there, arms hugging Dinlay protectively. They shunted the pair of them a few inches over the ground, but that was all.

  ‘Die, you little shit,’ Arminel shouted.

  Edeard felt the man’s third hand shove against him. He wasn’t nearly powerful enough to get through Edeard’s shielding. Edeard laughed. Then another third hand was pushing, a third. The three gang members they’d chased joined in. Edeard gasped as he and Dinlay started to slither over the ground.

  ‘Edeard,’ Kanseen cried.

  ‘Stay back,’ he commanded.

  The gang members gave a final push. Edeard and Dinlay were propelled over the edge of the pool, and dropped three yards into the water. The impact broke Edeard’s grip on Dinlay. He thrashed about just under the surface, trying to catch his friend again. Water occluded his farsight, making it difficult to perceive. He just made out Dinlay’s wretched thoughts drifting down below him, close to extinction. His own clothes were saturated, weighing him down. It was relatively easy to swim downwards, following Dinlay’s slow descent to the bottom of the pool.

  ‘Edeard.’ Dinlay’s thoughts were weakening.

  It was dark. Cold. Edeard could make out a shadowy mass, or maybe he was perceiving it. He pushed himself further down, kicking with boots as heavy as lead. His lungs were burning now, making every stroke painful. He would have called the city to help, but he knew it could do nothing. Water was pushing into his nostrils, scaring him.

  His hand snagged something. Through the gloom he could see faint dots of light. Dinlay’s polished tunic buttons! His fingers groped frantically and he got a grip on some fabric.

  Now all I’ve got to do is get to the surface.

  When he tilted his head up, he could see the silver-mirror surface. It seemed a long way above him. And his lungs didn’t hurt quite so much any more. His vision was surrounded by red speckling, pulsing in time with his heart. When he kicked his legs they barely moved. His boots were pulling him down.

  Oh, Lady, help.

  Something knocked into his shoulder. His farsight perceived it as a slim black line.

  ‘Edeard,’ the combined longtalk of Kanseen, Macsen and Boyd shouted at him. ‘Edeard, grab the pole.’ They were a long way off.

  The end of the punt pole thumped into his shoulder again. Edeard seized it. Abruptly he was moving upwards. It was a huge effort not to let go of Dinlay. Then the water was growing brighter.

  He broke surface with an almighty gasp of air. Someone jumped in beside him, and held on to Dinlay. They were right beside a mooring platform. Hands clutched at his uniform, and he was hauled on to the planks, coughing and spluttering.

  Kanseen’s incredibly anxious face loomed large over him. ‘Oh Lady. Edeard, are you okay?’

  He nodded, which set off another bout of coughing. Hands slapped hard on his back as he rolled over on to his side, and vomited up a thin disgusting liquid.

  Macsen and a couple of gondoliers were dragging Dinlay on to the platform, blood still pumping out of his hip wound. Boyd was in the water, his face pale.

  ‘Dinlay,’ Edeard called weakly.

  ‘We’ve longshouted for a doctor,’ Kanseen assured him. ‘You just lie back.’

  Edeard didn’t. He watched Macsen start giving Dinlay the kiss of life. This was the third time his life had been struck by the force of anarchy and destruction. First the ambush in the forest on the way back from Witham. Then the death of Ashwell. Now this. And that was too many.

  ‘No,’ he spat. Not again. I will not allow this to happen. People cannot live like this.

  ‘Edeard, sit back,’ Kanseen ordered sternly.

  ‘Where is he? Where’s Arminel?’

  ‘Stop it.’

  He clambered to his feet, swaying slightly as he looked round, taking deep breaths. The edge of the pool was crowded with people, all looking down at the mooring platform. He turned towards Birmingham Pool itself. Most of the gondolas had come to a halt as the drama played out.

  One was moving. Fast.

  Edeard blinked the salty pool water from his eyes, sending his farsight lashing out.

  Arminel was standing on the gondola’s middle bench. He gave Edeard a rueful shrug, his thoughts glowing with a cheery regret. It was as if he’d lost a football game. Nothing more. Certainly nothing important. They’d play another game one day, and that time the result might be different.

  Edeard’s rage left him, dropping away like the water dripping off his soaking clothes. He felt eerily calm.

  One of the gondoliers looking over Macsen’s shoulder took a frightened step backwards.

  ‘Edeard?’ Kanseen said in a subdued voice.

  He hadn’t known such a thing was possible, he simply did it. There was no choice. As before, Arminel’s gondola was moving too quickly. They’d never catch him, never bring him to justice. Edeard’s third hand reached out to the water beside the mooring platform and steadied it.

  ‘I’m finishing this,’ he declared forcefully. ‘One way or another.’

  Edeard stepped on the patch of water he was controlling. An astonished gasp went up from the spectators around the edge of Birmingham Pool. Edeard grinned viciously, and took another step. Another. He moved his third hand’s grip smoothly, always keeping the leading edge of the stabilized patch just ahead of himself.

  Arminel’s humour shattered. At the rear of the gondola, the two gondoliers stopped manoeuvring their punts and stared fearfully as Edeard walked across the pool towards them. There was absolute silence as he strode purposefully towards the craft. Every gondola in Birmingham Pool was now stationary. Gondoliers and passengers stared in awe and trepidation as Edeard walked past.

  ‘Move!’ Arminel yelled furiously at the gondoliers. ‘Get us out of here.’

  They didn’t respond. The two gang members sitting on the bench with Arminel slowly put their hands up. They edged away from Arminel.

  Edeard was ten yards away when Arminel dropped a hand to his waist where the revolver was tucked into his belt. He c
ould sense the man’s uncertainty, his fright. The animal backed into a corner. Nobody had any choices left now.

  As he covered the last few yards to the gondola, Edeard opened his mind and longtalked with all his might. ‘SO THAT EVERYBODY KNOWS. SO THAT NO JUDGE OR LAWYER IS IN ANY DOUBT OF THIS DAY.’ And he gifted them his sight.

  Makkathran, from the Mayor in his Orchard Palace down to the sailors in the port district, saw a gondola with four men cowering, hands clamped over their ears. The fifth man stood straight, loathing on his face as his hand gripped the revolver sticking out of his belt. They felt Edeard’s mouth move. ‘Okay gang man, your time in this city is now over. If you think different, give it your best shot.’

  Arminel brought the revolver up. Makkathran en masse flinched as the muzzle steadied not two feet from Edeard’s eyes.

  ‘Fuck you,’ Arminel snarled. He pulled the trigger.

  The single unified scream which rang out from the city was later said to be heard halfway across the Iguru Plain. When everyone gathered their breath, and realized they were still alive, they saw the bullet. It floated motionless six inches in front of Edeard’s face.

  Edeard’s mouth moved again, this time into a thin smile. Arminel’s expression was frozen in shock.

  The last of the gifting allowed Makkathran’s citizens to experience Edeard shaping his third hand into a fist. He slammed it forward into Arminel’s face. Bone went crunch as the man’s nose broke. Blood spurted out. His feet left the bench as he was thrown backwards. He landed with an almighty splash in the water, which closed over him.

  ‘You’re all under arrest,’ Edeard announced.

  It was pandemonium on the side of Birmingham Pool as the gondola made its steady way to the mooring platform where Kanseen, Boyd and Macsen waited. On the Jeavons side they were crammed fifteen deep around the edge. Frenzied kids were running over the blue and silver bridge from Golden Park, hanging over the railings, cheering and waving. Over a hundred constables stood behind the mooring platform waiting; half of them were Dinlay’s family. People were still pouring out of the surrounding districts on to the alameda to see history as it unfolded. Bolder lads were shinning to the top of the hasfol trees to get a better view.