The Evolutionary Void (82 page)

It didn’t matter, Aaron knew how much she was laughing inside.

Everyone in the Commonwealth was desperate to know what the hell that
confrontation between Araminta and Ethan had been about. She was many? Like a
multiple? But she wasn’t. So was she referring to the other Dreamers? She
claimed to be with Inigo. And why had he chosen now to release the Last Dream?
Had Araminta asked him to?

Nobody knew. And for all her apparent devotion to Living Dream, Araminta
resolutely refused to enlighten her desperate followers back in the
Commonwealth or her equally vociferous opponents. Strangely, Ethan gave nothing
away, either.

So the Pilgrimage fleet flew on at fifty-six light-years an hour toward
the Void for day after day with no change. It was apparent now that nothing
could stop it apart from the warrior Raiel.

Or perhaps Justine and the Third Dreamer, some suggested. Gore certainly
had some kind of idea. He, too, proved elusive.

They were odd days, those which marked the flight of the Pilgrimage
fleet. The whole Commonwealth knew that if it was successful, that was the end
of everything, that if they were lucky, the Heart would become aware of them
and bring their stars and planets unharmed through the Void’s boundary as it
swept out to engulf the galaxy. Devoid of ANA’s guidance, Higher worlds were
turning their replicator systems to producing armadas of starships in
preparation to flee the galaxy. On the Outer worlds, anyone lucky enough to own
a starship was busy modifying it to make an intergalactic trip. The Greater
Commonwealth government contingency was to have everyone update his or her
secure memory store, which would then be carried by navy ships to whatever
cluster of stars was selected to establish the New Commonwealth, a plan of action
invoking the spirit of the New47 worlds of a millennium ago. Knowing your new
self would be resurrected in an alien galaxy at some unknown time in the future
wasn’t quite as reassuring as it should have been, not when that meant you’d
have to watch your immediate doom smashing down out of the sky.

Odd days. And that was without the declaration of absolute war by the
Ocisen Empire. Further threats of hostile action from eight of the sentient
species the Commonwealth had contact with. Appeals for technological help and
starships from another three races, including the Hancher.

Odd days confused even more when the
High Angel
reappeared back in Icalanise orbit and its human inhabitants started
broadcasting their sojourn into a gas giant’s atmosphere, complete with the
brief conflict they’d witnessed through the smog, a conflict
High Angel
refused to comment on.

Odd days in which those who had instigated the crisis in the first place
started to falter. The followers of Living Dream left behind began to question
their commitment in the light of the Last Dream to such an extent that the
preparation for the second Pilgrimage fleet was openly challenged. A great many
argued that the new ships would be better used for fleeing the expanding
boundary rather than seeking refuge within, where their ultimate future was now
less than certain.

Days that made not the slightest difference to those on the Pilgrimage
fleet. Hour after hour they continued to drop relay stations as they went,
providing a straight electronic channel back to Ellezelin and the unisphere as
well as stretching the gaiafield contact across the galaxy.

Araminta saw only the scattering of turquoise glimmer points flowing past
on the other side of the observation deck. Hysradar revealed the crowded band
of globular clusters that constituted the Wall growing closer and closer. Then
came the definitive quantum signature of FTL ships approaching from the center
of the galaxy. Over fifty of them. Even that didn’t stir the Dreamer’s cool
composure as she led her followers onward to their promised destiny.

Unisphere access to the sensor feeds rose sharply as the entire Greater
Commonwealth sought to witness the outcome. Gaiamotes were opened wide to
receive Araminta’s gifting.

The imagery and sensations ended without warning. Two hundred light-years
behind the Pilgrimage fleet, eight relay stations failed simultaneously. Nobody
knew what was happening.

Paula did. She was sitting in Qatux’s private chamber, watching a display
similar to a holographic portal projection. The warrior Raiel had taken out
Living Dream’s relays; now the main attack force was converging on the twelve
giant ships.

Over the next nine hours eighteen gas giants were obliterated, their
dying mass converted to exotic energy. Some resulted in omnidirectional
distortion waves slicing through hyperspace. Others were subject to incredibly
complex formatting architecture, producing coherent beams targeting specific
Pilgrimage ships.

The Sol barrier force fields protecting the ships resisted every attack
tactic, every weapon the warrior Raiel had. As well they might; they were the
best it was possible to create. If anything, the Accelerators had improved the
design they’d reverse engineered from the Dyson Alpha generator.

When the Pilgrimage fleet was halfway across the Gulf, the warrior Raiel
withdrew, allowing it to continue unimpeded.

“I feel shame this day,” Qatux said.

“I feel anger,” Paula told him. She rubbed her hand across her face,
unpleasantly weary from watching the aborted interception. “Did they find any
trace of Ilanthe?”

“Regrettably not. If it is there, it is exceptionally well stealthed.”

“Crap! We know the ship that picked it up was equipped with high-level
stealth. But I never expected it to elude your warrior class.”

“Even if they had detected the ship, there would be nothing they could do
about it. The force fields the Accelerators built were flawless.”

“There’s nothing else left, then?”

“Our warships are abandoning the Gulf where they have patrolled for these
past million years. Now there is only one option remaining: the containment.”

“What’s that?”

Qatux waved one of his two large tentacles at the glowing images that
floated across the chamber. “See. It begins.”

Ever since their invasion armada had failed to defeat or even return from
the Void, the Raiel had been preparing for what they regarded as the inevitable
catastrophic expansion phase. The strategy was centered on the largest machines
the Raiel ever constructed. Humans called them DF spheres, which they first
encountered at Dyson Alpha generating the shield that imprisoned the entire
Prime solar system. The second encounter was at Centurion Station, which
indicated they had more than one function.

Once the Raiel had established their production facilities in a dozen
star systems, the gas-giant-size spheres were distributed throughout the Wall.
Over ten million of them had been made over the course of a hundred thousand
years, of which only seven had ever been diverted to deal with other problems:
Two were loaned to the Anomine, three loaned to species that faced similar
difficulties, and two used to imprison stars that were going nova to protect
nearby prestarflight civilizations that would have been eradicated by the
radiation.

Now, courtesy of Qatux’s status, Paula was observing the overview of
their activation. During the Void’s last brief expansion when Araminta had
denied the Skylord, the DF spheres had all moved into a close orbit around the
stars they were orbiting in preparation for their final phase. Now they began
to exert colossal gravity fields, increasing the gravity gradient within their
host stars, accelerating the fusion rate.

Throughout the Wall, supergiant stars started to brighten, chasing up
through the spectrum to attain the blue-white pinnacle.

“Their raised power levels will be consumed by our defense systems to
produce bands of dark force much like the force fields your Accelerators
learned how to create,” Qatux explained. “They will link up into a bracelet and
ultimately expand into a sphere which englobes the entire Gulf.”

“The containment,” Paula murmured in amazement. The Raiel had conceived a
true marvel, an endeavor that until today she’d have said could only possibly
belong to a postphysical. It almost made her feel sorry for the Raiel; to have
devoted their entire race to such a feat meant they had nothing else. Their
commitment to overcome the Void had imprisoned them as surely as if they were
inside it.

After a few hours the glittering band of stars circling the chamber was
showing a filigree of black lines multiplying along its inner edge, slowly
coalescing into a wide bracelet.

“Will it hold the Void?” she asked as she watched the slow progress of
the lines.

“We don’t know. We have never dared use it before. Our hope is that it
can last long enough so the Void consumes all the mass left within the Gulf as
it actualizes the reset dreams of everyone inside. Once its fuel is exhausted,
it will collapse. If the Void is able to break through, the resultant surge may
well be so fast as to overwhelm any starships seeking to leave the galaxy.”

“So if it works, everyone inside the Void will die?”

“And the galaxy will live.”

J
USTINE WOKE AS DAWN
sent gold-tinged
sunlight streaming in through the bedroom’s big window. She groaned at the
intrusion and rolled over in her sleeping bag. Underneath her, the spongy
mattress rippled gently with the motion. Edeard had gotten that particular
piece of furniture absolutely perfect, she thought drowsily. The thick beam of
sunlight slid slowly across the floor, advancing inexorably toward her. She
watched its progress idly, knowing she ought to be getting up. But early rising
had never been her strongest personality trait. Those first thirty years living
the East Coast party scene had established a habit that nearly a thousand
subsequent years spent living in a meat body had never quite managed to break.

Eventually she unzipped the sleeping bag and stretched, yawning widely
before finally rolling off the bed. It was a large bed, fusing seamlessly into
the floor. But then it was a large bedroom, as was appropriate for the master
and mistress of Sampalok.

Justine padded barefoot across the floor to the panoramic window and
looked down on the district’s central square. The expanse was remarkably clean,
something she’d noticed throughout her exploration of the city. Dirt and leaves
certainly had started to pile up along the edges of buildings and in various
clefts and narrow gaps, but it never got to the stage where weeds would take
root. She supposed the city absorbed any large accumulation of muck. Back in
Edeard’s time it was teams of genistar chimps that had cleaned up the rubbish
produced by the human inhabitants.

As she watched the small fountains playing, she could see several animals
slinking about around the edges of the square as they began their day’s
foraging or hunting. She’d been right about the dogs; there were several nasty
packs thriving in Makkathran. Native animals were nesting in the empty
buildings. The city seemed to tolerate them.

Justine slipped on her denim shorts and a clean tangerine T-shirt, then
went into the lounge she was using as her base. Most of her equipment was set
up, including a simple camp chair the ship’s replicator had managed to produce
after the landing during one of its infrequent functional periods. The one
remaining chair in Makkathran, she told herself in amusement. She picked a
quarter-liter self-heating coffee canister from the food stack and settled into
the simple canvas and aluminum frame. The coffee started steaming half a minute
after she pulled the tab, and she sipped appreciatively while she peeled the
foil off a buttered almond croissant. There was jam, but she couldn’t be
bothered to fetch that. The daily routine was a quick breakfast, a packed
lunch, then in the evening she took the time to light the barbecue charcoal and
cook herself something more elaborate, which helped pass the time. Despite the
city’s pervasive orange light, she didn’t venture out at night.

After half an hour she began getting ready. A small backpack carried her
food and waterproofs, along with some simple tools and a powerful torch. She
hung a knife on her belt, along with the semiautomatic pistol and a spare
magazine. Before she clipped the cattleprod on, she gave it a quick test,
satisfied with the crackling spark that arced between the prongs. Along with
the torch, it was one of the few electrical devices that worked reliably.

Ready to face the new day, Justine walked down the four flights of broad
stairs to the entrance hall. The wooden doors of the arching doorway were long
gone, having rotted away centuries ago. However, the decorative outside gates
that closed across them remained. Their intricate gurkvine lattice must have
been made from a very pure iron, Justine decided; rust was minimal, and most of
the ornamental leaves were intact. They were robust enough to stop any large
animal from getting in at night, one of the big contributing factors for
choosing the Sampalok mansion.

She’d been curious why they were still in place. After all, every other
human artifact attached to a wall was rejected and expelled after just a few
years. But when she examined them in detail, she found the city’s substance had
actually been fashioned into the thick hinge pins on which the gates hung. It
had taken all of her telekinetic strength and some liberal applications of oil,
but eventually she’d managed to prize the gates open.

Now the gates swung aside easily as her third hand pushed them. She
walked into the square. The hot humid air constricted around her, bringing
perspiration to her brow. It was midsummer, with a correspondingly intense sun
sliding up over the city’s minarets and towers and domes. Justine put her
sunglasses on as she sent her farsight searching around. There was nothing
threatening nearby. A couple of fil-rats and some terrestrial cats scurried
away. Seabirds circled overhead, their high-pitched calls echoing through the
empty squares and alleys. She carefully closed the gates behind her and set off
down one of the wide streets that led away from the square, heading for Mid
Pool.

None of the signs were up on the walls anymore, and so it had taken her a
while to fix the original names to various streets and alleys. She soon
realized she’d never be able to name more than a fraction; not even the dreams
had fully portrayed the sheer complexity and numbers of the passages and lanes
and streets that made up Makkathran’s districts. The closest Inigo’s dreams had
ever come to conveying the bewilderment of the urban maze she’d felt for the
first couple of weeks after her landing was the day Edeard and Salrana arrived
and walked through Ilongo and Tosella.

Now she strode along the twisting length of Zulmal Street, which would
take her to the concourse around Mid Pool. The width of the street varied
almost with every step. For the most part it had been shops here, she recalled.
That fit in with the wide bulging windows on the ground floor of most buildings.
There were no doors anymore. They had all vanished ages ago, as had all the
interior fittings. At first she’d been curious about the general lack of
debris, until she realized the city absorbed fragments that threatened to clog
its drains and produce soil mounds where grass and moss could flourish. But as
she wandered in and out of buildings, she found some remains. Metal items were
the most prevalent. Most homes had some cutlery and the odd piece of jewelry
scattered across the floor, the sole testimony to the inhabitants who had left
them behind so long ago. It was the items of precious metal that held their
shape best; the iron stoves that most households possessed were rusting and
flaking down to unrecognizable sagging lumps. She’d also learned to be careful
of the long, sharp fragments of crockery and glass lying about, making her glad
her boots had thick soles. It was strange that these tarnished, almost
unrecognizable trinkets were the only proof that an entire civilization of
humans had once inhabited this world. If she wasn’t careful, melancholia could
shade over into loneliness and apprehension. From there it was only a short
step to true dread, the kind that would send her hurrying back to the
Silverbird
and suspension, assuming the medical cabinet
would function adequately. The Void’s prohibition of technology seemed to be
gaining ground against the little starship sitting in Golden Park; even the
confluence nest had erratic days. She was fairly certain the only way she’d
ever get back into space now would be to reset the Void once again to a time
before she landed.

Just before Zulmal Street opened out onto the concourse, she stopped and
looked at a building. It was one she’d passed a dozen times before as she came
and went on her daily mission of exploration, but the relevance had never
registered before. This was the bakery where Boyd had been murdered by a
deranged vengeful Mirayse. Justine’s farsight expanded into the shop, finding
nothing in the front rooms. But in the back she could just perceive a mound of
decaying metal that surely had to be the old baker’s ovens.

Edeard, of course, had perceived Boyd’s soul lingering after his death.
She could sense nothing like that, although the whole memory now made her cold.
It was so much easier to sneer at and scorn the foolish simplicity of Living
Dream’s icons from the intellectual sanctuary of ANA than to actually stand
amid the movement’s sacred heart, experiencing its reality for herself. Just
looking at the ancient shop’s open doorway, she finally understood why Inigo
had decreed the construction of Makkathran2. It was the ultimate act of worship
and devotion. This alien city was the embodiment of Edeard’s triumph; a
foreigner from some rural province had come here and given the citizens a hope
they’d never known they’d lost and with that inspired billions he never knew
existed. All her lofty rationalized disdain could never weaken his phenomenal
accomplishment. Here, tracing his footsteps in a very literal sense, she knew
how small she was in comparison, on so many levels.

When she finally arrived at the concourse, she’d recovered some
self-esteem, but that moment of self-realization had left her more aware of her
loneliness than she’d been since she’d arrived in the Void.

Come on, Dad, where are you? Whatever you’re waiting
for must have happened by now, surely
.

Up until the last few days she’d managed to keep herself busy enough:
setting up camp in the Sampalok mansion, exploring the rest of the city,
testing out and developing her psychic abilities. All that had kept her
occupied well enough as she ventured into the truly significant places: the
Culverit ziggurat, the Orchard Palace with its fabulous ceilings with their
astronomical images, the Jeavons constable station, and of course the House of
Blue Petals—weirdly, an anticlimax now that it had cast off its signature bar
and doors and thick drapes; without such rigging it seemed to lack substance.
Even the grand Lillylight Opera House had been a disappointment. With the
private boxes of the Grand Families no longer cluttering the tiered ledges of
the massive amphitheater, it lacked the character she’d witnessed in the
dreams, though she was impressed by the domed ceiling with its white and violet
stalactites. Sadly, she didn’t quite possess enough courage to sing when she
stood beneath them on the stage.

But now her interest in visiting the plethora of locations and buildings
of significance to Living Dream was waning. All she seemed to be doing was
reinforcing the core of Living Dream beliefs by her display of reverence and
excitement.

I need to find something relevant to me
.

The surface of the Great Major Canal was clotted with various green and
purple puffweeds and fronds of the aquatic plants that flourished there. They
shivered occasionally as a fil-rat slithered through them, but other than that
the whole length of the canal remained perfectly still. Only the center of Mid
Pool was clear, showing the dark water that moved with a smooth slow flow as
the Lyot Sea’s modest breakers washed in and out of the Port district.

Justine had often considered building some kind of boat or raft to sail
along the canals. With her tools and third hand it wouldn’t be that difficult,
and it would at least keep her occupied.

She wondered if Rah and the Lady had felt this peculiar sense of
expectancy when they first entered Makkathran. Something in human nature just
called out to occupy and use the empty city.

The boat idea was a good one, she thought, both therapeutic and
practical. However, it overlooked the fact she’d never done any manual work in
her life and didn’t know the first thing about carpentry.

Maybe tomorrow
.

She went over the flat pink bridge across Trade Route Canal and into the
tip of Pholas Park. From there she had to walk along Lilac Canal for several
minutes until she came to a blue humpback bridge into Fiacre. The human bridges
of metal and wood must have been the first artifacts to disappear after their
builders left. Now she had to use the city’s own crossings. Her one attempt to
do a Waterwalker and stabilize the surface of a canal with telekinesis hadn’t
been enormously successful. How they must have laughed at that dunking back in
the Commonwealth.
Assuming Dad’s still dreaming all of this
for them
.

As she carried on parallel with Great Major Canal, her farsight probed
through the city substance below her feet, showing it as a thick shadow of
brown-gray, almost completely featureless. She didn’t have anything like
Edeard’s perception range, but she had been able to glimpse the tunnels below
the canals, which was a moment of extreme pride, even though they appeared like
a particularly low-quality exovision display. Then, when she added a biononic
field function scan to the wavering specter, she was also aware of the faint
fissures even farther beneath her feet that represented the travel tunnels.

But that was definitely her limit. There was no way she could sense the
city’s slumbering mind so far underneath, let alone wake it. She wondered if
the
Silverbird
’s neutron laser could cut down into a
travel tunnel for her and, if it did, what Makkathran’s response would be.
Field function scans had confirmed that the city’s orange lighting was all
electrically powered. That evidence of a technological base convinced her that
the travel tunnels could take her a great deal closer to the controlling core
of the city, whatever the city actually was.

Again, that would be a project for another day.
If I
just knew how long it’s going to be before someone arrives. Surely the
Pilgrimage fleet must be on its way by now. That must be what Dad was expecting
when he told me to come here
.

Most of the buildings in Fiacre were covered in vines and creepers
growing out of the deep troughs that lined the streets. Without anyone tending
them, they now simply swamped the structures they were supposed to complement,
sealing up the entranceways and cloaking the windows. Some of the narrower
alleys were impassable tangles of dense vegetation, and even the wider streets
were difficult to walk down. Fortunately, the path along the side of the Great
Major Canal was relatively clear.