The Commonwealth Saga 2-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  It took the full mental capacity of twelve thousand immotile brains to govern the interstellar wormhole; there were so many components to supervise, so many intricate applications of energy to control within the machinery. MorningLightMountain amalgamated the immotile specifically to form the command group; they had no other function, they didn’t take part in MorningLightMountain’s unified thought processes. Even then, with so much brain power devoted to the device’s operation, it had to use more electronic processors than it ever had before to maintain the ancillary equipment.

  The interstellar wormhole had been operating for three weeks when several supplementary orbiting quantum wave detectors picked up the distortion points of approaching starships. They were smaller than the previous human starship, the Second Chance, but they were flying from the direction of the Commonwealth. They were also a lot faster.

  >ships mission / explain<

  I don’t know for certain. I expect a further attempt to establish communication. They’ll certainly want to know what happened to me and Verbeke.

  >confrontation probability / extrapolate<

  They don’t want a fight. The ships will be heavily shielded, though. They saw several ship battles while they were here before. They’ll know what level of defense they need this time.

  >response / explain<

  Oh, well, with my great tactical expertise …

  >tactical knowledge / memory<

  There was none. The Bose memories were lying—no, not lying, being sarcastic.

  >sarcasm / explain<

  It’s a human personality trait. Culturally related, you either got it or you don’t. I often used it to swat uppity students. I don’t think it applies to your culture, you’re more likely to use a nuke.

  Not for the first time, MorningLightMountain considered simply erasing the Bose memories. It often considered the alien thoughts to be a form of insanity. Despite them being securely caged within a single immotile unit, there was noticeable leakage. Strange ideas and concepts often occurred these days—a different way of looking at things. After all, there was, it had to concede, a certain illogicality about releasing so much pollution across its homeworld, allowing so many motiles—parts of itself—to die in sickening fashion from disease and poison. It was killing itself for the now, not planning properly for tomorrow. It wasn’t sure how the notion of sickening had crept into its thoughts.

  Such innovative thoughts might lead it into becoming alienPrime, contaminated from within. Though it knew its Prime rationality was still dominant, after all it was a misapplication of resources to let so many motiles waste away. So for now it tolerated the Bose memories, knowing that soon it would no longer require them.

  The three human starships slowed their approach, then flew forward again. One came to a halt just beyond where the barrier used to be, remaining within the wormhole it was generating. The other two headed in for the second gas giant, where MorningLightMountain had built the interstellar wormhole. It began to prepare nearby ships for interception.

  One of the human ships emerged from its wormhole amid a burst of blue radiation. It was five million kilometers from the interstellar wormhole. Electromagnetic beams swept out, probing space around it, while its wormhole generator emitted pulses of distortion, which the Bose memories identified as hysradar. High-cohesion force fields enveloped the human ship, deflecting most of MorningLightMountain’s sensor scans. They would be tough to break, it acknowledged. But not impossible.

  Sixteen ships were dispatched at high acceleration to interdict the enemy. Within seconds of their fusion drives coming on, the human ship directed microwave and laser beams toward them. This time MorningLightMountain understood the binary pulses, the simple mathematical constants, pixel matrices with basic images and symbols, periodic tables. It directed a communications maser back at the human ship.

  The Bose memories were marshaled to initiate contact, appropriate “speech” sequences selected.

  “Hi, guys, it’s Dudley Bose calling home. You took your sweet time getting back here, didn’t you? But by God I am sure glad to see you.”

  The human lasers switched off. A single microwave beam remained focused on the ship that had sent the message.

  “Dudley? This is Commander Kime. How … Are you all right? Jesus, Dudley, we never hoped for so much.”

  The voice was distorted by what the Bose memories identified as emotions of incredulity and hope.

  “I made it, Captain. I’m okay. And I’ve got a whole load of new friends with me just waiting to meet you. Should be able to rendezvous with you in a little while.”

  “Dudley, are you on the ship that’s sending your signal?”

  “Sure am. How about that for coincidence? I’ve been out here for months helping the Primes with their wormhole.”

  “Dudley, that ship’s under ten-gee acceleration.”

  The voice had changed. MorningLightMountain’s Bose memories identified it as puzzled.

  “Yeah, God don’t I know it. It’s hell on my spine.”

  “You can slow down,” Wilson Kime said. “We’re not going anywhere.”

  “Right, sure. I’ll tell the captain.”

  MorningLightMountain reduced the acceleration on its interdiction squadron to three gees. It didn’t want to scare the humans off—another new concept. So many since the barrier had fallen.

  “Where’s Emmanuelle, Dudley? Is she there with you?”

  “No, she’s back on the homeworld DEAD RUN YOU DUMB FUCK RUN THEY KILLED US THEY’LL KILL ALL OF US IT’S INHUMAN RUN YOU MOTHERFU—”

  MorningLightMountain wanted to scream in pure fury as the betraying corruption burned through its consciousness. Its mind crushed the Bose memories as they blossomed out of the immotile brain where they had been stored, pummeling them back under control. Crushing them. Eradicating them from existence.

  Demented, defiant human laughter echoed around inside the giant building that housed the central immotile grouping of MorningLightMountain, the core of its existence. The memory of laughter. Mocking as it faded.

  Wilson stared, aghast, at the speaker that just a minute earlier had delivered a joy that had brought him close to tears. The shout lingered in the deadly silence that filled the bridge.

  He’d known, deep deep down inside, from the moment the Dudley voice claimed to be on a ship doing ten gees, and speaking as calmly as if they were sitting at a bar with a couple of drinks. If it’s too good to be true, it probably is.

  “The alien ships have started accelerating again,” Anna called. “Eight gees. Nine.”

  “Tu Lee, take us out of here now,” Wilson ordered. Déjà vu plucked at him, almost comforting in its horrifying familiarity. “Oscar, Antonia, scatter pattern one. You heard the man: run for it.”

  The screens showing visual spectrum images of space outside began to glow blue, as if they’d glided into a patch of planetary sky. Tu Lee sent the Conway streaking out of the Dyson system at half a light-year an hour.

  “Goddamnit, what happened?” Anna said. “What was that talking to us?”

  “Whatever was left of Dudley Bose,” Wilson said grimly. Damn, and I always thought bad of him. “Any sign of pursuit?”

  “Nothing chasing us in hyperspace, Captain,” Tunde said. “The StAsaph and Langharne are ahead of us, and spreading out.”

  Wilson studied the displays around his couch, breathing deeply to try to calm his racing heart. He watched the other two scoutships diving wide into the depths of interstellar space, making it difficult for any potential enemy to chase all of them. A pitiful maneuver, really. If the aliens had built FTL starships they could send a thousand after each of us.

  “We were out of hyperspace for six and a quarter minutes,” Anna said as the bridge crew started to relax. “Our mission time out here just keeps getting shorter, and we still have no idea what they look like.”

  Wilson gave his e-butler some instructions, and it folded back one of the display screens around his couch. He tu
rned to look at Tunde Sutton. “What did our sensors collect?”

  “Almost nothing, Captain,” the physicist said glumly. “We weren’t there long enough to obtain any decent imagery.”

  “What about that giant wormhole?”

  “Ah, yes.” Tunde seemed curiously reticent to say anything. “You know, we’ve never attempted to build anything on such a scale. And the amount of quantum activity we did manage to detect indicated a considerable number of wormholes have been opened within the Dyson system. All of them were significantly smaller than the one above the outer gas giant. It confirms our previous conclusions about their industrial capabilities. A year and a half ago they didn’t have one wormhole generator.”

  “Just how big was that one above the gas giant?”

  Tunde began to call up hysradar records, concentrating on the outermost gas giant with its three large moons, and superimposing what little visual imagery they’d snatched. He focused the image on the third moon, orbiting seven hundred ninety thousand kilometers above the turbulent equatorial storm clouds. It was a rocky planetoid with half of its fractured surface covered in ice sheets averaging five kilometers thick. Hundreds of force field domes had encased nearly a quarter of the total surface area. Fusion drive ships clouded space around it, forming a bright ring two hundred fifty kilometers above the equator. From that a sparkling river of blue-white plasma stretched across to the moon’s outermost Lagrange point, fifteen thousand kilometers away. The aliens had stationed the wormhole at the center of the gravitational null-point, where it kept its position with a minimum of thruster usage. There was no visual data, the generator structure itself was very dark, although it showed as a gleaming crimson spark in infrared. Hysradar revealed a toroid with a central aperture measuring two and a half kilometers across. Ships were flying into the center at the rate of one every five or six minutes, large ships.

  “Son of a bitch,” Wilson murmured. “Is there any way of telling where that leads?”

  “No, sir,” Tunde said. “But judging by the strength of its quantum distortion, I’d say several hundred light-years. Where they get that much power from I don’t know, there’s no corresponding neutrino emissions which would indicate fusion sources.”

  “Have they reached inside the Commonwealth?” Wilson asked sharply.

  “It won’t extend that far. Four hundred light-years, possibly, maybe five.”

  Wilson wanted to feel relief. It should have been there, knowing the aliens hadn’t reached home behind him. But the sensation eluded him completely. What they’d seen was too worrying. Even for a civilization this size, the giant wormhole was too obviously a crash project: an act of desperation. He was sure he knew where it would take them eventually. The why of it, though, he couldn’t understand. What could they possibly want with the Commonwealth?

  ....

  It was an astonishing landscape. Nothing you couldn’t find on any H-congruous world, but scaled up twenty percent. Higher mountains. Deeper valleys. Wider rivers. Broader plains. Even the sky seemed bigger, though that might have been due to the absence of clouds during the (long) daytime.

  All of which made Ozzie worry about what kind of animals they might encounter. Rats the size of dogs? Dogs the size of horses? What might the elephants be like, or the dinosaurs?

  They’d been here for eight days now, though, and hadn’t seen so much as a gnat so far. The plants didn’t quite match up to the scenery; they were all bland. Grass that was like a sheet of moss. Bushes that were globes with slender little leaves that were woven together so tightly that from a distance they looked like a single membrane. Trees that had a simple conical symmetry with dark green finger-sized leaves. Botany at least wasn’t adventurous here. In fact, he hadn’t seen a single flower since they arrived. Maybe evolution had bypassed the whole concept of pollination. Or maybe there were no insects to pollinate.

  That made Tochee the most colorful thing on the planet. The big alien had recovered quickly from its frostbite as they wandered along the paths after escaping the Ice Citadel planet. Its rubbery locomotion ridges had almost completely healed up now after weeks of sliding along through temperate grassland and loamy forest floors. Of the three planets they’d progressed through, one of the paths had been in a tropical zone. Tochee had really liked that. The little shriveled fronds sprouting from wrinkles in its brown hide had sprouted into colorful life. They now resembled feathery ferns whose vivid pigmentation acted like a silky flowing cloak; ripples of scarlet, tangerine, turquoise, and emerald swayed along its body with every motion and gust of wind.

  “It looks like a furry rainbow,” Orion had said when the fronds began to grow again.

  The boy was a great deal happier now as well. A lot of his former chirpy confidence had returned, strengthening with every additional step they put between themselves and the Ice Citadel.

  Ozzie was half expecting him to start asking: “Are we there yet?” Which given their circumstances was just about impossible to answer. The Silfen paths had been reasonably obvious on the worlds they’d visited so far, and the little friendship pendant had helped a couple of times when Ozzie was uncertain. But to date they’d found themselves in areas where the forests were close together, with just a couple of valleys or hills separating their boundaries.

  This big world was different. They’d emerged from a tree line to see a vast undulating plain stretching away ahead of them. The forest behind filled a V-shaped valley; there was only the one path through it, leading straight out alongside the swift stream that gushed down the valley floor. So they simply carried on walking, keeping close to the stream. It was one of many tributaries feeding the river that cut across the plain.

  In five days’ continuous hiking they’d found plenty of similar woods hugging steep valleys, not one of which had a Silfen path leading out. The trees did have edible fruit, globes the size of melons with a fibrous pap that tasted similar to bland apples. That seemed to be a constant on the worlds linked by Silfen paths: nothing edible had a strong taste.

  Orion would knock the fruit down with a big stick, sometimes with Tochee holding him aloft in its tentacles so he could reach the ones dangling on higher branches. Every time Ozzie watched the laughing boy flailing away at the fruit, he would think of curries and chili burgers.

  The river was leading them toward a range of snowcapped mountains that marked the end of the plain. As they neared the foothills, the pervasive mat of grass thinned out, leaving stretches of thin sandy soil exposed to the air. Soon only the broad ravine through which the river flowed held any greenery. They picked their way along the boulder-strewn sides, testing carefully for boggy ground. Ozzie and Orion were both carrying heavy rucksacks, while Tochee had a pair of big old panniers slung over its back. As the ravine started to slope down, the river flow quickened, foaming around stones sticking up from its bed.

  “Still wish we’d made a boat?” Orion asked cheerfully as they passed one set of boulders that were sending out great spumes.

  It was something Ozzie had suggested earlier, at around the third forest they’d examined for paths. While it made sense, his diamond-tipped blade wasn’t the ideal tool for cutting and trimming that many trees. In any case, they hadn’t had any rope to lash even a crude raft together. At the time he’d just wanted to get off the plain. Days spent under the silent expanse of sky were bad enough. But at night, he hurried into the tent, unnerved by the emptiness around them. Some deep-buried intuition was wary of the planet.

  “I’ve been down worse rapids than these,” Ozzie told him defensively.

  After half a day trailing along the side of the ravine, it turned sharply and opened out into a massive canyon. The river surged forward and fell away down a series of steep steps, each taller than the last, ending with a waterfall that thundered over a cliff three hundred yards high. After so many days immersed in the deep silence that blanketed the empty plain, the roar from the cascading water was shocking.

  “So now what?” Orion asked. He w
as facing the giant canyon that carried the water away beyond the falls. It seemed to slice clean through the mountain range.

  “There’s no way off this world behind us,” Ozzie said, thinking out loud. “We either keep following the river, or look for some other way around the mountains.” He brought out a very tatty sheet of parchment. His last charcoal stump was down to a small nub, so finding the sharpest edge, he wrote: I think we should go on. This seems to be the path.

  I AGREE, Tochee’s forward eye segment flashed.

  All throughout the long afternoon they picked their way down the side of the falls. With the rocks slick from all the spray, they moved slowly and carefully. If there was to be any kind of accident here, the chances of help were effectively zero. Traveling alone had instilled a sense of caution into them; even Orion didn’t make any complaint about how long the descent was taking. Tochee took the lead; with its locomotion ridges it was easily the most agile of the three of them on the precarious gradient.

  The sun had long vanished behind the canyon walls when they reached the floor. According to Ozzie’s virtual vision timer they still had another two hours of full daylight left. He took his sunglasses off to squint at the bright naked rocks all around. Somewhat inevitably, the sun here was bright enough to make them wear the protective glasses all day long. The mist thrown out by the waterfall had fooled him for a moment, producing a pocket of cool humid air around the base of the falls. But even out of the direct sunlight, he was better off with the glasses on.

  They walked past the deep rock pool formed by the churning impact of the waterfall, and carried on to where the river resumed its calm flow, gurgling across the sandy pebbles that made up its broad bed. He stood on the bank to take in the view. The near-vertical walls of iron-red rock on both sides were about two-thirds of a mile high, and as the canyon curved gently around to the east in front of him, it looked as though they were growing progressively taller. At the widest, the canyon floor stretched about five miles wide. Nothing grew within the canyon, no grass or scrub. The floor was shingle and sand, all the same sandstone red as the walls. He could see great conic mounds of jagged rock piled up all along the base of each cliff, where giant sections had broken off far above to crash down into pulverized scree.