The Dreaming Void v-1

by Peter Hamilton

  'I'll do that. She watched him stroll across the room and into the en suite. Only then did she stare round in curiosity. It was chic city bachelor pad, that much was evident by the plain yetexpensive furniture and contemporary art. The wall opposite the bed was a single window, covered with snow-white curtains.

  Araminta started hunting round for her clothes as the spore shower came on. Underwear (practical rather than sexy, she acknowledged with a sigh) close to the bed. Skirt halfway between bed and door. Her white top in the lounge. She pulled it on, then looked back at the bedroom. The shower was still on. Did he always take so long, or was he sticking with the part of the script that gave her a polite opportunity to exit. She shrugged, and let herself out.

  There wasn't anything wrong with Jaful. She'd certainly enjoyed herself in his bed for most of the time. It was just that she couldn't think what they could say to each other over breakfast. It would have been awkward. This way she kept the memory agreeable. 'More practice, she told herself, and smiled wickedly. And why not? This is real life again.

  The building had a big lobby. When she walked out into the street she blinked against the bright pink light, it was twelve minutes until she was supposed to start the morning shift at Nik's. Her u-shadow told her she was in the Spalding district, which was halfway across the city. So she called a taxi down. It took about thirty seconds until the yellow and purple capsule was resting a couple of centimetres above the concrete, three metres in front of her. She watched in bemusement as the door opened. In all her life she'd never called a taxi herself; it had always been Laril who ordered them. After the separation, of course, she couldn't afford them. Another blow for freedom.

  As soon as she arrived at Nik's she rushed into the staff toilets.

  Tandra gave her a leery look when she came out, tying her apron on. 'You know, those look like the very same clothes you wore when you left yesterday. She sniffed elaborately. 'Yep, travel-clean again. Did something happen to your plumbing last night?

  'You know. I'm really going to miss you when I leave, Araminta replied, trying not to laugh.

  'What's his name? How long have you been dating? 'Nobody. I'm not dating, you know that. 'Oh, come on! 'I need coffee. 'Not much sleep, huh? 'I was reviewing property files, that's all. Tandra gave her a malicious sneer. 'Sweetie, I ain't never heard it called that before.

  * * * * *

  After the breakfast shift was over, Araminta ran her usual review. This time was different. This time her u-shadow contacted the agencies who gave her virtual tours of the five most promising properties using a full sense relay bot. On that basis, she made an appointment to visit one that afternoon.

  As soon as she walked through the door, she knew it was right for her. The flat was the second floor of a converted three-storey house in the Philburgh district. A mile and a half north of the dock and three blocks back from the river, with two bedrooms it was perfect for someone working in the city centre on a modest salary. There was even a balcony which you could just see the Cairns from, if you really leaned out over the railing.

  She went through the official survey scan with the modern analysis programs recommended by half a dozen professional property development companies. It needed redecorating, the current vendor had lived there for thirty years and hadn't done much to it. The plumbing needed replacing, it would require new domestic units. But the structure was perfectly sound.

  'I'll take it, she told the agent.

  An hour negotiating with the vendor gave her a price of fifty-eight thousand. More than she would have liked, but it did leave her with enough of a budget to give the place a decent refurbishment. There wouldn't be much left over to live on, but if she completed the work within three or four months she wouldn't need a bank loan. It would be tough, just looking round the lounge with its broken dust capillary flooring and ageing lightfa-bric walling, she could see the amount of work involved. Thatwas when she experienced a little moment of doubt. Come on, she told herself, you can do this. This is what you've waited for, this is what you've earned.

  She took a breath, and left the flat. She needed to get back to her place and grab a shower. Travel-clean could only cope for so long. Then, she might just get changed and go out again. There were a lot of bars in Colwyn City she'd heard about and never visited.

  * * * * *

  Troblum double woke in two of the penthouse's bedrooms. His actual self lay on a bed made from a special foam that supported his large body comfortably, providing him with a decent night's sleep. It had been Catriona's room, decorated in excessively pink fabrics and ornaments; a lot of the surfaces were fluffy, a very girly girl's room which he was now quite used to. His parallel sensorium was coming from a twinning link to the solido of Howard Liang, a Starflyer agent who had been part of the disinformation mission. Howard was in the penthouse's main bedroom, sharing a huge circular bed with the three girls. It was another aspect of the solidos which Troblum had spent years refining. Now, whenever he wanted sex the four characters would launch themselves eagerly into a mini-orgy. The permutations their supple young bodies could combine into were almost endless, and they could keep going for as long as Troblum wanted. He immersed himself for hours, his own body drinking down the pleasure which Howard's carefully formatted neural pathways experienced, as much the puppet as the puppeteer. The four of them together wasn't strictly speaking a historical reality. At least he'd never found any evidence for it. But it wasn't impossible, which sort of legitimized the extrapolation.

  The image and feeling of the beautiful naked bodies draped across him faded away as his actual body reasserted itself, cancelling the twinning with Howard. After the shower had squirted dermal fresher spores over him, he walked through into the vast lounge, bronze sunlight washing warmly across his tingling skin.

  His u-shadow reported there was still no message from Admiral Kazimir, which he chose to interpret as good news. The delay at least meant it was still being considered. Knowing the Navy bureaucracy, he suspected that the review committee still hadn't formally met. His theory was struggling against a lot of conventional beliefs. Briefly, he considered calling the Admiral direct in order to urge him along, but his personal protocol routines advised against.

  He wrapped one of his cloaks round himself, then took the lift down to the lobby. It was only a short walk down to the Caspe River where his favourite cafe was situated on the edge of the quiet water. The building was made from white wood, and sculpted to resemble a Folgail, a bird even more sedate than a terrestrial swan. His usual table underneath a wing arch was free and he sat himself down. He gave his order to the cafe network, and waited while a servicebot brought him a freshly squeezed apple and gonberry juice. The chef, Rowury, spent several days every week in the cafe, cooking for his enthusiastic clientele of foodies. For a culture which prided itself on its egalitarian ethos, Highers could be real snobs about some traditions and crafts, and 'proper' food was well up on the list. There were several restaurants and cafes in Daroca set up as showcases for their gastronomic patrons.

  The first dish to arrive was a shredded cereal with fruit and yogurt, all grown naturally (by agriculture enthusiasts), and brought in from five different planets. Troblum started spooning it up. Rowury had come up with a delicious combination, the taste was subtle yet distinctive. It was a shame he couldn't have a second dish, but apart from the delbread toast the quantities here were fixed. If you wanted repeats, seconds or giant portions then you visited a fully automated eatery.

  Troblum had finished the cereal and started on his tea when someone sat down in front of him. He looked up in annoyance. The cafe was full — inevitably, but that was no excuse for rudeness. The rebuke never made it out of his lips.

  'Hope you don't mind, Marius said as he settled in the chair, his black toga suit trailing thin wisps of darkness behind him as if he was time-lapsed. 'I've heard good reports about this place.

  'Help yourself, Troblum said grouchily. He knew he shouldn't show too much resentment at
Marius's appearance, after all the Faction representative had channelled the kind of EMA funds to Troblum's private projects which were normally only available to huge public enterprises. It was the demands placed on him in return which he found annoying, not the challenges themselves, they were intriguing, but they always took so much time. 'Oh you already have.

  The servicebot delivered a second china cup for Marius. 'How are you keeping, Troblum?

  'Fine. As you know. His field functions detected a subtle shielding unfurling round the table, originating from Marius. Not obvious, but enough to prevent anyone from hearing or scanning what they were saying. He'd never liked the representative, and it was unusual to meet in person. An unarranged meeting was unheard of, it made Troblum worry about the reason. Something they consider very important.

  Marius sipped the tea. 'Excellent. Assam?

  'Something like that.

  'Those left on Earth do take a lot of pride in maintaining their ancient heritages. I doubt they actually go out and pick the leaves themselves, though. What do you think?

  'I couldn't give a fuck.

  'There are a lot of things that elude you, aren't there my friend?

  'What do you want?

  Marius fixed his green eyes on Troblum, the faintest shiver of distaste manifesting in his expression. 'Of course, bluntness to the fore. Very well. The briefing you gave to the Navy concerning the Dyson pair.

  'What about it?

  'It's an interesting theory.

  'It's not a theory, Troblum said in irritation. 'That has to be the explanation for the origin of the Dark Fortress.

  'The what?

  'Dark Fortress. It's what the Dyson Alpha generator was originally called. I think it was Jean Douvoir who named it that first, he was on the original Second Chance exploration mission, you know. It was meant ironically, but after the War it fell out of fashion, especially with the Firewall campaign, people just didn't—

  'Troblum.

  'Yeah?

  'I couldn't give a fuck.

  'I've got the unabridged logs from the Second Chance stored in my personal secure kube if you'd like to check.

  'No. But I believe your theory.

  'Oh for Ozz—

  'Listen, Marius snapped. 'Seriously, I believe you. It was excellently argued. Admiral Kazimir thought well enough of your presentation to order a full review, and he is not easily won over. They are taking you seriously.

  'Well, that's good then. Isn't it?

  'In the greater scheme of things, I'm sure it is. However, you might like to consider where your comprehensive knowledge of the Dark Fortress came from.

  'Oh. Now Troblum was really worried. 'I never mentioned I was there.

  'I know that. The point is, that we really don't want ANA: Governance to be aware of the detailed examination you and your team made of the Dark Fortress. Not right now. Understand?

  'Yes. Troblum actually ducked his head, which was ridiculous, but he did feel contrite; maybe he should have realized his presentation would draw a little too much attention to him. 'Do you think the Navy will review my background?

  'No. They have no reason to right now. You're just a physicist petitioning for EMA funds. It happens all the time. And that's the way we'd like it to remain.

  'Yeah, I get it.

  'Good. So if the review committee advises the Admiral that no further action should be taken, we'd prefer you not to kick up a fuss.

  'But what if they favour a proper search?

  'We're confident they won't'

  Troblum sat back, trying to work out the politics. It was difficult for him to appreciate the motivation and psychology of other people. 'But if you have that much influence on the Navy, why worry?

  'We can't affect the Navy directly, not with Kazimir as the safeguard. But your advisory review committee is mostly external, some of them are sympathetic to us, as you are.

  'Right. Troblum could feel despair starting to cloud his mind. 'Will I be able to put it forward again after the Pilgrimage?

  'We'll see. Probably, yes.

  It wasn't exactly good news but it was better than a flat refusal. 'And my drive project?

  'That can continue, providing you don't publicize what you're doing. Marius smiled reassurance. It didn't belong on his face. 'We do appreciate your help, Troblum, and we want to keep our relationship mutually beneficial. It's just that events are entering a critical stage right now.

  'I know.

  'Thank you. I'll leave you alone to enjoy your food now.

  With suspicious timing, the servicebot arrived as Marius departed. Troblum stared at the plate it deposited in front of him, a tower of thick buttered pancakes was layered with bacon, yokcheese, scrambled garfoul eggs, black pudding, and topped with strawberries. Maple syrup and afton sauce ran down the sides like a volcanic eruption. The edges of the plate were artistically garnished with miniature hash browns, baked vine salfuds and roasted golden tomatoes.

  For the first time in years, Troblum didn't feel remotely hungry.

  INIGO'S SECOND DREAM

  Edeard had been looking forward to the trip for months. Every year in late summer the village elders organized a caravan to trek over to Witham, the closest medium-sized town in Rulan province, to trade. By tradition, all the senior apprentices went with it. This was part of their landcraft training, of which they had to have a basic knowledge before they could qualify as practitioners. They were taught how to hunt small animals, to clear farmland ditches, which fruit to pick, how to handle a plough, what berries and roots were poisonous, along with the basics of how to make camp in the wild.

  Even the fact that Obron would be a travelling companion for three weeks hadn't dented Edeard's enthusiasm. He was finally going to get out of Ashwell. Sure he'd been to all the local farms, but never further than half a day's travel away. The caravan meant he would see a lot more of Querencia, the mountains, people other than the villagers he'd lived among for fifteen years, forests. A chance to see how others did things, explore new ideas. There was so much waiting for him out there. He was convinced it was going to be fantastic.

  The reality almost lived up to his expectations. Yes, Obron was a pain, but not too much. Ever since Edeard's success with the ge-cats, the constant hassle hadn't ended but it had certainly eased off. They didn't speak as friends, but on the journey out Obron had been almost civil. Edeard suspected that was partiallydown to Melzar, who was caravan master, and who had made it very clear before they left that he would not tolerate any trouble.

  'It might seem like this is some kind of holiday, Melzar told the assembled apprentices in the village hall the night before they departed. 'But remember this is part of your formal education. I expect you to work hard and learn. If any of you cause me any problems, you will be sent back to Ashwell right away. If any of you slack off or do not reach what I consider a satisfactory level of landcraft, I will inform your Master and you will be dropped back a year from qualification. Understood?

  'Yes sir, the apprentices muttered grudgingly. There were a lot of smirks hidden from Melzar as they filed out.

  They had taken five days to reach Witham. There were seventeen apprentices and eight adults in the caravan. Three big carts carried goods and food; over thirty farm beasts were driven along with them. Everyone rode ge-horses; for some apprentices it was the first time they'd ever been up on the animals. Melzar quickly assigned Edeard to help tutor them. It allowed him to open up conversations with lads who'd ignored him before, after all he was the youngest senior apprentice in Ashwell. But out here on the road they began to accept him as an equal rather than the freaky boy Obron always complained about. Melzar also entrusted him with controlling the ge-wolves they used to keep guard.

  'You're better than all of us at guiding those brutes, lad, he'd said as they made camp that first night. 'Make sure they do their job properly. Keep three of them with us, and I want the other four patrolling round outside.

  'Yes, sir, I can do that. It wasn't eve
n a brag, those were simple orders.

  Talk that night among the apprentices was of bandits and wild tribes, each of them doing their best to tell the most horrific stories. Alcie and Genril came top with the cannibal tribe that supposedly lived in the Talman Mountains. Edeard didn't mention that his own parents had been killed while on a caravan, but everyone knew that anyway. He was thrown a few glances to check out how he was reacting. His nonchalance earned him quiet approval. Then Melzar came over and told them all not to be so gruesome, that bandits weren't half as bad as legend. 'They're basically nomad families, nothing more. They're not organized into gangs. How could they be? If they were a real threat we'd call the militia from the city, and go after them. It's just a few bad 'uns that give the rest a lousy rep. No different tous.

  Edeard wasn't so sure. He suspected Melzar was just trying to reassure them. But the conversation moved on, quietening down as they gossiped about their Guild Masters. Judging by their talk, Edeard was convinced he'd got a saint in Akeem. Obron even claimed Geepalt would beat the carpentry apprentices if they messed up.

  Witham might have been five times the size of Ashwell, but it shared the same air of stagnation. It was set in rolling, heavily cultivated farmland, with a river running through the middle; unusually it had two churches for the Lady. Edeard bit back on any disappointment as they rode through the big gates. The buildings were stone or had thick timber frames supporting some kind of plaster panelling. Most of the windows were glass rather than the shutters used in Ashwell. And the streets were all stone cobble. He found out later that water was delivered into houses through buried clay pipes, and the drains worked.

  They spent two days in the central market square, negotiating with merchants and locals, then stocking up with supplies (like glass) that weren't made in Ashwell. The apprentices had been allowed to bring examples of their own work to sell or trade. Edeard was surprised when Obron brought out a beautifully carved box made from martoz wood, polished to a ebony lustre. Who would have thought an arse like him could create something so charming? Yet a merchant gave him four pounds for it.