The Dreaming Void (9 page)

Aaron wished he could go over and draw the lad away. It was painful to watch; he had seen this exact scene play out many times over the last few nights. The barkeeper came over with two heavy shot glasses and a frosted bottle of golden Adlier 88Vodka; brewed on Vitchan, it bore no real relation to original Earth vodka except for the kick. Adlier produced a liqueur that was eighty percent alcohol and eight percent tricetholyn, a powerful narcotic. The barkeeper filled both glasses and left the bottle.

Corrie-Lyn lifted hers in salute and downed it in one shot. The hopeful lad followed suit. As he winced a smile against the burn of the icy liquid, Corrie-Lyn filled both glasses again. She lifted hers. Somewhat apprehensively, the lad did the same. She tossed it down straightaway.

There was laughter coming from the group at the window now. Their friend slugged back the drink. There were tears in his eyes; an involuntary shudder ran along his chest as if he were suppressing a cough. Corrie-Lyn poured them both a third shot with mechanical precision and downed hers in a single gulp. The lad gave a disgusted wave with one hand and backed away to jeering from his erstwhile pals. Aaron wasn't impressed; the previous night one of the would-be suitors had kept up for five shots before retreating, hurt and confused.

Corrie-Lyn slid the bottle back along the countertop, where the barkeeper caught it with an easy twist of his wrist and deposited it back on the shelf. She turned back to the tall beer she'd been drinking before the interruption, resting her elbows on either side of the glass, and resumed staring at nothing.

Watching her, Aaron acknowledged that cultivating Corrie-Lyn was never going to be a subtle play of seduction. There was going to be only one chance, and if he blew that, he would have to waste days finding another angle. He got to his feet and walked over. As he approached, he could sense her gaiafield emission, which was reduced to a minimum. It was like a breath of polar air, cold enough to make him shiver; her silhouette within the ethereal field was black, a rift into interstellar space. Most people would have hesitated at that alone, never mind the Adlier 88 humiliation. He sat on the stool the lad had vacated. She turned to give him a dismissive look, eyes running over his cheap suit with insulting apathy.

Aaron called the barkeeper over and asked for a beer. “You'll excuse me if I don't go through the ritual degradation,” he said. “I'm not actually here to get inside your panties.”

“Thong.” She took a long drink of her beer, not looking at him.

“I … what?” That was not quite the answer he was prepared for.

“Inside my thong.”

“I suddenly feel an urge to get ordained into your religion.”

She grinned to herself and swirled the remains of her beer around.

“You've had enough time; you've been hanging around here for a few days now.”

His beer arrived, and Corrie-Lyn silently swapped it for her own.

Aaron raised his finger to the barkeeper. “Another. Make that two.”

“And it's not a religion,” she said.

“Of course not; how silly of me. Priest robes. Worshipping a lost prophet. The promise of salvation. Giving money to the city temple. Going on Pilgrimage. I apologize; easy mistake to make.”

“Keep talking like that, offworlder, and you'll wind up headfirst in a canal before dawn.”

“Headfirst or headless?”

Corrie-Lyn finally turned and gave him her full attention, her smile matching her impish allure. “What in Ozzie's great universe do you want?”

“To make you very rich indeed.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“So I can make myself even richer.”

“I'm not very good at bank heists.”

“Yeah, guess it doesn't come up much at priest school.”

“Priests ask you to have faith. We can take you straight to heaven; we even give you a sneak preview so you know what you're getting.”

“And that's where we come in.”

“We?”

“FarFlight Charters. I believe your not religion is currently in need of starships, Councillor Emeritus.”

Corrie-Lyn laughed. “Oh, you are dangerous, aren't you?”

“No danger, just an aching to be rich.”

“But I'm on my way to our heaven in the Void. What do I need with Commonwealth money?”

“Even the Waterwalker used money. But I'm not going to argue that case with you, or any other for that matter. I'm just here to make the proposition. You have contacts I need, and it is my belief you're none too happy with your old friends on the Cleric Council right now. Might be willing to bend a few ethics here and there—especially here. Am I speaking the right of things, Councillor Emeritus?”

“Why use the formal mode of address? Be bold, go the whole way; call me shitlisted. Everyone else does.”

“The unisphere news clowns have many labels for all of us. That doesn't mean you haven't got the names I need up here.” He tapped the side of his head. “And I suspect there's enough residual respect for you in Orchard Palace to open a few doors for me. Isn't that the way of it?”

“Could be. So what's your name?”

“Aaron.”

Corrie-Lyn smiled into her beer. “Top of the list, huh?”

“Number one, Councillor Emeritus. So how about I buy you dinner, and you either have fun stringing me along or give me your private bank account code so I can fill it up. Take your time to decide.”

“I will.”

FarFlight Charters was a legitimately registered company on Falnox; anyone searching its datacore would have found it brokered for several spacelines and cargo couriers on seven External planets, not a huge operation but profitable enough to employ thirty persons. Luckily for Aaron it was a simple front that had been put in place should he need it, he did not know by whom. But if it had been real, his expenses would have had serious implications for this year's profitability. This was the third night he'd wined and dined Corrie-Lyn, with much emphasis on the wine. The meals had all been five-star gourmet as well. She liked Bertrand's, in Greater Makkathran, a restaurant that made the Hotel Buckingham look like a flophouse for yokels. He didn't know if she was testing his resolve; given the state she was in most nights, she probably didn't know herself.

She did dress well, though. Tonight she wore a simple little black cocktail dress whose short skirt produced a seductive hem of mist that swirled provocatively every time she crossed or uncrossed her legs. Their table was in a perfectly transparent overhanging alcove on the seventy-second floor, providing an unenhanced view out across the huge nighttime city. Directly below Aaron's feet, capsules slid along their designated traffic routes in a thick glare of navigation strobes. Once he'd recovered from the creepy feeling of vertigo, the view was quite invigorating. The seven-course meal they were eating was a sensory delight, each dish accompanied by a wine the chef had selected to complement it. The waiter had given up offering a single glass to Corrie-Lyn; now he just left the bottle each time.

“He was a remarkable man,” Corrie-Lyn said when she finished her gilcherry leaf chocolate torte. She was talking about her favorite topic again. It was not difficult to get her started on Inigo.

“Anyone who can create a movement like Living Dream in just a couple of centuries is bound to be out of the ordinary.”

“No, no.” Corrie-Lyn waved her glass dismissively. “That's not the point. If you or I had been given those dreams, there would still be Living Dream. They inspire people. Everyone can see for themselves what a beautiful simple life can be lived in the Void, one you can perfect no matter how screwed up or stupid you are, no matter how long it takes. You can only do that inside the Void, so if you promise to make that ability available to everyone, you can't
not
gather a whole load of followers, now, can you? It's inevitable. What I'm talking about is the man himself. Mister Incorruptible. That's rare. Give most people that much power and they'll abuse it. I would. Ethan certainly fucking does.” She poured the last of a two-and-a-half-century-old Mithan port into an equally ancient crystal glass.

Aaron smiled tightly. The alcove to the main restaurant floor was open, and Corrie-Lyn had downed her usual amount.

“That's why Inigo set up the movement hierarchy like an order of monks. Not that you couldn't have lots of sex.” She sniggered. “You just weren't supposed to take advantage of the desperate faithful; you just screw around among your own level.”

“So far, so pretty standard.”

“ 'Course, I wasn't very pure. We had quite a thing going, me and Inigo. Did you know that?”

“I do believe you mentioned it once or twice.”

“ 'Course you did; that's why you hit on me.”

“This isn't hitting on you, Corrie-Lyn.”

“Slim and fit.” She licked her lips. “That's what I am. Wouldn't you agree?”

“Very much so.” Actually, he didn't want to admit how physically attractive she was. It helped that any sexual impulse he might have felt was effectively neutralized by her drinking. After the first hour of any evening, she was not a pleasant person to be around.

Corrie-Lyn smiled down at her dress. “Yeah, that's me, all right. So … we had this thing, this fling. I mean, sure, he saw other women. For Ozzie's sake, the poor shit had a billion females willing and eager to rip their clothes off for him and have his babies. And I enjoyed it, too. I mean, hell, Aaron, some of them made me look like I'd been hit hard by the ugly stick.”

“I thought you said he was incorruptible.”

“He was. He didn't take advantage is what I'm saying. But he's human. So am I. There were distractions, that's all. The cause. The vision. He stayed true to that; he gave us the dreams of the Void. He believed, Aaron; he believed utterly in what he was shown. The Void really is a better place for all of us. He made me believe, too. I'd always been a loyal follower. I had
faith.
Then I actually met him. I saw his belief, his devotion, and through that I became a true apostle.” She finished the port and slumped back in her chair. “I'm a zealot, Aaron, a true zealot. That's why Ethan kicked me off the Council; he doesn't like the old guard, those of us who remain true. So you, mister, you just keep your snide patronizing to yourself, you bastard. I don't fucking care what you think; I hate your smart-ass weasel words. You don't believe, and that makes you evil. I bet you haven't even experienced one of the dreams. That's your mistake, because they're real. For humans, the Void is heaven.”

“It could be heaven. You don't know for sure.”

“See!” She wagged a finger in his direction, barely able to focus. “You do it every time. Smart-ass words. Not stupid enough to agree with me, oh, no, but enough to make me preach at you. Setting it up so I can save you.”

“You're wrong. This is all about the money.”

“Ha!” She held up the empty bottle of port and scowled at it.

Aaron hesitated. He could never tell how much control she had. He took a risk and pushed. “Anyway, if the Void is salvation, why did he leave?”

The result wasn't quite what he had expected. Corrie-Lyn started sobbing.

“I don't know!” she wailed. “He left us. Left all of us. Oh, where are you, Inigo? Where did you go? I loved you so much.”

Aaron groaned in dismay. Their quiet meal was now a full-blown public spectacle. Her sobs were increasing in volume. He hurriedly called the waiter and shuffled the seats to sit next to Corrie-Lyn, putting himself between her and the curious patrons. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let's go.”

There was a landing platform on the thirtieth floor, but he wanted her to get some fresh air, so they took an elevator straight down to the skyscraper's lobby. The boulevard outside was almost deserted. A slim road running down the middle was partially hidden behind a long row of tall, bushy evergreen trees. The footpath alongside it was illuminated by slender glowing arches.

“Do you think I'm attractive?” Corrie-Lyn slurred as he encouraged her to walk. Past the skyscraper there were a couple of apartment blocks, all surrounded by raised gardens. Local night birds swooped and flittered silently through the arches. It was a warm air, with the smell of sea ozone accompanying the humid gusts coming in from the coast.

“Very attractive,” Aaron assured her. He wondered if he should insist that she take the detox aerosol he had brought along for this eventuality. The trouble with drinkers of this stature was that they didn't want to sober up that quickly, especially when they were burdened with as much grief as Corrie-Lyn was.

“Then how come you don't want me? Is it the drink? Do you not like me drinking?” She broke away to look at him, swaying slightly, her eyes blurred from tears, hauntingly miserable. With her light coat undone to show off the exclusive cocktail dress, she presented a profoundly unappealing sight.

“Business before pleasure,” Aaron said, hoping she would accept that and shut the hell up. He should have caught a taxi from the skyscraper's platform. As if she finally were picking up on his exasperation, she turned fast and started walking.

Someone appeared on the path barely five meters in front of them, a man in a one-piece suit that still had the remnants of its black stealth envelope swirling like water in low gravity. Aaron scanned around with his full field functions. Two more people were shedding their envelopes as they walked up behind him. His combat routines moved smoothly to active status, accessing the situation. They designated the first of the group to confront them: One. Eighty percent probability he was the commander. The subordinates were tagged Two and Three. His close-range situation exoimage showed all three of them glowing with enrichments. He actually relaxed: By confronting him, they had taken away all choice; with that accepted, there could only be one outcome now. He simply waited for them to present him with the maximum target opportunity.