‘I have to sit down,’ she told them after some indeterminable length of time. They didn’t speak any human language, she knew; nor had they ever shown any interest in anything other than their own peculiar tongue, with all its cooing and warbling and trills that conveyed only the shallowest of meaning. Commonwealth cultural experts assigned to the world-walking aliens found it hard to follow their whimsy. Allegedly it indicated a completely different neural process to that of blunt human rationality.
Nonetheless her hosts knew what she asked, and guided her into one of the rainbow tents where there was a nest of cushions. Araminta flopped down on them in relief, as six or seven Silfen gathered round to attend her. Such pampering was luxurious and she surrendered to it without protest. Her boots were removed, producing a sympathetic chorus of near-human cooing when they saw the artificial skin sprayed on her feet. Strong fingers massaged her shoulders and back. They didn’t have the same physiology, but they were plainly expert in human bone and muscle structure. She groaned in relief as the tensions were soothed out of her flesh. Outside, the festival continued unabated, for which she was glad. Didn’t want to be the party pooper. One of the female Silfen presented her with a bottle carved from some golden crystal. Araminta drank. It was almost like water, chilly and full of bubbles, and certainly refreshing. Two more Silfen were waiting with platters of that delicious food.
‘The clubs back in Colwyn were never like this,’ she said with a contented sigh.
‘They’re most certainly not,’ someone said in heavily accented English.
Araminta jumped with shock, then rolled over to see who’d spoken. The three benevolent masseurs withdrew their ministrations, kneeling patiently in a circle around her.
A Silfen with leathery wings was standing in the tent. He had a dark scaly tail as well, which slithered about as though agitated. His appearance sparked a frisson of concern in Araminta’s mind. This shape was also contained in human legend, but not a good one.
‘Who are you?’ she blurted. ‘And why have you got a German accent?’
‘Because he’s an idiot,’ another Silfen said. ‘And completely misunderstands our psychology.’
Araminta jumped again, feeling foolish. A second winged Silfen was staring down at her. He wore a copper toga robe held in by an ebony belt. His hair was auburn, with greyish strands creeping in around the temples. His tail was held still, curving up so it didn’t touch the ground.
‘Hey, fuck you too,’ the first winged Silfen groused.
‘I apologize for my friend,’ said the other. ‘I’m Bradley Johansson, and this is Clouddancer; the Silfen have named him a human friend.’
‘Uh!’ was all Araminta could manage.
‘Yeah, pleasure to meet you, too, girlie,’ Clouddancer said.
‘Uh,’ she said again, then: ‘Bradley Johansson is a human name.’
‘Yes, I used to be. Some time ago now.’
‘Used to be . . . ?’
He opened his circular mouth, and a slender tongue vibrated in the middle as he produced a near-human chuckle. ‘Long story. As a human I was named a Silfen Friend.’
‘Oh.’ Then some memory registered, associated with Mr Drixel’s awful school history class. ‘I’ve heard of Bradley Johansson, you were in the Starflyer War. You saved us all.’
‘Oh brother,’ Clouddancer grumbled. ‘Thank you, friend’s daughter. He’ll be insufferable for a decade now.’
‘I played my part,’ Bradley Johansson said modestly. His tail tip performed a lively flick.
Araminta sat up on the cushioning and folded her legs. With a happy certainty she knew she was about to get answers. A lot of answers. ‘What did you call me?’ she asked.
‘He’s referring to your illustrious ancestor,’ Bradley Johansson said.
‘Mellanie?’ It could have been imagination, but she was sure the singing outside rose in reverence of the name.
‘That’s the one all right,’ Clouddancer said.
‘I never met her.’
‘Some people are fortunate, others are not. That’s existence for you.’
‘Is she a Silfen now?’
‘Good question; depends how you define identity.’
‘That sounds very . . . existential.’
‘Face it, girlie, we’re the lords of existentialism. Shit, we invented the concept back while your DNA was still trying to break free from molluscs.’
‘Ignore him,’ Bradley Johansson said. ‘He’s always like that.’
‘Why am I here?’
‘You want the existential answer to that?’ Clouddancer asked.
‘Carry on ignoring him,’ Bradley Johansson said. ‘You’re here because, to be blunt, this is your party.’
Araminta turned to look at the gap in the tent fabric, watching the ceaseless colourful motion outside as the Silfen danced and sang beside the loch. ‘My party? Why mine?’
‘We celebrate you. We want to meet you, to feel you, to know you, the daughter of our friend. That is what the Silfen are, absorbers.’
‘Am I really worth celebrating?’
‘That will become apparent only with time.’
‘You’re talking about the Void.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Why me? Why do I connect with a Skylord?’
‘You have our communion, you know that.’
‘I do now. That’s because of Mellanie, isn’t it?’
‘You are our friend’s daughter, yes, and because of that you are also our friend.’
‘Magic is passed through the female side of the family,’ Araminta murmured.
‘Load of bullshit,’ Clouddancer said. ‘Our inheritance isn’t sexist; that’s strictly your myth. Mellanie’s children acclimatized to their mother’s communion in the womb, and they in turn pass the communion to their children.’
Araminta risked a sly smile at Bradley Johansson. ‘If that’s how it works, the men won’t be able to pass it on.’
‘Male children inherit the ability,’ Clouddancer said. He sounded belligerent.
‘From females.’
Clouddancer’s wet tongue vibrated at the centre of his mouth. ‘The point is, girlie, you’ve got it.’
She closed her eyes, trying to follow the sequence. ‘And so do Skylords.’
‘They have some kind of similar ability,’ Bradley Johansson said. ‘The Motherholm has occasionally sensed thoughts from within the Void.’
‘Why doesn’t the Motherholm ask the Void to stop expanding?’
‘Don’t think it hasn’t been tried.’ The tip of Bradley Johansson’s tail dipped in disappointment. ‘Ten million years of openness and congeniality gets you precisely nowhere with the Void. We can’t connect to the nucleus. Or maybe it just doesn’t want to listen. Even we didn’t know for sure what was in there until Edeard shared his life with Inigo.’
‘You can dream his life as well?’
‘We’ve dreamed it,’ Clouddancer said. He managed to push a lot of disgust into the admission. ‘Our communion is what your gaiafield is based on, after all.’
‘That was Ozzie,’ Araminta said, pleased she wasn’t totally ignorant.
‘Yeah, only Ozzie would treat a friendship like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Bradley Johansson told her. ‘The point is that the galaxy has a great many communion-style regions or effects, or whatever. They’re all slightly different, but they can interact when the circumstances are right. Which is like once in a green supernova.’
‘So you’re like some kind of conduit between me and the Skylord?’
‘It’s a little more complex than that. You connect because within the communion you have similarity.’
‘Similarity? With a Skylord?’
‘Consider your mental state after your separation, you were lost, lonely, desperate for purpose.’
‘Yes, thank you, I get the idea,’ she said testily.
‘The Skylord also searches, that is its purpo
se. The souls it used to guide to the Heart have all gone, so now it and its kindred await new souls. Their quest ranges from their physical flight within the Void, to awareness of mental states. Somehow, the two of you bridged the abyss between your universe and its.’
‘Is this how humans got in originally?’
‘Who knows? Before Justine, nobody had actually seen the Void open up. It didn’t for the Raiel armada, they forced their way through. But humans were never the first it accepted. Occasionally we have felt other species flourish briefly within. Always, the Void has consumed them.’
‘So it has to be aware of the outside universe?’ she pondered.
‘In some fashion it must do. This is philosophical speculation rather than substantiation. We don’t think it recognizes physical reality, not outside. The universe beyond its boundary is perhaps considered a spawning ground for mind, rationality which is what the nucleus absorbs as the boundary absorbs mass.’
‘Edeard and the people of Makkathran say that the Void was created by Firstlives.’
‘Yeah,’ Clouddancer growled. ‘Such a thing cannot be natural.’
‘So where are they now?’
‘Nobody knows. Though you, our friend’s daughter, you may be the one who finds out.’
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she admitted. ‘Not really. There’s someone who might be able to help, one of ANA’s agents. He’s already helped me once, Oscar Monroe.’
Bradley Johansson sat in front of her, his tongue quivering fast at the centre of his mouth cavity. ‘I know Oscar, I fought with him in the Starflyer War, he is a good man. Trust him. Find him, though your path will not be easy after this.’
‘I know. But I’ve made my mind up. I won’t lead Living Dream through the boundary, no matter what.’
‘That is the choice we knew you would make, daughter of our friend. Such worthiness is why we came here to know you.’
‘Tell her the rest,’ Clouddancer said gruffly.
Araminta gave him an alarmed glance. ‘What? What else is there?’
‘There is something out there, something new that emerged into our universe as ANA fell to treachery,’ Bradley Johansson said. ‘Something much worse than Living Dream. It is waiting for you.’
‘What?’
‘Its full nature remains veiled, for we can sense it only faintly. But what we glimpsed was greatly troubling. Humans have a dark side, as do most living sentients, and this thing, this embodiment of intent, has come directly out of that darkness. It is an evil thing, this we do know.’
‘What sort of thing?’ she asked fearfully.
‘A contraption, a machine whose purpose is cold and malevolent, it cares nothing for the spirit which all life houses, for laughter and song, even tears it derides. And if it desires you, that can be for only one reason.’
‘To get into the Void,’ she realized.
‘For what reason we know not, yet we fear the worst,’ Bradley Johansson said. ‘It wishes to meddle with the galaxy’s destiny, to impose itself upon the reality of every star. This cannot come to pass.’
‘You must summon that which is most noble from your race, daughter of our friend,’ Clouddancer said. ‘Together you will make your stand against the dread future which this thing craves for us all. It must never reach the Void. The two of them must not become one.’
‘How?’ she implored. ‘How in Ozzie’s name do you expect me to do such a thing? This is what the Commonwealth Navy is for. They have incredible weapons, they can stop this creature-thing. I don’t know what it looks like, where it is . . .’
Bradley Johansson reached out and took Araminta’s hand in his own. ‘If that is what you believe, if that is truly what must be done, then that is what you must achieve.’
‘I thought I was just going to go into hiding while the Factions and Living Dream fought it out. That’s what I’d made my mind up to do.’
‘Our destiny is never clear. Nonetheless, this is yours.’
‘Can’t I just stay here?’
His leathery fingers bent round to stroke the top of her palm. ‘For as long as you want, our friend’s daughter.’
Araminta nodded forlornly. ‘Which will be no time at all.’
‘You have strength, you have courage, your spirit truly shines out, as did Mellanie’s. Such a beautiful light cannot easily be quenched.’
‘Oh, Ozzie!’
‘What is it you wish to do?’ Clouddancer asked. His tail flicked about restlessly. Outside the tent the Silfen were still, waiting for her answer.
‘A proper meal, a decent sleep, and then I’ll be on my way,’ she promised them. ‘I’ll do what I can.’
As one, the Silfen in the tent tipped their heads back and opened their mouths wide. A mellifluent chant arose as those outside took up the call; lyrical and uplifting it swirled around her making her smile in acknowledgement. It was their tribute to her, their gratitude. For now she finally realized the Silfen were frightened, scared their wondrous free roaming life might be brought to an end by the ominous thing human folly had birthed. Yes, I’ll do what I can.
*
Marius regarded the image of Ranto with something approaching amused contempt. The gangly teenager was suddenly the second most important news item in the Commonwealth. Every unisphere show was featuring him. Reporters had arrived in Miledeep Water soon after the Faction agents. It hadn’t taken anyone very long to discover Araminta had stayed at the StarSide motel. The nervous manager Ragnar had come out of hiding as soon as reporters started offering Big Money for his story – which sadly wasn’t much, mostly how he’d hidden in his kitchen as weapons-enriched agents poured through his precious StarSide motel hunting the Second Dreamer.
Ignored by the agents, Marius mentally corrected the story.
But Ranto was the real find as far as the news production teams were concerned. The last person in Miledeep Water to see and speak to the Second Dreamer herself.
‘She was really pretty,’ he was saying gormlessly as he stood in front of the StarSide reception surrounded by over a dozen reporters. ‘Not what I was expecting. I’d already met her once before, that afternoon. She was sweet, you know? Gave a good tip when I delivered her food.’
‘Did she say where she was going?’ a reporter asked.
‘Naah, she just bought my bike and headed off to the Silfen path. Imagine that, the Second Dreamer is riding my old bike between worlds.’
‘And still our race wonders why we wish to accelerate our evolution,’ Ilanthe observed.
Marius didn’t respond. He remained annoyed at the way he’d been punished over Chatfield. But now it looked as though his climb back to grace had begun. Tellingly, it was Ilanthe herself who’d called him as he was checking operations on Fanallisto. Semisentient scruitineers had been monitoring the Delivery Man since his miserable, pleading call to Marius. Soon after that, the Delivery Man had been contacted by another survivor of the Conservative Faction using an encrypted call that blocked any tracking. The scrutineers had used the spaceport’s civic sensors to observe him taking a capsule out to Lady Rasfay. Then the yacht launched with the owner’s authorization, which was interesting given he’d been left lying naked and unconscious alongside his young first-life mistress on the landing pad.
Ilanthe had been curious to know where the Delivery Man was heading and who he was meeting up with. Not anxious, there was no urgency in her call, but given that Araminta had unexpectedly fooled everyone yet again by somehow getting off Viotia, monitoring the surviving Conservatives was prudent.
Marius knew where the Delivery Man had to be going. If there was anything left on Fanallisto it was small-time; whereas the ultradrive starship was still waiting at Purlap spaceport. He’d flown there right away.
And he’d been proved right. His own starship had detected the Lady Rasfay approaching Purlap, and he’d called Ilanthe immediately. Confirming his passage to redemption she responded in person rather than through Valean or Neskia.
‘Do
you want me to exterminate him?’ Marius asked. His stealthed starship was holding altitude a hundred kilometres directly above Purlap spaceport. It wasn’t a particularly risky position, there were no more commercial flights in or out. Lady Rasfay was rather conspicuous simply by flying in.
Ranto was shoved to a peripheral aspect. His starship’s sensors showed him the Lady Rasfay landing on the spaceport’s naked rock close to the preposterous pink terminal building. The Delivery Man walked down the airlock’s stairs, bracketed by targeting graphics. Two hundred metres away, the ultradrive was parked on the rock where he’d left it, a featureless dark-purple ovoid, resting on three stumpy legs.
‘No,’ Ilanthe said. ‘At this point we need information. Until we have Araminta I need to know what the Conservatives are capable of. Follow him, find out how many there are left, and what they’re doing.’
‘Understood.’ Marius avoided saying anything else, or letting his satisfaction show. But the unusually cautious way Ilanthe was responding to the situation was indicative of how everyone was being wrongfooted by Araminta. Who could have known she was capable of using the Silfen paths? But her uncommon abilities did explain a lot, possibly even how she’d become the Second Dreamer in the first place.
He settled back in his couch, and watched the Delivery Man hurry over to the ultradrive starship.
The Delivery Man stood underneath the starship and tried not to let his exasperation spoil anything as he went through the verification process. Understandably, the authorization procedure to gain flight command of the ultradrive’s smartcore was thorough; the ship was a hugely valuable asset, the Conservative Faction wasn’t about to leave it vulnerable to anyone.
He hadn’t been able to sleep for the whole flight, nor had he eaten. The Lady Rasfay was so damned slow compared with the ships he was used to. That, together with the stress of losing his family, of Araminta giving everyone the slip again, and not really knowing who the ‘executive’ was, if this really was some kind of Accelerator ensnarement, hadn’t done his nerves any good whatsoever.