The Evolutionary Void v-3

by Peter Hamilton

  “You used to be honest with yourself. You know goddamn well you’re struggling with the right of imposing it on species who have no understanding of what they are relative to the universe. It is cultural imperialism in its worst possible form. Our way of thinking is better than yours, so come join us.”

  “Universal understanding might have prevented the Pilgrimage.”

  “Is there any way you can increase the power from the anchor?” Inigo asked. “Maybe just on a temporary basis?”

  “No way, man. And I don’t need my brain-in-a-jar thoughts to confirm that. We’re at the limit of the anchor’s capacity now. Hell, mindspace reached over two hundred and fifty light-years; that’s pretty goddamn phenomenal. In any case, there’s no knowing if the Heart would mesh with mindspace.” He took a drink of the coffee before it cooled down any further. “So that leaves us with you.”

  “Me?” Inigo queried.

  “You dreamed the Void from thirty thousand light-years away. No booster circuitry involved. You have an inbuilt connection. How did you do that?”

  “I don’t know. I never did understand. The best anyone came up with was that Edeard and I were related somehow. Could be, but we’ll never know. I connected to a human. There aren’t any left in the Void now. The Skylord was quite clear about that when Justine asked.”

  “You mean a Skylord like the one Araminta is talking to? She can do it. Have you even tried?”

  “Whatever curse she has, it’s different from mine.”

  “Have you tried?” Ozzie asked more forcefully.

  “No.”

  “No, of course not.” He turned to Aaron. “And you, you’re desperate for this link. Did you ever consider hunting Gore down? The Third Dreamer, Lord help us. He’s got a working connection to Justine, who is right where you need her.”

  “That’s outside … I don’t have, that is, I’m not aware of contingencies to contact Gore.”

  “Because it’s a new development,” Corrie-Lyn said scathingly. “You can’t think for yourself. And the Lady knows, nobody else is allowed a say in your universe.”

  “So big thanks there for all the drama yesterday,” Ozzie said. “But actually, you already have two proven methods of getting your voice heard inside the Void.”

  “Can you reach a Skylord?” Aaron asked Inigo.

  “Dreaming is not a function I can simply activate by touching its ‘go’ icon. I have to admit, Araminta seems to have a lot more control over the ability than I ever had.”

  “A Skylord would never go to the Heart, not even for the Dreamer,” Corrie-Lyn said. “This we know above all else. They only take those who are fulfilled.”

  “I doubt it would even understand the concept of talking to the Heart for us,” Inigo said.

  “So your safest bet is to scram back to the Commonwealth and ask Gore to help,” Ozzie observed. “He was acting like he knew what he was doing.”

  “This mission is based on getting Inigo physically into the Void,” Aaron said. “In a last-ditch emergency, mental contact is permissible providing it allows the next stage to progress. I will not deviate from that.”

  “What next stage?” Ozzie asked in fascination.

  Aaron thought for a moment, his face drawn up to reflect inner discomfort of some nature. “When we make contact, I will know what to do.”

  “Dude, if I’m going to help, I need to know more. Look, I’ve got a really advanced medical module down in the basement. What say we drop you in and allow some neural unblocking?”

  “No.”

  Ozzie grunted disapproval. He wasn’t surprised, but Aaron’s crazy mental programming was starting to bug him.

  “What part of the Void are you supposed to take me to?” Inigo asked.

  “Makkathran,” Aaron replied without hesitation.

  “Interesting. Not a Starflyer. Does that destination still apply now we know Querencia is no longer inhabited by humans?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “I never bothered with your dreams,” Ozzie said. “What’s in Makkathran that can put us in touch with the Heart?”

  “Nothing,” a puzzled Inigo admitted.

  “If we don’t have an ultradrive ship available and mindspace cannot reach the Void from here, is it possible to move the Spike until we’re within range?” Aaron asked.

  Myraian let out a wild giggling laugh.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Ozzie barked.

  “So the anchor mechanism isn’t an FTL drive?”

  “No.”

  “It is unlikely, but we don’t know for sure,” the house’s smartcores said.

  Aaron gave Ozzie a quizzical glance.

  “Oh, yeah,” Ozzie snapped. “We can examine its unmapped functions, work them out, and get it to fly across the galaxy all in a week. Dude, you’ve got to break through that brainlock and start thinking for yourself. The Spike’s anchor mechanism is bigger than this whole chamber, and that’s just the chunk that’s in spacetime.”

  “I need to be sure you are considering all options,” Aaron said.

  “Grab this straight: I am not going to start messing with the anchor mechanism. No way, no how.”

  “If that is the method by which we can connect with the Heart, then that is what will have to be done.”

  “There’s a universe of choice out there, dude. Go exploring one day.”

  “So will you help us find a way of connecting to the Heart?” Inigo asked.

  Ozzie studied the ex-messiah for a long moment, trying to work him out and failing miserably. Eventually he gave up. “Okay, I just don’t get it. I’ve had my share of doubts, and I’ve screwed up plenty of times in my life, so I can be big enough to admit them from time to time. But this? What the fuck happened, man? You had a gospel powerful enough to attract billions to your cause. What could there possibly be to make you turn your back on them? Edeard was a bit of a dick, for sure, but he came good in the end. That’s the moral message all religions pump out; it’s a standard hook. Humans triumph over adversity. Throw in a bit of suffering along the way and people dig that big-time. And your guy won.”

  “No, he didn’t,” Inigo said sadly.

  “All right, I lied before. I took the occasional peek at your dreams. That last one: Man, he went to the Heart knowing the world he left behind was the best it was possible to build. Then on top of that he gave everyone the chance to perfect their individual lives like he’d done. How’s that for total selflessness? If he’d been around out here three thousand years ago, he’d be a genuine saint, or worse.”

  “Perfection,” Inigo said, “is what we strive for; it is never what we should achieve. There is no such thing as utopia. Life by its nature is a struggle. Take that away and you take away any reason to exist.”

  “What happened?” Corrie-Lyn entreated. “Please, Inigo, what did you dream after Edeard accepted guidance to the Heart? Just tell us. Tell me. I trust you with this. I always will. But I think I deserve to know.”

  “I dreamed of perfection.”

  Inigo’s Last Dream

  I WISH TO FLY.

  My mind elevates my body. Thus do I fly with arms outstretched to feel the wind upon my face. It is pleasurable. I open my eyes. A hundred feet below me is Great Major Canal. Dark water, cool and calming, fills its long channel. Sunlight ripples across its surface. Traditional gondolas are slivers of blackness amid its elegance, manifested for this hour alone. A harmonious song rises through the air from the gondoliers themselves, a sweet melody evoking an older, poignant time.

  Honor.

  We do honor the great ancestor, our Waterwalker. This day a thousand years ago he ascended to the Heart which calls us all. So do all of us who remain upon this blessed world gather in this ancient place to pay tribute.

  Pride.

  I have pride to be the Waterwalker’s bloodline descendant. Through his twins I was birthed into existence no less. Joy I feel at their fullness of life. Their grandson’s granddaughter is my mot
her. From that I reach for his nobility, his strength.

  My family.

  My family flies with me. Full seven of us soaring above the ancient buildings of this revered city. Laughing, delighting in the sight of such wonder. Deep deep below us the citymind slumbers onward toward the end of time. It is sorrow that radiates outward from its slow dreams. Sorrow we also feel at its submission to misplaced destiny. Respect we show for its right to be. Though today all have the strength, none will wake it.

  Our life.

  Our life is lived in a home on the slopes above the sea in far Tolonan. An island discovered by the Waterwalker’s flotilla so long ago. A lush place of warmth and beauty; its trees bloom with flower the full year around, their scent enriching the air. Vineyards and orchards still thrive on the old terraced slopes, producing abundance. Such traditions we still follow, commemorating our ancestors and the life they struggled through to bring us to the light of our day. The fruit is succulent and flavorsome, the wine sweet. Our bellies fill each day. We lack for nothing. We experience everything. For this we give thanks.

  The towers.

  How beautiful the pinnacles of Eyrie are, tall yet curving with exotic grace and style. We fly around them like spirited birds, twisting through the platform spires as we laugh exuberantly. Then suddenly veering upward to soar vertically like an essence ascending to those who guide. What exhilaration, what elation.

  My choices.

  To kindle the gift of thought and ponder the rich occasions and chances sentience brings. So much I have considered throughout my existence. So many sights I have seen on this world. I have lived on every continent. I have tasted every plant that is eatable, raced with fastfoxes, flown with eagles, dived with whalfish. Each season has been lived through and admired for the change it brings. I have learned to appreciate nature, and through that life in every form.

  My world.

  I have known it all. I have exchanged thought with all ten thousand of us remaining. We have admired and discussed that which we know, that which we aspire to. I have dwelled within the flights of fancy those more imaginative than I have conjured. I have manifested places that do not exist in reality, calling them out of the folds of darkness which lurk beneath our universe and embellishing them with my whimsy. I have heard dark echoes from the past which filled me with dread. I have bathed in the tears of triumph and delight that rose from adversity. I have filled my head with the merry songs of success.

  They come.

  Those who guide fall from the sky in a tide of sparkling light that shines through my very skull. My family and I streak downward to hurtle along the narrow jagged streets of Makkathran. Fast, so fast that the walls and windows and roofs merge into a single blur of color. I manifest wings that flow out of my arms to turn and twist against the heady rush of air. My body spins and gyrates with the elegance of those born to the air. Our shouts of admiration are the only sounds to fill the alleys and squares for over a century.

  Our welcome.

  We fly across the sea outside the city’s port. Dipping and weaving around the armada of elegant yachts which delivered us all to this place and time from across our world. Grand white sails curve against the gentle sea breeze just as they did in days of yore. For art’s sake, for completement of form. Such ocean-ranging beauties deserve to be more than functional, and so it is. Our family yacht needs only my will to propel it across the water, yet the sails billowing out bring comfort and rightness to the mind, as easing as a child’s night toy.

  The gathering.

  A wind blows strong ahead of those who guide us as they sweep along the air road they have returned to time and time again. Bringing rippling half shadows and vivacious starlit twinkles to dazzle and deceive the eye, they blow the yachts playfully across the skittish water beneath them. Tumbling mischievously in their wake, our wings flapping with slow grace, we crowd together and cheer with minds and voice alike. Both cries lost amid their ethereal glamour. The accord cannot last, and soon we separate. I bid farewell to those four of my family who have fulfilled their lives here on this planet of bounty and promise. I bid my farewell to the splendid thousand who are to pay the ultimate tribute this day, this moment.

  Departure.

  Cold sparkling light streaks from the towers of Eyrie, great flames of opalescence that reach out with such yearning to stroke the ever-shifting crystal bodies of those who guide. Into the flares fly the essence of those who would ascend to the Heart of the Void. Now as always the power of the towers thrusts them on their way as their bodies bloom to dust. Then they are gone, flashing upward to dwell as colorful shadows amid the fantastical geometry of crystal. Gone to destiny’s reward.

  I descend.

  Gently, gently, dissolving my wings back into nothingness. Growing clothes about my form. I land upon Golden Park to observe with mind and sight as those who guide launch themselves back into the empty chasm of space which lies between us and the nebulae of this universe. I am content that yet more of us have gone to join our ancestors and all those who used to live within this eternal Void that is gracious enough to provide us a warm comforting home amid the raw chaos burning outside its boundary. I am sad that so many have left. I am sad that so few of us now remain. But not disheartened.

  That which remains.

  Is small. I will not bear any more children. Nor will my two remaining children. That time is over now for us. Any new mind born into this world would only learn what we have already experienced. We are history now. We are the pinnacle of life.

  Identity.

  The cells of which I am composed yearn to continue. Such desires are inbuilt. They are me, entwined with my essence. I recognize that is right, for to deny it is to renounce myself. Purpose grows from many sources. None should be ignored. I will live for a while more. But not forever.

  My journey.

  I have only one voyage left now. I walk across Golden Park, admiring and acknowledging the times and events that have played out here. The rich past is become a ghost memory. So much suffering, so much endeavor has gone to bringing me to this place and time. This is my milieu, and I am grateful to those who came before. I wish them to know nothing was in vain. No word they spoke, no deed they performed, all of it went into my making. I am the nexus of their existence, and I am content to be such.

  A tribute.

  My acknowledgment is simple. My mind elevates the fabric of this universe as I manifest my will. Suddenly Golden Park is filled with people one last time as past intersects present; the air thickens with sound and smell. I am jostled good-naturedly by those who never envisioned me as they go about their business. Over there are Rah and the Lady alighting from their small boat to stare in wonder at the domes of the Orchard Palace for the first time. There goes the exquisitely pretty young maiden Florrel to entrap her first lover. Here I see a dejected Akeem trudge back to his guild, the first steps along his path to self-imposed exile. A furtive Salrana hurries by on her way to that fateful meeting in the Blue Fox tavern. And there he is, the Waterwalker in all his glory, following his never-to-be love, knowing in his heart that he is about to witness a haunting grief.

  Love.

  I love them all, worshipping them from afar. And so my manifestation ends, and the city is empty again save for me and my kind walking along empty streets, making our way back to our yachts, and from there our homes. We will not return.

  Life.

  I have succeeded in living. Soon now, when my home is in order, I will rise up to those who guide, knowing all that can be done has been done. We have achieved so much. There is nothing left here now. Nothing.

  The future.

  What is to come? I cannot know the most beautiful mystery of all. Not yet. It awaits us within the Heart of the Void. A song which grows stronger with each passing day.

  NINE

  DAWN ARRIVED as the Last Throw lifted silently back into the chill air above the Delivery Man. Ahead of him the sun was rising, a sliver of rose-gold incandescence emerging
above the mountains on the horizon. He could feel the weak heat on his face as he started to walk down the slope. Thin strands of mist were stirring above the tiny coils of grass-equivalent, filling the folds in the land to form wraithlike streams. Local birds were already calling out in their guttural warbles, taking flight from the black trees as the light grew stronger.

  The Delivery Man watched them lumber upward, amused by the sight. It looked like evolution hadn’t gotten it quite right on this world; what they lacked in grace, they made up for in bulk.

  A sleeping herd of quadruped beasts grunted and shook themselves, greeting the new day in their own laborious way: ponderous creatures the size of a terrestrial rhino and imbued with almost the same temper. Their heavily creased hide was a dapple of rust-brown and gray, and legs as thick as the Delivery Man’s torso could plod onward all day with prodigious stamina. These were the animals the Anomine kept to pull their plows and wagons.

  The Delivery Man skirted the herd before they noticed that something strange walked among them. It would hardly do to stampede the animals before he’d had a chance to greet the natives.

  He could smell smoke upon the breeze as he neared the village. Fires that had blazed throughout the night were finally dying down to embers now that they had performed their task and warned off the wilder animals during the long hours of darkness.

  The Last Throw’s sensors had run a passive scan across the village as they came down to land, revealing a broad semicircular sprawl of buildings along the banks of a small river. There was little evidence of stonework aside from a few low circular walls that appeared to be grain silos. The buildings all employed wooden construction. Retinal enrichments gave him a good look at them as he covered the last half mile to the village. The houses stood on thick legs a couple of meters above the dusty ground. Roofs were tightly packed dried reeds overhanging bowed walls made from curving ovals of polished wooden frames that held some kind of hardened translucent membrane. He could just make out shadows moving within the houses he was approaching.