Night Without Stars (Chronicle of the Fallers Book 2)

by Peter F. Hamilton

  ‘Yeah.’ Chaing glanced over at the kitchen with its big collection of pots and pans. The biggest pot of all held the remnants of a stew. ‘Stealing a sheep. Probably does it every week. So my real question is: why leave the sheep?’

  ‘Because he wanted to get out of there fast? If there was a Fall next to me, it’s what I’d do.’

  ‘But it wasn’t a Fall, and if he saw it land he’d know that. So maybe he needed space in his Openland.’

  ‘Crud!’ the colonel exclaimed. ‘Is Stonal right? Did that thing bring someone here?’

  Chaing stared round the cluttered, disorganized living room again, trying to understand what had happened. If Florian had met the space machine’s pilot, would he have brought them back here? But there was only the same old mess, and the smell. No sign of anyone from the Commonwealth being there – not that he had a clue how he’d know that. He started a proper search, opening drawers and cupboards. Nothing. He went into the bedroom, and the smell of faeces was stronger in there. He sniffed, trying to determine where it was coming from.

  A wicker basket next to the bed. There were a lot of scrunched-up tissues in there, smeared with faeces, along with a mound of odd podgy triangles of a sponge-like cloth. Grimacing, he picked one up, surprised by how heavy it was.

  ‘What is that?’ Hokianga asked.

  ‘Oh great Giu,’ an aghast Chaing whispered. ‘It’s a nappy.’

  3

  As soon as the scary PSR captain and his thug troopers left, Florian pushed all the Commonwealth stuff into his backpack and picked up the baby, who had been sleeping on his bed. It was impossible, but she seemed to have grown again. The cloth he’d wrapped round her was already starting to constrict her limbs. So he loosened it, and of course she needed changing.

  It was pouring outside, but he knew he couldn’t wait. He’d been lucky this time, but Chaing would be back. He settled the baby in the Openland’s passenger seat, and set off up the valley to firebreak FB39. Of all the waltan fungi hanging up in the shed, there were maybe a dozen that were completely dry and good enough for Joffler, the buyer he supplied. He unhooked the biggest six and shoved them down into an old duffel bag. It was heavy, but he stowed it in the back of the Openland, then drove back down the valley past the lodge.

  The whole way he was expecting to see the regiment vehicles coming for him, but the track was clear. He turned off half a kilometre from the lake and headed up into firebreak CR42. It was getting badly overgrown, top of his list to clear, thus ideal to hide the Openland in. They’d find it easily enough if they searched the valley, but until they did they’d assume he was fleeing along the roads. That was where they’d devote their resources to finding him.

  With the backpack on, and the duffel bag slung over one shoulder, he picked up the baby. She grizzled a bit. ‘You’ll just have to wait,’ he told her sternly. He’d got an old cloak to wrap her in, which should keep the worst of the rain off her.

  He had to walk carefully. The lingrass was dangerously slippy, and the weight of everything was a strain. His new exovision displays showed him his blood sugar energy reserves being eaten up at an alarming rate by the relatively short walk back down to the Vatni village.

  Most of the Vatni were out in the lake when he arrived. He didn’t waste any time on politeness, just walked along the jetty to the boat that he’d used last night and put the baby down on the decking boards. Teal jumped in beside her and barked at the splash he made. The amount of water sloshing round in the bottom of the boat made Florian pause for a moment, but he didn’t have any options. He dropped the duffel bag and dumped the backpack, pressing his fists into the base of his spine as he straightened and winced at the ache which had spread into every muscle. Unencumbered by the weight, he felt he could fly, or at least float.

  The baby started to get more agitated as he used the bucket to bail rainwater out, reducing it to a level that wasn’t quite so worrying. She was crying when he finally pushed off. For once he ignored her and started rowing, hoping that would be enough to draw Mooray’s attention. Sure enough, he saw the Vatni’s distortion ripple surging across the dark water towards the boat, and Mooray’s snout broke surface ten metres away.

  ‘Friend Florian of the land, you are honouring us with another visit. I am joyful.’

  Florian pulled the oars back into the boat. ‘You are honouring me with your kindness, friend Mooray of the water. I know I am a burden to you.’

  ‘Not at all. I was waiting for you. Your land regiment people came to us today. They asked many questions of many of us. They did not want to be friends.’

  ‘I’m sorry you have been caught up in this.’

  ‘I was with you by my own choice. We have a fruitful friendship.’

  ‘It makes me happy to hear you say that, friend Mooray. It is with sadness that all I can offer you this day is to leave, but that will mean you and your village will be left in peace. The regiment people are only interested in me and the baby. When I am gone, so will they be.’

  ‘In a great swarm across the land hunting you, friend Florian.’

  ‘They haven’t got me yet. I’m going to go downstream. I know some people who might be able to help me.’

  ‘This gladdens me. Can I help?’

  ‘I will tell you the truth, friend Mooray, I was hoping you would ask. It is difficult to look after the baby and row at the same time.’

  ‘I hear her. Does she ever stop?’

  Florian was tempted, but Vatni never quite got irony. ‘She cries when she is in discomfort. All human young do this.’

  ‘I am glad I am not human, friend Florian. Where do you wish to go?’

  ‘Down the river Kellehar, please.’

  Mooray ducked round to the back of the boat, and once again Florian found himself moving along far faster than he could ever row. He started dealing with the baby, who wanted feeding and changing. She didn’t like the cloak being opened and the raindrops splashing her skin. She was reluctant to take the bladder teat. Didn’t burp well. Wouldn’t go to sleep afterwards. So he hunched over her, protecting her from the worst of the rain as the boat slid swiftly across the lake to the start of the river Kellehar.

  The Kellehar was one of a multitude of tributaries winding sinuously out of the Sansone mountains before merging into the river Crisp to flow in a potent surge eastwards to the distant coast. Wide and shallow as it emptied out of the boggy floodland at the end of the lake, it soon narrowed down to a fast-flowing channel that carried the boat rapidly northwards. Beyond the valley, the landscape flattened out into larger, more leisurely folds. Florian had driven along the adjacent lanes enough times to know farms were prevalent here – an irregular chequerboard of arable fields and grazing meadows that extended over all but the roughest elevations and ravines. Today the dull clouds and persistent rain kept most of the countryside veiled from him, even with his Eliter sight and new vision-enhancement routines.

  The current became strong enough that Mooray hardly bothered pushing the boat at all, but simply steered them past snags and kept away from the banks. They passed under several stone bridges, which made Florian nervous. He was expecting regiment patrols to be watching the river, but every time they were deserted. A river from the west ran into the Kellehar, then two large streams from the east added their power to the flow.

  After a couple of hours he leaned over the stern, and put the flute to his lips. ‘I can manage from here. You should go home, my friend. Return upriver to be with your pack family, be happy.’

  ‘Do you believe you are safe now, friend Florian?’

  ‘As much as I can be. You can help no further. To expose you to any further danger would sadden me greatly.’

  ‘I believe you, friend. I would wish you return soon.’

  ‘I should be safe to return in a month. Goodbye, friend Mooray of the water.’

  The Vatni let go of the boat and slipped easily below the surface. A V-shaped ripple swelled against the current for a few seconds before being wa
shed out.

  Florian settled the oars again, and began to scan the water ahead. He dipped the oars in and out slowly and carefully, using them primarily to steer with, keeping the boat centred in the current. His exovision threw up a map of the area – as best remembered from studying an atlas several years ago. The new management code, which called itself a u-shadow, was reformatting all his old memory files. Half of his time on the boat had been spent talking to the u-shadow, which responded in a way that reminded himself of his own questions and eagerness when he’d been about five. Having a semi-sentient (its nomenclature) resident in his head was something that took some getting used to.

  The map showed him the Kellehar would curve sharply to the west in a few kilometres, taking him away from Opole, where Aunt Terannia lived. But the land which it curved round was where he wanted to be tonight – an odd rocky highland where Joffler lived in a place called Letroy. If anywhere was safe from Captain Chaing and the regiment, it was there.

  As the dour light faded from the sky Florian checked the baby again. She was bigger still. Her growth was no longer something he could just gloss over as his own ignorance of babies. It was real and worrying. He reckoned she’d grown nearly eight centimetres since he’d lifted her out of the space machine, and she certainly weighed a lot more. It must be the richmilk. But why Commonwealth babies grew like that was still beyond him. He determined to try and find a file on it that night, when he had a moment.

  As the daylight faded, his concern about being spotted withered in tandem. He’d already passed a couple of small villages sitting on the side of the river. No one had seen him sail by, as the rain was keeping a lot of people indoors. But thankfully, it was starting to lift. He was soaked, even wearing his oilskin coat. He just hoped the duffel bag had kept the fungi dry.

  Steering in the dark was unnerving, even though his night vision gave him a decent view of the river ahead. Land on both sides began to rise. Before long he saw what had to be Letroy.

  Florian had never visited before, but Joffler had described it enough times when they met up in Wymondon to pass on the waltans. There was a long cliff a couple of kilometres beyond the crumbling riverbank, with a swathe of weather-worn stone outcrops descending from it all the way to the water. From a distance you could mistake Letroy for some weird alien village, with fat tower buildings standing atop flinty mounds. Back in the Void, the settlers to this region had used their telekinesis and servant animals to expand and smooth the existing caves in the outcrops, creating homes in the living rock. In its heyday it had a population of nearly six thousand – a quirky artists’ community that attracted painters, writers and musicians from all over Bienvenido. It flourished for centuries.

  After the Great Transition, the arts suffered a general malaise. In this new, harsher existence, there was less leisure time, not so much money, and fewer patrons. But Letroy’s traditions persisted, though its reputation for quality gently declined. Despite this, the majority of residents still followed some kind of artistic vocation. Several of the most popular new-style music bands with their electrically amplified instruments had emerged from Letroy, playing to growing crowds in the cities.

  Wide ovals pocking the strange pinnacles glowed with a yellow-shaded light that Florian found incredibly welcoming while sitting in a boat with a cold drizzle swirling round him. There were two substantial wooden jetties protruding from the bank, with several boats moored to them. He rowed his boat into the lee of the first and secured it.

  The baby was crying yet again as Florian put his backpack on and hoisted the duffel bag over his shoulder. He just hoped that Joffler lived somewhere close.

  Once he was on the jetty he cut the painter and watched the boat drift away. The current caught it soon enough, propelling it downriver. It was carried out of sight within two minutes.

  ‘No going back now,’ he told Teal. The dog wagged its tail.

  It was five minutes before he met anyone. Five minutes wandering rather aimlessly along the crushed stone paths that twined round the outcrops, looking for anyone who might be about this wretched night. They were an old couple who were curious about the wailing baby, and they clearly didn’t approve of Joffler; he could tell that from the way their attitude became stiffer at the mention of the buyer’s name. But they pointed at the outcrop Joffler had claimed for himself and gave instructions on which paths to follow.

  Ten minutes later, with aching legs and a sore shoulder, Florian trudged up a curving incline that was set with steps too far apart to use comfortably. The mound skirting the outcrop was planted with fig trees that were getting choked by vines. He had to stop halfway up, it was such an effort, even though he was barely fifteen metres above the ground.

  The path completed a full circuit of the outcrop, ending at a broad entrance chamber that had iron railings stretched across it. Joffler was standing behind the gate, staring out suspiciously. The only light was from a bulb hanging from the apex, just behind the railings.

  ‘I heard the noise,’ he said, peering at the baby. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘It’s me, Florian. I’m knackered, Joffler; I need to come in. I brought you some waltans.’ He dropped the duffel bag beside the gate.

  ‘Crud!’ Joffler exclaimed. He unlocked the gate and swung it open. ‘Come on in. You shocked the piss out of me, turning up like this!’

  Florian staggered through the gate, noting the way Joffler looked round carefully to see if anyone else was on the path before picking up the duffel bag.

  The entrance cavern had three openings at the back, each one covered by a thick curtain. Joffler pushed one aside and led Florian into the stone house’s main chamber. It was roughly circular, twenty metres across, with an irregular ceiling. A big oval opening, looking out over Letroy, was covered by a white woollen sheet that swayed about in the damp breeze. Opposite that, lumps of peat burned in a raised hearth, with a curving cowl above it, blackened by centuries of smoke. There was a spicy aroma pervading the air that Florian didn’t recognize, but it certainly wasn’t coming from the peat. The low settees were ancient, even older than the pieces in Florian’s living room back in the lodge. He suspected the furnishings had all been made long ago by some Letroy artisan with a zeal for chunky carvings.

  He sat close to the fire and pulled a bladder out of the backpack. The baby started guzzling the richmilk straight away.

  Joffler stood looking down at him. He was a lanky man in his forties, with alarmingly thin limbs that poked out of his grubby fur-lined kaftan. His skin, which five years ago when they first met had been a silky dark olive, was now an unsavoury pallor, as if he’d devoted those years to a bad diet and avoiding sunlight. Long black hair was tied back with a rainbow band, which only emphasized how much his hairline had receded.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming, fella?’ he asked. ‘Gave me quite a shock there, turning up like this.’

  ‘I didn’t know until a couple of days ago,’ Florian said. He hadn’t actually thought much about how he was going to explain things to Joffler; he just knew Letroy was the best place to lie low for a few days. And Joffler should know how to arrange transport to Aunt Terannia.

  ‘Okay,’ Joffler said. ‘So who’s this then? You the daddy? You been having some fun up there in the valley, you bad boy? What happened? Did Mummy turn up and dump her on you?’

  ‘Uh, yes.’ Florian couldn’t meet his eye. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘So what’s her name?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Her name, fella? What’s your daughter’s name?’

  ‘Essie,’ Florian said without thinking. Essie had featured quite heavily in his life before he did his regimental service – the one person he could overcome his chronic shyness for, and actually talk to. And unfortunately the girl who’d turned down his narnik-fuelled pass the day he was decommissioned from the regiment. He hadn’t smoked the Uracus-cursed stuff since.

  ‘Cool.’ Joffler leaned in closer, and frowned. ‘Uracus, what’s
wrong with her?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Florian exclaimed defensively.

  ‘Fella, her head! It’s like half her brain’s hanging out.’

  ‘That? It’s just a growth. The doctor said not to worry.’ He improvised boldly. ‘That’s what he told her mother anyway.’

  ‘That is such a lump of crud. She’s dumped a broken kid on you. What a cold-hearted bitch.’

  ‘Look, the baby’s going to be okay. I just need somewhere to stay for a few days. You can manage that, can’t you? We have a good arrangement.’

  ‘Well, okay, fella. Ah, you are, like, going to go back after this, aren’t you?’

  ‘To the valley? Sure. Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty more waltans drying.’

  The curtain to the main chamber was pushed aside and a woman came in. Florian looked up, then immediately lowered his head to the baby, feeling his cheeks flush hotly. The woman was probably about his age; the hair hanging down to her hips had been dyed a vivid emerald-green, into which she’d woven long colourful ribbons. Her cheesecloth skirt was a vivid sky-blue, its hem swirling round her ankles. Apart from the bangles on her wrists it was the only piece of clothing she wore.

  ‘Joffie, what’s happening?’ she asked in a high voice.

  ‘Hey, babe, this is Florian. He’s an okay fella.’

  ‘Hi, Florian,’ she said. ‘I’m Rohanna.’

  ‘Um, pleased to meet you,’ Florian mumbled. He was aware of the girl padding over the stone floor to the settee where he was sitting. He glanced up – though not to her naked torso! Something glinted in her navel. Before he realized it, his retinas zoomed in, which was another autoimpulse function his u-shadow had bestowed. There was some kind of gold ring piercing her navel, like an earring in completely the wrong place.

  ‘Oww,’ she cooed. ‘Poor darling baby. What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘It’s just a growth, that’s all. It’s fine.’

  ‘Oh, that’s so woeful. She’s not going to live long, is she? Not with that much cancer.’