The Temporal Void (ARC)

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Justine sat on the bed, trying to fit together what he was saying. 'If my thoughts aren't powerful enough, what's the point of me trying to find the nucleus?'

  'This dream is being received by everyone who has a gaiafield connection. Understand?'

  'Ah.'

  'Don't try and find the nucleus, it's a waste of time.'

  'But, you just said—'

  Gore knelt in front of her, his hands gripping her upper arms. His eyes peered out intently from the gold skin mask that was his face. 'You have to get to Makkathran.'

  'There's nobody left there. The Skylord said the humans had all gone to the nucleus.'

  'I don't give a shit. Get to Makkathran. It's important. That's where humans are centred in the Void.'

  'How? The Silverbird can't fly.'

  'Wrong.' Gore grinned right at her. 'You're in the Void. You've got telepathic powers. The Silverbird can't fly now.'

  'Oh.' She worked out what he was proposing. 'Oh!'

  'That's my girl; as smart as you are beautiful.'

  'But, Dad, Kazimir won't exist then. I'll have killed him.'

  Gore let go of her arms. 'I'm sorry, run that by me again.'

  'If I go back to then, he won't exist.'

  'Oh, Jesus wept,' Gore slapped a hand theatrically across his brow. 'Don't you go all liberal on me now. Not now.'

  'I can't wipe him out of existence. He's real now for better or worse. I have a responsibility.'

  'He is the equivalent of a re-life clone, one that has been stuffed with your recollections of his memories. How pitiful is that?'

  'He's alive,' she said firmly.

  'And you've got the hots for him.'

  'I have not.'

  'Your own DNA test showed you he's not Kazimir; just some poor doppelganger the memory layer had in storage.'

  'Exactly. He's human. I can't do this to him.'

  Gore took her hands. 'Listen to me, darling. This is the fundamental catastrophe that is the Void. He was a stored memory. Everybody who was ever in the Void is exactly the same, everyone who crashed there in the colony ship was copied; everyone who was ever born. Owain is still there, for God's sake, still frozen in the memory layer at the moment the Waterwalker shot him - and for all the decades he lived before. In all the resets Edeard performed afterwards, he never went back past the point where he wiped out the conspirators. He could never bring himself to do that all over again, because that's what he would have had to do each time. This is what the Void throws at us. They lived in the time they were meant to live. You can't change that, Justine. You cannot allow rationality and ethics that evolved in this universe to apply where you are now.'

  'I know what you're saying; but, Dad, you haven't met him. He's so sweet. He doesn't deserve this.'

  'The galaxy doesn't deserve the Void, but we've got it. And I have met him, darling, I've felt your silly little heart beat faster at the sight of him. I tasted the chocolates you ate when you smiled and flirted with him. I know the urge you've been trying to ignore. I'm sorry. You have to do this. You have to go to Makkathran.'

  'Oh Goddamnit.'

  He kissed her brow. 'Look on the bright side, if we lose you get to stay and live in the Void, you can find him again.'

  'You are a thoroughly fucking useless coach, you know that.'

  'I know. Now go and wake up.'

  Justine nodded weakly, knowing she didn't really have a choice. For the first time she looked through the bedroom window. The land outside wasn't the grounds of the Tulip Mansion. Instead, her old home was sitting at the bottom of an impossibly huge valley, with mountains curving away through the sky like a monstrous green and brown wave about to break overhead. The sun was a long band of glaring light. 'What the hell is that?'

  Gore shrugged lightly. 'I had to make a few sacrifices so I could dream your dreams.'

  'Dad…'

  'I'm fine.' He raised a hand, waving, his smile fond and proud. 'Go on. Wake up.'

  * * * *

  Justine's eyes opened wide, staring up at the cabin ceiling. Tears blurred her vision. She wiped them away angrily. 'Oh hell.' And Kazimir would know something was wrong. No telepath had the strength to shield those emotions.

  Sure enough, he was standing at the end of the rope ladder as she struggled her way down. He even held it steady for her.

  'What's the matter?' he asked.

  'I have to go,' she said flatly.

  'I see. That's good, isn't it? You know how to reach the nucleus. You wanted to go there.'

  'I can't take you with me,' she stammered.

  'I understand.'

  'No. No you don't.' She took a deep breath and kissed him. Delight banished the surprise from his face.

  'Kazimir, I want you to know something. If there is a way back here, I will find it, I will find you. I promise that. Know my thoughts and know the truth in them.'

  He gave her that tentative worshipful gaze which just made her feel worse. She never thought she'd ever see that again.

  'I see the honesty in your thoughts,' he assured her. 'Now do what you know you must.'

  Justine sat on a rock a few metres from the Silverbird's landing leg. The warm late-afternoon sun was a pleasant pressure on her face and arms as she folded her legs into a yoga position. Kazimir was squatting down a little way past her, watching anxiously. She gave him one last smile and concentrated.

  Her thoughts flowed into the confluence nest, using its routines to hold her mind steady. There were memories in there, the time where Edeard stood on top of the mountain and reached into the fabric of the Void, seeing the past. She followed what he did intently, and tried to shape her thoughts in the same fashion, pushing her farsight down into the nothingness that lay around her.

  Her own body was there, a long multiple image winding back and forth across the ground, going up into the ship, talking to Kazimir, radiating such sorrow it threatened to resonate through her now. She pushed past it, saw the Silverbird swoop down from space. Further.

  It was incredibly difficult, without the support of the confluence nest she would never have maintained focus. She couldn't believe the Waterwalker had ever done this unaided. There was a single distinctive moment in her life which she wanted to achieve. Her mind held it up, instinctively matching it to the moment contained within the Void's memory of everywhen. Then all she had to do was impel herself into it. There was a cry of desperation somewhere in the physical world as she attempted to force her thoughts into a pattern they were never intended for, calling upon the strength of the confluence nest to support her. The precious moment was there, linking present and past. Justine pushed. The Void reset itself-

  Inigo's Thirteenth Dream

  The chamber of records was three levels down beneath the Spiral Tower which housed the headquarters of Makkathran's Weapons Guild. In total, the third level had twenty chambers, arranged in a circle and reached by a single ring corridor. They were used as vaults for the most secret guns and ammunition compounds known to the Guild's Masters. For centuries the triple iron doors to each chamber had kept the rapid-fire guns safe, along with long-barrelled pistols and other firearms lost to the rest of Querencia. The mechanisms to produce such devices were also kept in the vaults, as were the raw ingots of specialist metals the designs required.

  Just to gain entrance to the Spiral Tower was difficult enough, there was only one entrance, and it was heavily guarded. All visitors had to be accompanied by a Master. Beyond that, armed guards kept a ceaseless vigil on the first and second basement levels. There were also ingenious trips and traps along the corridors and steps to catch anyone using concealment.

  It was reasonable, therefore, for those who assembled in the chamber of records two days after Topar's little expedition left Makkathran to exude a degree of security. Grand Master Owain greeted his eleven guests warmly. No one made any attempt to hide their sense of trepidation and excitement as they made their way into the broad cross vaulted chamber. There was a simple wooden table set up in th
e middle, with thirteen chairs around it. Tall shelving cabinets were arrayed round the lead-grey walls, containing hundreds of leather folders which held every pistol and bullet design produced by the Guild over its two millennia existence. Long teardrop lighting patterns stretched across the curving ceiling, glowing passively.

  Bise was the last to be shown in. He smiled round at his fellows as the three thick, heavy doors swung shut behind him. Complicated locks rotated, pushing steel bolts into place and securing them, combination bands were spun.

  'My poor boy,' Mistress Florrel said, and embraced Sampalok's ex-Master warmly. 'Welcome home.'

  'Thank you, Grandmama.'

  'Did you get the food I had sent out to you? I had the bakery on Jodsell Street make those raspberry muffins especially. I know how much you liked them as a boy.'

  'Yes indeed, it was most kind.'

  'Was exile so terrible?'

  'It had its moments.'

  'It had its costs,' Tannarl said. 'Half of your family stayed at my lodge.'

  'For which you will be fully recompensed,' Owain said smoothly. 'Come come, we are not here to squabble among ourselves over a little coinage. Our moment draws near.'

  'It was drawing near two years ago,' Bise said. 'Then he arrived.'

  'Well the Waterwalker is off running round the countryside now, trying to find bandits,' Buate said. 'And when he does, he won't be coming back.'

  'Don't be too sure,' Owain said. 'His telekinesis is incredibly strong. Makkathran hasn't seen the like since the days of Rah. And not even Rah could alter the city buildings.'

  Bise glowered at the reminder.

  'Careful cousin,' Tannarl said. 'You tread close to heresy.'

  'I state the simple truth.'

  'You don't seriously believe he can ward off the reception I have arranged for him?' Buate asked. 'The whole point of ambushing him outside the crystal wall is to rob him of the advantage which the city gives him.'

  'The outcome is almost irrelevant,' Owain said. 'Even if he does survive there will be nothing for him to return to. We must be absolute in that. Our supporters are ready.'

  'There will be resistance,' Buate warned.

  'Lady take them,' Tannarl said. 'I say we don't wait any—'

  The Waterwalker rose smoothly through the floor of the records chamber, his black cloak enveloping him like an extinguished nebula. He studied each one of the conspirators sitting around the table. Several had risen to their feet, hands reaching for their pistols. A motion which died as he gave them a lofty dismissive smile.

  'The election has given us a Mayor and a full Council,' the Waterwalker said. 'There will be no change, no revolution. We are not One Nation until we choose to be so.'

  'What are you proposing?' Owain asked.

  'I am proposing nothing. Your time is over.'

  'This time, maybe,' Bise snarled. 'But there will be other opportunities.'

  'No, there won't,' the Waterwalker told him. 'I've already seen what happens if you win.'

  Owain frowned at the strange claim. Uneasy thoughts were stirring beneath his normally resolute shield.

  'You cannot arrest us,' Mistress Florrel said. 'Our kind are not accountable in common law courts. And we have many allies in the Upper Council where you would need to enact judgement.'

  'Quite right,' the Waterwalker agreed. 'It would be pointless.'

  Tannarl strode across the chamber, his third hand reaching out. The big lock on the inner door turned sharply, its intricate combination bands spinning round until the bolts were freed. They withdrew, and the door swung open. There were several sharp breaths. The door opened on to a smooth section of grey wall. There was no way out of the chamber.

  'I have heard many times from your followers that I am weak,' the Waterwalker said. 'That I lack resolution. If you believe that, you don't know me at all. This revolution will end here, now. Without you, it cannot happen. Without the rapid-fire guns it cannot be attempted ever again. Makkathran will remain a democracy.' His cloak parted, and he held an arm out, palm down. A rapid-fire gun slipped up through the floor and rose into his hand. He closed his fingers around it.

  'No,' Owain said. 'This is against everything you stand for.'

  'You really shouldn't believe everything a heartbroken teenage girl tells you.'

  Owain grimaced as his fear began to manifest.

  'You wouldn't dare,' Mistress Florrel said. 'My family will not permit this.'

  'It is my family now,' Edeard told her calmly.

  Eleven third hands pushed and hammered against the Water-walker's shield, trying to find a weakness, a way though. Long-shouts for help were hurled at the impermeable chamber walls.

  'For all of my life I have known that sometimes to do what's right, you first have to do what's wrong,' the Waterwalker told them. 'Now I realize the truth of it. That is what I am.' His finger squeezed down on the trigger. He held it there until the magazine was empty.

  * * * *

  Storage vault five contained over three hundred rapid-fire guns. They were wrapped in oiled cloth, sitting on racks that formed neat ranks across the floor.

  Edeard replaced the one he'd used on its rack. He asked the city to dispose of them all. The floor beneath the racks changed, becoming porous, and the dreadful weapons sank down to oblivion.

  His farsight swept out, examining the other vaults. Storage vault eight contained the bullets used by the rapid-fire guns. The city quietly absorbed the crates. Vault two had the long barrelled pistols. Seventeen housed some huge guns, their barrels as big as his legs, mounted on little wheeled trolleys. Iron balls larger than his fist were stacked in pyramids beside them - the bullets, he realized. He shuddered as he imagined the damage they could cause. All sank away. Finally, the shelving cabinets in the chamber of records slid beneath the solid floor.

  The secret power of the Weapons Guild was no more. There would never be an internal threat to Makkathran's Grand Council and Mayor again.

  Apart from the elections. And the Guild quarrels. And the merchants manoeuvring and bribing for gain. And the Grand Families struggling for advantage.

  He grinned at the thought of it all. That crazy, wondrous life lived by Makkathran's citizens. It's all Finitan's problem now.

  * * * *

  The warm afternoon light lit up the white pillars that lined Golden Park. Even the last bloom on the bushes and vines glowed with an exotic splendour in celebration of what had been an exceptionally pleasant summer. Edeard walked for some way across its elegant paths, drawing his thoughts together. Resolving to do what he must.

  It was hard for his farsight to search out the frail souls of his parents. He stood beside one of the pillars along the Champ Canal side of Golden Park, bathed in the rich light reflected off the metal, extending his ability to its utmost.

  They were there. A few feet away, watching him as always. 'Thank you,' he told them.

  'You can see us?' his mother asked in surprise.

  'Yes, Mother. I can see you now.'

  'My son.'

  'Father. You've taken such care of me, more than I ever deserved.'

  'What were we supposed to do? You are all that remains of us.'

  'Not any more. I have a wife now. We will have children. They will have more. Everything you are will go on through them.'

  'We should watch for them,' his mother said, she sounded uncertain.

  'No,' Edeard said. 'It is time for you to let go. I can take care of myself now, more than you know. The price you have paid for watching me is too high. You cannot do this any more. You must go to the Heart. There is still time. There is always time.'

  'Oh Edeard.'

  'Here.' He held out a hand. His mother reached out, touching his fingertips. He fought against wincing as the debilitating cold burned him. Instead, he smiled in reverence as she took substance before him. 'Goodbye, Mother,' he said, and brushed his lips to hers. 'We will be together in the Heart one day, I promise.'

  Her sorrow and regret were d
readfully poignant. But she smiled as she withdrew from his touch. His father held her closely.

  'Journey well,' Edeard told them. He watched them fade up into the warm clear blue sky, refusing to acknowledge any remorse.

  * * * *

  A lot of people were using Golden Park that afternoon, taking advantage of the lingering summer. Children raced over the grassy areas, playing elaborate games of catch. Apprentices bunking off duties gathered in the shade of the park's huge martoz trees, sharing bottles of beer and gossip about their Masters.

  Salrana walked along one of the crushed slate paths, enjoying the activity. Lads eyed her wishfully, although her crisp blue and white Novice robes proved too great a barrier for any casual attempt to attract her attention. She crossed the ginger sandstone bridge into Ysidro. Right ahead of her was the Blue Fox tavern, a circular three-storey building with a strange hexagonal rustication pattern embossed on the coppery wall. Its slim lancet windows made it seem taller than it actually was. She hesitated for a moment before slipping in through one of the smaller side doors, something swirled on the periphery of her farsight, as if a pillar of fog had gusted down the alleyway. She frowned, but it didn't resolve in her senses, so she scurried up the stairs to the third floor.

  The Blue Fox was favoured by Grand Family members as a place to conduct their liaisons; the exceptionally thick walls of the rooms eliminated the need to maintain a seclusion haze. Privacy was guaranteed against all but the most exceptional psychics. Salrana used the key she'd been given to unlock the door of a reserved room.

  Sunlight was diffused by the tinted gauze covering the windows. More fabrics were draped over the walls. Candles flickered on the dresser, giving off a thick musky scent. The big bed was strewn with silk sheets and fur blankets.

  Salrana's lover was waiting for her beside the bed. Flushed with anticipation, Salrana removed her Novice robe to show off the delicate lace camisole she wore underneath, a recent gift from her lover. That same lover drew her close and kissed her. Gentle hands undid the topmost bow on the camisole. Another kiss was given. The next bow was undone. More kisses, each one more intimate. The camisole fell open at the front. A whimper of excitement sounded deep in Salrana's throat, she couldn't contain herself any further, and clung to her lover, returning the kisses fiercely.