The Dreaming Void (35 page)

“Because I'm the only one who listens,” she told him.

“Lady, it's worse here than Ashwell in some ways. The elders are so … backward. They must inbreed like dogs.”

Salrana grinned. “Keep your voice down,” she scolded.

“Okay.” He grinned back. “Not much longer now, I hope.”

People were gathering along the side of the market square to watch the caravan arrive. Edeard counted thirty-two wagons rolling along the road and over the drawbridge. Most had terrestrial beasts tethered to them: horses, donkeys, oxen, cows. Some had pens carrying huge pigs. Ge-wolves padded alongside. There were more outriders with pistols than Edeard remembered from before. The wagons were as large and impressive as he recalled, with their metal-rimmed wheels as tall as he was. Most of them were covered by curving canopies of dark oiled cloth, though several were clad in tarred wood, almost like tiny mobile cottages. Entire families sat on the driver's bench, waving and smiling as they wound their way into the market. Every summer the caravans toured the district, trading animals, seeds, eggs, tools, food, drink, and fancy cloth from Makkathran itself. They did not always visit Ashwell, but Edeard could remember the excitement when they did.

Even before the wagons had stopped, villagers were shouting up at the traveling families, asking what they had brought. It was a good-natured crowd that had little time for the mayor's welcoming speech to the caravan leader. Trading was already under way before the formalities were over. Samples of wine and beer were handed down, mostly to apprentices. Edeard chewed on some dried beef that had been flavored with a spice he never had tasted before. Salrana picked daintily at trays of fruit and pickled vegetables, though she was less restrained when it came to exotic chocolates.

As the evening sky began to darken, Edeard was in considerably better spirits. A lot of the villagers were making for home and supper before returning for the night's traditional festivities. He and Salrana made their way to the lead caravan. The last remaining villagers were leaving, studiously ignoring the Ashwell pair as they did so.

Barkus, the caravan Master, was also as Edeard remembered, several decades into his second century but still hale. He had the largest sideburns Edeard had ever seen: white whiskers bristling around the curve of his jawbone, framing ruddy cheeks. His barrel torso was clad in a red silk shirt and an extravagant blue and gold waistcoat.

“And what can I do for you two?” he chortled as Edeard and Salrana edged in close to his wagon; his large family glanced at them and kept about their work, extending the awning on a frame of martoz wood to form an extensive tent. “I think we've run out of beer samples.” He winked at Edeard.

“I want to come with you to Makkathran; we both do.”

Barkus let out a booming laugh. Two of his sons sniggered as they pushed the awning pegs into the hard ground. “Very romantic, I'm sure. I admire your pluck, young sir, and you my Lady's lady. But sadly we have no room for passengers. Now, I'm sure that if the two of you are to be ah … how shall we say,
blessed
by an addition, your parents won't be as fearsome as you expect. Trust me. Go home and tell them what's happened.”

Salrana drew her shoulders back. “I am not pregnant. I take my vows of devotion very seriously.”

That blatant lie almost deflated Edeard's indignation. “I am Edeard, and this is Salrana; we're the survivors from Ashwell.” He was very aware of the silence his statement caused. Barkus's family members were all looking at them. Several strands of farsight emanating from the other side of the wagon swept across them. “I believe you knew my Master, Akeem.”

Barkus nodded sagely. “You'd best come inside. And the rest of you, get back to work.”

The wagon was one of those boasting a wooden cabin. The inside was fitted with beautiful ancient golden wood, intricately carved with a quality that would have eluded Geepalt and his apprentices. Every section of the walls and ceiling was made of doors, which came in sizes from some no bigger than Edeard's fist to those taller than he. Barkus opened a pair of horizontal ones, and they folded down into long cushioned benches. Two of the small doors along the apex slid aside to expose misty glass panels. Barkus struck a match and pushed it through a small hole at the end of the glass, lighting a wick. The familiar cozy glow of a jamolar oil flame filled the cabin.

Edeard smiled, very impressed.

“I remember your Master with great fondness,” Barkus said, waving them onto the bench opposite himself. “He traveled out here with us a long time ago. I was barely your age at the time. Your Mother, too, Novice Salrana, always showed us kindness. Both will be missed and mourned. It was a terrible thing.”

“Thank you,” Edeard said. “I don't wish to impose, but neither of us can stay in Thorpe-by-Water. We're not very welcome, and in any case it's too close to Ashwell.”

“I understand. The whole province is shaken by what happened, though I've heard a great many different versions already, including, I have to say, a couple which cast you in a less than favorable light, young man. I held my tongue at the telling of such tales because I remember you from our last visit, four summers ago. I also remember what Akeem said about you. He was impressed with your talent, and old Akeem was not easily swayed, especially by one so young.”

“Edeard risked his life to save me,” Salrana said.

“That also I have heard.”

“Before that night, Akeem said he wanted me to go to Makkathran to study at the Blue Tower of my guild. I would—no, I
will
—see his wish come true.”

Barkus smiled softly. “A worthy goal, young man.”

“We will work our passage,” Edeard said forcefully. “I will not freeload.”

“Nor I,” said Salrana.

“I would expect nothing less,” Barkus said. He seemed troubled. “However, it is a long way. We will not reach Makkathran until next spring, and that is if all goes well. Many caravans have already cut short their regular journey to leave this province. The stories of Ashwell's fate are many, but they have unnerved all of us. As I remember, Akeem said you have a strong third hand.”

“That's true. But my talent is in sculpting. There are many wild defaults in the woods and hills of this province. By the time winter falls, I can sculpt you a pack of ge-wolves that no bandit gang will ever get past no matter how strong their concealment. I can sculpt them with a stronger sense of smell than any you've used hitherto. I can also sculpt eagles which will circle for miles on every side of the convoy, searching out the slightest hint of treachery or ambush.”

“I'm sure you can.” Even now Barkus was unsure.

“I can also teach you and your families this,” Edeard said. He wove his concealment around himself. Barkus gasped, leaning forward and blinking. Edeard felt the caravan Master's farsight whipping back and forth across the cabin. He quietly got up and sat next to the startled Barkus, then withdrew his concealment. “How could the bandits attack you if they can't see you?”

“Dear Lady!” Barkus grunted. “I never knew such a thing.”

“Akeem gifted this to me.”

Barkus regained his composure quickly. “Did he, now? Akeem was right about you, and so I think are half the tales. Very well, my dear youngsters; I will accept you both as family tyros. You will come with us as far as Makkathran. And you will indeed work your passage. Let's see if you think such nobility is worthwhile when we reach the Ulfsen Mountains. However, Edeard, this arrangement is conditional on you not teaching anyone your concealment trick. Do you concur?”

“I do, sir. I don't understand why, though.”

“You haven't taught it to anyone in Thorpe-by-Water, have you?”

“No, sir.”

“That's a good political instinct you have there, my boy. Let's just keep it that way, shall we. There's enough trouble infecting our poor old world as it is without everyone sneaking around unseen. Though if you can find a way for farsight to uncover such trickery, I'd be grateful if you would inform me at once.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good lad. We leave with the dawn light in three days' time. If you're not here that morning, we still leave, though I don't suppose your Master will object to your exodus.”

“I don't believe he will, sir.”

         

“Makkathran!” Edeard said as they hurried away from the wagon. Now that Barkus had said he would take them, all his earlier worries and doubts had dried up. He had thought that he was running away, that he was being a coward for putting all the provinces between himself and the bandits, for allowing them to deal with the problem and endure their blood being spilled to safeguard the land while he lived a safe comfortable life in the city. But now they were going, and that was that. “Imagine it.”

“I can't believe it.” Salrana's smile was wide and carefree. “Do you think it will be as wonderful as the stories we've heard?”

“If it is only a tenth as fabulous as they say, it will be beyond anything I have dreamed.”

“And we'll be safe.” She sighed.

“Yes.” He put his arm around her shoulder—in a brotherly fashion.

“We'll be safe. And what splendid lives we'll live in the capital of the world.”

The glitch had been surprisingly easy to find. But then Troblum supposed Emily Alm had not had a lot of time to insert it, nor would she suspect he'd come looking, at least not right away. She had made several modifications to the blueprint. In itself each one was relatively innocuous, and that made them even harder to spot; but the cumulative effect was enough to throw the binding effect out of kilter. It was less than an hour's work for him to remove them. Then he restarted the production process.

With that under way, his u-shadow established a secure one-time link back to his apartment. Now he knew that Marius was trying to manipulate him and would go to any lengths to achieve what he wanted, Troblum needed an escape route. There was only one that would put him beyond even the representative's reach: the colonies. After the Starflyer War, each of the old dynasties had been left with a fleet of redundant lifeboats, starships capable of evacuating the entire senior strata of each dynasty to the other side of the galaxy, where they would have been safe had the Prime alien won. Given the phenomenal amount of money poured into their construction, the dynasty leaders were never going to scrap them simply because the Commonwealth had been victorious. Instead, the lifeboats set off to found new worlds and cultures completely independent of the Commonwealth. Over forty ships had launched, though that figure was ambiguous; the dynasty leaders were reluctant to admit how much money they had poured into their own salvation at the expense of everyone else. In the following centuries, more colony ships had set forth. No longer exclusive to dynasties, they had carried an even broader selection of beliefs, families, and ideologies, seeking to break free to a degree that even the External worlds could never offer. The last major departure had been in AD3000, when Nigel Sheldon himself had led a fleet of ten starships, the largest craft ever built, to set up a “new human experience” elsewhere. It was strongly rumored at the time that the ships had a transgalactic flight range.

With the ultrasecure link to his apartment established, Troblum used a similarly guarded connection for his u-shadow to trawl the unisphere for the possible destinations of the colony ships within this galaxy. There were over a hundred departures listed and thousands of articles on each of them. A lot of those articles speculated on why not one colony had gotten back in touch, even if only to send a “so there” message. Certainly there was no record of any navy starship stumbling across a human world anywhere else in the galaxy, not that they had explored a fraction of a percent of the available H-congruous stars. It was the core of Living Dream dogma that most, if not all, such voyages had wound up inside the Void. However, a lot of genuine academic work had gone into estimating probable locations despite the best efforts of the dwindling dynasties to suppress such work. Even assuming the studies were correct, the areas that needed to be searched were vast, measuring hundreds of light-years across. But
Mellanie's Redemption
was a fine ship. She should be able to make the trip out to the Drasix cluster, fifty thousand light-years away, where the Brandt Dynasty ships were said to have flown.

Troblum knew he would not miss the Commonwealth; there was nobody he had any attachment to, and most of the colony worlds would have a decent level of civilization. If he did find the Brandt world, they presumably would be glad to accept his knowledge of biononics, which had been developed long after their ships had departed. That left only the problem of what to do with his Starflyer War artifacts. He couldn't bear to be parted from them, yet if he transported them to the hangar, Marius might notice. He began instructing the apartment net on shipping arrangements, then made a painful call to Stubsy Florac.

The Neumann cybernetics took thirty-two hours to produce a planet-shifting FTL engine. Troblum stood underneath the sparkling cylinder as the terminal extruder was finished, marveling at its elegance. His field functions reported a dense knot of energies and hyper-stressed matter all in perfect balance. So much exotic activity was present, it almost qualified as a singularity in its own right.

If the colony doesn't want biononics, they'll surely want this.

He watched in perfect contentment as force fields maneuvered the cylinder into
Mellanie's Redemption.
The modified forward cargo hold closed, and Troblum sent the device into standby mode. Nobody would be able to break the command authority encryption, not even ANA, he suspected. The device was his and his alone.

Once it was safe and shielded, he went back into the office and restored Emily Alm's glitches to the blueprint, then began adding some of his own, at a much deeper function level. Now the engine really was unique.

Marius called several hours later. “Have you finished your analysis yet?”

“Just about. I think I'm going to have to initiate a complete redesign of the exotic stress channels.”

“That sounds bad, and I don't even know what you're talking about.”

“It's not good, no.”

“I'm sure our funds will cover it. But for now I need a small favor.”

“Yes?”

“I want you to take a colleague to our station.”

“A passenger?” Troblum asked in alarm. If there was someone else on board, he would never be able to fly free. With a growing sense of dismay, he realized that was probably the whole idea. Had Marius detected something? He would have sworn nothing could get through his encryption, but then ultimately he was dealing with an ANA faction.

“Problem? Your ship can accommodate more than one person, and it's a relatively short flight. We're still inside the Commonwealth, after all.”

There was a definite implication in that. “Not a problem. I'll need to do flight prep.”

“That shouldn't take more than an hour. Bon voyage.”

There had been no polite inquiry as to whether he was ready; in fact, it was more like an order. Annoyance warred with a slight curiosity.
What do they need me for so urgently?

“Troblum?”

“What?” Troblum twisted around as fast as his bulk would allow. There was a man standing in the office, a very tall man whose skeletal skull was frizzed by a stubble of ginger hair. He wore a simple gray suit that emphasized exceptionally long limbs. “Who the fuck are you?” Troblum's biononics had cloaked him in a defensive force field instantly; now his weapons enrichment was active and targeting the intruder.

“I'm Lucken. I believe you're expecting me.”

“You're …”

“Your passenger, yes. Is the ship ready?”

“How did you get in?”

Lucken's face remained completely impassive. “Do you require assistance to prepare for flight?”

“Ah, no.”

“Then please begin.”

Troblum adjusted the front of his old toga suit in angry reaction to the arrogant imposition. “The umbilicals are already attached. We'll leave as soon as the tanks are full. Do you want to go to your cabin?”

“Are you embarking now?”

“No. I have important work here to complete.”

“I will wait. I will accompany you on board.”

“As you wish.” Troblum settled back in his chair and reactivated the solido projectors just to show how indifferent he was.

Lucken did not move. His eyes never left Troblum.

It was going to be a long flight.

The station was a real flight into nostalgia. It had been fifty years since Troblum had seen it last, and he never thought he would be back; in fact, he was rather surprised it was still intact.
Mellanie's Redemption
took three days to fly from Arevalo to the unnamed red dwarf star. There were no planets, solid or gas, orbiting the weak speck of ruddy light, just a large disc of mushy hydrocarbon asteroids. There were fewer now than there had been when he first had come to work there. He smiled when he remembered that test sequence. It was the last time he had been genuinely drunk and had not cared what a fool he was making of himself.

Mellanie's Redemption
dropped out of hyperspace ten astronomical units (AUs) away from the star and eight thousand kilometers directly above their destination. Troblum accelerated in at seven gees, heading straight for the center of the dark toroid that measured five kilometers in diameter. A squadron of defense cruisers shed their stealth effect and soared around the starship in fast tight turns. They were over a hundred meters long, like quicksilver droplets frozen in middistortion to produce bodies of warped ripples sprouting odd pseudopod crowns. Their flight was so elegant and smooth, they resembled a shoal of aquatic creatures cavorting with a newcomer. However, there was nothing playful about the quantum-level probes directed at
Mellanie's Redemption.
Troblum held his breath as he waited to see if the sophisticated shielding around his forward hold would deflect the scan. It did, but then, he had helped design the cruisers—seventy years ago now. He found it interesting that nothing new had been produced in the intervening decades. Human technology was edging ever closer to its plateau. Emily Alm was probably right about her time in the navy; given their knowledge base, there was nothing new in the universe, just innovative variants on that which already existed.

The cruisers escorted them into the station.
Mellanie's Redemption
fell below the rim of the toroid and slid along the broad internal tube, which was almost as long as its diameter. Observing the structure through the starship's modest sensor net, Troblum could see that vast sections had been reactivated. The titanium-black fuselage was covered in long slender spikes as if a sharp frost had settled across the whole station. The majority of spikes were translucent blue-white; in among them, seemingly at random, several of the smaller ones were glowing with a low crimson light, as if they had caged a few of the photons from the nearby sun.

Troblum piloted
Mellanie's Redemption
to the base of a red spike that was nearly seven hundred meters long. A hangar door was open and waiting for them. When it closed, he could not help thinking of the door to an antique jail cell slamming shut.

“Thank you for flying Troblum Lines and have a pleasant day,” he said cheerily.

Lucken opened the airlock and went outside. The man had not spoken a single word since they had embarked. Hadn't slept, either, had just sat in the central cabin the whole time. He had vanished by the time Troblum activated a small case and pulled on his emerald cloak.
Mellanie's Redemption
looked small and inadequate inside the giant shiny white cavity. White tubes had wormed out of the floor to plug into her umbilical sockets. There was no sign of the external door or indeed a way into the station. As Troblum walked along the curving floor, gravity shifted to accommodate him so that he was always vertical. The whole effect was quite disorienting on a visual level.

A woman was waiting for him under the starship's nose. She was his height, completely hairless, with large perfectly round eyes that dominated her flat face. Her neck was long, over twenty centimeters, but invisible behind a sheath of slim gold rings, as if it were some kind of segmented metallic limb. All of her skin had the surface shimmer of a toga suit tuned to steel-gray; Troblum assumed her skin had been biononically modified, the effect was so tight around her. A lot of Highers close to download chose to experiment with physiological modifications.

“Greetings,” she said in a pleasant, almost girlish voice. “I've heard a lot about you.”

“Sadly, I can't return the compliment,” he said, reading off the protocol behavior program showing in his exovision.

“I'm Neskia, I run the station. My predecessor was most favorable in his assessment of your abilities. Our faction would like to thank you for returning.”

As if I had a choice.
“All very well, but why exactly am I here? Is the swarm malfunctioning?”

“Not at all.” She gestured gracefully, her neck curving in a fluidly serpentine motion to keep her face aligned with him as she started walking. Troblum followed her along the curve, his case hovering just behind his head. Above them, a circular door irised open. The station's internal nature certainly had changed in seventy years.

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed,” she said, and hesitated by the door.

Troblum was not sure if the circle had flipped out of the curve to stand upright or if the local gravity manipulation was even weirder than his ordinary senses told him. He refused to verify with a field scan. Disorientation attempts were really very childish. “Not disappointed. I assume I'm here to inspect and validate the swarm just in case the worst-case Pilgrimage scenario proves true. There have been a few recent advances which could be used to upgrade.”

“The swarm has dispersed to its deployment point. It has been constantly upgraded. We don't anticipate the Void's expansion to pose any problem.”

“Really? So that's why you kept this station going.”