‘You’ll do that, Paula?’
‘Most assuredly.’
‘Thank you. Admiral, do we have any other fields of progress? Can the Navy eliminate the ship that picked up the inversion core?’
‘Unknown, sir. It was a large, powerful ship, of a marque we’ve never seen before. And we’d have to find it first.’
‘Ilanthe will want the same thing as the rest of us,’ Paula said. ‘The Second Dreamer. She’s probably heading for Chobamba now.’
‘Very well,’ the President said. ‘Admiral, put together a task force of Capital ships, and dispatch them to Chobamba. I want that ship destroyed.’
‘There wasn’t much information from the Sol system before the barrier went up,’ the admiral said. ‘But the ship did appear to have a force field based on Dark Fortress technology. We’re assuming the Accelerators are going to use it to get past the Raiel in the Gulf.’
‘Sweet Ozzie,’ the President said. ‘Do you mean you can’t intercept it?’
‘We can probably find it, our sensors are good enough to penetrate most stealth systems. But I doubt we can ever catch it, not with the kind of speed it was last confirmed travelling at. And yes, if we did corner it on Chobamba, our weapons would probably not get through its defences.’
‘Crap. So it really does all come down to Araminta?’
‘It looks that way, sir.’
Paula held her own opinion in check; the few comments she might have made weren’t based on fact. ‘I’d advise getting in touch with the High Angel directly, Mr President,’ she said. ‘If anyone can get through a barrier produced by Dark Fortress technology, it will be the Raiel.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s my next call. I will inform you of the outcome.’
The secure link closed. Paula ordered the smartcore to plot a course to Chobamba. The bright green line hung in her exovision, slicing through the astrogration display; awaiting implementation. Something made her hold off. She was sure that even if she got there in ten hours’ time it would all be over. By now, everyone with a team chasing Araminta would know her new location. As soon as Living Dream pinned down her exact geographical coordinate there would be a scramble to deliver local representatives into the area. Either the team guarding her would evacuate her again, or she’d leave with the strongest raider team.
The whole situation made little sense. It was obvious to any professional that Living Dream would refine their search techniques after Bodant Park. Whoever it was that’d flown her to Chobamba must have known that, even if they didn’t know how good Ethan’s Dream Masters were. Keeping Araminta out of sight once she was secure was the most basic rule.
So who took her there?
Half the factions chasing her would have killed her to prevent the Accelerators from gaining any advantage. Most of the others, those who had similar goals or ambitions to the Accelerators, would have offered a deal. Yet here Araminta was, going through Inigo’s dreams, seemingly without a care in the universe.
Paula drew a sharp breath. Of course, the simplest explanation is always the most likely. She really isn’t aware of the danger, so she isn’t under the protection of any professional team. Then how in God’s name did she get to Chobamba?
She launched her u-shadow on a mission to gather every scrap of data on Araminta. Everything Liatris McPeierl had put together; the files from Colwyn City’s civic database, records from Langham on her family and its agriculture cybernetics business, financial records, medical records (very few, she had an excellent Advancer heritage), legal records – mostly her messy divorce handled by her cousin’s law firm. All of it was resolutely average; none of it made her any different to billions of other External World citizens.
But she is different. She’s a Dreamer. Something makes her incredibly special. What? Gore has become one, and that’s outrageous, there’s nobody rooted in the practical more than Gore. Yet he worked out the secret. The only theory there’s ever been about why Inigo dreamed of Edeard is because they were somehow related: family. Paula’s heart jumped in excitement. As are Gore and Justine. Shit! But Araminta dreamed of a Skylord . . . She growled in frustration, slapping her hands against her temples. ‘Come on, think!’ Ignore the Skylord thing. Go for the family angle . . . Her u-shadow zipped through Araminta’s ancestry, correlating birth records and registered partnerships. Tracking back through the generations.
A small file flashed across her exovision, part of the family tree.
‘Holy crap,’ she yelped. There it was, plain and beautifully simple, five generations down the line. The name simply lifted itself out of the list and shone at Paula without any help from secondary routines.
‘Mellanie Rescorai,’ she whispered in amazed delight. ‘Oh yes. Over a thousand years, and she’s still nothing but trouble.’ Even better, Mellanie was named a Silfen Friend like her first husband Orion. Paula remembered an encounter over eight hundred years ago, when Mellanie was paying one of her visits to the Commonwealth again; they’d both been invited to some high-powered political event, it might even have been a Presidential inauguration ball. Dear old Mellanie had positively gloated about being named a Friend; it put her one up over everyone else in the room that evening, Paula especially. That was Mellanie for you: sweetly savage.
‘Mellanie!’ Paula was chuckling now. However it worked, however a Dreamer connected to someone inside the Void, that was the root of it: the Silfen magic – actually the most advanced weird technology in the galaxy. Ozzie had developed the gaiafield out of his friendship gift from the Silfen, and that was the whole medium for dreams. Araminta was descended from a Silfen Friend. And Inigo . . . well who knew?
The paths! Paula’s u-shadow ran another search. Sure enough, there was rumour of a path on Chobamba, in the middle of its desert continent. And one at Francola Wood, right on the edge of Colwyn City. She didn’t join up with any Faction, she didn’t fly to Chobamba. She walked!
Which meant Araminta was still surviving on luck and smarts, just like Oscar said; and therefore had no idea Living Dream had found her. She had to be warned, which wasn’t going to be easy given she’d cut herself off from the unisphere.
Paula’s macrocellular clusters linked her directly to the star-ship’s network. There was a memory kube on board that was heavily encrypted, very heavily; she needed all five keys and a neural pathway verification to access it. Stored within were programs that had been accumulated over fifteen hundred years of investigations, programs of last resort, custom-written for the top ranks of criminals, arms dealers, politicians . . . Simply knowing about some of them was a crime. None of their creators would be coming out of suspension for centuries. The Paula of twelve hundred years ago would have been mortified that her future self hoarded such things. But on several occasions they’d proved rather useful. Paula activated one; it wasn’t even on the lethal list.
*
Kristabel’s kiss was gentle, yet so intense, so rich with desire and love. ‘That’s why I love you,’ she whispered. There could be no doubt how sincere she was. A boundless love that promised a lifetime of happiness. And Edeard finally knew he’d done the right thing.
Araminta sighed in perfect contentment, blinking as the chalet’s ceiling took shape above her. Tears were trailing out from the corner of her eyes as she came down off the emotional high. ‘Great Ozzie,’ she murmured, still dazed by the dream. Now she understood why Living Dream had so many adherents, why they were all desperate to live in the Void. Time travel. Except it wasn’t. It was resetting the universe around yourself, the ultimate solipsism. How many times had she said to herself: If I only knew then what I know now. With that ability she could go back to the moment she met Laril and laugh off his charm and seductive promises. She could refuse Likan and never visit his mansion for the weekend. Go back into her teens and tolerate her parents, knowing that life offered so much more than the farm, not worrying that she’d be condemned to the family business for centuries – yet at the same time enjoying her youth. The way it should be e
njoyed. And then growing up truly free of regrets. Meet Mr Bovey in a Commonwealth that had never heard of the Second Dreamer.
That was the life – the lives – which awaited her in the Void.
She could even feel the Skylord’s thoughts at the back of her mind. All she had to do was call it. Say: take me in.
Such a simple thing to do. Three little words, and I would be happy forever.
But it was also the life that awaited everyone who went with her. And the energy it took to fuel such egotistic wish fulfilment came from consuming the rest of the galaxy. Every star, every planet, every biological body – they were the ones who supplied the atoms it took to make the Void’s magnificent ability possible. The ones who paid the price.
‘I can’t,’ she told the darkened chalet. ‘I will not do that.’
The decision made her skin chill and her heart flutter. But it had been made now. Her resolution would not waver. Logic and instinct were as one. This is who I am. This is what makes me.
Araminta slowly sat upright. It was still night outside, with maybe three hours left until dawn. She needed a drink, and some decent dreamless sleep. There was still some of the English Breakfast tea in the flask from Smokey James. She rolled off the bed and saw the red text drifting down the unisphere node’s little screen on top of the bedside cabinet. Blinked at it, and read it again.
Tea and sleep abruptly forgotten, she knelt in front of the bedside cabinet and used the keyboard to bring up the news articles. Her gaiamotes opened slightly, allowing her to know the horror and fear flooding through the gaiafield. It wasn’t a hoax. The Accelerator Faction had imprisoned Earth. ANA was gone. The rest of the Commonwealth was on its own. She stared numbly at the screen for a long moment, then accessed the code in her storage lacuna and typed it in.
Laril’s face appeared. Gaunt and apprehensive, with drawn skin and deep bags under his eyes. ‘Oh thank fuck,’ he wheezed. ‘Are you okay? I’ve been going frantic.’
She smiled. It was the only way she could stop herself from bursting into tears. ‘I’m okay,’ she promised him with a voice that wavered dangerously.
‘And you’re—’ He frowned, his head shaking from side to side as he focused on exovision displays. ‘You’re on Chobamba. How did you get there?’
‘Long story. Laril, they’ve taken away the Earth!’
‘I know. ANA was the only thing that could stop this.’
‘Yes. Someone helped me. Oscar, his name was Oscar. I’d never have got out of Bodant Park without him. He said he worked for ANA. He said he would help me. I was thinking I might call him, ask ANA to help me. What do I do now?’
‘That depends on what you’ve decided. Are you going to help Living Dream get into the Void?’
‘No. It can’t happen. They’ll wipe out the galaxy.’
‘Okay, that brings down your options to three.’
‘Go on.’
‘Ask the Navy for protection. If anyone has the firepower to stand up to the Accelerators, it’s them.’
‘Yes. That’s good. What else?’
‘This Oscar person, if he does work for ANA he should also be able to keep you away from Living Dream. He’ll probably have resources which none of the others do.’
‘What’s the last one?’
‘Side with a Faction that is opposed to the Advancers and Living Dream.’
‘But there aren’t any Factions left.’
‘They’re locked up inside the Sol barrier, but their agents are still out here in the Commonwealth. And they’re all looking for you. I can negotiate with one for you. Get them to take you away, safe where no one will ever find you.’
‘Then what? Running away doesn’t solve anything. This has to be finished.’
‘My darling Araminta, there is no “finish”. The Void has been there for a billion years, more probably. The Raiel couldn’t get rid of it, the Commonwealth certainly can’t.’
‘Somebody must be able to. There has to be a way.’
‘Maybe ANA knew how.’
‘They’ll get the Earth out eventually,’ she said, suddenly fearful. ‘Won’t they? They’ll be trying? They must be.’
‘Yes. Of course they will. They’ll be trying very hard indeed. The rest of the Commonwealth, certainly the Inner Worlds, have a lot of talent and ability and resources, more than you realize. They’ll bring down the barrier.’
‘Right then,’ she said, trying to convince herself. ‘I’ll take that option. I’ll call Oscar.’
Laril smiled weakly. ‘That’s my Araminta. Would you like me to call him for you?’
She nodded. ‘Please. I’m too scared to access the unisphere.’
‘All right. Have you got a code for him?’
‘Yes,’ she started typing it in.
‘That’s good. I’ll make—’
The image on the screen broke apart into a hash of blue and red static.
‘Laril!’ she gasped.
The static swirled, then formed bright green letters. Araminta, please access this.
She scuttled backwards across the floor. ‘No,’ she gasped. ‘No, what is this? What’s happening?’
‘Araminta,’ the node’s speaker said. It was a female voice, composed and authoritative. ‘This is a shotgun message into Chobamba’s cybersphere. All nodes will receive it and broadcast it to every address code, it will also be held in storage until purged, which should take a while. Hopefully that gives it long enough to reach you somehow. I am not aiming it at you directly, because I don’t know precisely where you are. Living Dream has discovered you are on Chobamba but they haven’t yet determined your exact position. Don’t use the gaiafield again, they have very sophisticated tracking routines in the confluence nests. Several teams of combat-enriched operatives are working on finding you, the same type of people responsible for the Bodant Park massacre. You must leave immediately. I’d advise you to use the route you took to get there. It is relatively safe. Do not hesitate. Time is now a critical factor. Please know that there are people working to help you. The Commonwealth Navy is capable of protecting you. Ask for their aid. Go now.’
Araminta stared at the node in disbelief; the green lettering remained on the screen, casting a pale glow across the darkened chalet. ‘Oh sweet Ozzie!’ It came out in a pitiful squeal. They know I’m here. Everyone knows I’m here. The woman’s voice was right: she had to leave. But it would take hours to reach the start of the path out in the desert. She looked round the chalet as her initial panic tipped over into desperation, seeing everything she’d bought, the gear that was essential for a trek along the paths between worlds. It was heavy, she could hardly run carrying it all with her; certainly not that far. Then she glanced at the Smokey James wrappers which she hadn’t got round to putting in the trash chute, and an idea formed.
Smokey James was good, Araminta had to admit that. It was three o’clock in the morning, and they only took twenty minutes to deliver the pizza and fries with a flask of coffee. The contraption Ranto was riding as he pulled up in front of Araminta’s chalet was something she’d never seen before; an absurdly primitive three-wheeled bike of some kind; presumably the great-great-granddaddy of a modern trike pod. It didn’t look safe, with a leather saddle seat slung in the centre of an open black carbon frame that had its fair share of repair patches, like epoxy bandages swelling the struts. The axle-drive wheels were connected to the frame on long magnetic suspension dampers, which didn’t quite seem to match. Ranto was steering it manually with a set of chrome-orange handlebars. With a sinking heart, Araminta guessed this was necessity rather than preference. It wasn’t going to have any kind of smart technology ready to assume the driving and navigation functions.
He clambered off and pulled the pizza carton out of a big pannier behind the saddle.
Finally, she thought, a plus point. That’ll hold all my gear.
‘Here you go,’ he said with the kind of miserabilist cheer exclusive to night-shift workers on very basic pay.
&nbs
p; Araminta was fairly sure Ranto didn’t have an Advancer heritage. Too many spots on his glum teenage face, his long nose made sure he wasn’t handsome, and even though he was already tall he was still growing, producing long gangling arms and legs from a torso that seemed oddly thin. From her point of view that was good, he wouldn’t have macrocellular clusters. He couldn’t connect directly to the unisphere.
Araminta took the carton from him. ‘Thanks.’ She held up her cash coin. ‘How much for the bike-thing?’
Ranto’s slightly awkward smile turned to incredulity. ‘What?’
‘How much?’
‘It’s my bike,’ he protested.
‘I know that. I need it.’
‘Why?’
‘That’s not important. I just need it. Now.’
‘I can’t sell my bike! I fixed it up myself.’
‘It’s yours, so you can sell it. And it’s a seller’s market. You’ll never get another chance like this.’
He looked from her to the bike, then back again. Araminta was sure she could hear his brain working, little cogs clicking round under unaccustomed stress. His cheeks coloured.
‘You could buy a new one,’ she said with gentle encouragement. For a moment she visualized Ranto riding round on some massive glowing scarlet sports bike with floating wheels. Come on, focus! If he didn’t want to part with it there were unarmed combat routines in her lacuna she could use, loaded a long time ago when the whole divorce mess started and she had to go into districts of Colwyn City that had a bad rep. She really didn’t want to. For a start she didn’t quite trust them, or herself. Besides, hitting someone like Ranto was just naked cruelty. But I will. If I have to. This is far more important than his pride. She brought the lacuna index up into her exovision, ready to access the routine.
‘Five thousand Chobamba francs,’ Ranto announced nervously. ‘I couldn’t let it go for anything less.’
‘Deal,’ Araminta shoved her cashcard towards him.
‘Really?’ Her immediate agreement startled him.
‘Yes,’ she authorized the money.