The Dreaming Void v-1

by Peter Hamilton

  'No way of telling if he's down there, Aaron said. 'Not from up here. I can't even see what ships are parked under the force field.

  'What were you expecting?

  'Nothing more than this. I'm just scouting the territory before we go in to make sure there are no surprises.

  Corrie-Lyn rubbed her arms, as if the cold from the planet was seeping into the cabin. 'So what's our cover story this time?

  'No point in one. It's not like the teams are heavily armed.

  'So you just shoot them one at a time until they give him up to us?

  He gave her an annoyed stare. 'We'll tell them that you're searching for a former lover. He changed his name and profile to forget you, but you've tracked him down here. All very romantic'

  'That makes me look like a complete loser.

  'Oh dear, he sneered, and told the smartcore to call the beacon at Kajaani.

  It took several minutes to get a reply from the shielded base. Eventually a very startled Restoration project director called Ansan Purillar came on line to give them landing authority.

  The Artful Dodger sank deftly through the three kilometres of the upper cloud layer. Two hundred kph winds buffeted the hull with near-solid clumps of grey mist while lightning clawed furiously at the force field. Eventually they cleared the base of the layer into a strata of super-clear air and the outside temperature plummeted. A gloomy panorama opened up beneath them. Black ice-locked land smeared with long dunes of snow. Eenuded of vegetation, every geographical feature was shaded in stark monochrome. Long braids of grubby cloud chased across the dead features.

  'It must have been terrifying, Corrie-Lyn said sadly.

  'The Primes dropped two flare bombs into the star, Aaron told her. 'The only way the Navy could knock them out was by using quantumbusters on the corona. Between them, they produced enough radiation to slaughter every living cell a million times over. Hanko's atmosphere absorbed the energy until it reached saturation point, which triggered a superstorm, which in turn threw up enough cloud to cover the planet and kick off an ice age. And the star still hasn't stabilized. Even if it did, it wouldn't matter; the radiation has completely destroyed the biosphere. According to the files, there's some marine life that's still alive in the deepest parts of the oceans, but that's all. The land is as sterile as a surgical chamber. Check out those radiation levels — and we're still five kilometres high.

  'I didn't appreciate what a scale this War was fought on.

  'They were going to genocide us. The words were almost painful to speak. It had been a fearful time. Aaron shuddered. How do I know what the War was like? A deeper instinct assured him he wasn't that old.

  The Artful Dodger continued its descent through the rampaging lower clouds, blazing with solar brilliance as it sloughed off whip-like tendrils of electrical energy. At this altitude the wind speeds had dropped to a hundred and fifty kilometres per hour, but the air density meant the ship's ingrav units were straining to hold them stable against the pressure.

  Corrie-Lyn tried not to look alarmed as the starship began to shake. High velocity ice crystals shattered against the force field as an amok cloud braid hurtled around them. The crunch of disintegrating ice could be heard inside the cabin.

  'Okay then, this is why there aren't any capsules flying down here, Aaron muttered. His exovision was showing him the force field dome below altering its permeability index to allow them through. The wind speed was now less than a hundred kilometres.

  Outside the dome, there was very little evidence of the city remaining. In its time, Kajaani had been home to three million people. Its force field had warded off the storms in the days following the Prime attack, protecting the wormhole station so that the planet's population could be evacuated to Anagaska. The process had taken over a month, with government vehicles transporting refugees from outlying counties on every continent as the storms grew worse and worse and vegetation withered and died. Seven weeks and three days after the planet's Premier Speaker led the way, CST closed the Hanko wormhole. If there was anybody left on the planet, they were beyond contact. Every effort had been made, every known habitation and isolated farmstead searched.

  With the people gone, the force fields protecting cities and towns failed one by one, allowing the winds to pound against the buildings and floodwater to scour the ground around them. Not even modern superstrong materials could resist such pummelling for ever. The structures began to crumple and collapse. Eventually, with the climate spiralling down into its ice age the rains chilled to become snow, then ice. Mushy scree piled up against the frozen ruins, obliterating yet more evidence that this had once been an inhabited world.

  The Artful Dodger passed through the force field and into the calm bubble of warm air that was the Restoration team's main base. It was centred on one of Kajaani's old parks. Under the protective auspice of the force field, the ground had been decontaminated and replanted. Grass grew once again, as did a short avenue of trees. Clusters of airborne polyphoto spheres shone an imitation sunlight on to the lush greenery; irrigation pipes provided clean water; there were even native birds and insects humming about, oblivious to the dark sky with its sub-zero winds outside.

  They landed on a small patch of concrete on the edge of the park which held just one other starship, a thirty-year-old commercial combi-freighter with a continuous wormhole drive, that could carry a mix of cargo and passengers. The difference between the two ships was patent, with the Artful Dodger's smooth chrome-purple hull seeming almost organic compared to the Restoration team's workhorse with its carbon-bonded titanium fuselage and fading paintwork.

  Aaron and Corrie-Lyn floated gently down out of the airlock to touch down between the five bulbous landing legs. Ten people had turned out to greet them, quite a crowd by the base's standards; and all curious to see the unscheduled arrivals. Ansan Purillar stood at the head of the delegation, a slightly rotund man with fair hair cut short, dressed in a simple dark-blue tunic with a Restoration logo on the arm.

  'Greetings to both of you, he said. 'I'd like to know why you're here. We're pleased to see you, of course, don't get me wrong. But we never have visitors. Ever. His attitude was pleasant, but there was an underlying determination.

  Aaron's biononics performed a fast low-level field scan. Director Purillar was an ordinary Advancer human; as were his coworkers, none were Higher. 'It's rather awkward, he said with a twisted smile. 'Er, Corrie…

  'I'm looking for someone, she said.

  It was a low voice, hauntingly mournful. Aaron was quite impressed; she'd backed it up with a soft ache in the base's tiny gaiafield. The team were suddenly all attention and sympathy.

  'A man. Yigo. We were in love. Then it went bad. My fault. I was so stupid. I shouldn't have… I don't want to say…

  Aaron put his arm comfortingly round her shoulder as she sniffed convincingly, head bowed. 'There there, he assured her. 'They don't want details.

  Corrie-Lyn nodded bravely and continued. 'He left. It took me a long time before I realized what a mistake I'd made. But I'd hurt him, really badly. I've been looking for him for three years. He changed his name and his profile, but his sister let slip he'd come here.

  'Who is it? Director Purillar asked.

  'I don't know. All I know is what his sister said, that he'd joined the Restoration project. I just had to come. If there is any chance…

  'Um, yes, sure. Purillar glanced round at his colleagues, who were busy checking each other out to see if any of them was going to own up to being The One. He waved an arm about. 'Anyone look familiar?

  Corrie-Lyn shook her head despondently. 'No. I probably won't recognize him. She faced her little audience. 'Yigo, please, if it's you, please just tell me. I just want to talk, that's all. Please.

  Now nobody was meeting her gaze.

  'You don't have to do it in front of your friends, she said. 'Come to me later. I really really miss you. That last was accompanied by a burst of sincere desperation into the gaiafield.

/>   'All right then, a now thoroughly embarrassed Purillar said to his team, 'I'll get this organized. We can meet up again at dinner.

  People broke off, heading back towards the main expanse of grass, keeping their smiles under tight control. As soon as they were a few paces away, couples went into deep intense conversations, heads pressed close together.

  Aaron watched them go, keeping his own face impassive. The base would be talking about this for the next twenty years.

  Ansan Purillar was left standing in front of his two uninvited guests, one hand scratching at his fuzz of hair in some perplexity. His gaiamotes were leaking an equal amount of disquiet. 'You're welcome to use the accommodation here. There are plenty of rooms spare, a legacy of when the project was conducted on a grander scale. But, quite frankly, I suspect your own ship would be more comfortable. He eyed the Artful Dodger jealously. 'Our living quarters haven't been updated in a century.

  'That's very kind of you, and of course we'll use the ship, Aaron said. 'We have no intention of imposing.

  'Quite the contrary, Purillar said sheepishly. 'You are going to be excellent for morale. The only entertainment we get here is sensory dramas, and they tend to pale after a while. Whereas a quest like this… One of us dull old souls with a romantic past. Well!

  'How long have you been here? Aaron asked.

  'Myself? I will have notched up twenty-five years in the last hundred and thirty.

  Aaron whistled. 'That's devotion. Do you mind telling me why?

  Purillar beckoned to them, and set off across the grass. 'I'm nearly three hundred years old, so in fact it's a small portion of my life. I don't mind donating the time because I can extend my life as long as I want to make up for it.

  'That sounds almost like Higher philosophy.

  'I suppose it does. I'll probably migrate inwards once the Restoration project ends. Higher culture appeals to me.

  'But why that first donation?

  'Simple enough, I met one of the Restored. She died just after the Prime attack, caught outside a force field when the storm struck. Seven hundred years later one of our teams found her corpse and extracted her memorycell. She was re-lifed in a clone, and lived happily on Anagaska. It was her contentment which affected me; she had such a busy fulfilling life, there was a huge family, her involvement with the local community. I was struck by how much poorer the world, my world, would have been without her. So I signed up for a tour. Then when you're here you get to see first hand the people who you find, follow them from excavation through assessment and DNA extraction, memorycell rehabilitation, right up to re-life. You understand? I meet the living individual after I dig up their corpse. Innocent people who were struck down, people who didn't deserve to die; victims of a hideous war. Maybe it's self serving, but do you have any idea how good that makes me feel?

  'I can't even imagine. I can see I'm going to have to make a financial contribution when I get back to Anagaska.

  They crossed the big grass field to the low buildings on the other side. Housing for the team members consisted of small individual cottages arranged in five neat circles, each with a central clump of community buildings. As they approached, Aaron saw an open-air swimming pool and several barbeque areas, even a sports pitch was marked out. Only two of the circles were in use now. It was impossible to see what the cottages were built out of; they were all covered by thick creepers with long brown leaves that dangled golden flowers from their tips. It was a pleasant arboreal contrast to the icy desolation outside the force field. A deliberate one he suspected; the vines were nicely shaggy, but pruned so as not to obstruct windows.

  Behind the cottages were two modern functional blocks. One containing the project laboratories, Purillar explained, while the other housed their maintenance shops and garaged their equipment.

  'We're heavily cybernated, he told them, 'But even we need a few technicians to repair the bots now and again.

  'Could he be working as a technician? Aaron asked Corrie-Lyn.

  'Who knows? she said lightly. 'I just know he's here. Probably. It is a long-shot, after all.

  Aaron didn't look at her. That hell-damned mouth of hers! He'd managed to get into the starship's culinary unit program, altering her patches on his original blocks so the drinks she ordered only had half the alcohol content she'd designated. Her attitude hadn't made any miraculous changes. 'Can we meet everyone? Aaron asked.

  'Sure. I suppose. This is a civil outpost after all. I'm not exactly a police commissioner, you know. I can't compel anyone who doesn't want to be introduced. He gave Corrie-Lyn an apologetic shrug.

  'Anyone who refuses is pretty likely to be him, don't you think? said Aaron.

  'Sounds about right, the director said. 'You do realize that everyone on the planet will now know you're here, and especially why. This is a small operation.

  'How many people is that, exactly?

  'Four hundred and twenty-seven of us; of which a hundred and eighty are here in the base. Five hundred years ago, there were six thousand people involved.

  'How many people have you restored?

  'Two point one million in total, Purillar said proudly.

  Aaron whistled appreciatively. 'I had no idea.

  'The bulk of them were in the early years, of course. But our techniques have improved dramatically since then. Thankfully, because, even with the cold helping preservation, entropy is our real enemy. Come on in, I'll show you. He stepped through the door of the laboratory block.

  The assessment room was the first section they looked in. A big clean chamber with ten long medical tables surrounded by plyplastic limbs tipped with instruments and sensors. One of the tables had a recently discovered corpse on it. Aaron wrinkled his nose up at the sight. It was hard to tell the thing had been human. A dark lump wrapped in shrunken cloth and smeared with grime, its limbs were difficult to determine, showing as long ridges. Strings of hair at one end at least showed him where the head was located. After a minute he realized the corpse was curled up in foetal position.

  Two of the Recovery team were standing beside the table in sealed white overalls, peering down through their bubble-helmets as they directed the wand-shape sensors sliding along various creases in the body's surface. Their movements dislodged grains of snow, which were carefully vacuumed up from the table top.

  'We keep the temperature in there the same as outside, Purillar said. 'Any sudden change in environment could be catastrophic. As it is we have to keep the assessment room sterile, too.

  'Why? Corrie-Lyn asked.

  'The radiation has killed off Hanko's microbial life. It's another factor which helps the preservation process. If any bugs got in there, they'd have a feast day, and we'd be left with slush.

  'They must be very delicate by now, Aaron said.

  'Yes. This one is almost intact. We normally deal with broken segments.

  'Don't you use a stabilizer field?

  'Not if we can help it. We found the field actually has a detrimental effect on their memorycells. Don't forget, back then the Commonwealth was still using crystal matrices. In some early cases we scrambled ten per cent of the information.

  'Must be hard to remove the memorycell, then.

  'We don't even try. Once we've extracted enough DNA samples to sequence a full genome, we deploy infiltrator filaments into the crystal. Even that can be hazardous. Powering up a memorycell after this long is fatal. It has to be read cold, which is done a molecular layer at a time. Each one takes about nine months.

  I'd have thought that crystal memorycells would last longer than this.

  'They built them pretty robust, even back then. But consider what they've endured for twelve hundred years. It doesn't help.

  'Who is he? Corrie-Lyn asked.

  'Her, actually. We think she's Aeva Sondlin. We'll know for certain when her genome has been read, but the location was right.

  'Location?

  'She was found four kilometres from her car. In itself that was hard to find. Wa
shed downstream in a flash flood. We know from records that she lived in the house above the valley's flood level. We think she was making a dash for the nearest town during a break in the storm. There was an official evacuation point set up there, and she informed the authorities she was coming. Never arrived. Must have got caught by the winds, or the water. Maybe shell be able to tell us.

  'You knew she was missing?

  'Yes. The records of the time aren't perfect, naturally, given the circumstances. But we have a full census, and of course everyone who arrived on Anagaska was fully documented. It's our job to try and determine what happened to those who got lost. We have to handle each case separately. In Aeva's case, we've been searching possible locations for seventy years.

  'You're bullshitting me, Aaron said.

  'I assure you I'm not.

  'Sorry, but seventy years?

  'We start with the route she must have taken, pick the obvious danger points, and seed them with sensor bots. They spread out in a circle, trying to find some trace. Like all our equipment, the bots have improved considerably during the centuries we've been here. The majority are tunnelers, burrowing through the snow and surface soil layers. So much topsoil was displaced during the storms that the continent's whole topology shifted, and now it's all locked into place by the permafrost. Ninety-nine per cent of the people we recover these days are buried. It means the bots operate in highly detrimental conditions even for this world. In total, the Restoration project has deployed four hundred and fifty million since it began. There are still eleven million active and searching. They're not fast moving, but they are thorough.

  'How many people are you still looking for?