The Temporal Void (ARC)

by Peter F. Hamilton

  'Help me please. You are killing people.'

  'To ascend into the fabric in any fashion is wonderful. Even the quietest minds are a part of what is.'

  'No no, death outside this universe is final. It ends all form of existence.'

  'How hard for your species. You adapt easily and mature within this universe. We welcome you all. That is the reason for our existence.'

  'I have to get to the Heart. Do you remember others like me you guided there?'

  'There were many. They were joyful to reach the nucleus.'

  'I am glad to hear that. Where are they now? Where is the nucleus?'

  'The nucleus is the centre of everywhere and everywhen. It is that which all came from, and all return to change and live among change.'

  'Is it here? Are we in the nucleus right now?'

  'You cannot be in the nucleus. You have not reached fulfilment.'

  'I would like to talk with those of my kind who are already there. I could learn so much from them, it would help me reach fulfilment.'

  'Fulfilment comes from within.'

  'Fulfilment is achieved from experience. I am alone here. I need to commune with my own kind if I am to mature.'

  'My kindred are not aware of any thoughts from minds akin to your species. None are left.'

  'None?' she asked in shock. 'But there was a whole world of us, maybe more.'

  'All were guided to the nucleus. That world awaits the arrival of others. As do my kindred.'

  'Then take me to some world where you can feel living minds.'

  'My flock searches this universe always. There is no world I can feel where minds live this when.'

  'Jesus fuck it!' Justine couldn't help it, but the frustration was finally getting to her. The Ocisens were less stubborn than this creature. She took a breath. It's not stubborn, these are its thought routines, perfectly adapted to its life and purpose. Why should it understand my motivations and problems?

  'You are sorrowful,' the Skylord said. 'When you are ready to be guided, I will guide you. Know this and hope.'

  Something changed among the patterns shimmering within the Skylord's curving crystalline sheets. It moved, shrinking away at an incredible velocity. Within seconds it had vanished from the Silverbird's sensors.

  'Ye Gods,' Justine muttered. The Second Dreamer's views of Skylords always showed them drifting along sedately. Whereas the acceleration she'd just witnessed would have been close to five hundred gees. If it was acceleration. This is a strange old place.

  She spent the next few hours running over her conversation again and again. In the end she acknowledged she couldn't have achieved any other outcome. The Skylord simply didn't have the psychology to help her reach the Heart. It was too alien.

  For all its size and ability she wasn't strictly sure it qualified as sentient. Most intelligences had the ability to learn and reason, these creatures seemed incapable of interpreting anything outside their original parameters.

  Not that the analysis helped her.

  When she ran through the starship's log she was pleased with the way Silverbird had remained functional. For some reason the glitches had been minimal while she'd been in suspension. Now all she had to do was decide what to do next.

  At a lightyear distant the visual sensors could just make out some kind of accretion disc surrounding the star she was heading for. She examined the tenuous imagery with growing dismay. Any star whose planets were still forming wasn't going to have u habitable world for her to establish herself on. Or at least, it wouldn't out there in the real universe.

  Justine mulled the problem over while she had another gourmet meal of lamb shanks cooked in toblaris wine and herb rosties, then pigged out on chocolates. She'd come this far, and it was only another one and half years in suspension. She still didn't have enough information to make a decision, any kind of decision. She was simply heading for the star as a comfort measure. That was something she needed more than ever now. No other planetary species in this whole universe!

  Silverbird began accelerating back up to point seven lightspeed as the medical chamber's lid flowed shut above her.

  FIVE

  It was an ordinary house in an ordinary street. At least as far as Ganthia was concerned. A planet that became Higher soon after it was settled, its various political committees had quickly evolved a policy of sustainable organic construction. Native flora lent itself easily to the concept, trees in the temperate zones were hardwoods with an internal honeycomb structure. A few genetic tweaks make them quite suitable for creative shaping. Like the aircoral developed during the first Commonwealth era, Ganthia's modified trees could be guided over frameworks to form hollow bulbous chambers. Better yet, they were amenable to grafting, so while each room was an individual tree, a house was the merger of many.

  Navy Captain, retired, Donald Chatfield, lived in the middle of what from the air resembled a good-sized forest. It fact it was Persain City, spreading out over the side of several mountains just above the shoreline. Twelve trees provided him five first floor rooms whose curving walls sprouted stunted branches with shell-pink leaves. Five long trunks grew up through the gaps between the lower rooms, before bulging out into the second floor of smaller compartments; each frosted with copper leaves. The remaining two trees were hollow pipes, twisting round the curvature of the lower rooms to provide stairwells between the two levels.

  Paula's taxi capsule skimmed along what appeared to be a wide greenway through the forest city. It settled silently on tin-wild lawn outside Chatfield's home and she climbed out, sniffing the unusually spicy air. House clusters stretched away in every direction, some extending three or four floors high, their marvellously convoluted trunks forming a knotted support maze. Sunlight shone through the overhead branches creating a sharp dapple around her. In the distance, some kids were playing in an open area. The whole scene was remarkably rustic. Only the capsules flitting along the grid of greenways betrayed the planet's true cultural base.

  She walked up the short wooden steps to the porch platform formed from a miniature tree crafted to a flat mushroom shape. Donald Chatfield greeted her at the wonderfully old-fashioned green-painted front door. A tall youthful-looking man with an easy smile. His neat dark hair was starting to grey in contrast to firm features and a healthy tan. She couldn't work out if those light strands were a fashion statement or an imperative genetic quirk his biononics couldn't adjust. He was three hundred and fifty years old, after all.

  'Thank you for agreeing to see me,' she said as he led her into the sitting room. Three big circles had been sawn out of the bulging walls, to be filled with perfectly clear crystal that overlooked his back garden. No attempt had been made to paint or cover the bare wood, though walls and ceiling had been polished to show off the dark timber's turquoise grain flecks. Even the furniture was carved from large sections of tree trunks; softened by a few scattered cushions.

  'Your reputation precedes you, Investigator,' he said as he waved her into one of the big chairs. 'I didn't even have to consult a reference file. But then I have served on ships around Dyson Alpha. It was a long time ago, but the crews tend to assimilate the War period's history in more detail than the average citizen, it helps us understand the mission.'

  'Interesting,' she said as she settled back. 'That's actually why I'm here.'

  He raised an eyebrow in an almost dismissive expression. 'Good heavens. Even I'm history in that respect.'

  'Not quite. I'd like to ask you about your third mission there, you captained the Poix.'

  'Yes. What's the problem?'

  'No problem. I need some information on one of your crew: Kent Vernon.'

  'Oh him.'

  'That doesn't sound good.'

  Donald gave her a roguish grin. 'Navy service sounds very grand, but I was actually in the Exploration Division. We fly science missions, not combat. That allows a -' he paused ' - broader range of characters than the regular Navy. Vernon might have been helpful analysing the generator latt
ice shells, but he certainly wouldn't have been any use in a regular Navy position. He wasn't the most popular person on board the dear old Poix.'

  'Why not?'

  'Don't get me wrong. He performed some valuable work. However, his social skills were somewhat lacking. Quite surprisingly so given he was Higher. It rather shocked some of the crew, they weren't used to making allowances like that.'

  'If he was that disruptive how did he get a commission?'

  'It was a science commission, he wasn't strictly Navy at all. Specialist are given temporary commissions for the duration of their missions. I was warned about his nature while the mission was drawn up.'

  'Yet you allowed him to take part.'

  'The captain has some discretion. I accessed his file and thought he could make a valid contribution; he was very highly qualified in his field. That had to be balanced against any personal disruption he would make. Ultimately, I agreed to him joining us because it doesn't hurt to shake things up every now and then.'

  'Strange attitude,' she observed. 'You're on a difficult and important mission a long way from home in what is still technically a war zone, and you choose to take along a potentially disruptive influence.'

  'It was a judgement call. I made it because we'd had two previous missions at Dyson Alpha; my crew knew the routine. It was never a physical danger having him on board. Worst case scenario, which we always had to plan for, was the barrier collapsing while we were there. Vernon would just be shoved in his cabin and told to stay there while we did what we could to prevent Prime ships from escaping. Even then, the Poix would be assigned a third line defence position. To this day the Navy maintains some serious firepower outside the Dyson Pair. Ozzie help the Primes if they ever do crack out and make a break for it.'

  'So did you make the right judgement?' Paula asked.

  Donald gave an expansive shrug. 'There is no right answer to this. The mission gathered a lot of data, but I wouldn't necessarily want him on board again. In a strange way it helped crew morale afterwards. In my final two missions there was always a lot of talk about how difficult that mission was.'

  'Bonding in the face of adversity?'

  'Something like that. Though I wouldn't want to make out it was some terrible trip into hardship. It wasn't. He's just different from the rest of Highers, which isn't a crime. So what's your interest in Vernon after all this time?'

  'He wasn't quite who he claimed to be.'

  Donald gave her a long stare. 'In what possible way?'

  'I believe he was carrying out his own agenda, possibly on behalf of an ANA Faction.'

  'What agenda?'

  'That's why I'm here, to see what you can tell me.'

  'I'm sorry, but my immediate answer to that is: very little. Even taking his attitude into account it was a perfectly routine mission. We gathered data on the Dark Fortress for eight months and came home.'

  'There was no abnormal event? Nothing out of the ordinary?'

  Donald's eyes flickered as he delved down into memories long ago shunted into a storage lacuna. 'Not a thing.'

  'So what exactly was the mission?'

  'Monitor and analysis of the inner two lattice spheres inside the Dark Fortress. Which we accomplished successfully.'

  'Were there any breakthroughs or revelations about the Dark Fortress?'

  'Not due to us. The damn thing is still an enigma. We don't understand how it generates a force field large enough to envelop an entire star system; the mechanism is peculiar. Though they are making headway on the field itself these days, I gather. I don't really stay current.'

  'Did Vernon want to take anything further; perhaps some persistence that at the time you wrote off to his personality?'

  'He was always on about the factory.'

  'Factory?'

  'Whatever the Anomine used to build the Dark Fortress itself. He contended that if we could examine that we'd solve the entire generator and its principles. Logically, he was quite right. But that wasn't our mission.'

  'I see. Has there ever been a mission to examine the factory?'

  'No. Because we don't know where the factory is.'

  'So did Vernon want to go and search for it?'

  'Yes. I wouldn't mind doing that myself, actually. That would be quite something, wouldn't it? A structure that builds machines the size of a small gas-giant. Finding that would be enough to yank me back out of retirement.'

  'I'm sure.' Paula hesitated, not trusting a word he said. 'Did Kent Vernon modify the observations you were making?'

  'Constantly, that's what the science team are there for. One set of results leads them off to investigate some other aspect. Within the overall mission parameter, the monitoring process is very fluid. We'd just be a simple sensor relay otherwise.'

  'What was Vernon's specific field?'

  'Quantum signature. He was there to determine the sub-physical nature of the lattice sphere composition.'

  'So in that field did he want to do anything he shouldn't have done?'

  'No. We've got a pretty broad leeway when it comes to observations. Just about the only thing the Navy prohibits is trying to take a physical sample of a lattice sphere - not that they are all strictly physical. A stupid restriction if you ask me, but I don't make the rules.'

  'Stupid how?'

  He gave her a curious gaze. 'You took part in the Starflyer War. Ozzie and Nigel Sheldon set off a couple of quantumbusters inside the Dark Fortress, and it's still working. That is one extremely tough mother. Shaving a nugget off isn't going to break it.'

  'Good point.' Paula activated a layer of specific-function biononics on the skin surface of her right palm.

  'You have a good relationship with ANA, you might want to tell it that someday,' Chatfield said.

  'I'm sure it has its reasons.'

  'Yeah.'

  Paula stood, and held out her right hand. 'Well, thank you for your time, Captain.'

  'Not at all.' He shook hands warmly. 'Was I of any use?'

  Her biononics sampled the dead cells of Chatfield's outer epidermal layer. 'I'm not sure.' There was a second when she thought he might activate his combat enrichments. It passed. Even so, old fashioned instinct made her uncomfortable turning her back on him as he showed her out.

  As soon as she got back into her taxi capsule she opened an ultra-secure link to ANA:Governance. 'He's an Accelerator.'

  'What makes you say that?' ANA: Governance asked.

  'He admitted a possible error and accepted the blame. Standard sympathy-grab manoeuvre. But his real mistake was a fundamental one. When I said Vernon had an agenda for a Faction, Chatfield asked what the agenda was, not which Faction.' She held up her right hand, turning it to examine the palm. There was nothing visible, but the biononics were already feeding a stream of sequencing data down the link. 'I'm sending you his DNA. Run it against every file you have. Specifically, people involved with Government and Navy.'

  As before, the speed of the reply was near instantaneous. It impressed Paula exactly how much attention ANA had devoted to the analysis. Her u-shadow would have taken at least a minute to run the comparison.

  'That instinct of yours is quite something,' ANA:Governance said.

  'Really?'

  'There is a twenty point spread marker similarity with a Captain Evanston.'

  'Not identical, so it's either family, or…

  'Or he had a DNA resequence for that assignment.'

  'That's very deep cover. So is he Evanston or Chatfield?'

  'I'd say Chatfield. Evanston was a serving officer twenty-five years ago. But Chatfield's current DNA is almost a match for Captain Chatfield's registered Navy file a hundred years ago.'

  'Almost a match?'

  'The variance is small but noticeable. If we weren't considering a period spent resequenced it would be within acceptable error.'

  'So, if he's going for resequencing, why keep the twenty point similarity? Complete resequencing used to be quite a popular option among the criminal cla
sses of late first era and early second era Commonwealth. The perfect way to avoid court-verified identification. A lot of them literally got away wild murder.'

  'That's a simple answer: his brain. He wanted to maintain his thought routines as they are. If you alter neural structure and neurochemicals you alter how you think, your very personality. He wanted to keep on being him.'

  'That makes sense. So give me his file.' She observed it enter her macrocellular clusters. Secondary thought routines picked the data apart, highlighting the relevant sections. One long entry leapt out at her. 'Oh Jesus,' she muttered.

  'Quite,' ANA:Governance said. 'And in connection with today's events, extremely significant.'

  'Overwhelmingly significant,' she retorted. 'Evanston was second in command of the development-restrictions monitoring station on Elan.'

  'I always considered it quite an irony that the Commonwealth allowed the surviving Prime invasion forces to continue living on the worlds they conquered.'

  'Not all of them,' she said. 'Just on the five Lost23 that we didn't completely nuke into oblivion. Some of those surviving immotiles got smart.'

  'You mean they got human.' .

  'They accessed the memories of human lawyers and promptly surrendered. They even quoted our own basic rights laws back at us. I'd say that was quite smart. Evolutionary even. Adapt to and then accept the ethics of an alien species that you were trying to wipe out in order to survive yourself. It was the only reason Admiral Columbia allowed them to live, he considered it an indication that Primes were capable of social progression - as humans see it.'

  'They've kept their side of the agreement until now.'

  'I don't think this can be blamed on them.' Paula hadn't felt this angry for quite some time. Centuries. But for the Accelerators to use the Prime to bolster the Ossian Empire… It took a lot to shock her, but this had done it. Don't they understand the danger? But of course they did. It's me who is only just starting to grasp the stakes they're playing for, the ends to which they'll go.

  'That is also our conclusion,' ANA:Governance said.