The Dreaming Void (30 page)

Sometime later that afternoon the hangar security net informed Troblum that a capsule had landed on the pad outside. Frowning, he flipped the sensor image out of his peripheral vision and watched as the capsule's door flowed open. Marius stepped out.

Troblum actually feared for his life. The warning at the restaurant had been awful enough. But Troblum had been so sure the design for the drive engine was valid, he could not stop thinking that the whole manufacturing process somehow had been knocked deliberately out of kilter, sabotaged, in other words. There was only one person who could have had that done. He gave the
Mellanie's Redemption
a calculating glance. Even with his faction-supplied biononics, Marius would not be able to shoot through the ship's force field.

It wasn't going to happen. Troblum did not have anywhere to run to; he certainly did not have a friend—not one, not anywhere. And if Marius was there to eliminate him, it was on orders from the Accelerators. Hiding inside the starship would only postpone the inevitable.

I must start thinking about this, about a way out.

Reluctantly, he ordered the hangar net to open the side door.

Marius came into the office, gliding along in his usual smoothly imperturbable fashion. He glanced around, not bothering to hide his distaste. “So this is where you spend your days.”

“Something wrong with that?”

“Not at all.” Marius gave him a thin smile. “Everyone should have a hobby.”

“Do you?”

“None you'd appreciate.”

“So what are you here for? I did as you asked; I haven't pressed the navy.”

“I know. And that hasn't gone unnoted.” He studied the huge stack of Neumann cybernetics through the office window. “My commiserations. You put a lot of effort into today.”

“How did you know?”

The representative's eerie green eyes turned back to stare at Troblum. “Don't be childish. Now, I'm here because you need more funds and we have another little project which might interest you.”

“A project?” Since he did not seem to be in danger of immediate slaughter, Troblum couldn't help the tweak of interest.

“One you'll find difficult to refuse once you know the details. It's an FTL drive which we're putting into production. Who knows, perhaps there will be some overspill into this which you can take advantage of.”

Troblum really could not think what type of drive the ANA faction might want, especially after the last ultraclassified project he had worked on for Marius. “And you'll help me acquire extra EMAs for a rebuild here?”

“Budgets are tight in these uncertain times, but a swift and successful conclusion to our drive program would probably result in some unused allocation we can divert your way. However, we also have something else you might be interested in—a bonus if you like.”

“What's that?”

“Bradley Johansson's genome.”

“What? Impossible. There was nothing left of him.”

“Not quite. He rejuvenated several times at a clinic on an Isolated world. We had an access opportunity several centuries ago.”

“Are you serious?”

Marius simply raised an eyebrow.

“That sounds good,” Troblum said. “Really good. I almost don't have to think about it.”

“I need an answer now.”

Once again Troblum was uncertain what would happen if he said no. He could not detect any active embedded weapons in the representative, but that did not mean death wouldn't be sudden and irrevocable. Talk about carrot and stick. “All right. But first I have to spend a couple of days analyzing what happened here.”

“We would like you to fly to our assembly station immediately.”

“If I can't settle this problem to my own satisfaction, I won't be any good to you. I think you know that.”

Marius hardened his stare, his eyes darkening from emerald to near black. “Very well, you can have forty-eight hours, no more. I expect you to be on your way by then.” He transferred a flight plan file to Troblum's u-shadow.

“I will be.” It took a lot of biononic intervention to prevent Troblum from shaking as the representative left the office. There was nothing he could do about the sweat staining his suit along his spine. When the sensors showed him the representative's capsule lifting off the pad, he turned to gaze back into the assembly section. It was all far too neat: the problem on the verge of success, the generous offer to help pay for a solution, plus the unbelievable promise of being able to clone Bradley Johansson. Troblum let his biononic field sweep out to flow through the inert cybernetics. “What did that bastard do?” he murmured. Around him the solido projectors snapped on, filling the air with a multicolored blizzard of fine equations that sparkled as they interacted. Somewhere there had to be a flaw in the blueprint that had taken him fifteen painstaking years to devise, a deliberate glitch. The only person who could have put it there was Emily. He called up the sections with which she was directly involved. There was an emotion tugging at him as he started to review the data. It took awhile, but he eventually realized it was sadness.

From the office he was visiting in the hangar five down from Troblum's, the Delivery Man could just see Marius's capsule as it took to the air again. All he used was his eyes; there was no way the Accelerator representative could know he was under direct observation. “He's gone,” he reported. “And that hangar has distorted the spaceport's basic guidance protocols—you can't get there unless you're invited. It's definitely a nest for some bad boy activity. Do you want me to infiltrate?”

“No, thank you,” the Conservative Faction replied. “We'll use passive observation for the moment.”

“What about this Troblum character it's registered to?”

“Records indicate he's some kind of Starflyer War enthusiast. His starship flight plan logs are interesting; he visits some out-of-the-way places.”

“Do you think he's another representative?”

“No. He's a physicist with some high-level navy contacts.”

“He's involved with the navy?”

“Yes.”

“In what regard?”

“Leftover artifacts and actions from the Starflyer War. His interest verges on the fanatical.”

“So why would Marius pay him a personal visit?”

“Good question. We will research him further.”

“I can go home now?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” If he got to Arevalo's interstellar wormhole terminus in the next ten minutes, he could be back home in time for tea with the girls.

Inigo's Third Dream

It was a glorious summer evening, the bright sun tinting to copper over the Eggshaper Guild compound while Edeard walked across the main nine-sided courtyard. He took a contented breath as he watched the team of five ge-chimps cleaning the last patch of kimoss off the kennel roof. Their strong little claw hands were tearing up long dusty strips of the thick purple vegetation, exposing the pale slate. The kennels were the last of the courtyard buildings to be spruced up. Roofs and gutterings all around the other sides were clean and repaired. There were no more leaks down onto the young genistars, no more drains overflowing every time it rained. The walls also had benefited from the new chimp team renovating the guild compound. The mass of gurkvine had been pruned back to neat fluttering yellow rectangles between doors and windows, allowing the apprentice stonemasons to restore the mortar joins in the walls. An additional benefit of the long-neglected pruning was a bumper crop of fruit this year, with dangling clusters of succulent claret-colored berries hanging almost to the ground.

Edeard stopped to allow Gonat and Evox to herd the ge-horse foals into the stables for the night. “All brushed down and ready?” he asked the two young apprentices. He cast his farsight over the animals, checking their short rough fur for smears of dirt.

“Of course they are,” Evox exclaimed indignantly. “I do know how to instruct a ge-monkey, Edeard.”

Edeard grinned good-naturedly, struck by the way he now sounded like Akeem as he presided over the guild's three new apprentices. He could sense Sancia in a stall over in the default stables, sitting quietly in a chair as her third hand flowed around an egg, subtly sculpting the nature of the embryonic genistar. The youngsters were talented: impatient, naturally, but eager to learn. Two of the new ge-horses had been sculpted by Evox, who was inordinately proud of the foals.

Taking on the apprentices had been a real turning point for Akeem and Edeard. Evox had joined them barely a week after the fateful Witham caravan the previous year. Sancia and Gonat had moved into the apprentice dormitory before winter set in, and now two more farmers were discussing sending children to the guild, at least for the coming winter months. After a hectic six months of initiation and adjustment, things had settled down in the compound. Edeard even found that he had some of that most luxurious commodity: spare time. And that was on top of having the compound's ge-chimp team start the desperately needed renovation. With the apprentices honing their instructional skills, the chimps had performed some internal restoration: whitewashing walls, cleaning floors, and even preserving food in jars and casks. This coming winter season would not be as bleak as those in the past.

“How are the cats?” Gonat asked.

“Just going to inspect them,” Edeard said. So successful had the ge-cats been at extracting water, the council had commissioned a second well to be dug at the other end of the cliff face behind the village. As well as producing replacements for the existing well, Edeard now had to supervise a whole new nest. In truth, they did not last as long as he had hoped—barely two years—and they were still inordinately difficult to sculpt. “Don't forget we have a delivery from Doddit farm in the morning. Make sure there's enough room in the stores.”

“Yes.” Gonat and Evox groaned. They mentally pushed and goaded the frisky foals into their stable before Edeard could heap any more tasks on them. The whole courtyard resonated to the hoots, snarls, bleating, and barks of various genera. With the apprentices now capable of basic sculpting, the guild had suddenly doubled its hatching rates. There were a full twenty defaults in the stables; Akeem had consulted with Wedard on building more. The majority of the animals still went out to the farms, but most houses in the village had cleaned out their disused nests and asked for a ge-chimp or a monkey. The demand for ge-wolves since the Witham caravan had increased dramatically. It was what Edeard had wanted, but he was still disheartened by the way the older villagers refused to let him give them a simple refresher course in instruction, gruffly informing him that they had been ordering genistars around since before his parents were born. True enough, but if one had been doing it wrong since then, nothing was going to change and they would wind up with a lot of badly behaved genistars cavorting around Ashwell, annoying everyone. Edeard surreptitiously tried to make sure that the village children had a decent grounding in the ability. The Lady's Mother, Lorellan, helped in her own quiet way by allowing Edeard to sit in on her instructions to the village youth. Nobody dared to protest that.

Edeard reached the main hall and sped up the stairs, pleased to be away from the courtyard. A further side effect of their guild's rising fortune and greater genistar numbers was the stronger smell seeping out from the stables. He had moved out of the apprentice dormitory the week Evox had arrived, taking over a journeyman's room. “I can't confirm you as a Master yet,” Akeem had said gravely, “no matter what you did beyond these walls or how proficient you are. Guild procedures must be followed. To be a Master, you must have served at least five years as a journeyman.”

“I understand,” Edeard had replied, secretly laughing at the formality.
Lady help us from the way old people try to keep the world in order.

“And I'll thank you to take the guild a little more seriously, please,” Akeem had snapped.

Edeard had wound down his amusement rapidly. Akeem seemed able to sense any emotion, however well hidden.

His new room actually had some furniture in it: a decent desk he had commissioned from the Carpentry Guild and a cupboard and chest of drawers he needed to store his growing new wardrobe. His cot had a soft mattress of goose down. After some gruesome disasters, he eventually had got the finer points of the laundry ritual over to his personal ge-monkey, so once a week he had fresh sheets scented with lavender from the herb bed in the compound's small kitchen garden—also now properly maintained.

He washed quickly, using the big china jug of water. The guild compound wasn't yet connected to the village's rudimentary water pipe network, but Melzar had promised that would be done by the end of the month. Both he and the smithy were trying to design a domestic stove that would heat water for individual cottages, producing various ungainly contraptions with pipes coiled around them. So far the pipes had all burst or leaked, but they were making progress.

Edeard scraped Akeem's ancient spare razor over his straggly chin hairs, wincing at the little cuts the jagged blade made. A new razor was next on his list of commissions—and a decent mirror. The ge-chimps had left a pile of newly washed clothes from which he chose a loose white cotton shirt, wearing it with his smart drosilk trousers. He had found several weaver women in the village who would make clothes for him in return for ge-spiders. Akeem called the unregistered trade enterprising, cautioning that it must not interfere with their official commissions. He still had the boots he had bought in Witham, a little worn after a year, but they remained comfortable and intact; the only problem was how tight they were becoming. He had put on nearly two inches of height in the last year, not that he had bulked out at all. His horror was that he would wind up looking like Fahin as he put on more height without the corresponding girth.

He opened the top of the small stone barrel in the corner opposite the fire and removed the leather shoulder bag. It was one place relatively immune from casual farsight. He checked that the bag's contents had not been discovered by the other apprentices and slung the strap over his arm.

“Very dapper,” Akeem observed.

Edeard jumped, clutching the bag in an obviously guilty fashion. He had not noticed the old Master sitting in the main hall. Everyone had been trying to duplicate the way the bandits had shielded themselves, with varying degrees of success. Edeard was not sure how much mental effort Akeem put into the effect; he'd always had the ability to sit quietly and blend naturally into the background.

“Thank you,” Edeard replied. He self-consciously tugged at the bottom of his shirt.

“Off out, are you?” Akeem asked with sly amusement, he gestured at the long table set for five. He had made nothing of the bag.

“Er, yes. My tasks are complete. I'll start sculpting the new horses and dogs for Jibit's farm tomorrow. Three of the defaults are ovulating; the males are in their pens.”

“Some things are definitely easier for other species,” Akeem observed, and gave Edeard's clothes another meaningful look. “So which of our town's fine establishments are you gracing tonight?”

“Um, I can't afford the tavern. It's just me and some of the other apprentices getting together, that's all.”

“How lovely. Are any of your fellow apprentices female by any chance?”

Edeard clamped down hard on his thoughts, but there was nothing he could do about his burning cheeks. “I guess Zehar will be there. Possibly Calindy.” He shrugged his innocence in such matters.

For once Akeem appeared awkward, though he had put a strong shield around his own thoughts. “Lad, perhaps sometime we should talk about such things.”

“Things?” Edeard muttered in alarm.

“Girls, Edeard. After all, you are sixteen now. I'm sure you notice them these days. You do know what to ask Doc Seneo for if uh … 
circumstances
become favorable.”

Edeard's expression was frozen into place as he prayed to the Lady for this horror to end. “I … er, yes. Yes, I do. Thank you.”
Go to Doc Seneo and ask for a phial of vinak juice? Oh, dear Lady, I'd rather chop it off altogether.

Akeem sat back in his chair and let his gaze rise to the ceiling. “Ah, I remember my own youthful amorous adventures back in Makkathran. Oh, those city girls in all their finery; the ones of good family would do nothing else all day long but pamper and groom themselves for the parties and balls that were thrown at night. Edeard, I so wish you could see them. There isn't one you wouldn't fall in love with at first sight. Of course, they all had the Devil in them when you got their bodices off, but what a vision they were.”

“I
have
to go or I'll be late,” Edeard blurted. Someone of Akeem's age should not be allowed to use words like “amorous” and “bodice.”

“Of course.” The old Master seemed amused by something. “I have been selfish keeping you here.”

“I'm not that late.”

“And I don't mean tonight.”

“Uh …”

“I'm not up to instructing you anymore, Edeard. You have almost outgrown your Master. I think you should go to Makkathran to study at the guild in their Blue Tower. My name may still be remembered; at the very least my title demands some prerogatives. I can write you a letter of sponsorship.”

“I … No. No, I can't possibly go.”

“Why not?” Akeem asked mildly.

“To Makkathran? Me? It's—no. Anyway, it's … it's so far away. I don't even know how far. How would I get there?”

“Same way everyone does, my boy; you travel in one of the caravans. This is not impossible or remote, Edeard. You must learn to lift your eyes above the horizon, especially in this province. I would not see you stifled by Ashwell. For that is what surely will happen if you remain. I do not want your talent wasted. There is more to this world, this life, than a single village alone on the edge of the wilderness. Why, just traveling to Makkathran will show you that.”

“I will hardly waste my talent by staying here. The village needs me. Look what has happened already with more genistars.”

“Ah, really? This village is already nervous about you, Edeard. You are strong, you are smart. They are neither. Oh, don't get me wrong; this is a pleasant place for someone like me to live out my remaining days. But it is not for you. Ashwell has endured for centuries before you; it will endure for centuries yet. Trust me. A place and people this stubborn and rooted in what they are will not vanish into the back heart of Honious without you. I will write your letter this week. The Barkus caravan is due before the end of the month. I know Barkus of old; he owes me some favors. You can leave with them.”

“This month?” he whispered in astonishment. “So soon?”

“Yes. There is no benefit in delay. My mind is clear on this matter.”

“The new ge-cats …”

“I can manage, Edeard. Please, don't make this any more difficult for me.”

Edeard walked over to the old Master. “Thank you, sir. This is”—he grinned—“beyond imagination.”

“Ha. We'll see how much you thank me in a year's time. The Masters of the Blue Tower are not nearly as lax as I have grown. They will have a fine time beating obedience into you. Your bones will be black and blue before the first day is half-gone.”

“I will endure,” Edeard said. He laid a hand on the man's shoulder, for once allowing the love he felt to shine in his mind. “I will prove you right to them. Whatever happens, I will endure it for you. I will never give them cause to doubt your pupil. And I will make you proud.”

Akeem gripped the hand, squeezing strongly. “I am already proud. Now come. You are dallying while your friends carouse. Leave now, and I will have yet another fine meal with our three juvenile dunderwits, listening to their profound talk and answering their challenging questions.”

Edeard laughed. “I am a bad apprentice, deserting my Master thus.”

“Indeed you are. Now go, for the Lady's sake. Let me summon up what is left of my courage, else I shall flee to the tavern.”

Edeard turned and walked out of the hall. He almost stopped, wanting to ask what Akeem had meant by “they are already nervous about you.” He would inquire tomorrow.

“Edeard,” Akeem called.

“Yes, Master?”

“A word of caution. Stay silent that you are leaving, even to your friends. Envy is not a pretty blossom, and it has a custom of breeding resentment.”