* * * * *
The ge-monkeys laid Dinlay out on his mattress and pulled a thin blanket over him. He never woke, just groaned and shuffled round a bit. Edeard couldn't be bothered to take his friend's boots off, he was suddenly incredibly tired himself. He barely managed to remove his own boots and trousers. The dormitory's ge-chimps scampered about, collecting his clothes for laundry.
Of course, now he was actually lying down, his mind was too restless to deliver the sleep his body craved. He sent a thought to the main ceiling's rosette pattern of illumination, and it dimmed to a nebula-glow. That was about the only reaction the city buildings ever did have to human thought. The ge-chimps quietened down. Faint sounds from downstairs whispered through the big empty room, the usual comings and goings of the night shift officers. Edeard had never really got used to the way walls in the city curved. Back in Ashwell, walls were laid out in straight lines; the nine sides of his old Guild courtyard were considered pretty adventurous architecture. Here in the dormitory, the oval bed alcoves were almost rooms in their own right, with arching entrances twice Edeard's height. He liked to imagine the dormitory was actually some kind of aristocratic bedroom, and that maybe the race which created Makkathran had more than two genders. Hence the six beds. That would make the station an important building. He couldn't quite assign a use for the honeycomb warren of little rooms below ground which were used as prisoner cells and store rooms. As he thought about it, he let his farsight drift down through the translucent grey panorama of the station's structure. The image was such that it seemed to surround him, engulf him. Gravity pulled at his mind, and he sank ghost-like through the floor of the basement. There were fissures in the ground beneath, smooth fissures that looped and bent as they wound deeper and deeper. Some were no wider than his fingers, while others were broad enough to walk through. They branched and intersected, forming a convoluted filigree that, to his quixotic thoughts, resembled the veins within a human body. He felt water pulsing through several of them, while strong winds blew along others. Several of the smaller fissures contained threads of violet light which appeared to burn without ever consuming the fissure walls. He tried to touch them with his third hand, only for it to slide through as if he were grasping at a mirage.
His farsight expanded, becoming tenuous. The fissures spread away from the station, burrowing under the street outside, knitting with other extensive hollow filigrees which supported the surrounding buildings. Edeard gasped in wonder as his farsight grew and grew, the more he relaxed the more he could perceive. Slivers of colour shone through his mind, as if this shadow world was growing in texture. He couldn't even sense the dormitory any more. The station was a small glowing jewel embedded in a vast whorl of similar multichromic sparks.
Makkathran.
Edeard experienced the wonder of its thoughts. Immersing himself in a melody where a single beat lasted for years, chords so grand they could shake the very ground apart if they ever gained substance. The city slept the long sleep of all giants; untainted by the pitiful frantic tempo of parasitic humans crawling through its physical extremities.
It was content.
Edeard bathed in its ancient serenity, and slowly fell into a dreamless sleep.
SIX
'How long? Corrie-Lyn asked.
Aaron growled again and ignored her. He was inside a gym cage that the starship's cabin had extruded; testing the flexibility and strength of his restored upper torso. Pulling weight, pushing weight, bending, twisting. Working up a sweat as endurance was evaluated, measuring the oxygen consumption of the new flesh, blood flow rate, nerve speed…
'You knew Qatux could do it, she whined. 'So you must know how long it'll take.
Aaron gritted his teeth as gravity shifted off vertical and increased, forcing him to pull the handle he was gripping while stretching at the same time. Biononics reported the tendons were approaching their tear limit.
His patience was also undergoing a strenuous work out. They'd been back in the Artful Dodger for fifteen hours, a time which Corrie-Lyn had devoted to drinking and moaning. She now considered handing over Inigo's memories to be a terrible betrayal, not to mention a bad idea. A really bad idea. Stupid actually. As she kept saying.
'So it'll have like a mini-Inigo hanging round inside its own brain?
Aaron took a look at the oxygen usage in his shoulder muscles. The levels were only a couple of points off the original muscle. Not bad for a couple of days. Drugs and biononics had done what they could, the rest of it was down to good old-fashioned exercise. A decent callisthenics program should see the levels equalize over the next week or so. He shut the gym down.
'Something like that, he said.
Corrie-Lyn blinked at the unexpected answer. She rolled over on the couch and reached for the pitcher of tasimion margarita. 'So you ask the mini-Inigo a question…
'And Qatux answers it for us. Yes.
'What a load of bullshit.
'We'll see. He slipped his T-shirt off, and examined his torso. The membrane was starting to peel off. Underneath, the new skin was tender, but at last the colour was deepening to the same shade as the rest of him. 'I'm going to take a shower, he said.
'You're shaping up good, she giggled. 'Need a hand in there?
Aaron rolled his eyes. 'No thanks. He now had a strong theory of his own why Inigo had run away from Living Dream, and it wasn't anything to do with Last Dreams or the pressure of being idolized by billions. Maybe she only turned into this after he left?
The gym sank into the wall, and there was a moment's pause before the shower cubical extended out from the same section. He slipped his shorts off and stepped in as Corrie-Lyn let out a wolf-whistle. He must be recuperating, his cock was stirring. But if Qatux did come up with a notion of where the reluctant messiah was hiding out, she'd be more necessary than ever. So he turned the spore temperature down about as low as it would go, and thought of other things. Unfortunately, with a memory that didn't reach back past Ethan's appointment he didn't have much to mull over. Except his odd dreams. That horse ride… he'd been young. So it must have been his childhood. Seemed pleasant enough.
After he'd showered, they carried on their research into the odd Raiel who'd agreed to help them. Clued in by what it had said they'd sent their u-shadows out into the Unisphere to search for files on the history of Far Away during the Starflyer War. The first surprise was to find just over a million files on the period available. It took eight hours for them to filter it down to relevant and useful information. Even then, their was no direct evidence Qatux had been there.
There were endless documents on Bradley Johansson's team of Guardians chasing the Starflyer back to its lair, and how they joined up with an odd security team that Nigel Sheldon assigned to help them. Admiral Kime was one of them, of course; that was a common history text. His audacious hyperglider flight over Mount Herculaneum, and subsequent rescue by Nigel himself. Anna the Judas. Oscar the martyr. Paula Myo and the Navy interdiction squad, Cat's Claws.
'I didn't know it was Nigel who originally sent the Cat to Far Away, Corrie-Lyn exclaimed. 'What was he thinking of? She was sober again after a meal and a couple of alcohol-binder aerosols. Aspects of the search seemed to genuinely interest her.
'Be fair, he couldn't see the future.
There were some appendices that claimed the pursuit was aided by an alien. But the context was strange. The Bose motile was known to be part of Nigel's secret clique at the time. There were no references to a Raiel. One file said the Barsoomian group helped Johansson because he'd brought their genetic holy grail to Far Away. Again, nothing as to what that grail actually was.
'Let's try another angle, Aaron said. He told his u-shadow to find all files relating to a Commonwealth citizen called Tiger Pansy around the time of the Starflyer War.
The cabin's portal projected a rather startling image.
'No way, Corrie-Lyn said.
Aaron stared at the woman in equal disbelief. She was a complete mess. T
errible hair; bad facial reprofiling ruining the symmetry of her eyes, nose, and lips, appalling cosmetics making them appear worse; ridiculous breast enlargements; tight, short clothes that no girl over twenty could ever get away with wearing, let alone this one who must have been close to rejuvenation time again.
'Signed to the Wayside Production company on Oaktier, Corrie-Lyn read off her exovision. 'Appeared in a large number of their, aha, productions. Left them in the last year of the Starflyer War. No subsequent information. Nothing; no residency listing on any planetary cybersphere, no records of rejuvenation treatment, no bodyloss certificate. She simply dropped out of sight.
Aaron shook himself and cancelled the projection. 'Easy enough at the time. There was a mass migration from the Lost23 worlds which the Primes had invaded. After that, it got even more chaotic'
'Coincidence?
'The Raiel are not known for their lies. Maybe Qatux did marry her. She certainly looks the emotional type.
'That's not quite how I'd describe her, Corrie-Lyn muttered. And how did she get to Far Away? The planet was virtually cut off for decades until the starlines started flying there.
'She must have been with the Johansson team. I don't think it's relevant.
'No, but it's interesting. Why would a Raiel go there?
'You want to ask?
She shook her head. 'Naa, too intimidated.
'I'll ask for you.
'No. Let's just drop it.
'You're right though. It is interesting. I was obviously given the correct information. Qatux helps humans.
'He said he used to. Until Tiger Pansy was killed.
'By the Cat, no less. That'd be enough to shock anyone out of their dependency routine, no matter how delightful and ingrained.
'Yes, well, thank Ozzie, Paula Myo finally caught her.
'Yeah. And in about another four thousand years we can all share the joy of her coming out of suspension.
'Urrgh. I won't be around for that no matter what.
'Qatux knew Paula Myo, Aaron said. 'I wonder if that's relevant.
'How could it be?
He waited for a moment to see if his subconscious produced any clues. It didn't. 'No idea.
The Artful Dodgers smartcore told them the High Angel was calling. 'Please prepare for teleport, the alien starship told them.
'Oh bollocks, Corrie-Lyn said as she clambered to her feet. 'I really don't like this—
The cabin vanished. Once again they were standing in the large circular chamber facing Qatux.
'—part. She wrinkled her nose in distaste.
Aaron bowed to the Raiel. 'Thank you for obliging us.
'You are welcome, the big alien whispered.
'Were you successful?
'I have lived through Inigo's early life. It was not that distinguished.
Aaron looked straight at Qatux, avoiding Corrie-Lyn. His gaiamotes revealed the pique which that last remark had triggered in her mind. 'None the less, it must have provided you with an understanding of his behaviour patterns.
'Guilt drives him.
'Guilt?
'He spent his whole life hiding what he was from everyone, his family, those he loved, and his enemies.
'Are you talking about the Protectorate?
'Yes. He was aware of their constant surveillance. Towards the end he took a perverse enjoyment from maintaining the illusion that he was an ordinary Advancer. But such a lie weighed heavily on him. It was one of the main reasons he volunteered for duty at Centurion Station.
'All right, I can buy into that scenario. Given the circumstances of his later life, where do you think he might have gone?
'Hanko.
Which wasn't the kind of answer Aaron was bracing himself for. Not even close. 'The Second47 world?
'Yes.
'I know that was where Anagaska's population originated from, but they were forced off because it became uninhabitable after the Prime attack. There's nothing there, not any more.
'Inigo was always fascinated by what he considered his true ancestral home, Qatux said. 'Remember he did not belong in Anagaska's Advancer culture. Hanko gave him a psychological ground point, amplified by an ancestor obsession rooted in his psyche due to the loss of his father so soon after his birth. Such a trauma affects any child, Higher as much as Advancer, especially when the event is regarded with such bitterness by his mother.
'A wound she kept open, unintentionally or otherwise.
'Correct. Hanko provided the perfect solution to someone as displaced as Inigo. A real place, yet at the same time unattainable. The illusion which could not be broken. He often contributed to charities which supplemented the official government Restoration teams. A telling point. He was never a wealthy man on Anagaska.
'And you think he's gone back there?
'If he abandoned Living Dream due to his own uncertainty on the direction it was taking, I would assign it a very high possibility. He is Higher, the radiation and climate will have little physical effect on him.
'There are a lot of unknowns in this assumption.
'If you had certainties you would not be here.
'I apologize. I was expecting you to say he had fled the Commonwealth, or there was some secret cabal devoted to helping him. But Hanko would certainly explain why no one has found him.
'Will you go there?
Aaron looked over at Corrie-Lyn, who looked very puzzled. 'Yes, he said.
* * * * *
'Ambition and good intentions are always an excellent starting point, Likan said. 'Then before you know it you come right smack up against reality. You either adapt, become realistic and respond in kind, or you flounder along until you sink under the weight of your own capitulations. Now I know those of you in this auditorium aren't quitters. Hell, quitters couldn't afford these ticket prices. He grinned round at the murmur of dutiful amusement. 'In life, either you get pressured or you apply pressure. Same for business—
Three rows back from the small podium, Araminta glanced round at her fellow entrepreneurs. It was like the gathering of a clone army. All eager young business people, smartly dressed and sharply styled; hanging on to every word the richest man on the planet had to say about acquiring that same wealth. Each one of them desperate for a tiny hint of which way the market would go, a quip about financial trends, what new law to watch out for, a state project that was worth trying to bandwagon.
If they thought the Sheldonite would give them that, they were in for a big disappointment. Basic research: Likan was a ruthless man. He was here in Colwyn City to give another of his How-I-Made-It lectures for publicity and prestige, not to help fledgling rivals. A high profile helped his business, and in addition he got a buzz out of being adulated. This whole evening exemplified his favourite catchphrase: win-win.
Bovey would hate all this, she knew, and smiled secretively at the knowledge. Sitting amidst the faithful, such thoughts were near-sacrilege. But then Bovey had a little bit of a hang-up about the genuinely rich and powerful. All politicians were worthless incompetents. All billionaires corrupt criminals. It was one of those quirks she was fond of. It could be quite funny hearing his youngest self, the biological fourteen-year-old, raging on about the cabinet secretary for social affairs. Mr Bovey had the true hatred of every self-employed person for bureaucracy, and the taxes it demanded to keep functioning; and, worse, expanding. In her mind, fourteen-year-olds didn't have adult concerns like that, it was all angst and impossible aspirations at that age. She recalled it well.
Araminta sighed warm-heartedly. Louder than she intended. She saw Likan's gaze flick in her direction, though his speech never faltered. Her lips pressed together in self-censure.
The speech was exactly what she was expecting. Plenty of motivational talk, a few anecdotes, a whole load of financial-services product-placement, and an excess of toothy smiles during the pauses for applause and laughter. Araminta even clapped along with the rest of them. It was all standard stuff, but there were some nuggets among
the waffle. She was interested in his early years, how to make the jump from a small operation like hers up to a more corporate level. According to Likan, advancement was all down to risk, and how much of it you were prepared to take. He mentioned self-confidence a lot, along with determination and hard work. Araminta wondered if he'd ever met Laril. Now that would be an interesting conversation.
Likan finished, and was provided with a standing ovation. Araminta got to her feet with the rest of them, and applauded half-heartedly. She wished he'd been more specific, maybe given some case-study examples. The chairman of the Colwyn Small Business Association thanked their distinguished guest, and announced refreshments were available in the function room outside.
By the time Araminta made it out of the auditorium, her fellow small business owners were forming tight little groups to chatter away to each other while they gulped down the free drinks and canapes. From the snippets she overheard on her way to the bar the majority ran virtual companies. Talk was about expansion curves and cross-promotional market penetration and share options and when to merge. Men glanced at her as she walked past. There were welcoming smiles, even a few pings to her u-shadow, offering compliments and invitations. Her u-shadow didn't respond — pings were so adolescent. If you want to take me out to dinner have the courage to ask me to my face. She'd chosen a deep-turquoise dress that complemented her hair colour. Strictly speaking the neckline was low and the hem high for a business occasion; but she now had the confidence to buck convention — at least on a small level. Independence and all that exposure to Cressida had given her that.
'Pear water, she told the barman.
'Interesting choice.
She turned to find Likan standing behind her. For someone so rich, his appearance was puzzling. The skin on his face was slightly puffy, with flushed cheeks as if he were permanently out of breath. His biological age was higher than usual, fixed in his late thirties rather than the mid-twenties everyone else favoured. The clothes he wore were always expensive, but never quite gelled, as if he got his dress sense from adverts. His jacket with a shark-skin shimmer was chic, but not with that particular purple shirt and green neck twister. And the brown shoes were best worn when gardening.
The Dreaming Void v-1 Page 48