The Dreaming Void (21 page)

Melzar's hand came down on his shoulder. “It would have been none without you,” he said quietly. “Your warning saved us. Saved me, in fact. I owe you my life, Edeard. We all do.”

“No.” Edeard shook his head sadly. “I didn't warn you. I was terrified. That was all. You heard my fear.”

“I know. It was powerful. What happened? What tipped you off?”

“I …” He frowned, remembering the sensation of fear that had gripped him. There was no reason for it. “I heard something,” he said lamely.

“Whatever, I'm glad.”

“Why couldn't we sense them? I thought I had good farsight. They were closer to me than Obron and Fahin, and I never knew.”

“There are ways you can eclipse your thoughts, bend them away from farsight. It's not a technique we're very familiar with in Ashwell, and I've never seen it practiced so well as today. The Lady knows where they learned it. And they tamed fastfoxes, too. That's astonishing. We'll have to send messengers out to the other towns and warn them of this new development.”

“Do you think there are more of them out there?” Edeard could imagine whole armies of bandits converging on their little caravan.

“No. We put them to flight today. And even if there were others lurking about, they have pause for thought now. Their ambush failed—thanks to you.”

“I bet Janene and the others don't think it's failed,” Edeard said bitterly. He didn't care that he was being rude to Melzar. After this, nothing much seemed to matter.

“There's no answer I can give you to that, lad. I'm sorry.”

“Why do they do this?” Edeard asked. “Why do these people live out here hurting others? Why don't they live in the villages, in a house? They're just savages.”

“I know, lad. But this is all they know. They're brought up in the wild, and they'll bring their children up the same way. It's not a cycle we can break. There are always going to be people living beyond civilization.”

“I hate them. They killed my parents. Now they've killed my friends. We should wipe them out. All of them. It's the only way we'll ever be allowed to live in peace.”

“That's anger talking.”

“I don't care; that's what I feel. That's what I'll always feel.”

“It probably is. Right now I almost agree with you. But it's my job to get everyone home safely.” Melzar leaned in close, studying Edeard's expression and thoughts. “Are you going to help me with that?”

“Yes, sir. I will.”

“Okay, now call back our ge-wolves.”

“Right. What about the fastfox?” Edeard was still aware of the animal prowling at the limit of his farsight. It was confused, missing its original master.

“The fastfox?”

“Edeard tamed it,” Obron said. “His third hand scooped it up, and he made it attack the bandits.”

The other apprentices turned to look at Edeard. Despite the exhaustion and apprehension dominating their thoughts, a lot of them were registering surprise and even some concern.

“I told you,” Edeard said sullenly. “I know how to deal with animals. It's what my whole guild does.”

“Nobody's ever tamed a fastfox,” Toran said. Melzar flashed him an annoyed glance.

“The bandits did,” Genril said. “I saw the collars on them.”

“They'd already learned to obey,” Edeard explained. “My orders were stronger, that's all.”

“All right,” Melzar said. “Call the fastfox in. If you can control it, we'll use it to guard the caravan. If not, well …” He patted his rifle. “But I'll warn you now, lad. The village elders won't allow you to keep it.”

In Aaron's opinion, Riasi had benefited from being stripped of its capital city status. It retained the grand structures intrinsic to any capital as well as the expansive public parks, a well-financed transport grid, and excellent leisure facilities, yet with the ministries and their bureaucrats decamped across the ocean to Makkathran2, the stress and hassle had been purged from everyday life. So had exorbitant housing costs. What was left was a rich city with every possible amenity; consequently, its residents were kicking back and enjoying themselves.

It made things a lot easier for Aaron. The taxi flight from Makkathran2 had taken nine hours; they had landed at the spaceport, one of hundreds of identical arrivals. Mercifully, Corrie-Lyn had spent most of the journey asleep. When she did wake up, she placidly did whatever he told her. So they moved through the vast passenger terminus on the pedwalks, visiting just about every lounge. Only then did he go back to the taxi rank and take a trip to the old Parliament building at the center of the city. It was late morning by then, with a lot of activity in the surrounding district. They swapped taxis again and then again. Three taxis later they finally touched down in a residential zone on the east bank of the Camoa River.

During the flight from Makkathran2 Aaron had rented a ground-floor apartment in a fifteen-story tower. It was anonymous enough; a safe house he called it. To Corrie-Lyn it probably seemed secure. Aaron knew his multiple taxi journeys and untraceable coin payment for the apartment were strictly amateur stuff. Any half-decent police officer could track them down within a day.

For two days he did nothing. It took Corrie-Lyn the entire first day just to sober up. He allowed her to order anything she wanted by way of clothes and food but forbade any alcohol or aerosols. For the second day she just sulked, a state exacerbated by a monster hangover. He knew there was plenty of trauma involved, too, as she reconciled what had happened with Captain Manby's squad. That night he heard her crying in her room.

Aaron decided to go all out with breakfast the next morning to try and reach through her mood. He combined the culinary unit's most sophisticated synthesis with items delivered fresh from a local delicatessen. The meal started with Olberon bluefruit, followed by French toast with caramelized banana; the main course was buckwheat crepes with fried duck eggs, grilled Uban mushroom, and smoked Ayrshire bacon, topped by a delicate
omelette aux caviar.
The tea was genuine Assam, which was all he could ever drink in the morning; it was not his best time of day.

“Wowie,” Corrie-Lyn said in admiration. She had wandered in from her bedroom all bleary-eyed, dressed in a fluffy blue toweling robe. When she saw what was being laid out, she perked up immediately.

“There's sugar for the bluefruit,” he told her. “It's refined from Dranscome tubers, best in the galaxy.”

Corrie-Lyn sprinkled some of the silvery powder over the bluefruit and tried a segment. “Umm, that is good.” She spooned out some more.

Aaron sat opposite her and took his first sip of tea. Their table was next to a window wall, giving them a view across the river. Several big oceangoing barges were coasting along just above the rippling water; smaller river traffic curved around them. He didn't see them; his eyes were on the loose front of her robe, which revealed the slope of her breasts. Firm and excellently shaped, he admired cheerfully. She certainly had a great body, his gaze tracking down to her legs to confirm it. There were no mental directives either way on having sex with her, so he suspected the hormonal admiration was all his own. It made him grin.
Normal, after all.

“You're not a starship leasing agent,” Corrie-Lyn said abruptly, her face pulled up in a peeved expression.

He realized he was allowing some of his feelings to ooze out into the gaiafield. “No.”

“So what are you?”

“Some kind of secret agent, I guess.”

“You
guess
?”

“Yeah.”

“Don't you know?”

“Not really.”

“What do you mean?”

“Simple enough. If I don't know anything, I can't reveal anything. I just have things I know I have to do.”

“You mean you haven't got any memories of who you are?”

“Not really, no.”

“Do you know who you're working for?”

“No.”

“So how do you know you should be working for them?”

“Excuse me?”

“How do you know you're not working for the Ocisen Empire, that you're not helping bring down the Greater Commonwealth? Or what if you're a leftover Starflyer agent? They say Paula Myo never did catch all of them.”

“Unlikely, but admittedly I don't know.”

“Then how can you live with yourself?”

“I think it's improbable that I'm doing something like that. If you asked me to do it now, I wouldn't. So I wouldn't have agreed to do it before my full memory was removed.”

“Your full memory.” Corrie-Lyn tasted the idea with the same care with which she had sampled the bluefruit. “Anyone who agrees to have their memory taken out just to get an illegal contract has got to be pretty extreme. And you kill people, too. You're good at it.”

“My combat software was superior to theirs. And they'll be re-lifed. Your friend Captain Manby is probably already walking around looking for us. Think how much improved his motivation is now thanks to me.”

“Without your memories you can't know what your true personality is.”

Aaron reached for his French toast. “And your point is?”

“For Ozzie's sake, doesn't that trouble you?”

“No.”

She shook her head in amazement. “That's got to be an artificial feeling.”

“Again, so what? It makes me efficient at what I do. Personality trait realignment is a useful procedure in re-life. If you want to be a management type, then have your neural structure altered to give yourself confidence and aggression.”

“Choose a vocation and mold yourself to fit. Great; that's so human.”

“Now, then, what's your definition of human these days? Higher? Advancer? Originals? How about the Hive? Huxley's Haven has kept a regulated society functioning for close to one and a half thousand years, every one of them proscribed by genetic determination, and they're still going strong, with a population that's healthy and happy. Now you tell me plain and clear: Which of us won the human race?”

“I'm not arguing evolution with you. Besides, it's just a distraction from what you are.”

“I thought we'd agreed that neither of us knows what I am. Is that what fascinates you about me?”

“In your pervert dreams!”

Aaron grinned and crunched some toast.

“So what's your mission?” Corrie-Lyn asked. “What do you have to do, kidnap Living Dream Councillors?”

“Ex-Councillors. But no, that's not the way of it.”

“So what do you want with me?”

“I need to find Inigo. I believe you can help.”

Corrie-Lyn dropped her spoon and stared at him in disbelief. “You've got to be kidding.”

“No.”

“You expect me to help you? After what you just said?”

“Yes. Why not?”

“But …” she sputtered.

“Living Dream is trying to kill you. Understand this: They're not going to stop. If anything, the other night will only make them more determined. The only person left in the galaxy who can put the brakes on your dear new Cleric Conservator is Inigo himself.”

“So that's who you're working for: the anti-Pilgrimage lobby.”

“There's no guarantee that Inigo will stop the Pilgrimage if he comes back. You know him better than anybody, do I speak the right in that?”

She nodded forlornly. “Yeah. I think you might be.”

“So help me find him.”

“I can't do that,” she said in a low voice. “How can you ask when even you don't know what you'll do to him if we find him?”

“Anyone who has hidden himself this well is never going to be taken by surprise even if we do manage to track him down. He knows there are a lot of serious people looking for him. Besides, if I wanted to kill him, why would I take the trouble of hunting him down? If he's off the stage, he can't direct any of the actors, now, can he? So if I want him back, I must want him back intact.”

“I don't know,” she said weakly.

“I saved your life.”

Corrie-Lyn gave him a sly smile. “The software running you saved my life. It did it because you needed me. I'm your best hope, remember.”

“You're my number one choice.”

“Better get ready to schmooze number two.”

“Not even my liver could take another night in Rakas. I
do
need you, Corrie-Lyn. And what about you? What do you need? Don't you want to find him? Don't you want to hear why he upped and left you and all the billions who believed in him? Did he lose faith? Was Living Dream just that all along, nothing more than a dream?”

“Low blow.”

“You can't do nothing. You're not that kind of person. You know Inigo must be found before the Pilgrimage leaves. Somebody
will
find him. Nobody can stay hidden forever, not in this universe. Politics simply won't allow it. Who do you want to find him?”

“I … I can't,” Corrie-Lyn said.

“I understand. I can wait, at least for a little while longer.”

“Thanks.” She put her head down and started to eat her French toast, almost as if she were ashamed of the decision.

Aaron did not see her for nearly three hours after breakfast. She went back into her bedroom and stayed there. His u-shadow monitored a small amount of unisphere use; she was running through standard information files from the Living Dream fanes in the city. He had a shrewd idea what she was looking for—a friend she could trust, which meant things could well be swinging his way. If they set foot outside, it would not be long before Manby or his replacement was racing up behind them, guns flaring.

When she came out, she was wearing a loose-neck red sweater and tight black trousers; a silver necklace made a couple of long loops around her neck before wrapping around her hips. She had fluffed her dark hair neatly and infused it with purple and green sparks that glimmered on a long cycle. He gave her an appreciative smile, which she ignored.

“I need to talk to someone,” she announced.

Aaron tried to make his smirk not too obvious. “Sure thing. I hope you're not going to insist on going alone. There are bad people out there.”

“You can come with me, but the conversation is private.”

“Okay. Can I ask if you've already set up a meeting?”

“No.”

“Good. Don't call anyone. The Ellezelin cybersphere has government monitors in its nodes. Manby's team will fall on you like a planet-killer asteroid.”

Her expression flickered with worry. “I already accessed the unisphere.”

“That's okay. They probably can't trace your u-shadow access,” he lied. “Do you know where this person is likely to be?”

“The Daeas fane. That's over on the south side of the city.”

“Right, then; we'll take a taxi to that district and land a couple of blocks away. Once we're at the fane, we'll try to get a visual on your friend.”

“He's not a friend,” she said automatically.

Aaron shrugged. “Whoever the person is. If we find him, then you can have your chat in private. Calling him is our last resort, and please let me do that; my u-shadow has fixes available that should circumvent the monitor systems.”

She nodded agreement, picked up her scarlet bag, and wrapped a long fawn-colored scarf around her shoulders. “Let's go.”

Aaron was perfectly relaxed in the taxi flight over the city. He spent it looking down on the buildings, enjoying the vertical perspective as the towers flipped past underneath. The inhabitants certainly enjoyed their roof gardens; nearly half of them had some kind of terrace fenced in by greenery, and swimming pools were everywhere.

He did not know what the outcome of Corrie-Lyn's meeting would be, nor did he really care. His only certainty was that he would know exactly what to do when the time came. There was, he reflected, a lot of comfort to be had in his unique level of ignorance.

They landed on an intersection at the edge of the Daeas district. It was a commercial area dominated by the monolithic buildings that had been the Ellezelin Offworld Office, the ministry that had masterminded the Free Market Zone and Ellezelin's subsequent commercial and diplomatic domination of neighboring star systems. The structures had been turned into hotels, casinos, and exclusive malls. They walked along the ornate stone facades toward the fane, with Aaron making sure they didn't take a direct route. He wanted time to scan and check for possible hostiles—make that probable hostiles.

“Did you know he was leaving before he actually went?” Aaron asked.