The Evolutionary Void v-3

by Peter Hamilton

  The commercial starship fell through the sodden atmosphere to land at Rapall spaceport. The Delivery Man disembarked along with all the other passengers, then rendezvoused with his luggage in the terminal building. The two medium-size cases drifted after him on regrav and parked themselves in a cab’s cargo hold. He ordered the cab to the commercial section of town, a short trip in the little regrav capsule as it flitted around beneath the force field dome. From there he walked around to another cab pad and flew over to the Foxglove Hotel on the east side of town, using a different identity.

  He booked in to room 225, using a third identity certificate and an untraceable cash coin to prepay for a ten-day stay. It took four minutes to infiltrate the room’s cybersphere node, where he installed various routines to make it appear as though the room were occupied. A nice professional touch, he felt. The small culinary unit would produce meals, which the maidbot would then empty down the toilet in the morning when it made the daily housekeeping visit. The spore shower would be used, as would various other gadgets and fittings; the air-conditioning temperature would be changed, and the node would place a few calls across the unisphere. Power consumption would vary.

  He slid both cases into the solitary closet just for the sake of appearance and activated their defense mechanisms. Whatever was inside them, he didn’t want to know, though he guessed at some pretty aggressive hardware. Once he’d confirmed that they were operating properly, he left the room and called a cab down to the front of the hotel’s lobby. It wouldn’t be he who came back to collect the cases-that would set a pattern. He was grateful for that operational protocol. After Justine’s last dream, all he wanted to do was get back to his family. He’d already decided he would be turning down any more Conservative Faction requests over the next couple of weeks, no matter how much warning they gave him and how politely they asked. Events were building to a climax, and there was only one place a true father should be.

  The lobby’s glass curtain doors parted to let him through. The taxicab hovered a couple of centimeters above the concrete pad outside, waiting for him. He hadn’t quite reached it when the Conservative Faction called.

  I’m going to tell them no, he promised himself. Whatever it is.

  He settled in the cab’s curving seat, told its smartnet to take him to the downtown area, and then accepted the call. “Yes?”

  “The deterrence fleet is being deployed,” the Conservative Faction said.

  “I’m surprised it took this long. People are getting nervous about the Ocisens, and they don’t even know about the Primes yet.”

  “We believe the whole deployment was orchestrated by the Accelerators.”

  “Why? What could they possibly gain from that?”

  “They would finally know the nature of the deterrence fleet.”

  “Okay, so how does that help them?”

  “We don’t know. But it has to be crucial to their plans; they have risked almost everything on manipulating this one event.”

  “The game is changing,” the Delivery Man said faintly. “That’s what Marius told me: The game is changing. I thought he was talking about Hanko.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “So we really are entering a critical phase, then.”

  “It would seem so.”

  Immediately suspicious, he said, “I’m not undertaking anything else for you. Not now.”

  “We know. That is why we called. We thought you deserved to know. We understand how much your family means to you and that you want to be with them.”

  “Ah. Thank you.”

  “If you do wish to return to a more active status-”

  “I’ll let you know. Has my replacement taken over following Marius?”

  “Operational information is kept isolated.”

  “Of course, sorry.”

  “Thank you again for your assistance.”

  The Delivery Man sat upright as the call ended. “Damnit.” The deterrence fleet! This was getting serious, not to mention potentially lethal. He ordered the cab to fly direct to the spaceport, and to hell with procedure. The flight he was booked to depart on wasn’t due to leave for another two hours. His u-shadow immediately tracked down the first ship bound for a Central world: a PanCephei Line flight to Gralmond, leaving in thirty-five minutes. It managed to reserve him a seat, paying a huge premium to secure the last first class lounge cubicle, but the flight would take twenty hours. Add another twenty minutes to that to reach Earth through the connecting wormholes, and he’d be back in London in just over twenty-one hours.

  That’ll be enough time. Surely?

  Araminta had been so desperate to get the hell away from Colwyn City, she hadn’t really given any thought to the practical aspect of walking the Silfen paths between worlds. Ambling through mysterious woods dotted with sunny glades was a lovely romantic concept, as well as being a decent finger gesture to Living Dream and Cleric Conservator bastard Ethan. However, a moment’s thought might have made her consider what she was wearing a little more carefully, and she’d definitely have found some tougher boots. There was also the question of food.

  None of that registered for the first fifty minutes as she strolled airily down from the small spinney where the path from Francola Wood had emerged. She simply marveled at her own fortune, the way she’d finally managed to turn her predicament around.

  Figure out what you want, Laril had told her.

  Well, now I’ve started to do just that. I’m taking charge of my life again.

  Then the quartet of moons sank behind the horizon. She smiled at their departure, wondering how long it would take before they reappeared again. It had been a fast traverse of the sky, so they must orbit this world several times a day. When she turned to check the opposite horizon, her smile faded at the thick bank of unpleasantly dark clouds that were massing above the lofty hills that made up the valley wall. Ten minutes later the rain reached her, an unrelenting torrent that left her drenched in seconds. Her comfy old fleece was resistant to a mild drizzle, but it was never intended for a downpour that verged on a monsoon. Nonetheless, she scraped the rat-tail strings of hair from her eyes and plodded on resolutely, unable to see more than a hundred meters in front of her. Boots with too-thin soles slipped on the now dangerously slimy grass equivalent. As the slope took her down to the valley floor, she spent more than half her time leaning forward in a gorilla-style crouch to scramble her way slowly onward. That was the first three hours.

  She kept walking for the rest of the day, traversing the wide empty valley as the clouds rumbled away. The orange-tinted sunlight helped dry her fleece and trousers, but her underclothes took a long time. They soon started to chafe. Then she reached the wide meandering river.

  The bank on her side of the valley was disturbingly boggy. Apparently the Silfen didn’t use boats. Nor was there any sign of ford or even stepping-stones. In any case, she didn’t like the look of how fast the smooth water was flowing. Gritting her teeth, she set off downriver. After half an hour she conceded there was no natural crossing point. There was nothing for it; she would have to wade.

  Araminta stripped off her fleece and trousers and blouse, bundling them together with her trusty tool belt-there was no way she was leaving that behind, even though it was far too heavy should she have to swim for it. She waded in, carrying the weighty roll above her head. The bottom of the river was slippery, the water icy enough to make it difficult to breathe, and the flow so harsh as to be a constant fear. In the middle the water came up almost to her collarbones, but she gritted her teeth and kept going.

  Her skin was completely numb when she finally came staggering out on the other side. The shakes were so bad, she couldn’t even undo the bundle of clothes that were now her sole possessions in the universe. She spent a long time alternating between being hunched up, shivering violently, and trying to walk while flapping her arms around. Eventually her fingers finally began to work again. Her skin still had a horrible white pallor when she forced shaking limbs
into her clothes once more.

  The walk didn’t warm her up noticeably, nor did she reach the high tree line on the other side of the valley before night fell. She curled up into a ball beside a small boulder and shivered her way to a fitful sleep. It rained twice in the night.

  Morning was when she realized she didn’t have anything to eat. Her tummy was grumbling when she bent over a tiny trickle of water running around the base of the boulder to lap up the icy liquid. She couldn’t remember ever being this miserable; not the day she left Laril, not even watching her apartments going up in flame. This was just wretched. Worse, she’d never felt so alone before. This wasn’t even a human world. If anything went wrong, anything as simple as a sprained ankle or gashed knee, there was no emergency service to call, no help within light-years. She’d just have to lie down here in the valley and starve to death.

  Her limbs started trembling with the thought of it, at the full realization of the risk she’d taken yesterday wading through the river. Delayed shock, she decided, from both the river and the terrible fight in Bodant Park.

  After that, she was a lot more careful walking up toward the tree line high above. There was still no sign of anything she could eat. Underfoot was just the yellowy grass with its speckle of tiny lavender flowers. As she plodded on gloomily, she tried to remember everything she’d ever heard about the Silfen paths. It wasn’t much; even the general encyclopedia in her storage lacuna contained more mythology than fact on the subject. They existed, there was no such thing as a map, and some medievalist humans set off down them in search of various personal or irrational goals-few of whom were ever heard of again. Except for Ozzie, of course. Now that she thought about it, she’d vaguely known he was a Silfen Friend. And so was Mellanie, whoever she used to be. Araminta could have kicked herself for not running even a simple search with her u-shadow. It was over a week since Cressida had told her about her odd ancestry, and she had never bothered to find out, had not asked a single question. Stupid.

  The thought of Cressida made her concentrate. Cressida would never give up or sink into a bout of self-pity. And I’m related to her, too.

  She began to sketch out a list of more positive aspects as she drew close to the woodland where she was sure the next path began. For a start, she could sense paths, which meant there would be an ending to this trek, a conclusion. Lack of food was a pig, but she had a strong Advancer heritage, and their ethos was to equip humans to survive the galaxy over. As she’d learned during her childhood on the farm, playing nibble dare with her brother and sisters, it was quite difficult for Advancer humans to poison themselves with alien vegetation. Her taste buds had a strong sampling ability to determine what was dangerous. Unless a plant was hugely toxic, her metabolism could probably withstand it.

  Even so, she didn’t like the look of the grass on the mountain.

  I’ll wait till the next planet before I resort to that.

  The air was noticeably colder by the time she reached the first of the moss-cloaked trees. Way down the valley, thick hammerhead clouds were sliding toward her. Rain at this temperature would wreck what little morale she’d recovered.

  Long honey-brown leaves fluttered on the branches overhead as she moved deeper into the woods. Little white whorls like tightly wound spider gossamer peeped up through the grass below her feet. The air became still between the trunks of the trees as she walked forward. Her confidence grew. Somehow in her mind she could sense the changes beginning. When she looked up, the slender glimpses of sky she was afforded through the tangle of branches showed a light turquoise, which was encouraging. It was certainly brighter and more inviting than the atmosphere above the mountains.

  Deep within the gaiafield or the reverie of the Silfen Motherholme-whatever realm it was her mind drifted through these days-she could follow the way space subtly transformed around her. The path was constantly in motion. It had no fixed beginning or end; it was a way that responded to the wishes of the traveler. At some incredible distance there was an awareness that seemed to be observing her. That was when she had a vague notion of just how many entities were on the paths. Uncountable millions, all wandering where they might, some with purpose, wishing to know a certain experience, others allowing the paths to take them at random across the galaxy to find and know whatever they would.

  New trees began to appear amid the moss-clad trunks, their smooth boles a whitish-green. Lush green leaves overhead reminded her of a deciduous forest in spring. Then ivies and vines swarmed up the trunks, producing cascades of gray flowers. On she walked. The path wound along small hills and into narrow valleys. Streams bubbled along beside her. Once she could hear the pounding thunder of some great waterfall, but it wasn’t on the path, so she didn’t try to follow the sound. Red leaves laced through the light brown canopy. Her boots were treading on small crisp leaves amid the grass. The air grew warm and dry. Hours after she’d left the rainy valley behind, she heard a quiet madrigal being sung in an alien tongue. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know the words; the harmony was exquisite. It even made her stop for a while, allowing herself to listen. It was the Silfen, she knew, some big party of them trotting merrily on their way to a new world offering fresh sights and excitements. For a moment she wanted to run and join them, see what they saw, feel for things the way they did. But then that image of Cressida, smart, self-reliant, focused, trickled up into her mind, and she knew sheepishly that traipsing off with a bunch of alien elves wasn’t the answer. Reluctantly, she set off again. Somewhere far ahead was a Commonwealth world. She was sure of that, although the path was little used nowadays. The Silfen didn’t care for planets where other civilizations arose, at least not above a certain technological level.

  Araminta let out a sigh of relief as the trees finally thinned out. It was white and bright up ahead and getting warmer with every footstep forward. The trees with the red leaves became the majority. Their light gray branches were slim, widely separated. When she glanced at them, she could see how fat and waxy the leaves were. She grinned in delight; there was something utterly awesome about having paths between worlds.

  The path led her to the edge of the waving trees. She stared out at the vista ahead, blinking against the harsh light. “Oh, Great Ozzie,” she muttered in dismay. As far as she could see, the land was a flat expanse of white sand. The world’s hot sun burned high overhead, unencumbered by any cloud. “It’s a desert!”

  When she turned a full circle, she found she’d emerged amid a few paltry clumps of trees that clung to the edge of a long muddy pool. And somewhere in those trees the path was dwindling away to nothing. “No,” she told it. “No, wait. This isn’t right. I don’t want to be here.” But then it was gone. “Oh, bollocks.”

  Araminta might have been generally ignorant about alien planets, but one thing she knew for certain was that you didn’t start walking across a desert in the middle of the day, certainly not without any preparation. She took a slow saunter around the pool, trying to spot any sign that other people were around. Apart from some very odd imprints in the dry mud, there was no evidence that anybody used the oasis on any kind of regular basis. With the sun rising higher, she sat with her back to one of the gray tree trunks, making the most of the measly shade cast by its chunky leaves.

  All the doubt and self-pity she’d managed to throw off on the path threatened to come swarming back. Maybe the Silfen were more involved with galactic events than anyone suspected. They could have dumped her here deliberately so that she could never lead a human Pilgrimage. Just thinking it through brought up an image of Cressida, her cousin’s eyebrow lifting in that incredibly scornful way of hers. Araminta cringed just at the memory of it.

  Come on, pull yourself together.

  She looked down at the tool belt. There weren’t a lot of tools, and the power charge on some was well down. But they could be useful. For what? How do I use them to cross a desert? She looked around the silent oasis again, trying to be smart and analytical the way Cressida would be
. Okay, so I’ve got water. How do I carry it? Then she realized that there were several stumps sticking out of the ground but no fallen trees. She hurried over to one and saw the wood had been cut clean and level. Someone had sawed it off. She gave the stump a modest grin; it was a great clue. So now start thinking how you can use wood.

  The power saw she carried was small, designed to cut small shaped holes, not to fell a tree, however spindly. But she cut around a trunk and managed to topple the tree onto open ground. The black wood under the bark was incredibly hard. She cut a couple of sections off, producing cylinders half a meter long, which she rolled into the shade, sitting down beside them. Her drill bored a hole down the middle. Once she had that, she switched the drill bit to its expansion mode and started to drill again. It took hours, but eventually she’d hollowed out each of the cylinders, leaving a shell of wood a couple of centimeters thick. They made excellent flagons. When she carried them into the pool to fill them with the clear water in the middle, she felt something give under her feet. The dark-blue sphere she fished out had a slippery jellylike shell. An egg! Araminta glanced around nervously, wondering what had laid it, land animal or marine? Perhaps it was a seed.

  The flagons were full, and she lugged them out quickly but kept hold of the flaccid egg. It was the size of her fist, the wet surface giving like slippery rubber beneath her fingers. Just looking at it made her stomach growl with hunger. She realized she hadn’t eaten anything since that last breakfast with Tandra and her family, and that was a long time ago now.

  With the egg wedged between some stones, she turned her laser to low-power wide beam and swept the ruby-red fan forward and backward across the bendy shell. The color began to darken down to a grubby brown, minute cracks appearing as it slowly hardened. After a few minutes she took a guess that it was done and used her screwdriver to tap a hole through it. The smell wasn’t good, but she cracked a wide hole open and hooked out some of the steaming greenish gloop inside.