The Temporal Void (ARC)

by Peter F. Hamilton

  'What if Living Dream is right and the Void works for them?' he asked. 'What if the Cat gets inside? What if she can manipulate it the way the Waterwalker did?'

  The girls exchanged a look. Both pouted. 'What are you thinking?' Catriona asked.

  'I should warn them,' Troblum said. 'Paula at least. She understands about the Cat. Paula knows she has to be stopped. Paula wouldn't give up.'

  'So give her a call, and let's get out of here,' Catriona said.

  Troblum couldn't help it, his gaze had dropped to Mellanie's array again. 'My collection is gone because of her. The damage.' Just thinking about it was threatening to send his body back into shock again. Medical read outs edged back towards amber alerts. 'It was all I ever had,' Troblum wailed. He began to curl up, as much as he ever could, his belly squashing out across his upper legs. 'It took me centuries to collect them all. They were safe with me, I was their guardian.' He was sobbing so hard the words were virtually unintelligible. 'They were so precious, so valuable. They helped make us what we are, they were a part of our evolution. Why did nobody ever understand how important they were?'

  'Troblum,' Tricia crooned. 'Poor Troblum.'

  'There are other pieces,' Catriona said. 'Remember you visited the Smithsonian, they actually let you touch the Charybdis, the curator was so impressed with your own preservation work. She knew you were an equal. You see, so much still remains. And its legacy is for ever.'

  'Not with her still alive,' he muttered darkly. His hand came up to wipe the moisture from his eyes. 'She is the destroyer. She is death. She is the Void: her.'

  'Call Paula,' Tricia said urgently. 'Do it.'

  'I have to know,' he whispered. 'I have to know we're safe. That she's dead for good. I can't live thinking she might appear behind me. That she'll take me, and… And…'

  Catriona sighed. 'You can never know that.'

  'Yes I can.' He pushed himself up out of the chair, and walked to the back of the cabin. A small doorway expanded, and he squeezed himself through. An equally small companionway let him through into the starboard midsection hold. There wasn't quite enough room for him to stand, he had to crouch, and hunch his shoulders up. No matter how he twisted, his worn toga suit always brushed against the stolen cargo. The little space was crammed with machinery, piled up at random like a cybernetic dragon hoard. One thousand three hundred and seventy-two components, Troblum recalled. He frowned, and picked up the first one. A hyperfield power manifold, a curving sliver of some substance that seemed to alternate between being crystal and metal. He knew what each component was, but there was no structure to the piles; everything had been shoved in at random as his commandeered bots had pilfered it from the Accelerator station's replicators.

  So all he had to do was assemble it, start with the central units and slowly create the new machine in the correct sequence, then integrate it with the starship's existing hyperdrive, and he'd have a fully functional ultradrive ship, quite capable of flying to Andromeda, or beyond.

  'Can you do it?' Catriona asked. Her head was poking through the hatchway, a dubious expression in place.

  'It'll work,' Troblum said. 'In theory.' He couldn't even see the central units.

  'Then what?'

  'We'll have a genuine escape route. But I'm still going to contact Paula.'

  'Through the Unisphere?'

  'No. I'm too frightened of the Accelerators' capability. They were the ones who set the Cat on me. Next time it'll be Marius, or someone else who isn't going to be distracted by an old grudge.'

  'Then how are you going to get in touch?'

  Troblum picked up a carbon-black icosahedron, trying to index it. 'There is one other person left that I trust implicitly. He's connected to Paula, or at least he was back during the War. I'll tell him what I know about the Accelerators. He can carry the message to Paula. Maybe once ANA knows about the swarm it will stop the Accelerators. The Cat will be on her own then. That's when Paula can finish her.'

  'Who?' Catriona asked. 'Who do you trust?'

  'Oscar the Martyr.'

  Inigo's Eighth Dream

  Edeard awoke to the marvel of soft fingers caressing his abdomen. It was a lovely sensation matched to the warmth of the supple mattress, the touch of fresh cotton sheets, the fading blossom scent of Jessile's perfume. He smiled, his eyes still closed as he sighed a delighted welcome to the new day. A kiss fell on his cheek. Her nose nuzzled his ear. His smile widened, and the possessive hand slipped along his skin, past his belly button, and further yet. Jessile giggled.

  'Now that's what I call rising to greet the dawn,' she murmured lecherously.

  The other girl giggled as well.

  Edeard's eyes snapped open. Memories came flooding back. Just to confirm them, Kristiana was lying on his other side watching him and Jessile with covetous intent, her flimsy white negligee far too small to contain her full figure even if the lace bows down the front had been fastened. He recalled how enjoyable it had been undoing those bows last night.

  A weak 'Haaaa,' was all Edeard could manage.

  'Me first,' Jessile insisted, her sharp teeth emphasising the claim on his earlobe.

  Kristiana produced a reproving pout. 'Don't forget me, Waterwalker.'

  Edeard couldn't answer. Jessile's kiss had now engulfed his month. He folded his arms around her as she slithered on top of him. The memories of last night gained texture, and he remembered her delight and exactly how to cause it. His hands moved in the way which made her shudder helplessly, then he applied his third hand just so.

  For the last three weeks, as autumn embraced Makkathran, Edeard had learned how to harness his telekinetic ability in the bedroom to the best possible advantage. Another arena of life in which poor old Ashwell lagged far behind the sophisticated decadence of the city. But he hadn't lacked for girls eager to teach him the most intimate secrets of this darkest art. His fame and strength had proved irresistible to the beautiful mischievous daughters of the nobility. They relished demonstrating their ill-gotten skill, almost as much as he enjoyed being the beneficiary. He never was sure exactly who was corrupting who.

  * * * *

  'I've never seen steps into a bathing pool before,' Kristiana remarked as she walked down into the bubble-coated water. 'We have these awful wooden ladder things hanging on the side in all the pools in Great-grandfather's mansion.' Her hand stroked Edeard's face as she sat on the seat shelf beside him. 'This is much better.'

  'There are quite a few pools in the constables' tenement that have steps like these,' Edeard assured her, confident she wouldn't be going in any to find out.

  'Not fair you've got them and we haven't,' Jessile complained. She pouted. Jessile had a very pretty pout, Edeard decided. It certainly got her just about everything she wanted.

  He relaxed between them, which spoke volumes about how his life had changed since that day in Birmingham Pool. On several evenings, there had been fights in the theatres over who got to bed him - such reputable girls, too. He'd never really considered what kind of life popularity would bring. And he had enough of his dour Ashwell upbringing left to convince himself it wouldn't last. But in the meantime…

  At his instruction, a ge-chimp brought two sponges and a bottle of soap oil to the rim of the pool. 'Would you do my back?' he asked, and leaned forward.

  Both girls took a sponge. Even with shielded thoughts, they clearly didn't have cleanliness in mind as they began to apply the liquid with languid movements.

  'What are you doing tonight?' Jessile asked.

  'Celebrating, I hope,' Edeard told her. It was the last day of Arminel's trial; his verdict was a formality. At least Edeard sincerely hoped so, but then he'd thought that last time. That good old Ashwell optimism again. The trial was the biggest event in Makkathran, and had been for the last four days as the opposing lawyers presented their respective cases. Only the grandest of the city's aristocracy managed to get into the public gallery; everyone else relied on sight and sound gifting from the official court
recorder. 'How about you?'

  'My fiance will be back from patrol this afternoon,' she told him. 'Eustace is a lieutenant in the militia. Guarding our borders,' she added with a large dollop of irony.

  'Ah,' Edeard said. He glanced at her left hand, seeing a slim silver band like twined vines. A single diamond was set in its crest.

  She bent round to look at his expression. 'That doesn't bother you, does it? You're the Waterwalker.'

  'No. Not worried.' He did wonder what kind of marriage it would be, a thought which must have shone through his shielding.

  'I'm a third daughter,' Jessile said with a kindly smile. 'We're marrying because after twenty-three years I'll finally get out of the family mansion; and he gets a dowry to live off. Poor boy's a fifth son of the family Norrets' second son, which entitles him to a big slice of nothing. Daddy's promised me an estate in Walton province; they say it has a nice big house.'

  'That's why you're marrying?'

  'Of course.' She paused the sponge on the top of his spine. 'I know I'm going to miss Makkathran, but I suppose I'll get used to country life. I'll visit the city every season.'

  'What about love?' he asked.

  Both girls smiled delightedly, letting wistful admiration flow free from behind their own veiled thoughts.

  'You're so sweet,' Jessile said. 'That's one of the things about you. I can sense it so easily. We all can. You're just endlessly fascinating. Is it true the first time the Pythia met you she said you'd be Mayor?'

  'What? No! She said no such thing.' He struggled to remember what she had said.

  'I'd like you to meet my friend Ranalee,' Kristiana said. 'She's a Gilmorn, they're a merchant family. Horribly rich. She's a second daughter, very marriageable; and she's expressed, in complete confidence to me, how strongly she'd enjoy knowing you.'

  'Uh, right.'

  Kristiana stood up in front of him, wiping long damp hair from her shoulders with deliberate slow movements. 'She's pretty, too; and young, in case you were wondering. If I introduce you, we could all celebrate together tonight.'

  Edeard found himself short of breath.

  * * * *

  Boyd was waiting outside Edeard's maisonette, wearing a long fur-lined coat over his smartest uniform. A slushy rain was dribbling out of an overcast sky, damping his hair. He started to say something, then stopped abruptly as Kristiana and Jessilo emerged just behind Edeard. The girls were swathed in long woollen wraps, as were currently fashionable. They just about covered up their expensive theatre dresses.

  'Ladies,' Edeard said courteously.

  They both smiled demurely, and allowed him to kiss them on the cheek.

  'Don't forget,' Kristiana said. 'Tonight. Me and Ranalee.'

  Boyd watched in awe as the girls hurried along the walkway to the stairs. They were giggling after a few paces, arms linked, their heads leaning in together to not-quite-whisper.

  'The Alrado theatre in Zelda district,' Kristiana's longtalk shot at him.

  'I'll be there,' Edeard smiled happily at their departing backs.

  'Two!' Boyd exclaimed once the girls were clattering down the stairs.

  Edeard knew his smile was now boastful. Didn't care.

  'Lady! How do you do it. Step aside Macsen, the new king is on his throne.'

  'How was Saria?' Edeard countered. 'Wasn't last night your fifth?'

  'Ninth, actually.' Boyd's grin turned sinful. 'She's a Matran, you know, sixth daughter of their next District Master.'

  'Good for you,' Edeard said. He still didn't really know his way around Makkathran's aristocracy; though he'd certainly met an awful lot of the younger members recently.

  'She let slip she'd be acceptable to a proposal. Can you imagine that? Me, the son of a baker marrying into the Matrans!'

  'Is it so unusual?'

  Boyd slapped Edeard's back. 'Oh you country boy!'

  Edeard wondered what his friend would have to say on the subject of a second daughter in the Gilmorn family. Right from the beginning he'd thought the city's obsession with lineage and money to be unhealthy, as if such considerations were paramount. Of course, it might just be that Ranalee was a lovely person as well. Only one way to find out.

  They made their way across the low bridge over the Outer circle canal and into the Majate district. Arminel's trial was being conducted in the central chamber of the Courts of Justice, the largest there was. Outside, the walls of the big ante hall were punctured by a series of deep arriere-voussure arches leading to the offices of the judiciary and their clerks. A lot of people in fine robes were already gathered there waiting when Edeard and Boyd arrived. Edeard respectfully acknowledged the looks cast in his direction as they made their way over to the cluster of constables around captain Ronark. He recognized several members of the Upper Council; Imilan the chemistry Guild's Grand Master, Dalceen, the District Master of Fiacre, Julan, District Master of Haxpen, and Finitan of course, who at least seemed genuinely welcoming with the sly grin he shot at Edeard.

  'About time,' Kanseen said as they joined the constables. 'We're about to go in.' There was the faintest hint of suspicion leaking through her guarded mind. Edeard reckoned that was deliberate, she usually had a very strong shield. She never voiced any dismay at the success he was having with girls right now, but he knew it bothered her. In any case, he knew she'd had numerous invitations from various Grand Family sons; though that would more likely be a cause of annoyance for her.

  'They wouldn't start without him,' Macsen teased.

  'I've given my testimony,' Edeard said with a straight face. 'I don't really need to be here.'

  She pulled a face at him.

  'And yet your ego delivered you here in time,' Macsen said, equally innocently. 'How fortunate we all are.'

  'Any word on Dinlay?' Edeard asked, ignoring Macsen's taunt. He was slightly disappointed their squadmate wasn't at the Courts of Justice. When they'd all visited Dinlay last, just a couple of days ago, the doctors had said he was almost ready to leave the hospital. It would be light duties only for another month or so, but the bullet wound was healing well.

  'Bit much to expect him to be here as soon as he's out,' Captain Ronark said. 'He'll probably start tomorrow.'

  'Yes, sir,' Macsen said.

  'Here we go,' Sergeant Chae said.

  Master Solarin from the Guild of Lawyers emerged from the nearest archway, assisted as always by a couple of ge-monkeys. After the debacle of Arminel's previous trial, Edeard had asked Captain Ronark if the district station could retain their old legal tutor as prosecuting council this time. To his surprise, the captain had agreed. But then as everyone in the whole city knew, this time Arminel and his cohorts were going to be found very very guilty. It was just that Edeard felt more comfortable with Solarin prosecuting. At least the ancient lawyer knew how to present a case, and wouldn't succumb to any procedural tricks employed by the defence.

  'All waiting for me?' Master Solarin said cheerfully. 'How very flattering. Come along then, let us do battle one last time.'

  The clerk of the court appeared at the big doors leading to the central chamber. 'The case of Makkathran versus Arminel, Gustape, Falor, Harri and Omasis is called to session,' he announced loudly.

  Master Solarin made his painfully slow way to the central chamber, with everyone else falling into place behind him, as tradition dictated.

  Once again Master Cherix had been retained as Arminel's defence council. He followed the constables in, accompanied by two junior lawyers, seemingly unperturbed by the stature of the case.

  'Wish I could afford him,' Boyd whispered to Edeard and Kanseen as they made their way to their seats. 'In fact, if I ever do get arrested, I'm going to ask for him.'

  'When you get arrested, you mean,' Kanseen smiled back.

  Edeard grinned. But Boyd was right. Even with an open and shut case, Cherix had been flawless in his presentation, citing Edeard's provocation, the grudge between Arminel and Edeard, inflamed tension, the panic on the day; doing his
best to mitigate the ultimate sentence.

  'They had to have someone that good,' Chae said as the squad settled in their benches. 'It's politics. The trial must be seen as fair.'

  When the central chamber was filled to capacity, the clerk trilled for silence, and the three judges walked in.

  The day before the trial began, Solarin had told them that Owain, the Mayor himself, would take the role of chief judge of the proceedings. It was a very rare event for the Mayor to sit in court, even though his office was the head of the judiciary. Edeard somehow hadn't been surprised. Politics. Again. The city wanted to see the gang members punished. And there was an election in the spring. The nature of the case gave Owain the perfect justification to step in.

  Owain and his two fellow judges called the court to order, and requested the closing statements from both councils.

  Edeard listened with a growing sense of excitement, maybe even a sense of suspense. It was a foregone conclusion, Solarin's relentless speech made that perfectly clear, expertly demolishing the mitigating circumstances Cherix had so carefully built up. But even so, Cherix almost made Edeard feel sorry for Arminel, a life led astray through no fault of his own, dreadful childhood, abandoned by parents, fallen into crime because the city didn't care…

  Surely they won't fall for this? As he looked at the faces of the judges, they were totally impassive, their minds perfectly shielded.

  After the submissions, Owain announced a recess so the judges could consider their verdict. Edeard and the others found themselves back out in the ante hall again, trying not to let their feelings leak to everyone else.

  Grand Master Finitan came over to talk to them. 'Any doubts about the outcome?' he asked quietly. 'You seem subdued.'

  'No sir,' Edeard said. 'But Cherix is good.'

  'He has to be. The Grand Council can't afford any accusation of bias.'

  'Politics.'

  'You are becoming a proper citizen of Makkathran, aren't you?'