The Evolutionary Void

  ‘He pulled off two of the greatest thefts in human history.’

  ‘Two? I knew there was some dispute with Nigel about taking the Charybdis.’

  ‘Dispute? Jezus, do they even teach you people history these days? Nigel nearly killed him, and that’s not a metaphor.’

  The Delivery Man just ignored the ‘you people’ crack. After two weeks cooped up in the Last Throw’s cabin with Gore, it was almost a compliment. ‘So what was the first crime?’

  Gore grinned. ‘The great wormhole heist. The smartass bastard cleaned out the Vegas casinos, and nobody ever knew it was him. Not until after the War, and Orion let it slip. Can you imagine that?’

  ‘No, I truly cannot.’

  ‘Well, sonny, you and I are going to steal the knowledge of an entire species. If that’s what it takes to find this goddamn mechanism, then that’s what we’re going to do. Nobody will remember Ozzie’s legend then, so screw him.’

  I didn’t know it anyway, the Delivery Man complained silently. He had no idea how Gore was planning to circumvent the Anomine AIs, but he suspected it wouldn’t be a quiet method.

  Inigo’s Thirty-Third Dream

  ‘We can visit any place on your world where we sense those who are fulfilled gathering in readiness for our guidance to the Heart,’ the Skylord had said in answer to Edeard’s question.

  ‘So the towers of this city where you have come today play no part in guidance?’

  ‘Those who inhabited this world before you built them to bid their kind farewell. They are where we came before, therefore they are where we come now. You use them as they did.’

  ‘Then we can call you to gather us from anywhere?’

  ‘Of course. My kindred welcome all those who have reached fulfilment. It is our purpose.’

  Edeard kept dreaming that single crucial event over and over. It was one of the few natural dreams he ever had. Though even that faded after a few years – in his personal timescale.

  *

  The two Skylords had been visible on the horizon every morning for eight days, moving slowly across the pantheon of the Void’s nebulae as they approached Querencia. Edeard stood on the highest balcony in the Orchard Palace, staring up into the pale sky as a cool breeze wafted in off the Lyot Sea. If he really stretched his farsight he could just sense the placid thoughts of the massive creatures.

  Two, where every time before it has been four. Why? Why should that be? The whole city is a unified society. I have made sure we’ve achieved contentment within ourselves this time. That makes us better people. So why have only two come?

  He didn’t like how much that disturbed him. Even on the occasion two times past, when Oberford’s Great Tower of Guidance was being built and the whole economy was falling apart as if Honious was establishing its very own kingdom of bedlam across Querencia, four Skylords had come. It was the start of autumn on the fifth year after Finitan’s death. One of the few constants linking his attempts to change the world for the better.

  Ladydamnit, four always come now!

  The breeze played over his bare skin, and he rubbed his arms absently at the chill. Those two gauzy stars were still too far away for him to talk with them directly. But when they were within his range, he would be asking. Yes indeed.

  High above the compact streets and blue pointy roofs of Jeavons, a couple of ge-eagles were floating lazily on the updrafts. They weren’t any he was familiar with, and their long circling flight meant that one of them was always turned towards the palace. He scowled up at them, but resisted hauling them down out of the sky. Someone was interested in him. Hardly news. Though none of the independent provinces were a direct threat to Makkathran. That I know of. Perhaps they’re just running scared and want to spy on me to satisfy their paranoia. Knowing the provinces and the trouble they’d caused this time around it wouldn’t surprise him. But still, the brazenness; watching the Waterwalker, the absolute Mayor of Makkathran, in his own city. That took some gall. Which in itself narrowed it down to three provinces – or rather their governors. Mallux in Obershire, Kiborne in Plaxshire, or more likely Devroul in Licshills. Yes, any one of them would dare; they were all busy establishing their claims as unifiers to rival him. Each fierce in their independence. Greedy in their desire to absorb their neighbour. Exactly the opposite of what the world should be; what he was trying to make it.

  He went back into the master bed chamber. Kanseen had always enjoyed the Orchard Palace’s state rooms. It was what all the city buildings should be like, she’d claimed, a blend of old Makkathran architecture and more practical human adaptations. Theirs had been a pleasant two years together; though in truth after Kristabel’s increasing sourness anyone else would have been a relief. But in parallel to the breakdown of his own marriage Macsen had become intolerable for Kanseen, so the two of them finally winding up with each other was almost inevitable.

  Since he moved out of the Sampalok mansion, Macsen’s downfall had continued at a rate that even upset Edeard. Not that there was anything he could do to help – not yet. Macsen cut himself off from everyone, his old friends, his children, political allies, anyone that might stand between him and his food and drink and miserable self-pity. He also completely rejected Edeard’s unity. Not for him the growing solidarity of the city, an extended family whose open minds would sympathize and care for him and help him regain his dignity and purpose in life.

  The last time Edeard had farsighted the former Master of Sampalok, three weeks ago, he had made a woeful figure. Living in some squalid room in a Cobara household by himself, spending his coinage in nearby taverns whose forte was cheap beer and cheaper food. His reaction to the intrusion had been a viciously personal diatribe that went on for almost an hour before it finally spluttered away when he succumbed to a drunken slumber.

  Edeard had withdrawn then, guilty and angry in equal measure. Macsen was one of his oldest friends; he ought to have been able to do something. Yet he despised the way Macsen had just let go and given in to whatever Honious-born spirits now possessed him; he was stronger than that, Edeard knew. Yet Macsen in his alcohol-and-kestric-derived state blamed Edeard for the way his life had tumbled into the abyss, with his rejection of unification at the heart of it. Edeard knew the trust and understanding he’d brought to Makkathran was the true way forward. He couldn’t stop now, not for one person, no matter how much his friendship used to mean.

  Being with Kanseen hadn’t helped Macsen’s condition. That was just the most personal way to wound Macsen there could be. It insured there would be no reconciliation now, Edeard knew, no last-minute mellowing and putting aside of pride – not on either side. So his own triumph in establishing the unification in the city had come at the cost of his friend. And, if he wasn’t careful, his friend’s soul, for in the end what Skylord would ever guide Macsen’s embittered, unfulfilled soul to the Heart? He had no choice, he knew. Each day now was simply spent putting off the inevitable. Soon a subtle domination would have to be applied, gently guiding Macsen back into the embrace of those who loved him.

  Edeard padded over to the wide circular bed, and pushed aside the gauzy curtains that surrounded it. A hazy patch on the ceiling above the soft mattress radiated a warm copper light, its dusky illumination just enough to reveal the outlines of her body as she slept. The sheet had slipped down past her shoulders, exposing skin that still gleamed from the oils that the two younger girls had massaged in at the start of the evening. It was a pleasurable entertainment, variants of which he enjoyed most nights now. Proof, as if he needed it, that the city was now on the right course to provide fulfilment for everyone. Nobody censured any more, nobody criticized or fought or complained. They cooperated and helped each other succeed in their individual endeavours. He had brought them liberation of themselves, the sure route to the kind of fulfilment that the Skylords sought.

  Edeard bent over and kissed her gently on the lips. Hilitte stirred, stretching herself with indolent grace; not fully awake, yet smiling when she saw him. ?
??What time is it?’ she mumbled.

  ‘Early.’

  ‘Poor Edeard, couldn’t you sleep?’ Her gathering thoughts were tinged with genuine concern.

  ‘There are things I worry about,’ he admitted with voice and mind. Honesty with each other, that is the key to true unity.

  ‘Even now? That’s so wrong. So unfair.’ Her arms rose up to twine round his neck. ‘Let’s think of something else for you to occupy yourself with.’

  For a second he resisted, then allowed her to pull him down so he could lose himself in simple physical delights and forget all about the rebel provinces and Macsen and the others who struggled against the city’s unity. For a while at least.

  Not surprisingly, Edeard didn’t wake again until the sun was well above the horizon. He and Hilitte bathed together in the oval pool in the bathroom where water gurgled in along a long raised chute which he’d crafted to resemble a small stream. It also showered down on them from a bulge in the curving ceiling when they asked; since he moved into the Palace state rooms after the election he’d been modifying things so he could have any kind of spray from a heavy jet to a light mist. He lounged in a sculpted seat at the side of the pool, watching Hilitte rinse herself off under the fast rain of droplets, deliberately stretching and twisting so he might appreciate her lithe figure. Which he did, but . . . Kanseen had enjoyed the new improved shower, he recalled with a touch of melancholia. That wasn’t the problem that ultimately came between them. They’d differed over Makkathran’s unification. How he wanted to go about creating an atmosphere of trust, how to use family and political supporters and those who eagerly sought the Waterwalker’s patronage; building so many allies, seeding the districts with unity groups, that the outcome would be inevitable. She never fully agreed with the concept, regarding it as a branch of domination.

  What Kanseen did not understand, and he could never explain, was just how badly wrong the nice and open and honest approach had gone – twice in a row. How the time before, the one after the whole Oberford Tower disaster, the method of inclusion, which he’d so carefully crafted from his horrendous experience with the nest, and had given freely so Querencia might live as one, had been warped and subverted by the malcontents of the emerging generation of strong psychics (and Ranalee, of course) to build new, small, versions of the nest centred around themselves in what was almost a reprise of Tathal’s time. Bitter struggles ensued, tipping the world yet again into chaos and hurt, leaving him with no choice this time around but to launch the unification in a way that enabled his governance to be paramount. Restricting dissent was a small price to pay for such an achievement. Even now, strong psychics out in eight provinces had managed to subvert the gift, declaring independence from Makkathran’s benign governorship – the Waterwalker’s menacing empire, as they called it. Their own petty little fiefdoms were hardly beacons of enlightenment. He was still considering if and how he should move against them; as with the original nest, they wouldn’t allow anyone to leave of their own free will.

  ‘What’s the matter, sweetie?’ Hilitte asked, suffused with concern.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  She struck a sultry pose under the shower. ‘You want me to bring the girls in to help me wash under here?’

  ‘We did enough of that last night, and we will again tonight. I’m going to get breakfast now.’ He stepped out of the bath and snagged a big towel with his third hand. Behind him Hilitte gave a small pout and ordered the shower off.

  That was the one trouble with her, he realized, she really was too young to be anything else but a bedmate. He couldn’t talk to her about anything, exchange ideas, argue problems through, reminisce about events. They never went to the Opera House together, and she swiftly grew bored at the more formal dinner parties he was constantly invited to – so much so she rarely went to any these days, which was just as well. But she did have a delectably dirty mind and a complete lack of inhibition. It all came as something of a revelation after being married for so long. However unfair that was on Kristabel, Hilitte’s bedroom antics provided a grand way of getting his mind off the troubles of the day.

  Which makes her more convenient than visiting the House of Blue Petals. Not necessarily cheaper, though.

  Breakfast was taken in the huge state dining room with its long roof forever showing intense orange images of the sun’s corona from the vantage point of some endless orbit a million miles above the seething surface. Underneath the fluctuating glare the long polished blackash table was capable of hosting city banquets for a hundred and fifty guests. This morning it had been set for the two of them. The kitchen staff had laid out big silver ice-bed platters on one of the dozen bolnut veneer sideboards, laden with an array of cold smoked meats cut as thin as parchment. Petal-pattern segments of fruit, cheeses and glass jugs of yogurt were laid out next to them like small works of art. Warm dishes contained scrambled eggs, poached eggs, fried eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, bacon and sausages and crisp mashed potato. Five earthenware pots contained the mixes of cereal, while a small charcoal grill was ready to toast any of the five different types of bread or just warm his croissants for him.

  Edeard sat down and stared over at the ridiculously extravagant spread of food without really registering any of it. He directed a ge-chimp to bring him a tall glass of apple juice and a bowl of cereal. Hilitte sat next to him dressed in a thick towelling robe with fluffy pink house-socks. She gave him a warm smile before issuing a whole batch of instructions to the ge-chimps.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes as Edeard considered what he was going to ask the Skylords. He was sure they’d be in range by the following morning, or a day later at the least.

  What could possibly have upset their appearance? Change originated from him. He’d travelled back to start again enough times to know that by now. Everyone else would just carry on as before unless he did something to alter their path through life. It was influence that mattered the most – he did something different, so the people interacting with him had their ordained life altered to varying degrees, and so the effect spread out like a sluggish ripple. The major difference he made each time since the epic voyage around the world was explaining how the Skylords didn’t need the towers of Eyrie to accept people for guidance, which out in the provinces always led to a rush to build some kind of homage tower in every town and city – to the detriment of the economy. His repeated clarifications that it didn’t need to be a tower, just a broad open space for people to gather, was always blithely ignored (witness the tax revolt following the Great Tower of Guidance fiasco).

  For all the change he brought, it was only lives he affected. He couldn’t change the weather or make the planets orbit any differently. So why are there only two this time?

  The only possible answer was one he simply couldn’t accept.

  Dinlay arrived soon after Edeard started munching away on his second slice of toast. The Chief Constable’s humour was as pleasant as always. Dinlay had joined the unification almost unknowingly and certainly very willingly; the acceptance of such a gentle universal communion was after all the thing his subconscious had yearned for all these years. Even then, some things about Dinlay had never altered.

  Edeard watched closely for any sign of envy or jealousy from his old friend regarding Hilitte (he’d made very sure that this time he was the first to meet her as soon as she arrived in Makkathran armed with her mother’s lists of contacts). That old Ashwell optimism just never dies, does it? But no, Dinlay was unconcerned by Edeard’s latest girl; after all he’d just married Folopa, who was lofty even by his standards.

  Dinlay sat next to Edeard and placed his smart uniform hat on the table, aligning it with the edge. His open mind revealed how satisfying that was, how it fitted in with the view that the world should be an ordered place.

  ‘Help yourself,’ Edeard said, gesturing to the sideboard. He couldn’t help the wistful memories of when he and Dinlay had moved into the Constable Tenement after they’d finished their probatio
n. Nearly every morning until he’d married they’d had breakfast together. The best days. No! The easiest.

  A ge-chimp brought Dinlay a cup of coffee and a croissant. ‘You need to watch what you eat,’ Dinlay said, eyeing the huge spread of food. ‘You’ll wind up Macsen’s size if you’re not careful.’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ Edeard assured him softly. Dinlay and Macsen hadn’t spoken for over a year now, which pained him. Maybe I should go right back to the beginning? Except he knew that was the most pitiful of wishful thinking. This was the time when he’d got everything so close to being right. All that was left for him now was to bring those remaining provinces into the unification, along with a few recalcitrants left over in the city. When that was done he could truly, finally, relax.

  ‘Some news came in last night that you’re going to enjoy,’ Dinlay said. ‘It would seem the Fandine militia is on the march.’

  Edeard endured a nasty chill of déjà vu at the claim. The Fandine militia had last marched when he was voyaging on the Lady’s Light, but that was for another reason altogether. ‘Against Makkathran?’ he asked sharply.

  Dinlay’s thoughts were happy at providing his friend with a surprise, and being able to reassure him. ‘Against Licshills. It would seem Devroul’s expansionist ambitions were too great for Manel.’

  ‘I see.’ Edeard didn’t allow anyone to know his own dismay that this time around Manel had fallen to the bad again, and had set himself up as the Lord President of Licshills. ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Five days ago. Larose’s fast scouts brought the news as quickly as they could.’ Dinlay sipped at his coffee, waiting for Edeard’s response.

  ‘Five days. Which means they’ll be a fifth of the way there by now.’

  ‘Are you going to try and stop them?’

  ‘Oh Edeard,’ Hilitte exclaimed. ‘You have to stop them. There would be so many people killed if you don’t. The Skylords would never come again.’