The Dreaming Void v-1

by Peter Hamilton

  'Man, this is why I love you. Yes. Yes please. I would very much like payment now, please.

  Troblum told his u-shadow to transfer the funds.

  'You want to stay for dinner? Stubsy asked. 'Maybe party with some of the girls?

  'Put the protective field back on, please. This humidity is inimical.

  'Sure thing. So, which one do you like?

  'You don't have any idea how important this artefact is, do you?

  'I know it's value, man, that's what counts. The fact some policeman shot an alien with it a thousand years ago doesn't exactly ding my bell.

  'Vic Russell worked with Paula Myo. And I know you've heard of her.

  'Sure man, this planet's living nightmare. Didn't know she was around in those days, too.

  'Oh yes, she was around even before the Starflyer War. And it wasn't an alien Vic shot, it was Tarlo, a Directorate colleague who had been corrupted by the Starflyer, and betrayed Vic and his wife. Arguably, Tarlo is one of the most important Starflyer agents there was.

  'Ozzie, now I get it: this was the gun that killed him. That connects you.

  'Something like that.

  'So are you interested in genuine alien stuff as well?

  Anything that is part of the Starflyer's legacy. Why, have you located another section of its ship?

  Stubsy shook his head. 'Fraid not, man. But one of my neighbours; she specializes in weird alien technology and other interesting little chunks. You know, the odd sample that crews on pathfinder missions pick up, stuff you never get to hear about in the Unisphere, stuff ANA and the Navy like to keep quiet. You want I should put you in touch, I got a Unisphere code, she's very discreet. I'll vouch for her.

  'Tell her if she ever comes across any Anomine relics I'll be happy to talk, he said, knowing she wouldn't. Apart from that, I'm not interested.

  'Okay, just thought I'd ask.

  Troblum raised himself to his feet, quietly pleased he didn't need his biononics to generate a muscle reinforcement field; but then this world had a point-eight standard gravity. 'Could you call your capsule for me, please?

  'Money's in, so sure. This is another reason I like you, man, we don't have to screw around making up small talk.

  'Exactly. Troblum picked up the stable-environment case. It was heavy; he could feel a mild sweat break out on his forehead and across his shoulders as he lifted it into the crook of his arm. Hadn't Stubsy ever heard of regrav?

  'Hey, man, you're the only Higher I know, so I've got to like ask you this. What's ANA's take on this whole Pilgrimage thing?

  Is it a bunch of crap, or are we all going to get cluster fucked by the Void?

  'ANA: Governance put out a clear statement on the Unisphere. The Pilgrimage is regrettable, but it does not believe the actions of Living Dream pose any direct physical threat to the Greater Commonwealth.

  'I accessed that, sure. Usual government bullshit then, huh. But… what do you think, man? Should I be stocking up my starship and heading out?

  'Out where, exactly? If the anti-Pilgrimage faction is right, the whole galaxy is doomed.

  'You are just one giant lump of fun, aren't you? Come on, man, give it to me straight. Are we in the shit?

  'The contacts I have inside ANA aren't worried, so neither am I.

  Stubsy considered that seriously for a moment before reverting to his usual annoyingly breezy self. 'Thanks, man, I owe you one.

  'Not really. But if I find a way to collect, I'll let you know.

  Troblum puzzled over Stubsy's question in the capsule back to his ship. Perhaps he'd been unwise to admit to contacts inside ANA, but it was a very general reference. Besides, he didn't really consider Stubsy to be some kind of agent working for Marius's opponents — of which there were admittedly many. Of course the Starflyer had procured agents a lot more unlikely than Stubsy. But if Stubsy was an agent for some ANA Faction they were playing a long game, and from what Troblum understood, the Pilgrimage situation would be resolved sooner rather than later. Troblum shook his head and shifted the case slightly. It was an interesting theory, but he suspected he was overanalysing events. Paranoia was healthy, but he wouldn't like to report that particular suspicion to Marius. More likely it was a genuine concern on Stubsy's part, one born of ignorance and popular prejudice. That was a lot easier to believe.

  The capsule arrived back at Mellanie's Redemption and Troblum carefully carried the stable-environment case into the starship. He resisted the impulse to open it for one last check, but did stow it in his own sleeping cabin for the flight back to Arevalo.

  * * * * *

  The first thing Araminta knew about the failure was when a shower of sparks sizzled out of the bot's power arm, just above the wrist multi-socket where tools plugged in. At the time she was on her knees beside the Juliet balcony door, trying to dismantle its seized-up actuator. The unit hadn't been serviced for a decade at least. When she got the casing open every part of it was covered in grime. She wrinkled her nose up in dismay, and reached for the small all-function electrical toolkit she'd bought from Askahar's Infinite Systems, a company that specialized in recycled equipment for the construction trade. Her u-shadow grabbed the user instructions from the kit's memory and filtered them up through her macrocellular clusters into her brain; supposedly they gave her an instinctive ability to apply the little gizmos. She couldn't even work out which one would stand a chance of cleaning away so much gunk. The cleanser utensils were intended for delicate systems with a light coating of dust. Not this compost heap.

  Then as she peered closer at the actuator components bright light flashed across them. She turned just in time to see the last cascade of sparks drizzle down on the pile of sealant sheets stacked up in the corner of the flat's lounge. Wisps of smoke began to wind upwards. The bot juddered to a halt, as the whole lower segment of its power arm darkened. As she watched, its pocked silvery casing tarnished rapidly from the heat inside.

  'Ozzie's mother! she yelped, and quickly started stamping on the sheets, trying to extinguish the glowing points which the sparks had kindled. Her u-shadow couldn't get any access to the bot at all, it was completely dead, and now there was a definite hot-oil smell in the air. Another bot slid away and retrieved an extinguisher bulb from the kitchen. It returned and sprayed blue foam on the defunct bot's arm. Araminta groaned in dismay as the bubbling fluid scabbed over and dripped on to the floorboards, soaking in. The whole wood-look was coming back in vogue, which was why she'd ordered the bot to abrade the original old floorboards down to the grain. As soon as they were done she was going to spread the sealant sheets down while the rest of the room was decorated and fitted, then she'd finish the boards with a veneer polish to bring out the wavy gold and rouge pattern of the native antwood.

  Araminta scratched at the damp stain with her fingernail, but it didn't seem too bad. She'd just have to get another bot to abrade the wood down still further. There were five of the versatile machines performing various tasks in the flat, all second or third hand; again bought from Askahar's Infinite Systems.

  Now the immediate danger of fire was over her u-shadow called Burt Renik, proprietor of Askahar's Infinite Systems.

  'Well there's nothing I can do, he explained after she'd told him what had happened.

  'I only bought it from you two days ago!

  'Yes but why did you buy it?

  'Excuse me! You recommended it.

  'Yes, the Candel 8038; it's got the kind of power level you wanted for heavy duty attachments. But you came to me rather than a licensed dealer.

  'What are you talking about? I couldn't afford a new model. The Unisphere evaluation library said it was dependable.

  'Exactly. And I sell a lot of refurbished units because of that. But the one you bought had a manufacturer's decade-warranty that expired over a decade ago. Now with all the goodwill in Ozzie's universe, I have to tell you: you get what you pay for. I have some newer models in stock if you need a replacement.

  Araminta wished she h
ad the ability to trojan a sensorium package past his u-shadow filters, one that would produce the painburst he'd get from a good smack on the nose. 'Will you take part exchange?

  'I could make you an offer on any components I can salvage, but I'd have to bring the bot in to the workshop to analyse what's left. I can come out, oh… middle of next week, and there would have to be a collection charge.

  'For Ozzie's sake, you sold me a dud.

  'I sold you what you wanted. Look, I'm only offering to salvage parts as a goodwill gesture. I'm running a business, I want return customers.

  'Well you've lost this one. She ended the call and told her u-shadow never to accept a call from Burt Renik again. 'Bloody hell! Her u-shadow quickly revised her refurbishment schedule, adding on an extra three days to her expected completion date. That assumed she wouldn't buy a replacement for the 8038. It was a correct assumption. The budget wasn't working out like she'd originally planned. Not that she was overspending, but the time involved in stripping out all the old fittings and demode decorations was taking a lot longer than her first estimate.

  Araminta sat back on the floor and glared at the ruined bot. I'm not going to cry. I'm not that pathetic.

  The loss of the 8038 was a blow, though. She'd just have to trust the remaining bots would hold out. Her u-shadow began to run diagnostic checks on them while she tried to detach the abrader mat from the 8038's foam-clogged multi-socket. The attachment was expensive and, unlike the bot, brand new. Her mood wasn't helped by the current state of the flat. She had been working on it for five days solid now, stripping it down to bare walls, and gutting the ancient domestic equipment, the whole place looked just terrible. Every surface was covered in fine particles, with sawdust enhancing the whole dilapidated appearance; also not helped by the way any sound echoed round the blank rooms. After tidying things up today, she could start the refurbishment stage. She was sure that would re-fire her enthusiasm. There had been times over the last week when she'd had moments of pure panic, wondering how she could have been so stupid to have gambled everything on this ancient cruddy flat.

  The abrader attachment came free and she pulled it out. With her u-shadow controlling them directly, two of the remaining bots hauled their broken sibling out of the flat and dumped it in the commercial refuse casket parked outside. She winced every time it bumped on the stairs, but the other occupants were out, they'd never know how the dints got there.

  With the abrader plugged in to another bot, a Braklef 34B — only eight years old — she turned her attention back to the balcony door actuator. She knew if she started moping over the broken bot she'd just wind up feeling sorry for herself and never get anything done. She simply couldn't afford that.

  The simplest thing, she decided, was to break the actuator down and clean the grime off manually; after that she could use the specialist tools to get the systems up to required standard. Her other toolbox, the larger one, had a set of power keys. She set to with more determination she had any right to without resorting to aerosols.

  As she worked, her u-shadow skimmed the news, local and Intersolar, and summarized topics she was interested in, feeding it to her in a quiet neural drizzle. Now she'd bought the flat, she'd cancelled the daily review of city property. It would be too distracting, especially if something really good appeared on the market. So instead she chortled quietly at the images in her peripheral vision as a city councillor's son was indicted on charges of land fraud. The investigators were rumoured to be closing in on Daddy, who sat on the city board for zoning management. Last night, Debbina, the first-born daughter of billionaire Shel-donite Likan had been arrested once again for lewd conduct in a public place. The image of her coming out of Colwyn Central police station flanked by her lawyers this morning showed her still wearing a black spray dress from the previous evening, and her blond hair in disarray. Hansel Industries, one of Ellezelin's top 100 companies was discussing opening a manufacturing district just outside Colwyn; the details were accompanied by economic projections. She couldn't help scan the effect on property prices.

  As far as Intersolar political news was concerned the only item was the new Senate motion introduced by Marian Kantil, Earth's Senator, that Living Dream desist from reckless action in respect to its Pilgrimage. Ellezelin's Senator responded to the motion by walking out. He was followed by the Senators from Tari, Idlib, Lirno, Quhood and Agra — the Free Trade Zone planets. Araminta wasn't surprised to find Viotia's Senator had abstained from the vote, as had seven other External Worlds, all on the fringe of the Zone, and all with a large percentage of Living Dream followers in their population. The report went on to show the huge manufacturing yard on the edge of Greater Makkathran, where the Pilgrimage ships would be assembled. Araminta stopped cleaning the actuator to watch. An armada of civic construction machinery was laying down the field, flattening fifteen square miles of countryside ready for its cladding of concrete. The first echelon of machines swept the ground with dispersant beams, chewing into the side of hillocks and escarpments; loosening any material that stood above the required level. All the resulting scree slides of pulverized soil and sand were elevated by regrav modules then channelled by force fields into thick solid streams that curved through the air and stretched back to the holds of vast ore barges hovering at the side of the estuary which made up one side of the yard. Following the levelling operation was a line of more basic machinery which drove deep support piles into the bedrock to support the weight of the starship cradles. The Pilgrimage fleet was to be made up of twelve cylindrical vessels, each a mile long, and capable of carrying two million pilgrims in suspension. Already Living Dream was talking about them being merely the 'first wave'.

  Araminta shook her head in mild disbelief that so many people could be so stupid, and switched to local reports of business and celebrities.

  Two hours later, Cressida arrived. She frowned down at the prints her shiny leather pumps with their diamond encrusted straps made in the thick layer of dirt coating the hall floor. Her cashmere fur dress contracted around her to save her skin from exposure to the dusty air. One hand was raised to cover her mouth, gold and purple nailprint friezes flowing in slow motion.

  Araminta smiled up uncertainly at her cousin. She was suddenly very self-conscious standing there in her filthy overalls, hair wound up and tucked into a cap, hands streaked with black grease.

  'There's a dead bot in your casket, Cressida said. She sounded annoyed by it.

  'I know, Araminta sighed. 'Price of buying cheap.

  'It's one of yours? Cressida's eyebrows lifted. 'Do you want me to call the supplier and have it replaced?

  'Tempting. Ozzie knows it wasn't actually that cheap relative to my budget, but no I'll fight my own battles from now on.

  'That's my family. Stupidly stubborn to the last.

  'Thanks.

  'I'm here for two reasons. One to look round. Okay, done that. Came a month too early, obviously. Two, I want all the frightful details of Thursday night. You and that rather attractive boy Keetch left very early together. And darling I do mean all the details.

  'Keetch is hardly a boy'

  'Pha! Younger than me by almost a century. So tell your best cousin. What happened?

  Araminta smiled bashfully. 'You know very well. We went back to his place. She proffered a limp gesture at the dilapidated hallway. 'I could hardly bring him here.

  'Excellent. And?

  'And what?

  'What does he do? Is he single? What's he like in bed? How many times has he called? Is he yearning and desperate yet? Has he sent flowers or jewellery or is he all pathetic and gone the chocolates route? Which resort bedroom are you spending the weekend in?

  'Wow, just stop there. Araminta's smile turned sour. In truth Keetch had been more than adequate in bed and he had even tried to call her several times since Thursday. Calls she had no intention of returning. The thrill of liberation, of playing the field, of experimenting, of answering to no one, of making and taking her own ch
oices, of just plain having fun; it was all shewanted right now. A simple life without commitments or attachments. Right now was what she should have been doing instead of being married. 'Keetch was very nice, but I'm not seeing him again. I'm too busy here.

  'Now I am impressed. Hump 'em and dump 'em. There's quite a core of raw steel hidden inside that ingenue facade, isn't there?

  Araminta shrugged. 'Whatever.

  'If you ever want a career in law, I'll be happy to sponsor you. You'll probably make partner in under seventy years.

  'Gosh, now there's an enticement'

  Cressida dropped her hand long enough to laugh. 'Ah well, I tried. So are we on for Wednesday?

  'Yes, of course. Araminta enjoyed their girls nights out. Cressida seemed to know every exclusive club in Colwyn City, and she was on all their guest lists. 'So what happened to you after I left? Did you catch anyone?

  'At my age? I was safely tucked up in bed by midnight.

  'Who with?

  'I forget their names. You know you really must go up a level and join an orgy. They can be fantastic, especially if you have partners who know exactly what they're doing.

  Araminta giggled. 'No thanks. Don't think I'm quite ready for that yet. What I'm doing is pretty adventurous for me.

  'Well when you're ready…

  'I'll let you know.

  Cressida inhaled a breath of dust and started coughing. 'Ozzie, this place is bringing back too many memories of my early years. Look, I'll call later. Sorry I'm not much practical help, but truthfully, I'm crap with design programs'

  'I want to do this by myself. I'm going to do this by myself.

  'Hell, make that partner in fifty years. You've got what it takes.

  'Remind you of you? Araminta asked sweetly.

  'No. I think you're sharper, unfortunately. Bye, darling.

  Lunch was a sandwich in her carry capsule as she flew across the city to the first of three suppliers on her list. The carry capsule, like her bots, had seen better days; according to the log she was the fifth owner in thirty years. Perfectly serviceable, the sales manager had assured her. It didn't have the speed of a new model, and if the big rear cargo compartment was filled to the rated load then it wouldn't quite reach its maximum flight ceiling. But she had a lot more confidence in the capsule than the 8038 bot; because of its age it had to pass a strict Viotia Transport Agency flightworthiness test every year, and the last one had been two months before she bought it.