The Evolutionary Void

FIVE

CHERITON MCONNA WAS TIRED, irritable, and unwashed to a degree where his clothes were starting to smell. What he needed was coffee, proper sunlight, and a decent blast of fresh air. The conditioning unit in the confluence nest supervisor’s office was struggling under constant use by too many people. But Dream Master Yenrol was insistent that they keep a full watch for any sign of the Second Dreamer. That meant a special module grafted onto the nest itself, one with a direct connection to the team. It boosted perception and sensitivity to an exceptionally high level. Cheriton didn’t like that at all; opening his mind to the gaiafield at such an intensity was equivalent to staring into the sun. Fortunately, he had some filter routines, which he quietly slipped in to protect himself. The other members of Yenrol’s team weren’t so well off. Slavishly obedient and devout, they scoured the emotional resonance routines for the slightest hint of their absconded messiah.

Around him, he could see their faces grimace from the strength of impressions pulsing down that singular linkage, yet still they loyally persevered. If they weren’t careful, they were going to suffer some pretty severe brainburns. Yenrol was adamant, though, convinced that whatever had happened over in Francola Wood had been caused by the Second Dreamer. It was Phelim’s strong belief, complacently acceded to by the Dream Masters, that she was trying to return from Chobamba.

The brief ultrasecure message Cheriton had received from Oscar was clear that she hadn’t emerged from the Silfen path. No one had the remotest idea what had actually set off all the agents into yet another deranged fracas. The path had registered somehow within the gaiafield as it changed, but no one had walked out. Now it had inevitably shrunk away again in the way Silfen paths always did when scrutinized by curious humans. Cheriton knew that meant the Second Dreamer wouldn’t be using it now-she was still out there walking between worlds-but try telling Yenrol that. The Dream Master was obsessed to the point of recklessness; he truly believed he was this close.

Cheriton snatched another quick look around the small stuffy office where his coworkers were crammed. Two flinched from some emotion twanging away on their raw neurons, shuddering from a nearly physical pain. Yenrol himself was twitching constantly.

This is ridiculous, Cheriton thought. She’s not an idiot. The whole invasion force has one goal: to find her. She’s not going to walk right back into the middle of them.

Most of the ordinary Living Dream followers shared his logic. He could sense their despondency dripping into the gaiafield as they made their way reluctantly to the wormhole at Colwyn City’s dock. Those of them who could. Surges of anger were also erupting into the gaiafield wherever Viotia’s citizens physically encountered any of their erstwhile oppressors. If he chose to examine those particular storm wells of emotion closely, there was also fear to be found, and pain. After the first instances, Cheriton kept his mind well clear of them. More and more were occurring, especially in Colwyn City.

Some were close by. Despite his reluctance, he felt a mind he knew flaring out of the norm, boosted by terror. It was Mareble, with whom he’d grown familiar for all the wrong reasons. Against his better judgment, he allowed the sensations to bubble in through his gaiamotes, seeing as she did the slope of a broad street falling away ahead of her, a street now cut off by the tumultuous mob.

“Oh, crap,” he murmured under his breath. Nothing I can do.

Even as he observed the scene through a myriad of emotional outpourings, everything changed. A mind rose into the gaiafield close to Mareble and her fool of a husband, a mind of incredible strength, its presence flaring bright and loud. Cheriton’s filter routines were just enough to shield him from its astonishing magnitude. Yenrol and the others screamed with one voice, their cry of anguish deafening in the confined office.

Mareble wanted nothing else but to be off this dreadful world. She and Danal had come here with such soaring spirits, believing they would be close to the Second Dreamer. But instead, their lives had degenerated with increasing speed, culminating in Danal’s arrest by Living Dream. Those who had taken him away were not a part of the movement as she understood it. The Welcome Team moved with Cleric Phelim’s authority, but they certainly lacked any of the gentle humility of the devout. Men of violence and hauteur. What they’d done to poor Danal was an atrocity. Not that they cared.

Her husband had been released into her arms, a frightened trembling wreck, unrecognizable as the kindhearted man she’d married. They couldn’t even return to the pleasant apartment that they’d bought and that was the reason Danal had been arrested in the first place. It was ridiculous, but the Ellezelin forces suspected them of colluding with the Second Dreamer herself. And Araminta being the Second Dreamer was the one thing Mareble could never quite bring herself to understand. Araminta, that pretty young woman, slightly nervous and on edge, eager to sell the apartment she’d been laboring to renovate. Somehow, that just didn’t connect. Mareble was expecting something quite different, but there had been no hint, no inkling when they’d talked and haggled over the price. She’d shared a cup of tea with the Second Dreamer and never known. Such a thing was simply wrong.

Danal didn’t care about any of that when she tried to explain. When they were free of the Welcome Team, he sank into a bitter depression, jumping at shadows and shouting at her. The things he shouted, she tried to ignore. It wasn’t Danal saying such hurtful things; it was the confusion and hurt left behind by his interrogators.

They spent days in a hotel together, living off room service, with her offering what comfort she could. Cheriton had recommended some drugs that ought to help, which she’d tried to get Danal to take. Sometimes he did, but more often he’d fling the infuser away. So she waited patiently for her husband to recover while the insanity of the invasion raged on the streets outside. That was when the unreal news broke that the Second Dreamer was Araminta and, worse, that she’d escaped to some planet Mareble had never heard of on the other side of the Commonwealth. Bizarrely, the knowledge seemed to ease Danal’s state of mind; at least he started taking the antipsychosis drugs.

The calming effect was slow but constant; she began to see signs of the man she’d lost reemerging. That was when they realized they had to get away. It was a decision that seemed to be shared by most of the Living Dream supporters on Viotia. The hostility and violence directed at them from the rest of the population was never going to abate.

They decided to wait until midmorning before leaving the hotel. That way they figured there would be more people about, more Living Dream followers doing the same thing, more paramilitaries patrolling. It would be safest.

The hotel was only a couple of miles from Colwyn City’s docks, where the wormhole opened to the safety of Ellezelin. When they made their way cautiously down to the lobby, it was deserted. Mareble had tried to order some modern clothes from a local cyber-store and have them delivered by bot, but they’d never arrived. The store’s management system insisted they’d been dispatched. She wanted to use the clothes in an attempt to blend in with everyone else on the street. Instead, they made do with what they had. Danal wasn’t too bad; his sweater was a neutral gray, and he wore it above brown denim trousers. From a distance it would escape attention. Except for his shoes, which were lace-ups. Nobody else in the Commonwealth used lace-ups anymore. Mareble was more worried by her own green and white dress; a dress was less suspicious, but the style was recognizable as belonging to Makkathran. In fact, it was a copy of a dress Kanseen had worn one night in Olovan’s Eagle.

Standing in front of the door, she called a cab. There was a metro rail running along the street right outside the hotel. Her u-shadow reported that the cab companies weren’t responding to requests; their amalgamated management cores apologized and said that normal service would resume as soon as possible.

“It’s not far,” she said, more for her own benefit than his. “Come on, we can get there. We’ll be back on Ellezelin in an hour.”

Danal nodded, his lips drawn together in a thin bloodless line. “Okay.”

The hotel entrance was on Porral Street, which was almost deserted when they walked out into the warm midmorning sunlight. They could hear distant airborne sirens as well as a suppressed buzzing like some angry insect, which Mareble just knew was a crowd on the hunt. Porral Street opened out onto Daryad Avenue, which was the main thoroughfare in this part of town, sweeping down the hill to the river Cairns. And just off to one side at the end of that slope were the docks. Simply looking down the broad avenue with its tall buildings and silent traffic solidos changing color and shape for nonexistent ground vehicles produced a surge of hope. Along its whole length she could see barely a hundred people in total.

An equally optimistic Danal linked his arm through hers, and they set off at a fast pace. A lot of the stores on either side had suffered damage. Windows were broken and covered with big sheets of black carbon. Most of the adverts were cold and dark. Three smashed cab pods blocked the metro rails running down the middle of the road. The people they passed never met their gaze. Nobody was sharing anything in the gaiafield. Nobody wanted to be noticed. Mareble was acutely aware of other people heading down the slope-couples, groups-all of them moving with that same urgent intent as her own gait yet trying to appear casual.

They were halfway down toward the smooth fast-flowing water of the river and starting to relax, when they crossed a side road. The shouts of the mob reached them at the same time. Mareble saw a man running frantically toward them, chased by about fifty people.

“Run!” he screamed as he charged past. His black felt hat tumbled off as he turned down the slope. The mob was thundering up fast behind him, faces contorted with bloodlust and hatred. Mareble and Danal took off after him; it was pure instinct.

“Help,” Mareble yelled. Her u-shadow was sending an alert to the Ellezelin forces that wasn’t even being acknowledged. She cried into the gaiafield, only to receive the slightest ripple of sympathies from Living Dream followers. “Somebody help!”

Danal was holding her hand, tugging her along. The dress was hindering her legs. Her ankle boots weren’t designed to run in. It was at least a mile and a half to the docks. Fear began to burn along her nerves as the adrenaline kicked in. She thought of the Waterwalker on the mountain after Salrana’s betrayal, with Arminel and his thugs closing in on the pavilion. Even then he had maintained his dignity. I must be like him.

Her foot hit something, and she went flying, landing painfully on the stone block pavement, grazing her knees, tearing the skin on her wrists. The jolt thumped along her arms, and she wailed in dread, knowing it was all over. “Lady, please,” she whimpered as Danal hauled her to her feet.

The mob came up around them incredibly fast, surrounding them with a fence of savagely hostile faces. They carried lengths of wood and metal bars; a couple gripped small laser welders.

“No,” Mareble whimpered. Tears were already smearing her vision. She hated how weak she was, but they were going to hurt her. Then she would die before ever knowing the true wonder of the Void.

“I’ve called the paramilitaries,” Danal said defiantly.

A pole caught him on the side of his head, making a nasty crack. His mouth had barely opened to cry out in pain when another smacked across his shins. Danal dropped fast, his limp hand slipping from Mareble’s arm.

“No!” she yelled. Her wild face looked directly at the man in front of her, pleading. He seemed ordinary enough, middle-aged, dressed in a smart jacket. He won’t hit a woman, she thought. “We just want to go. Let us go.”

“Bitch.” His fist slammed into her nose. She heard the bone crunch. For the first second it didn’t hurt; she was numb with shock and terror. Then the frightening pulse of hot pain pierced her brain. Mareble screamed, crumpling to her knees. To one side she saw a boot kick Danal’s ribs. Blood was pouring down her mouth and chin.

“That’s enough,” a woman’s voice said calmly. A dark figure stepped into the middle of the mob.

Then finally the gaiafield was awash with sympathy and kindness. The amazing sensation grew and grew like nothing Mareble had ever known before. She gasped in astonishment, blinking up at the woman, who was now opening her coat as if emerging from a cocoon. Underneath she wore a long cream robe resembling those of the Clerics. It seemed to glow of its own accord. A pendant on a slim gold chain around her neck shone an intense blue light across Mareble’s face, which somehow siphoned out so much of her fear. For a moment she trancended her own body to look out across the stars from a viewpoint outside the galaxy. The sight was extraordinarily warming. Then she was back on Viotia and looking up in silent awe at the figure grinning down at her.

The front rank of the mob was hesitating, their first angry glances at the intruder fading to bewilderment. Even their hatred and rage couldn’t stand against the blaze of serenity and comfort she poured into the gaiafield.

Danal raised his head, a look of incredulity rising over his pain. “Dreamer!” he gasped in wonder.

“Hello, Danal.” Araminta smiled. She pushed some of the Skylord’s contentment into the greeting, feeling it wash over the poor abused man, feeling his relief. Mareble was watching her worshipfully as she tried to staunch the flow of blood from her broken nose, and right across the Commonwealth, Living Dream followers sent their welcome and thanks that she had finally come out of hiding to take up her destiny. The wave of goodwill was awesome in its extent, combining the emotion of billions, sending it sweeping across hundreds of worlds.

Then one of the mob finally managed to shake off the daze of sensation Araminta and the Skylord were radiating out into the gaiafield. It was the one who’d punched Mareble. “You!” he spit. “This is all your fault.” A metal bar was raised. Araminta stared at him, feeling something flow from the Skylord into her mind, elevating her thoughts still higher. And she recalled Ranalee’s iniquitous ability. “No,” she told him quietly, and changed his mind for him, draining away the fear and hatred.

His mouth parted in a silent gasp, and the metal bar clattered to the ground just as a squadron of capsules roared in overhead. Araminta grinned up at them as they descended, sharing the sight with everyone everywhere. She held a hand out and helped Mareble to her feet as armor-clad figures shoved their way through the sullen silent mob.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” she said mildly as they came right up to her, guns drawn to cover the throng. “Please assist Danal.”

The officer in front hesitated. She could sense the uncertainty in his mind, the desperate wish to be anywhere else. “You’re to come with me,” he announced.

I AM THE DREAMER, Araminta proclaimed into the gaiafield, using the Skylord’s strength to bolster the claim. The officer swayed back from the force of the thought, almost falling as his knees weakened. Behind him, people were flinching, cowering at the power of her thoughts. “Did the Waterwalker travel by capsule?” she continued mildly. “I think not. I will walk to the wormhole. Those of you who wish to follow the dream may accompany me.” She gave the mob a calculated look. No one would meet her gaze now. “Those who would hurt my followers will be dealt with.” She glanced at the officer again. “Your name?”

“Darraklan. Captain Darraklan.”

“Very well, Captain Darraklan, your men will perform escort duty. There will be peace in this city. That is my wish.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Darraklan stammered.

Araminta raised an eyebrow. The hint of censure peeked out from her mind.

Darraklan bowed. “Yes, Dreamer,” he corrected himself.

Araminta gave Mareble a gracious smile. “Come.” The crowd parted, and she started walking down the slope toward the river and the docks. Bewildered Ellezelin troopers quickly helped Danal to his feet.

By the time she reached the bottom of Daryad Avenue, she’d picked up quite a retinue. Happy Living Dream followers had rushed out of every intersection to greet her, disbelief and joy surging out of their minds. Captain Darraklan’s troopers maintained a careful escort, not pressing in yet forming a secure perimeter. Capsules drifted high overhead, keeping pace. Araminta ignored them.

There had been many protests outside the docks themselves. Several hundred hardy city residents had set up camp in front of the main entrance, only to be largely ignored by the capsules that flitted in and out over their heads. Now they formed a curious crowd, watching as Araminta led her procession toward them. Anxiety and uncertainty began to rattle along the front rank. It was one thing to taunt the unassailable, indifferent paramilitaries on the other side of the fence for the injustice they’d brought to Viotia and quite another to face down a living messiah with mysterious telepathic powers. Araminta was still a hundred meters short of them when they began to part, leaving a clear passage to the dock entrance. Tall gates were hurriedly peeled open to reveal another batch of paramilitaries. These were headed by Cleric Phelim himself, who didn’t offer anything by way of complicity or acceptance.

Araminta knew this was the first real test of her claim to be the Dreamer. Phelim wouldn’t crumple like Darraklan, though she was certain that ultimately he wouldn’t be able to withstand Ranalee’s dominance technique. She sincerely hoped the Skylord would lend its assistance again if she asked, if she showed an obstacle to bringing the faithful to the Void as she had promised she would. In fact, it really shouldn’t need the intervention of a Skylord. To the whole of Living Dream she had assumed her rightful position as their leader, their savior. Clerics had become nothing more than administrators and bureaucrats, simple functionaries to facilitate her wishes. Judging from the expression on Phelim’s face and the few tightly controlled thoughts he did permit to be shared through the gaiafield, he was beginning to realize that, too.

I just have to keep going, she told herself in that little core of identity she didn’t share across the gaiafield, be an unstoppable force just like I promised Bradley. The true followers won’t stand for anyone interfering with me, not now that I can deliver the Pilgrimage. That’s what Living Dream stands for; it is everything to them.

A phony respectful smile spread across Cleric Phelim’s face. “Second Dreamer,” he said, with a slight emphasis on “second.” “We are so glad you have chosen to come forth at last. Welcome.”

Araminta didn’t even stop walking. She headed straight at the troopers lined up behind Phelim. They quickly shuffled aside. “Part of the reason I remained concealed was the suffering you unleashed on this world,” she said as she led her supporters through the troopers. Mareble, who had stayed close by the whole way down Daryad Avenue, glared at Phelim. It was a common sensation directed at the man. Up ahead was the wormhole; Araminta could see the violet-blue Cherenkov radiation leaking out from the edge. A different sunlight shone through the center.

Phelim’s expression hardened as he struggled to restrain himself. “I assure you we did everything that we could to-”

He was moving with her now, ambling in an awkward sideways gait. She’d won. “When I sit in the Orchard Palace, I will order a full and open inquiry into your part in this aggression,” she said dismissively.

“Wha-” Phelim managed to blurt.

“Violence was something the Waterwalker strove to eradicate. He devoted his lives to it. The cause almost broke him, but he succeeded. That is his true inspiration to us. And this monstrous invasion is the antithesis of everything Living Dream stands for. To believe you will go unpunished for such an atrocity is arrogant beyond belief.”

Cheering broke out all across the docks as Phelim abruptly stood still, watching with an open jaw as Araminta carried on to the wormhole. A lot of the enthusiastic jeering voices were rising from the protesters just outside the entrance.

Araminta smiled proudly, savoring the victory. The wormhole was directly ahead of her now, guarded by tall metal pillars studded with weapons and sensors. The Ellezelin forces parted before her. Helmets were discarded, showing grinning faces. The true believers were delighted she was here, was going to lead them onward just as the movement had always promised. She was cheered and applauded.

“Thank you,” she told them. “Thank you so much.” It was hard not to laugh outright. She’d accessed politicians working the crowds enough times, always hating the smug cynical bastards putting on a human persona whenever elections were due. Now she understood how they did it; puppeting the crowds was apparently an inbuilt ability.

Just as she reached the wormhole, she slowed and gripped Mareble’s hands. The woman looked at her with an alarming degree of adoration, eyes bright above the dried blood staining her face and dress. “You can go home now,” Araminta told the overwhelmed woman. “I will lead us on Pilgrimage shortly, once the ships are ready.”

Mareble’s lower lip trembled as she began to cry.

“It’s all right,” Araminta assured her. “Everything is all right now.” That was a lie on the grandest scale possible. She was rather pleased with herself for carrying it off with such panache.

Araminta raised a hand to her newfound friends and walked into the mouth of the wormhole, where she was engulfed by Ellezelin’s warmer, yellower sunlight.

“Holy crap!” Oscar muttered.

“That’s not her,” Tomansio said.

“She’s fucked us,” Beckia grunted. “Totally fucked us. She’s killed the whole galaxy.”

On the other side of the starship’s cabin, Liatris shook his head, his mouth raised in a lopsided smile of admiration. “Smart lady. They kept pushing her and pushing her, backing her into an impossible corner. There were only ever two options. Cave in or come out fighting. They never expected her to do that.”

“Because that’s not her,” Tomansio said confidently.

“Looked like her,” Oscar said. His u-shadow was still accessing the unisphere news feeds, showing the mouth of the wormhole not half a kilometer from the Bootle amp; Leicester warehouse where the Elvin’s Payback was secreted. It had taken a great deal of willpower not to run out of the starship and take a look at events for himself. The unisphere feed showed him hundreds of joyous people following their newfound messiah through the wormhole to Ellezelin. Unisphere coverage ended there. The other end of the wormhole was in a security zone.

The gaiafield, however, was still gifting Araminta’s sight and emotions as she walked across the nearly empty staging field. Capsules rushed through the air toward her. People were breaking off from their tasks on the acres of machinery scattered about to cheer her arrival in Greater Makkathran. And how is dear old Cleric Conservator Ethan going to react to this? he wondered.

“So that’s it,” Beckia said. She was still cranky at having to wear the medical sleeve on her arm, which was busy knitting the deep-tissue repairs she’d undergone after the fight in Francola Wood. Three other enriched agents had swarmed her, and her integral force field had temporarily overloaded down her left side. Oscar had pulled her out of the fray just before the capsules landed. He considered her lucky. Tomansio had managed to extract them, and the medical capsule that had repaired her had performed a minor miracle.

“Maybe,” Oscar said. “She must have a plan.”

“That’s a dangerous assumption,” Tomansio said. “Liatris got it right; she’s been forced into this act simply to survive.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t her,” Oscar countered.

Tomansio’s handsome face shone with a bright smile. “Touche.”

“It’s her,” Oscar said.

“Still not convinced,” Tomansio said. “This … empress isn’t the same girl we’ve been chasing after. Facing down Living Dream simply isn’t in her psychology.”

“What, then?” Beckia demanded.

“Double bluff,” Tomansio said. “They got to her; they broke into her mind and installed their own operating routines. This is a puppet of Living Dream, one that’s been pushed out center stage to focus everyone’s attention. Big bonus that she’ll do what every follower wants and lead them to Pilgrimage. It makes perfect sense for Ethan to do this; he gets everything he ever wanted.”

“Except lead Living Dream,” Oscar said. “That’s her next step. It has to be; she can’t do anything else but claim the throne now.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tomansio said. “He still gets what he wants, which is a ticket into the Void, and at the same time he doesn’t get any of the blame if it all goes belly-up.”

“Which it will,” Beckia said.

“I still don’t buy it,” Oscar said. He remembered the expression of fear and determination he’d seen on Araminta’s face when they met oh so briefly in Bodant Park. Her magnificent run eluding not just his team but the entire complement of agents from every power player in the Commonwealth. Besides, she was descended from Mellanie, and that meant trouble on a level these modern Greater Commonwealth citizens couldn’t comprehend. His lips registered a slight smile. Something about the whole situation wasn’t quite right-Tomansio had the truth of that-but he had absolutely no idea what.

“Then what is she doing?” Beckia asked. “She might have come out fighting from the corner they’d backed her into, but she’s burned any options. She has to take Living Dream on Pilgrimage now. That’s what her whole tenuous authority is based on.”

“Suicide?” Liatris suggested. “She leads them into the Gulf, and the Pilgrimage ships get blasted apart by the warrior Raiel.”

“That’d work for me,” Beckia grunted.

Oscar grinned from the strength of his own conviction. “Have a little faith,” he told the Knights Guardian. “After all, she is a messiah now.”

Tomansio groaned. “You mean you want us to stay on?”

“You’ve seen what’s going on in the docks right now. Every Living Dream follower on the planet is going to come running to the wormhole, and Phelim will have to shut off the weather dome to let them in. If we left now, we’d definitely be seen; we’d blow our cover.”

“We don’t need cover if the operation is over.”

“Give her a few days. She is rather busy right now, after all. And she has my number.”

“Don’t we all,” Beckia muttered.

Araminta stood at the front of the big passenger capsule, looking through the transparent fuselage that wrapped around her. Five hundred meters below, Greater Makkathran was laid out across the ground, a phenomenal urban sprawl that stretched to the horizon in every direction. Sunlight glinted and flashed off the crystal towers rising from lush parks; lower buildings shone with implausible colors. It was, she acknowledged, a beautiful city. However, her vision of the capital was slightly obscured by the sheer number of capsules rising up out of the designated traffic streams to wait for her to pass. Then they curved around to join the festive armada already flying along behind her. There were so many packed together like a smoke cloud, she could actually see the hazy shadow they splashed over the ground.

Up ahead, the ocean appeared on the horizon where the city dipped down to a broad swath of green park. And there, gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight, Makkathran2 was perched on the shoreline.

“Do you want to go straight to the Orchard Palace, Dreamer?” Captain Darraklan asked. He’d stayed with her after they walked through the wormhole, seemingly appointing himself as her personal guard. She wasn’t about to argue. With his helmet off, he was actually quite handsome in a classic square-jawed way, his floppy chestnut hair reminding her of one of Mr. Bovey’s younger selves.

“No,” she said without taking her gaze from the hauntingly strange reproduction city. “Edeard first entered through the North Gate. Take me there; that will be fitting. I will walk to the Orchard Palace.” Which will give Ethan plenty of time to throw up the barricades, if he dares. She felt a grim amusement coming from Darraklan’s mind as the capsule began to lose altitude. He must have been thinking the same thing.

They touched down on the vast circle of parkland surrounding the crystal wall. As she alighted onto the grass, she glanced back at the armada that was now tussling for ground space. It really had turned the sky dark. She was sure none of them were obeying local traffic control orders anymore. That’s good. A little knot of anarchy which I influence. They don’t all obey Ethan’s laws unquestioningly.

So far everyone was waiting to see what would happen next, pushing her along with their enthusiasm and her apparent newfound relish for the role of Dreamer. All she had to do was supplant Ethan, and the only way to do that was to show her ability and determination were greater than his. Just like Bradley said.

Araminta walked through the great arch in the crystal wall, with people pouring out of their badly parked capsules to form a carnival procession behind her. She didn’t really get much of a look at Makkathran2 from ground level. High Moat, which the gate opened on to, was jammed with people; surely everyone who lived in their shrine city had turned out to welcome her. The cheer that arose at her arrival was deafening. A row of men in Makkathran constable uniforms exactly like those of the Waterwalker’s squad saluted. Darraklan and their sergeant shouted back and forth while Araminta waved at the crowd, all the while moving forward. Never hesitate, never slow.

After a moment the constables fell in around her, easing her passage toward the bridge over North Curve Canal and into Ysidro.

She was wrong about the whole population being on High Moat. Ysidro’s narrow twisting streets were packed solid with supporters, some crying openly. The eerily familiar Blue Fox tavern was there beside the ginger sandstone bridge that took her into Golden Park, where the sunlight was shimmering off the white pillars. Another sea of bodies thronged the vast open space, and the high domes of the Orchard Palace dominated the far skyline.

While she was walking along one of the park’s elegant paths, Darraklan leaned over to murmur in her ear. “The Cleric Council has convened at the entrance to the palace.”

“Wonderful,” she replied. There were a lot of children lining the path, all of them with shining adulation in their eyes. It was hard to keep pushing on knowing she would ultimately betray that trust and reverence. It is their parents who have misled them, not me. I will be the truth for them.

By the time she reached the wire and wood bridge that crossed Outer Circle Canal, her resolution had returned. The thousands of smiling faces that urged her on no longer even registered as she crossed the canal. Darraklan accompanied her while the constables tried to stop the crowd pressing forward into the canal itself. They were all so desperate to see what happened next, their combined thoughts urging the Clerics to acknowledge their new Dreamer.

As Darraklan had said, the Cleric Council was waiting for her just inside the Malfit Hall, resplendent in their scarlet and black robes. Ethan stood in front of them, his white robes shining far brighter than Araminta’s own. Reasonable enough, she admitted. After all, she’d sewn hers together from the lining of Mr. Bovey’s semiorganic curtains.

The Cleric Conservator bowed deeply. “Dreamer,” he said. “Welcome. We have waited so long for this moment.”

Araminta gave him a sly smile. For someone who’d just been politically outmaneuvered, he was in surprisingly good humor. “Be careful what you wish for.”

“Indeed. May I ask why you have finally come forward?”

“It was time,” she replied. “And I wished to end Viotia’s suffering.”

“That was most regrettable.”

“It is past,” she said lightly, knowing how angry her homeworld would be at that. “I am here to lead those who want a better life for themselves, those who chose to live as the Waterwalker did.” Again she appealed to the Skylord, who said: “We await you. We will guide you.”

The gasp of joy from the crowd outside was audible through the hall’s thick walls. She smiled significantly at Ethan: your call.

“We are honored,” he said effusively.

“Thank you. Shall we move to the Upper Council chamber now? We have much to settle.”

Ethan glanced along the line of Cleric Councillors, their uncertain hopeful faces. One of them smiled slickly. “Of course, Dreamer,” he said.

“Rincenso, isn’t it?” Araminta said.

“Yes, Dreamer.”

“I’m grateful for your support.”

“My pleasure.”

I’ll bet it is, you unctuous little tit. “Which way?”

Rincenso’s bow was so deep, it verged on parody. He gestured. “This way, please, Dreamer.”

She watched the eternal storm playing across the ceiling, oddly saddened by the fact it was only a replica of the real Malfit Hall and the vivid images above her were nothing but a copy of Querencia’s planetary system. Now that she’d begun this course of action, she was actually keen to see it resolved, to walk through the real Makkathran and see for herself the streets and buildings where Edeard’s dramas had played out.

They walked silently through the smaller Toral Hall and into the Upper Council chamber. Araminta grinned at the solar vortex playing on its cross-vault ceiling. Here the copper sun’s accretion disc was still in its glory days, not as Justine had just seen it, with the brash comets dwindling and a new planet orbiting where it should never have been.

“You haven’t updated it, then?” she inquired lightly as she walked straight to the gold-embossed throne at the head of the long table.

“This is the Makkathran of the Waterwalker, Dreamer,” Ethan said.

“Of course. Not that it matters; we will soon be leaving here for good. Be seated,” she said graciously.

Ethan claimed the seat on her left-hand side, and Rincenso sat opposite him. There were just enough seats for everyone. No Phelim, she thought sagely. Let’s keep it like that. The thin Cleric unnerved her somewhat.

“May I ask if you intend to keep sharing so widely with the gaiafield?” Ethan said.

“Until we pass into the Void,” she confirmed. “The followers of Living Dream have had too much doubt and trouble intrude into their lives of late, in no small part due to you, Cleric. I feel they need the reassurance of seeing for themselves that I am honestly doing everything I can to lead the Pilgrimage. That is my only concern now. In that respect I will require this council to continue its running of the day-to-day aspects of Living Dream.”

She studied Ethan, curious about how he’d react to the deal. It was so painfully obvious that he didn’t understand or believe in her apparent conversion to the cause. He suspected something but couldn’t see what could possibly be askew.

“I will be delighted to help in any way I can,” Ethan said.

“We all will be,” Rincenso added quickly.

Araminta had to be stern with herself not to leak any disgust out into the gaiafield at the Clerics’ sycophancy. “Excellent. So my first question is on the progress of the Pilgrimage fleet.”

“The hulls are all complete,” Cleric DeLouis said. “Fitting out is going to take a while, but hopefully no more than a month.”

“And the drives?” Araminta asked.

It probably helped that Ethan was less than a meter away from her, but there was no way he could hide the little burst of dismay from her. She turned to fix him with a level stare. “By my estimation, it will take nearly half a year to reach the Void using a standard hyperdrive.”

“Yes, Dreamer.”

“There is also the problem of the warrior Raiel. Justine barely made it through.”

“We are making arrangements,” Ethan said grudgingly.

“Which are?”

He made a small gesture with his hand. “They are confidential.”

“No more. This unhealthy obsession with secrecy and violence ends now. It has done untold damage to Living Dream; Inigo and Edeard would not have tolerated such vice. Besides, we are no longer members of the Greater Commonwealth, and you are under my protection. Now, what arrangements have been made?”

“Are you sure you-”

“Yes!”

“Very well. I organized delivery of ultradrives for each Pilgrimage ship. The journey time should be less than a month.”

“Good work. And the Raiel warships? How do we get past them?”

Ethan was completely impassive. “The same manufacturing facility will also provide force fields capable of withstanding an attack by the warrior Raiel.”

“I see. And the cost?”

“It’s budgeted for. We do have the wealth of the entire Free Trade Zone at our disposal, after all.”

Araminta’s voice hardened. “The cost, please, Cleric, specifically the political cost for this technology?”

Everyone at the table turned to look at Ethan. The pressure of curiosity from the gaiafield was extraordinary. Even the Skylord was displaying a minor interest, engaged by the volume of emotion.

“Our supplier is to be taken into the Void with us.”

“Logical,” Araminta said. She smiled graciously. “Thank you one and all for attending me. We’ll convene formally tomorrow when I’ve had a chance to settle in. Ethan, I will be using the Mayor’s state rooms here in the Orchard Palace as my residence until we depart.”

“Yes, Dreamer.” He seemed surprised there had been no censure concerning his Faustian deal.

Darraklan peered in through the door as the subdued yet relieved Cleric Council filed out. Araminta held up a finger to him. “A moment more, please.”

“Yes, Dreamer.” He bowed and shut the doors after the last Cleric had left.

Araminta allowed herself a slow look around the Council chamber, her gaze falling once again on the radiant image spinning endlessly on the ceiling. She wondered how Justine was getting on inside the Void, if she had reached the real Makkathran yet. But no, that would take days-weeks-even with the Void’s accelerated time, although the Silverbird should arrive before the Pilgrimage ships reached the boundary. Ozzie! I hope she and Gore can do something to salvage this crock of shit before then, or I’m well and truly screwed. It sounded like Gore had a plan, or at least an idea. He owes me, too. Maybe he’ll get in touch. Somehow, she suspected she was going to have to do most of the work. But for now, there was the real threat to face. She took a breath, feeling the billions of Living Dream followers share her mind with a sense of trepidation as her own unease leaked out.

“Aren’t you going to talk to me?” she asked the chamber. Her own voice reverberated off the hard walls. “I know you’re sharing me.” Again the chamber was silent. Empty. Araminta let out a mildly exasperated sigh and allowed her ire to show. “I am talking to you, that which emerged from Earth’s prison. You have to speak with me at some time, for I am the only way to reach the Void. Let us begin now. Don’t be afraid. You’ve seen I am both reasonable and practical.”

The curiosity within the gaiafield grew more intense as everyone strained to perceive what she was talking to. Her u-shadow reported that the Upper Council chamber’s secure communication net was activating. A solido projection appeared at the other end of the table. Not a person but a simple dark sphere scintillating with grim purple light. Araminta faced it impassively.

“Congratulations on your ascension, Dreamer.” Its voice was female, melodically sinister.

“And you are?”

“Ilanthe.”

“You must be the one supplying the ultradrives and the force fields.”

“My agents arranged that with Ethan, yes.”

“Will the force fields be strong enough to protect us from the warrior Raiel?”

“I believe so. They are the same type currently protecting Earth.”

“Ah. And for this bounty you expect to be taken into the Void?”

“Without my assistance you cannot reach the boundary.”

“And without me you cannot get inside.”

“It would seem we need each other.”

“Then we have reached an accord.”

“You will take me?” Ilanthe’s voice carried a note of surprise.

“The Void welcomes all who seek fulfillment. Whatever you are, you obviously believe you need what the Void can offer. Therefore, I will be happy to bring you to it. It is, after all, my destiny as Dreamer to help those who yearn to reach the Heart.”

“That’s very noble of you. And completely unbelievable.”

“You are evil,” Araminta said.

“No, I am driven. It is not just Inigo and Edeard who had a vision of a beautiful future.”

“Nonetheless, you are inimical to the Commonwealth and its citizens.”

“Again you are misjudging me. I simply wish to achieve a different goal from the mundane aspirations which have so far existed among our species. A wonderful uplifting goal that everyone can share. I require the Void’s assistance to do that.”

“Then I wish you well on your voyage.”

“Why?”

“Because the Void will obliterate you. The Heart will not tolerate malevolence no matter the intent behind it, deluded or deliberate. You cannot avoid it, you cannot elude it. Despite my many misgivings I do genuinely believe in the goodness of the Heart, for I am twinned with the Skylords, who truly know its munificence. If necessary, I will travel there myself to expose you and your machinations.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Knowing this, knowing I will oppose you, do you still wish to come with us?”

“Yes. Do you still wish to take me?”

“Yes.”

“So be it. Our fate will be decided within the Void.”

“That it will.”

The sphere faded out, and the solido projector switched off. A long breath escaped through Araminta’s pursed lips. She grinned nervously for the benefit of her billions-strong spellbound audience. “Lady! I wonder what day two is going to be like?”

Paula was curious about that herself.

“She’s up to something,” Oscar insisted over the ultrasecure link. “This self-coronation is only the start.”

“I don’t see what else there can be for her,” Paula said.

“Well yeah … If it was obvious, everyone would figure it out and it’d be pointless.”

“I do love your optimism. It was always your most endearing quality. You probably believe Ilanthe will see the error of her ways before long.”

“You sound bitter.”

Paula rubbed a hand over her brow, surprised to find it was trembling. But then, she hadn’t slept for days; even biononics could keep her fatigue at bay for only so long. “I probably am. We’re the good guys, Oscar; we’re not supposed to lose.”

“We haven’t lost. We’re nowhere near losing. The Pilgrimage ships haven’t even been finished, let alone launched. So tell me how many ways covert operations can sabotage them.”

“Hundreds, but that’s only a delay. It’s not a solution.”

“I want to keep going. I want to see if Araminta contacts me.”

“She won’t. Everyone in the galaxy can observe every second of her existence. It’s actually quite clever: Sharing like that puts her beyond mere Dreamer status; she’s almost achieved the same level Edeard had. Every moment of her life is available for her followers to idolize, just like his was. But they’ll only keep supporting her if she does what they want and takes them into the Void. There’s no escape.”

“Humor me. I have faith in her, too. Different from everyone else, but faith nonetheless. She’s not stupid, and she’s descended from Mellanie.”

“If that’s what your faith is based on, we’re in serious deep shit.”

“Yeah, I noticed that, too.”

Paula smiled wearily. “All right, Oscar, I certainly haven’t got anything else for you to do. Stick with the original mission; see if you can make contact with the Second Dreamer.”

“Thank you.”

“What do your colleagues think about the notion?”

“They’re still on the payroll.”

“Are they all okay? Francola Wood seemed unnecessarily violent.”

“Wasn’t me, honest.”

“You were there.”

“We were. And I still don’t understand what happened. The path became active somehow; we all knew that. Hell, we felt it. But she never came through.”

“And yet she turned up in Colwyn City right after.”

“Exactly. See, there’s more to her than we understand. I trust you noticed what she’s wearing around her neck.”

“Yes.”

“And she knew about Ilanthe. I didn’t.”

“It was classified. The navy knew she’d escaped.”

“So she’s getting her information from somewhere. She understands what’s going on. Which means she knows what she’s got to do.”

“I hope you’re right, Oscar.”

“Me, too. So what are you going to do now?”

“Follow up leads, act on information. The usual.”

“Good luck.”

The link ended. Paula lay back on the couch, closing her eyes for a moment to summon up the willpower to place her next call. It was all very well being tired, but the situation was moving on with or without her.

Symbols appeared in her exovision, and her secondary routines pulled out the technical results. Alexis Denken was currently in full stealth mode fifty thousand kilometers above Viotia’s equator. The smartcore had been running a painstaking search across local space for signs of anyone else lurking above the planet. The first eight starships were easy enough for its sensors to detect; she suspected they were backup vessels for various agent teams on the planet. Now it had found another, the faintest hyperspatial anomaly a quarter of a million kilometers out from the planet. The stealth effect was first-rate; anything less than Alexis Denken’s ANA-fabricated sensors wouldn’t have been able to find it. That left her with the question of who it was and if it even mattered.

Her u-shadow opened a secure link to Admiral Juliaca. “I wasn’t expecting this,” she said.

“Neither were we,” the Admiral confirmed. “The President is not happy with today’s events.”

“You mean the President is frightened.”

“Yeah. Our best guess is that someone captured her and broke into her mind. They’re just remote-controlling her now. It’s probably Ethan himself if it isn’t Ilanthe.”

“That doesn’t quite fit. I don’t believe Ethan and Ilanthe would want their shabby little arrangement to be public knowledge. And how did Araminta know about Ilanthe?”

“Exactly. She has to have been taken over.”

“Or she communed with the Silfen Motherholme while she was on the paths. After all, we still haven’t got a clue how she returned to Viotia, and it would appear she’s been named a Friend.”

“Okay,” the Admiral said. “So why would the Silfen want Living Dream to go on Pilgrimage?”

Paula pressed her fingertips into her temple again, massaging firmly. “I haven’t got a clue. I’m just saying it’s possible Araminta has decided to step up her game.” She could barely believe she was repeating Oscar’s hopes, but what else was there to explain such extraordinary behavior?

“Then her new game is going to kill us all.”

“Will the navy destroy the Pilgrimage fleet?”

“President Alcamo is still trying to decide what to do. We’re as compromised now as we were before, if not worse. If Ilanthe does make good on her promise and supply Sol barrier force fields to the ships, then they’ll be invulnerable to anything we can hit them with. That just leaves us a small window while they’re on the ground under construction.”

Paula immediately saw the problem with that. “They’re being built next to Greater Makkathran.”

“Actually, they’re inside the urban boundary, which means they’re under the city’s civil defense force fields. If we take them out, it’ll destroy half the city at least, probably more. Paula, even if I gave the order, I’m not sure the navy ships would carry it out. I wouldn’t even blame them. Sixteen million people live there.”

“Billions of people live throughout the Greater Commonwealth. Trillions of entities live in the galaxy.”

“I know.”

“Covert sabotage will be easy enough. It doesn’t have to be a frontal assault.”

“Believe me, we’re drawing up those plans right now.”

“But that’s only going to delay things.”

“If we have long enough, ANA might break out.”

“If we delay the Pilgrimage too much, Ilanthe might offer Araminta a ride on her ship. Then we’d really be in trouble.”

“We’re more concerned by what the Void would do,” the Admiral said. “It already began an expansion the first time Araminta tried denying it. If we block her, there’s no telling how it’ll react to that. To put it bluntly, it knows where we live now.”

“So we still need an alternative.”

“We do. Paula … do you have any idea what Gore is up to?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Damn. Well, that leaves us with just about nothing.”

“I thought the Raiel answered our request to attempt to break through the Sol barrier.”

“Yes, Qatux has agreed to help. We’re expecting the High Angel will depart for Earth within the hour. The navy is evacuating its core staff down to Kerensk, including me. After all, we don’t know if it’ll come back.”

“I regard their involvement as promising. Nothing much stirs the Raiel these days.”

“I think Ilanthe and Araminta have managed to focus their attention.”

“Quite.”

“Have you got anything else for me?”

“I’m sorry, Admiral, but the only other possibility is if Inigo is alive and on the Lindau.”

“How does that help us? He started this Ozziedamned nonsense in the first place.”

“Exactly. He may be able to stop it. He certainly had a large enough change of heart to dump Living Dream. Several powerful people believed that warranted expending considerable effort and energy to finding him.”

“What do you suggest? Intercepting the Lindau?”

“Not a good option. Not yet. This Aaron character is single-minded in his mission and has already killed countless people in his pursuit. If he is threatened, he may well have instructions to eliminate Inigo.”

“Or he may not.”

“Granted. But if Inigo is our last remaining chance and he’s on board that scout ship, we can’t risk it. That’s a small ship: Aaron has no fallback, nowhere to run. Prudence would suggest waiting until it reaches the Spike. That opens up our options from a tactical point of view.”

“All right, Paula, but it’s a loose end I don’t want to ignore. We need every glimmer of hope we can muster.”

“I won’t let it slip, I assure you. I have a ship which can reach the Spike quickly when the need arises.”

Once again he ran across the vast hall with its crystalline arches high above. People scattered before him, frightened people. Children. Children with tears streaming down their sweet little faces.

Of all his uncertainty and confusion, he knew that should not be so. A thought he held steadfast. A lone conviction in a world gone terribly wrong. Human society existed to protect its children. That was bedrock he could rest easy upon. Not that such assurance meant anything to the physical reality he was surrounded by.

Weapons fire burst all around him, elegant colored lines of energy forming complex crisscross patterns in the air. Force fields added a mauve haze to the image. Then came the cacophony of screaming.

He ran, flinging himself across a cluster of wailing children. It was no good. The darkness followed him, flowing across the huge room like an incoming tide. It curled around him. And he felt her hand on his shoulder amid a clash of sparkling colors. The pain began, searing in through his flesh, seeking out his heart.

“You don’t leave me,” she whispered silkily into his ear.

He struggled, writhing frantically against her grip as the pain was slowly replaced by an even more frightening cold. “Nobody leaves me,” she said.

“I do!” he yelled with a raw throat. “I don’t want this.” Away along the fringe of darkness, more garish colored lights exploded. He heaved against her iron grip-

– and fell out of the cot to land painfully on the cabin floor. A weird ebony fog occluded his vision as he tried to focus on the Lindau’s bulkhead. It pulsed in a heartbeat rhythm with strange distensions bulging out, as if something were attempting to break out of his nightmare. He groaned as he squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to banish the creepy intrusion. The pain was real still, throbbing behind his temple like the Devil’s own migraine. Then he remembered a crown of slim silver needles contracting around his head, puncturing the skin, slipping effortlessly through the bone to penetrate his brain, and terrible red light shone into his thoughts, exposing every miserable segment of himself. “Do it,” he yelled into the nothingness. “Just do it now.” Sharp merciless claws reached in and started to rip out the most vital segments. And now his screams were silent, going on and on and on as his mind was shredded until finally, thankfully, there was nothing left. No thought remained, so he ceased to think-

– Aaron woke up with his cheek squashed uncomfortably on the deck, his neck at a bad angle. It was as if he were regaining consciousness from a knockout blow. His skin was cold; he shivered as much from shock as anything. “Oh, crap, this has just got to stop,” he moaned as he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position.

The captain’s cabin was still a mess. He hadn’t bothered to organize a servicebot to clean up yet. Personal environment wasn’t a priority for him, unlike the other two, who seemed quite fastidious about their small shared cabin. He ordered a fast biononic field scan to check on his captives and relaxed fractionally when exovision displays showed them in the main cabin. Now that their status was confirmed, he followed it up with a review of the Lindau’s systems. Plenty of components were operating on the edge of their safety margins thanks to the damage they’d received back on Hanko. But they were still functioning, still in hyperspace and on course for the Spike.

Aaron took a moment to wipe himself down with a towel soaked in travel-clean before pulling on some clothes he’d found in the cabin’s locker. The Lindau’s captain had been almost the same size as he, so the bots needed to make only a few adjustments before he could wear the conservatively styled shirts and trousers. Dressed in fawn-colored two-thirds-length shorts and a mauve sleeveless sweatshirt, he joined the other two for breakfast.

Corrie-Lyn gave him a sullen glance as he entered the main cabin, then returned to her bowl of yogurt and cereal. Aaron didn’t need to run any kind of scan to know she was hungover. He’d given up trying to stop the one remaining culinary unit from producing alcohol for her; its electronics were in a bad way, and the last thing it needed was a software war raging inside its circuitry.

“Good morning,” he said politely to Inigo. At least the ex-Dreamer gave him a brief acknowledgment, glancing up from his plate of toast and marmalade. Aaron ordered up a toasted bagel with poached egg on smoked salmon, orange juice, and a pot of tea.

“Why do you smell of bleach?” Corrie-Lyn asked.

“Do I?”

“You’ve used travel-fresh,” she accused. “There is a working shower, you know.”

The culinary unit pinged, and Aaron opened its stainless-steel door. His breakfast was inside. He hesitated at the slightly odd smell before transferring it all to a tray. The remaining chair at the table had broken as it was trying to retract, leaving a gray lump protruding from the floor with an upper hollow that wasn’t quite wide or deep enough for sitting in. Aaron squirmed his way down into it. “The shower is in your room,” he pointed out.

“And you rate our privacy above your hygiene? Since when?”

Inigo stopped chewing and glanced silently up at the ceiling.

“Corrie-Lyn, we’re going to be on board together for a while,” Aaron said. “As you may have noticed, this ship is on the wrong side of tiny, and there ain’t a whole lot of it working too good. Now, I don’t expect you to be gushing with mighty gratitude, but it’s my belief that basic civility will get us all through this without me ripping too many of your fucking limbs off. You clear on this?”

“Fascist bastard.”

“Is it true Ethan kept you on the Cleric Council because you were his private whore?”

“Fuck you!” Corrie-Lyn stood up fast, glaring at Aaron.

“See?” Aaron said mildly. “It’s a two-way street. And you can’t rip my limbs off.”

She stomped out of the main cabin. Inigo watched her go, then carried on eating his toast. Aaron took a drink of his orange juice, then cut into the egg. It tasted like rotten fish. “What the hell …”

“My toast tastes like cold lamb,” Inigo admitted. “The fatty bits. I used biononics to change my taste receptor impulses. It helps a bit.”

“Good idea.” Aaron’s u-shadow was interrogating the culinary unit to try to identify the problem. The result wasn’t promising. “The texture memory files are corrupted, and it doesn’t look like there are any backups left on board; a whole batch of kubes got physically smashed up. It’ll be producing this kind of crud all the way to the Spike.”

“Corrie-Lyn doesn’t have biononics. She can’t make it taste better.”

“That’ll make her a bucketful of fun for sure. We’ll have to inventory the prepacked supplies, see if there’s enough to last her.”

“Or you could simply connect to the unisphere with a TD channel and download some new files.”

Aaron looked at him over the rim of the orange juice, which tasted okay. “Not going to happen. I can’t risk an infiltration. The smartcore’s in the same condition as the rest of the ship.”

“That was a bad dream you had last night,” Inigo said quietly. “You need to watch out for aspects leaking into your genuine personality.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow. “My genuine personality?”

“All right, then, the one that keeps you up and functional. I’m getting concerned about the Mr. Paranoia who won’t risk downloading a food synthesis file.”

“Okay, for future reference, this very same personality has kept me alive through all my missions and helped me snatch you. And that barely took a couple of weeks after I’d been assigned to you, whereas everyone else in the Commonwealth had spent seventy years on the hunt for you. So you might want to rethink your poor estimation of my operational capabilities.”

Inigo’s hands fluttered in a modest gesture of acquiescence. “As you wish. But you have to understand I am curious about your composition. I’ve never encountered a mind quite like yours before. You have absences, and I don’t just mean memory. Whole emotional fibers seem to have been suppressed. That’s not good for you. The emotions you have permitted yourself are abnormally large; you’re out of balance as a result.”

“So Corrie-Lyn keeps telling me.” He tasted his egg again. His biononics had changed his taste receptors. This time the yoke had a mushroom flavor. It was weird, but he could live with it, he decided.

“You’ve been unkind to her,” Inigo said accusingly. “Small wonder she hates you.”

“I found you for her. She’s just ungrateful, that’s all. That or she doesn’t want to admit to herself how willing she was to pay the price.”

“What price is that?”

“Betrayal. That’s what it took to trace you.”

“Hmm. Interesting analysis. All of which brings us back to our current situation. So you’re taking me to the Spike to see Ozzie. What then?”

“Don’t know.”

“Your unknown employer must have given you some hint, some rough outline. To be an effective field agent you have to constantly reevaluate your alternatives. What if the Lindau was knocked out by the opposition, whoever they are? What if I’m taken away?”

Aaron smiled. “Then I kill you.”

The cabin Corrie-Lyn and Inigo were sharing was small. It was meant for five crew members but in theory the navy duty rota they followed should mean that only two would ever be using it at the same time, with changeovers every few hours. Inigo reckoned they’d all have to be very intimate with one another. The bunks were both fully extended, locked at a ten-degree angle with the edges curling up as if they were heat-damaged. All of which left little space to edge along between them. And they were useless for sleeping in. Instead, Inigo had just piled all the quilts onto the floor to make a cozy nest.

When he came back in after breakfast, Corrie-Lyn was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the crumpled fabric, drinking a mug of black coffee. An empty ready-pak was on the floor beside her.

“Taste good?” he asked.

She held up the foil ready-pak. “The deSavoel estate’s finest mountain bean. It doesn’t come much better.”

“That should help the hangover.” He perched awkwardly on the edge of a bunk, feeling it give slightly beneath him. It shouldn’t have done that.

“It does,” she grunted.

“I wonder if we can find a bean to help with the attitude.”

“Don’t start.”

“What in Honious happened to you?”

Corrie-Lyn’s dainty freckled face abruptly turned livid. “Somebody left. Not just me; they left the whole fucking movement. They got up and walked out without a hint of why they were going. Everything I loved, everything I believed in, was gone, ripped away from me. I’d given decades of my life to you and the dream you promised us. And as if that wasn’t enough, I didn’t know! I didn’t know why you’d left. Ladyfuckit, I didn’t even know if you were alive. I didn’t know if you’d given up on us, if it was all wrong, if you’d lost hope. I. Didn’t. Know! Nothing, that’s what you left me with. From everything-a fabulous life with hope and happiness and love-to nothing in a single second. Do you have any idea what that’s like? You don’t, clearly you don’t, because you wouldn’t be sitting there asking the stupidest question in the universe if you did. What happened? Bastard. You can go straight to Honious for all I care.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, crestfallen. “It’s … that final dream I had. It was too much. We weren’t leading anyone to salvation. Makkathran, Edeard; that whole civilization was a fluke, a glorious one-off that I caught at just the right time. It can never be repeated, not now, not now that we know the Void’s ability. The Raiel were right; the Void is a monster. It should be destroyed.”

“Why?” she implored. “What is that Last Dream?”

“Nothing,” he whispered. “It showed that even dreams all turn to dust in the end.”

“Then why didn’t-”

“I tell you?”

“Yes!”

“Because something that big, that powerful as Living Dream can’t be finished overnight. There were over ten billion followers when I left. Ten billion! I can’t just turn around to them and say: Oops, sorry, I was wrong. Go home and get on with your lives, forget all about the Waterwalker and Querencia.”

“The Inigo I knew would have done that,” she said through gritted teeth. “The Inigo I knew had courage and integrity.”

“I let it die, or so I thought. It was the kindest thing. Ethan was the finest example of that, a politician, not a follower. After him would have come dozens of similar leaders, all of them concerned with position and maintaining the ancient blind dogma. Living Dream would have turned into an old-style religion, always preaching the promise of salvation yet never producing the realization. Not without me. I was the one who might have been able to pass through the barrier. You know I was going to try, really I was. Go out there in a fast starship and see if I could make it, just like the original old ship did. That was before we knew about the warrior Raiel, of course. But once I had that dream, I knew the ideal was over. Ethan and all the others who should have come after him would have killed off Living Dream in a couple of centuries.”

“Then along came the Second Dreamer,” she said.

“Yeah. I guess I should have realized the Void would never let us alone. It feeds off minds like ours. Once it had that first taste, it was bound to find another way of pulling us in.”

“You mean it’s evil?” she asked in surprise.

“No. That kind of term doesn’t apply. It has purpose, that’s all. Unfortunately, that purpose will bring untold damage to the galaxy.”

“Then”-she glanced at the closed door-“what are we going to do about it?”

“We?”

She nodded modestly. “I believe in you; I always have. If you say we have to stop the Void, then I’ll follow you into Honious itself to bring that off.”

Inigo smiled as he looked down at her. She was wearing a crewman’s shirt several sizes too large, which made it kind of sexy as it shifted around, tracing the shape of her body. He’d watched her yesterday with considerable physical interest, the simple sight of her teasing out a great many pleasurable memories of the time they had spent as lovers. But she’d been drunk and spitting venom about Aaron and their situation and who was to blame for the state of the universe. Now, though, as he slipped off the bunk to kneel beside her, there was a look of hope kindled in her eyes. “Really?” he asked uncertainly. “After all I’ve put you through?”

“It would be a start to your penance,” she replied.

“True.”

“But …” She waved a hand at the door. “What about him? We don’t know if his masters want you to help the Pilgrimage or ruin it.”

“First off, he’s undoubtedly listening to every word we’re saying.”

“Oh.”

“Second, the clue is in who we’re going to see.”

“Ozzie?”

“Yes, which is why I haven’t tried anything like the glacier again.” Inigo grinned up at the ceiling. “Yet.”

“I thought you didn’t like Ozzie.”

“No. Ozzie doesn’t like me. He was completely opposed to Living Dream, so I can only conclude that Aaron’s masters are also among those who don’t want the Pilgrimage to go ahead.”

Corrie-Lyn shrugged and pushed some of her thick red hair away from her eyes. Intent and interested now, she fixed him with a curious look. “Why didn’t Ozzie like you?”

“He gave humanity the gaiafield so that we could share our emotions, which he felt was a way of letting everyone communicate on a much higher level. If we could look into the hearts of people we feared or disliked, we should be able to see that deep down they were human, too-according to his theory. Such knowledge would bring us closer together as a species. Damn, it was almost worth building a faction around the notion, but the idea was too subtle for that. Ozzie wanted us to become accustomed to it, to use it openly and honestly, and only when we’d incorporated it into our lives would we realize the effect it’d had on our society.”

“It has.”

“Not really. You see, I perverted the whole gaiafield to build a religion on. That wasn’t supposed to happen. As he told me, and I quote. ‘The gaiafield was to help people understand and appreciate life, the universe, and everything so they don’t get fooled by idiot messiahs and corrupt politicians.’ So I’d gone and wrecked his dream by spreading Edeard’s dreams. Quite ironic, really, from my point of view. Ozzie didn’t see that. Turns out he doesn’t have half the sense of humor everyone says he has. He went off to the Spike in a huge sulk to build a ‘galactic dream’ as a counter to my disgraceful subversion.”

“So he hasn’t succeeded, then?”

“Not that we know of.”

“Then how can he help?”

“I haven’t got a clue. But don’t forget, he is an absolute genius, which is a term applied far too liberally in history. In his case it’s real. I suspect that whatever plan is loaded into Aaron’s subconscious expects Ozzie and me to team up to defeat the Void.”

“That’s a huge gamble.”

“We’re long past the time for careful certainty.”

“Do you have any idea how to stop the Void?”

“No. Not a single glimmer of a notion, even.”

“But you were an astrophysicist to begin with.”

“Yes, but my knowledge base is centuries out of date.”

“Oh.” She pushed the empty coffee mug to one side with a glum expression.

“Hey.” His hand stroked the side of her face. “I’m sure Ozzie and I will give it our best shot.”

She nodded, closing her eyes as she leaned into his touch. “Don’t leave me again.”

“We’ll see this through together. I promise.”

“The Waterwalker never quit.”

Inigo kissed her. It was just the same as it had been all those decades ago, which was a treacherous memory. A lot of very strong emotions were bundled up with the time he and Corrie-Lyn had been together, most of them good. “I’m not as strong as the Waterwalker.”

“You are,” she breathed. “That’s why you found each other. That’s why you connected.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised, nuzzling her chin. His hands went down to the hem of the big loose shirt. “But he never faced a situation like this.”

“The voyage of the Lady’s Light.” She began to tug at the seam on his one-piece.

“Hardly the same.”

“He didn’t know what he was coming home to.”

“Okay.” He pulled back and stared at her wide eyes. “Let’s just find our own way here, shall we?”

“What about …?”

“Screw him.”

Corrie-Lyn’s tongue licked playfully around her lips. “Me first. I’ve been waiting a very long time.”