The Dreaming Void v-1

by Peter Hamilton

  'What makes you say that?

  'Because, as you said, he took extreme care to hide it from his followers; it's not logical to assume he'd acquire biononics after he began Living Dream.

  'Granted, but where does all this theorizing get you?

  'It tells me just what a load of bullshit his official past is, Aaron said, waving a hand back at the shrinking museum. 'That farce is a perfect way of covering up his true history, it provides a flawless alternative version with just enough true points touching verifiable reality as to go unquestioned. Unless of course you're like us and happen to know some awkward facts which don't fit. If he was born Higher, then one of his parents had to be Higher. Sabine almost certainly wasn't; and Erik conveniently walks out on his child a few months after the birth.

  'It was too much for the boy, that's all. If Inigo's birth was an accident like you think, that's hardly surprising.

  'No. That's not it. I don't think it was an accident. Quite the opposite. He told his u-shadow to review local events for the year prior to Inigo's birth, using non-Living Dream archives. They'd almost reached the hotel when the answer came back. 'Ah ha, this is it. He shared the file with her. 'Local news company archive. They were bought out by an Intersolar two hundred years ago and the town office downgraded to closure which is why the files were deep cached. The art block in Kuhmo's college burned down eight and a half months before Inigo was born.

  'It says the block was the centre of a gang fight, Corrie-Lyn said as she speed-reviewed. 'A bunch of hothead kids duking out a turf war.

  'Yeah right. Now launch a search for Kuhmo gang-culture. Specifically for incidents with weapons usage. Go ahead. I'll give you thousand to one odds there aren't any other files, not for fifty years either side of that date. Look at the history of this place before Inigo built his monstrosity. There was nothing here worth fighting over; not even for kids on the bottom of the pile. The council switched between three parties, and they were all virtually indistinguishable, their polices were certainly the same: low taxes, cut back on official wastage, attract business investment, and make sure the parks look pretty. Hell, they didn't even manage to get rid of the arcology by themselves. That thing stood there for nearly nine hundred years. Nine hundred, for Ozzie's sake! And they couldn't get their act together for all that time. Kuhmo is the ultimate middle-class dead-end, drifting along in the same rut for a thousand years. Bad boys don't want a part of that purgatory, it's like a suspension sentence but with sensory torture thrown in; they just want to leave.

  'All right, all right, I submit. Inigo has a dodgy family history. What's your point?

  'My theory is a radical infiltration; it's about the right time period. And that certainly won't be on any news file, deep cached or otherwise.

  'So how do we find out what really happened? 'Only one way. We have to ask the Protectorate. Corrie-Lyn groaned in dismay, dropping her head into her hands.

  * * * * *

  The maintenance hangar was on the edge of Daroca's spaceport. One of twenty three identical black-sheen cubes in a row; the last row in a block of ten. There were eighteen blocks in total. It was a big spaceport, much larger than the Navy compound on the other side of the city. Daroca's residents were a heavily starfaring folk, and the Air project had added considerably to the numbers of spaceships in recent centuries. Without any connection to the Unisphere's guidance function a person could wander round the area all day and not be able to distinguish between any of the hangars. A subtle modification to the spaceport net management software provided a near identical disorientation function to any uninvited person who was using electronic navigation to find Troblum's hangar. While the other structures were always opening their doors to receive or disgorge starships, Troblum's was kept resolutely shut except for his very rare flights. When the doors did iris back, a security shield prevented any visual or electronic observation of the interior. Even the small workforce who loyally turned up day after day parked their capsules outside and used a little side door to enter. They then had to pass through another three shielded doors to enter the hangar's central section. Nearly two thirds of the big building was taken up by extremely sophisticated synthesis and fabrication machinery. All of the systems were custom-built; the current layout had taken Troblum over fifteen years to refine. That was why he needed other people to help him. Neumann cybernetics and biononic extrusion were magnificent systems for everyday life, but for anything beyond the ordinary you first had to design the machinery to build the machines which fabricated the device.

  Troblum had no trouble producing the modified exotic matter theory behind an Anomine planet-shifting ftl engine, and even describing the basic generator technology he wanted. But turning those abstracts into physical reality was tough. For a start he needed information on novabomb technology, and even after nearly 1,200 years the Navy kept details of that horrendously powerful weapon classified. Which was where Emily Aim came in.

  It was Marius who had put the two of them in touch. Emily used to work for the Navy weapons division on Augusta. After three hundred years she had simply grown bored.

  'There's no point to it any more, she told Troblum at their first meeting. 'We haven't made any truly new weapons for centuries. All the lab does is refine the systems we have. Any remotely new concept we come up with is closed down almost immediately by the top brass.

  'You mean ANA: Governance? he'd asked.

  'Who knows where the orders originate from? All I know is that they come down from Admiral Kazimir's office and we jump fast and high every time. It's crazy. I don't know why we bother having a weapons research division. As far as I know the deterrence fleet hasn't changed ships or armaments for five hundred years.

  The problem he'd outlined to her was interesting enough for her to postpone downloading into ANA. After Emily, others had slowly joined his motley team; Dan Massell whose expertise in functional molecular configuration was unrivalled, Ami Cowee to help with exotic matter formatting. Several technicians had come and gone over the years, contributing to the Neumann cybernetics array, then leaving as their appliance constructed its required successor. But those three had stuck with him since the early years. Their age and Higher-derived patience meant they were probably the only ones who could tolerate him for so long. That and their shared intrigue in the nature of the project.

  When Troblum's ageing capsule landed on the pad outside the hangar he was puzzled to see just Emily's and Massell's capsules sitting on the concrete beside the glossy black wall. He'd been expecting Ami as well.

  Then as soon as he was through the second little office he knew something was wrong. There was no quiet vibration of machinery. As soon as the shield over the third door cut off, his low level field could detect no electronic activity beyond. The hangar had been divided in half, with Mellanie's Redemption parked at one end, a dark bulky presence very much in the shade of the assembly section. Troblum stood under the prow of the ship, and looked round uncomprehendingly. The Neumann cybernetic modules in front of him were bigger than a house; joined into a lattice cube of what looked like translucent glass slabs the size of commercial capsules, each one glowing with its individual primary light. It was as if a rainbow had shattered only to be scooped up and shoved into a transparent box. At the centre, three metres above Troblum's head, was a scarlet and black cone, the ejector mechanism of the terminal extruder. It should have been wrapped in a fiercely complex web of quantum fields, intersecting feeder pressors, electron positioners, and molecular lock injectors. He couldn't detect a glimmer of power. If all had gone well over the last few days the planet-shift engine should have been two-thirds complete, assembled atom by atom in a stable matrix of superdense matter held together by its own integral coherent bonding field. By now the cylinder would be visible within the extruder, glimmering from realigned exotic radiation as if it contained its own galaxy.

  Instead, Emily and Massell were sitting on a box-like atomic D-K phase junction casing at the base of the cybernetics, d
rinking tea. Both silent with mournful faces, they flashed him a guilty glance as he came in.

  'What happened? he demanded.

  'Some kind of instability, Emily said. 'I'm sorry, Troblum. The bonding field format wasn't right. Ami had to shut it down.

  'And she didn't tell me!

  'Couldn't face you, Massell said. 'She knew how disappointed you'd be. Said she didn't want to be responsible for breaking your heart.

  'That's not— Arrrgh, he groaned. Biononics released a flood of neural inhibitors as they detected his thoughts growing more and more agitated. He shivered as if he'd been caught by a blast of arctic air. But his focus was perfectly clear. A list of social priorities flipped up into his exovision. 'Thank you for waiting to tell me in person, he said. 'I'll call Ami and tell her it wasn't her fault.

  Emily and Massell exchanged a blank look. 'That's kind of you, she said.

  'How big an instability?

  Massell winced. 'Not good. We need to re-examine the whole effect, I think.

  'Can we just strengthen it?

  'I hope so, but even that will be a domino on the internal structure.

  'Maybe not, Emily said with a weak confidence. 'We included some big operating margins. There's a lot of flexibility within the basic parameters.

  Troblum fell silent with a dismay which even the inhibitors couldn't overcome. If Emily was wrong, if they needed a complete redesign, then the Neumann cybernetics would need to be rebuilt. It would take years. Again. And this drive generator had been his true hope, he'd genuinely thought he would have a functional device by the end of the week. It was the only way to get people to agree with his theory. Marius would see the Navy never backed a search, he was sure of that. This was all that was left to him, his remaining shred of proof.

  'You can get the resource allocation, can't you? Massell said in an encouraging voice. 'I mean, you've managed to push your theory to this level. His gesture took in the silent hulk of Neumann cybernetics. 'You've got to have some powerful political allies on the committees. And this wasn't a setback as such; only one thing was out of alignment.

  Troblum deliberately avoided looking in Emily's direction. Massell hadn't been one of Marius's candidates. 'Yes, I can probably get the EMA for a rebuild.

  'Okay then! Do you want to get on it right away, or leave it a few days?

  'Give it a few days, Troblum said, reading from his social priority list. 'We'll all need a while to recharge after this. I'll start going over the telemetry and give you a call when I think I know what the new bonding field format should be.

  'Okay. Massell gave him an encouraging smile as he slid off the casing. 'There's a certain Air technician I've been promising a resort time-out with. I'll let her know I'm free. He gave Emily a blank gaze, then left.

  'Will there be the resources to carry on? she asked.

  'I don't know. Maybe not from our mutual friend. At the back of his mind was a nasty little thought that this had been the result which benefited Marius best. Just how far would the Accelerator Faction representative go to achieve that? 'But I'll carry it on one way or another. I still have some personal EMA left.

  Her expression grew sceptical as she looked round the huge assemblage of ultra-sophisticated equipment. 'All right. If you need any help reviewing the data, let me know.

  'Thanks, he said.

  Troblum's office wasn't much. A corner in one of the annexe rooms big enough for a large wingback chair in the middle of a high-capacity solido projection array. He slumped down into the worn cushioning and stared through the narrow window into the hangar's assembly section. Now he was alone and the neural chemicals were wearing off, he didn't have the heart to begin a diagnostic review. The drive engine should have slid smoothly out of the extruder and into the modified forward cargo hold of Mellanie's Redemption. He would have been ready to show the Commonwealth he was right by the end of the week, to open up a whole new chapter in galactic history. Highers weren't supposed to become frustrated but right now he wanted to kick the shit out of the Neumann cybernetics.

  Some time later that afternoon the hangar security net informed Troblum a capsule had landed on the pad outside. Frowning, he flipped the sensor image out of his peripheral vision, and watched as the capsule's door flowed open. Marius stepped out.

  Troblum actually feared for his life. The warning at the restaurant had been awful enough. But Troblum had been so sure the design for the drive engine was valid he couldn't stop thinking that the whole manufacturing process had somehow been deliberately knocked out of kilter — sabotaged, in other words. There was only one person who could have that done. He gave the Mellanie's Redemption a calculating glance. Even with his Faction-supplied biononics, Marius wouldn't be able to shoot through the ship's force field.

  It wasn't going to happen. Troblum didn't have anywhere to run to; he certainly didn't have a friend — not one, not anywhere. And if Marius was here to eliminate him, it was on orders from the Accelerators. Hiding inside the starship would only postpone the inevitable.

  I must start thinking about this, about a way out.

  Reluctantly, he ordered the hangar net to open the side door.

  Marius came into the office, gliding along in his usual smooth imperturbable fashion. He glanced round, not bothering to hide his distaste. 'So this is where you spend your days.

  'Something wrong with that?

  'Not at all. Marius gave a thin smile. 'Everyone should have a hobby.

  'Do you?

  'None you'd appreciate.

  'So what are you here for? I did as you asked, I haven't pressed the Navy.

  'I know. And that hasn't gone un-noted. He studied the huge stack of Newman cybernetics through the office window. 'My commiserations. You put a lot of effort into today'

  'How did you know…

  The representative's eerie green eyes turned back to stare at Troblum. 'Don't be childish. Now, I'm here because you need more funds and we have another little project which might interest you.

  'A project? Since he didn't seem in danger of immediate slaughter, Troblum couldn't help the tweak of interest.

  'One you'll find difficult to refuse once you know the details. Its an ftl drive which we're putting into production. Who knows? Perhaps there will be some overspill into this which you can take advantage of.

  Troblum really couldn't think what type of drive the ANA Faction might want, especially after the last ultra-classified project he'd worked on for Marius. 'And you'll help me acquire extra EMAs for a rebuild here?

  'Budgets are tight in these uncertain times, but a swift and successful conclusion to our drive programme would probably result in some unused allocation we can divert your way. However, we also have something else you might be interested in, a bonus if you like.

  'What's that?

  'Bradley Johansson's genome.

  'What? Impossible. There was nothing left of him.

  'Not quite. He rejuvenated several times at a clinic on an Isolated world. We had an access opportunity several centuries ago.

  'Are you serious?

  Marius simply raised an eyebrow.

  'That sounds good, Troblum said. 'Really good. I almost don't have to think about it.

  'I need an answer now.

  Once again Troblum was uncertain what would happen if he said no. He couldn't detect any active embedded weapons in the representative, but that didn't mean death wouldn't be sudden and irrevocable. Talk about carrot and stick. 'All right. But first I have to spend a couple of days analysing what happened here.

  'We would like you to fly to our assembly station immediately.

  'If I can't settle this problem to my own satisfaction I won't be any good to you. I think you know that.

  Marius hardened his stare, his eyes darkening from emerald to near-black. 'Very well, you can have forty-eight hours. No more. I expect you to be on your way by then. He transferred a flightplan file over to Troblum's u-shadow.

  'I will be. It took a lot of biono
nic intervention to prevent Troblum from shaking as the representative left the office. There wasn't anything he could do to stop the sweat staining his suit right along his spine. When the sensors showed him the representative's capsule lifting off the pad, he turned to gaze back into the assembly section. It was all far too neat. The problem on the verge of success. The generous offer to help pay for a solution, plus the unbelievable promise of being able to clone Bradley Johansson. Troblum let his biononic field sweep out to flow through the inert cybernetics. 'What did that bastard do? he murmured. Around him the solido projectors snapped on, filling the air with a multicoloured blizzard of fine equations, sparkling as they interacted. Somewhere there had to be a flaw in the blueprint that had taken him fifteen painstaking years to devise, a deliberate glitch. The only person who could put it there was Emily. He called up the sections she was directly involved with. There was an emotion tugging at him as he started to review the data. It took a while, but he eventually realized it was sadness.

  * * * * *

  From the office he was visiting in the hangar five down from Troblum's, the Delivery Man could just see Marius's capsule as it took to the air again. All he used was his eyes, there was no way the Accelerator representative could know he was under direct observation. 'He's gone, he reported. 'And that hangar has distorted the spaceport's basic guidance protocols — you can't get there unless you're invited. It's definitely a nest for some bad boy activity. Do you want me to infiltrate?

  'No thank you, the Conservative Faction replied. 'We'll use passive observation for the moment.

  'What about this Troblum character it's registered to?

  'Records indicate he's some kind of Starflyer War enthusiast. His starship fiightplan logs are interesting, he visits some out of the way places.