The Dreaming

If any of them were vexed with their dismissal they shielded such thoughts from the openness of the gaiafield. He and Phelim alone passed into the private quarters. Inside, there were a series of grand interconnecting chambers. The heavy wooden doors were as intrusive here as they were in Makkathran; whatever species designed and built the original city clearly didn’t have the psychology for enclosing themselves. Through the gaiafield, he could sense his own staff moving about within the reception rooms around him. His predecessor’s team were withdrawing, their frail emotions of disgruntlement leaking into the gaiafield. Handover was normally a leisurely good-spirited affair. Not this time. Ethan wanted his authority stamped on the Orchard Palace within hours. Before the conclave began, he’d prepared an inner circle of loyalists to take charge of the main administrative posts of Living Dream. And as Ellezelin was a hierocracy, he was also faced with endorsing a new cabinet for the planet’s civil government as well.

  His predecessor, Jalen, had furnished the Mayor’s sanctum in paoviool blocks, resembling chunks of stone that shaped itself as required, a state intuited from the gaiafield. Ethan settled into the seat that formed behind the long rectangular slab of desk. Dissatisfaction manifested itself in small emerald sparkles erupting like an optical rash on the paoviool surfaces around him.

  “I want this modern rubbish out of here by tomorrow,” Ethan said.

  “Of course,” Phelim said. “Do you want Inigo’s furnishings restored?”

  “No. I want this as the Waterwalker showed us.”

  Phelim actually smiled. “Much better.”

  Ethan glanced round the oval sanctum with its plain walls and high windows. Despite his familiarity with the chamber he felt as if he’d never seen it before. “For Ozzie’s sake, we did it!” he exclaimed, letting out a long breath of astonishment. “I’m sweating. Actually sweating. Can you believe that?” When he brought his hand up to his brow, he realized he was trembling. For all the years he’d planned and worked and sacrificed for this moment, the reality of success had taken him completely by surprise. It had been a hundred and fifty years since he infused the gaiamotes in order to experience the gaiafield; and on his very first night of communion he’d witnessed Inigo’s First Dream. A hundred and fifty years, and the reticent adolescent from the backwater External World of Oamaru had reached one of the most influential positions in the Greater Commonwealth still available to a simple Natural human.

  “You were the one they all wanted,” Phelim said; he stood slightly to one side of the desk, ignoring the big cubes of paoviool where he could have sat.

  “We did it together.”

  “Let’s not fool ourselves here. I would never be considered even for the Council.”

  “Ordinarily, no.” Ethan looked round the sanctum again. The enormity was starting to sink in. He began to wonder what the Void would look like when he could see it with his own eyes.

  Once, decades ago, he had met Inigo. He hadn’t been disappointed, exactly, but the Dreamer hadn’t quite been what he’d expected. Not that he was sure what the Dreamer should have been like—more forceful and dynamic, perhaps.

  “You want to begin?” Phelim asked.

  “I think that’s best. The Ellezelin cabinet are all faithful Living Dream members, so they can remain more or less as they are, with one exception. I want you as the Treasury Secretary.”

  “Me?”

  “We’re going to build the starships for Pilgrimage. That isn’t going to be cheap, we’ll need the full financial resources of the whole Free Market Zone to fund construction. I need someone in the Treasury I can depend on.”

  “I thought I was going to join the Council.”

  “You are. I will elevate you tomorrow.”

  “Two senior posts. That should be interesting when it comes to juggling schedules. And the empty seat on the Council I shall be filling?”

  “I’m going to ask Corrie-Lyn to consider her position.”

  Phelim’s face betrayed a hint of censure. “She’s hardly your greatest supporter on the Council, admittedly, but I think she’d actually welcome Pilgrimage. Perhaps one of our less progressive colleagues…?”

  “It’s to be Corrie-Lyn,” Ethan said firmly. “The remaining Councillors who oppose Pilgrimage are in a minority, and we can deal with them at our leisure. Nobody will be challenging my mandate. The faithful wouldn’t tolerate it.”

  “Corrie-Lyn it is, then. Let’s just hope Inigo doesn’t come back before we launch the starships. You know they were lovers?”

  “It’s the only reason she’s a Councillor.” Ethan narrowed his eyes. “Are we still looking for Inigo?”

  “Our friends are,” Phelim told him. “We don’t quite have those sort of resources. There’s been no sign of him that they’ve reported. Realistically, if your succession to Conservator doesn’t bring him back within the first month or so, I’d say we are in the clear.”

  “Badly phrased. That makes it sound like we’ve done something wrong.”

  “But we don’t know why Inigo was reluctant to Pilgrimage.”

  “Inigo is only human, he has flaws like the rest of us. Call it a failure of nerve at the last moment if you want to be charitable. My own belief is that he’ll be watching events from somewhere, cheering us on.”

  “I hope so.” Phelim paused as he reviewed the information accumulating in his exoimages, his u-shadow was balancing local data with a comprehensive overview of the election. “Marius is here, requesting an audience.”

  “That didn’t take him long, did it?”

  “No. There are a lot of formalities required of you tonight. The Greater Commonwealth President will be calling to congratulate you, as will the leaders of the Free Market planets, and dozens of our External World allies.”

  “How is the Unisphere coverage?”

  “Early days.” Phelim checked the summaries his u-shadow was providing. “Pretty much what we were expecting. Some hysterical anti-Pilgrimage hotheads saying you’re going to kill all of us. Most of the serious anchors are trying to be balanced, and explain the difficulties involved. The majority seem to regard Pilgrimage as a politician’s promise.”

  “There are no difficulties in accomplishing Pilgrimage,” Ethan said in annoyance. “I have seen the Skylord’s dream. It is a noble creature, it will lead us inside the Void. We just have to locate the Second Dreamer. Any developments on that today?”

  “None. Thousands are coming forward claiming to be dreaming the Skylord. They don’t help our search.”

  “You must find him.”

  “Ethan… it took our best Dream Masters months to assemble the existing fragments into the small dream we have. We believe in this case there is no firm link such as Inigo had with the Void. These fragments, they could be entering the gaiafield in a number of ways. Unaware carriers. Directly from the Void? Perhaps it’s Ozzie’s galactic field. Then there’s an overspill from the Silfen Motherholme or some other post-physical sentient having fun at our expense. Even Inigo himself.”

  “It’s not Inigo. I know that. I know the feel of his dreams, we all do. This is something different. I was the one who was drawn to those first few fragments, remember. I realized what they were. There is a Second Dreamer.”

  “Well, now you are Conservator you can authorize a more detailed monitoring of the gaiafield’s confluence nests, track down the origin that way.”

  “Is that possible? I thought the gaiafield was beyond our direct influence.”

  “The Dream Masters claim they can do this, yes. Certain modifications can be made to the nests. It won’t be cheap.”

  Ethan sighed. The conclave had been mentally exhausting, and that had just been the beginning. “So many things. All at once.”

  “I’ll help you. You know that.”

  “I do. And I thank you, my friend. One day we’ll stand in the real Makkathran. One day we will make our lives perfect.”

  “Soon.”

  “For Ozzie’s sake I hope so. Now, ask Marius in, please.”
Ethan stood courteously to receive his guest. That it should be the ANA Faction representative he saw first was a telling point. He didn’t relish the way he and Phelim had relied on Marius during his campaign to be elected Conservator. In an ideal universe they would have needed no outside aid, certainly not one with so many potentially worrying strings attached. Not that there was ever any suggestion of quid pro quo from Marius. None of the Factions inside the near-post-physical intelligence of Earth’s Advanced Neural Activity system would ever be so blunt.

  The representative smiled courteously as he was shown in. Of average height, he had a round face with sharp green eyes emphasized by wide irises; nose and mouth were narrow, and his ears were large but flattened back so severely they could have been ridges in the skull. His thick auburn hair was flecked with gold, no doubt the outcome of some Advancer ancestor vanity. There was nothing to indicate his Higher functions. Ethan was using his internal enrichments to run a passive scan, and if any of the representative’s field functions were active they were too sophisticated to perceive. He wouldn’t be surprised by that, Marius would be enriched with the most advanced biononics in existence. The representative’s long black toga suit generated its own surface haze which flowed about him like a slim layer of mist, the faintest tendrils slithered behind him as he walked.

  “Your Eminence,” Marius said, and bowed formally. “My most sincere congratulations on your election.”

  Ethan smiled. It was all he could do not to shudder. Every deep-honed primitive instinct he possessed had picked up on how dangerous the representative was. “Thank you.”

  “I’m here to assure you we will continue our support of your goals.”

  “You don’t consider Pilgrimage will trigger the end of the galaxy, then?” What he desperately wanted to ask was: who is we? But there were so many Factions inside ANA constantly making and breaking alliances it was virtually a null question. It was enough the Faction Marius represented wanted the Pilgrimage to go ahead. Ethan no longer cared that their reasons were probably the antithesis of his own, or if they regarded him as a simple political tool. Not that he would ever know. Pilgrimage was what mattered, delivering the faithful to their promised universe. All that mattered, in fact. He didn’t care if he assisted someone else’s political goal as long as it didn’t interfere with his own.

  “Of course not.” Marius grinned in such a way it was as if they were sharing some private joke about how stupid the rest of humanity was compared to themselves. “If that was the case, then those already in the Void would have triggered that event.”

  “People need to be educated. I would appreciate your help with that.”

  “We will do what we can, of course. However, we are both working against a considerable amount of mental inertia, not to mention prejudice.”

  “I am very conscious of that. The Pilgrimage will polarize opinion across the Greater Commonwealth.”

  “Not just those of humans. There are a number of species who are showing an interest in this development.”

  “The Ocisen Empire,” Ethan spat it out with as much contempt as possible.

  “Not to be entirely underestimated,” Marius said. It wasn’t quite chiding.

  “The only ones I concern myself with are the Raiel. They have publicly stated their opposition to anyone trying to enter the Void.”

  “Which is of course where our assistance will be most beneficial to you. Our original offer still stands, we will supply ultradrives for your Pilgrimage ships.”

  Ethan, a scholar of ancient history, guessed this was what the old religious icon Adam had felt when he was offered the apple. “And in return?”

  “The status quo which currently reigns in the Greater Commonwealth will be over.”

  “And that benefits you, how?”

  “Species survival. Evolution requires progression or extinction.”

  “I thought you would be aiming for transcendence,” Phelim said flatly.

  Marius didn’t even look in his direction, his eyes remained fixed on Ethan. “And that isn’t evolution?”

  “It’s a very drastic evolution,” Ethan said.

  “Not unlike your hopes of Pilgrimage.”

  “So why not join us?”

  Marius answered with a mirthless smile. “Join us, Conservator.”

  Ethan sighed. “We’ve dreamed what awaits us.”

  “Ah, so it boils down to the old human problem. Risk the unknown, or go with the comfortable.”

  “I think the phrase you want is: better the devil you know.”

  “Whatever. Your Eminence, we still offer you the ultradrive.”

  “Which no one has ever really seen. You just hint at it.”

  “ANA tends to be somewhat protective towards its advanced technologies. However, I assure you it is real. Ultradrive is at least equal to the drive used by the Raiel, if not superior.”

  Ethan tried not to smile at the arrogance.

  “Oh, I assure you, Conservator,” Marius said. “ANA does not make that boast lightly.”

  “I’m sure it doesn’t. So when can you supply them?”

  “When your Pilgrimage ships are ready, the drives will be here.”

  “And the rest of ANA, the Factions which don’t agree with you, they’ll just stand by and quietly let you hand over this supertechnology?”

  “Effectively, yes. Do not concern yourself with our internal debates.”

  “Very well, I accept your most generous offer. Please don’t be offended, but we will also be building our own more mundane drive units for the ships—just in case.”

  “We expected nothing else.” Marius bowed again, and left the room.

  Phelim let out a soft whistle of relief. “So that’s it, we’re just a trigger factor in their political wars.”

  Ethan tried to sound blasé. “If it gets us what we want, I can live with it.”

  “I think you are wise not to rely on them exclusively. We must include our own drives in the construction program.”

  “Yes. The design teams have worked on that premise from the beginning.” His secondary routines started to pull files from the storage lacunas in his macrocellular clusters. “In the meantime, let us begin with some simple appointments, shall we?”

  ***

  Aaron walked across the red marble bridge that arched over Sisterhood Canal, linking Golden Park with the Low Moat district. A strip of simple paddock land which had no city buildings, only stockades for commercial animals, and a couple of archaic markets. He strode along the meandering paths illuminated by small oil lanterns hanging from posts and on into the Ogden district. This was also grassland, bill contained the majority of the city’s wooden-built stables where the aristocracy kept their horses and carriages. It was where the main city gate had been cut into the wall.

  The gates were open wide when he went through, mingling with little groups of stragglers heading back to the urban expanse outside. Makkathran2 was surrounded by a two-mile-wide strip of parkland separating it from the vast modern metropolis which had sprung up around it over the last two centuries. Greater Makkathran2 now sprawled over four hundred square miles, an urban grid that contained sixteen million people, ninety-nine per cent of whom were devout Living Dream followers. It was now the capital of Ellezelin, taking over from the original capital city of Riasi after the 3379 election returned a Living Dream majority to the planetary senate.

  There was no powered transport across the park; no ground taxis or underground train, or even pedwalk strips. And, of course, no capsule was allowed into Makkathran2’s airspace. Inigo’s thinking was simple enough; the faithful would never mind walking the distance; that was what everyone did on Querencia. He wanted authenticity to be the governing factor in his movement’s citadel. Riding across the park, however, was permissible, after all, Querencia had horses. Aaron smiled at that notion as he set off past the gates. Then an elusive memory flickered like a dying hologram. There was a time when he had clung to the neck of some giant horse as
they galloped across an undulating terrain. The movement was powerful and rhythmic, yet strangely leisurely. It was as if the horse was gliding rather than galloping; bounding forward. He knew exactly how to flow with it, grinning wildly as they raced onwards. Air blasting against his face, hair wild. Astonishingly deep sapphire sky bright and warm above. The horse had a small, tough-looking horn at the top of its forehead. Tipped with the traditional black metal spike.

  Aaron grunted dismissively. It must have been some sensory immersion drama he’d accessed on the Unisphere. Not real.

  The midpoint of the park was a uniform ridge. When Aaron reached the crest it was as though he was stepping across a rift in time; behind him the quaintly archaic profile of Makkathran2 bathed in its alien orange glow; while in front were the modernistic block towers and neat district grids producing a multicoloured haze that stretched over the horizon. Regrav capsules slipped effortlessly through the air above it in strictly maintained traffic streams, long horizontals bands of fast motion winding up into cycloidal junctions that knitted the city together in a pulsing kinetic dance. In the south-eastern sky he could see the brighter lights of starships as they slipped in and out of the atmosphere directly above the spaceport. A never-ending procession of big cargo craft providing the city with economic bonds to planets outside the reach of the official Free Market Zone wormholes.

  When he reached the outer rim of the park he told his u-shadow to call a taxi. A glossy jade-coloured regrav capsule dropped silently out of the traffic swarm above and dilated its door. Aaron settled on the front bench, where he had a good view through the one-way fuselage.

  “Hotel Buckingham.”

  He frowned as the capsule dived back up into the broad stream circling round the dark expanse of park. Had that instruction come from him or his u-shadow?

  At the first junction they whipped round and headed deeper into the urban grid. The tree-lined boulevards a regulation hundred metres below actually had a few ground cars driving along the concrete. People rode horses among them. Bicycles were popular. He shook his head in bemusement.

  The Hotel Buckingham was a thirty storey pentagon ribbed with balconies, and sending sharp pinnacles soaring up out of each corner. It glowed a lambent pearl-white, except for its hundred of windows which were black recesses. The roof was a small strip of lush jungle. Tiny lights glimmered among the foliage as patrons dined and danced in the open air.