The Dreaming Void (62 page)

“Will you go after Aaron and Corrie-Lyn?”

“I'm not sure. I hadn't envisaged Aaron being so close to finding Inigo. But even if he is on Hanko, it'll take Aaron awhile to actually track him down. I need to consult with ANA: Governance on this. Thank you for helping, Qatux.”

“You are welcome, Paula. Always.”

She was on the verge of asking to be teleported back to her ship, but she hesitated. “What do the Raiel think of the Pilgrimage?”

“That it is incredibly foolish. Opening the Dyson Alpha barrier was one thing, but this takes your obduracy to a whole new level. Why does ANA: Governance allow it?”

Paula sighed. “I have no idea. Humans always want to test their boundaries; it's an instinctive thing.”

“It is a stupid thing.”

“We're not as old as you. We don't have specieswide wisdom, let alone responsibility.”

“Higher humans do.”

“The tenet of universal responsibility is the root of their culture, but as individuals they have a long way to go. And as for ANA, it's like the intellectual equivalent of primordial ooze in there. Who knows what's going to come wiggling out triumphantly at the end of the day? I'm beginning to doubt ANA: Governance's ability to keep order.”

“Are you serious?”

“I don't know,” she admitted. “This whole event has me badly troubled. There are too many people playing with catastrophic unknowns. Part of me, the old part that worships order, wants to shut down the entire Pilgrimage project. It's obviously a monstrous folly. Yet the liberal side of me agrees that these people have a right to seek happiness, especially when nothing in the Commonwealth appeals to them. It's indicative of our cultural heritage that we cannot provide a home for everyone.”

“But Paula, their ‘right' to seek the solution of perfection in the Void will endanger the rest of the galaxy. That right cannot be permitted.”

“Quite. And yet we don't have conclusive proof that the Void will respond the way you claim.”

Qatux was silent, as if startled. “You doubt us, Paula?”

“Humans need to know things for themselves. It is our nature, Qatux.”

“I understand that. I am sorry for you.”

“We're being too melancholy. I give you my word I'm working to try to sort out this mess.”

“As always you are honorable. I hope you succeed. I would not like to see our two species fall into conflict.”

“We won't.”

The
High Angel
teleported Paula back into the cabin of the
Alexis Denken.
As in all modern starships, the cabin could provide her with every physical necessity, like a hotel room with a particularly bad view. She ordered a plain chair and took her guitar out of the storage locker. Music was something she had come to late in life. As her genetically ordained compulsions were erased slowly, she found her cultural horizons expanding. Art was a whole area she could never quite appreciate; she was always looking for rationalist explanation in every work. Literature was a lot more satisfactory; stories had a point, a resolution. Not that there were many books released into the unisphere these days; current writers tended to produce outlines and scripts for sensory dramas. But the classics were enjoyable enough; the only genre she tended to shy away from was crime and thrillers. Poetry she ignored as an absurd irrelevance. Music, though, had something for every mood, every place. She took a great deal of pleasure from it, listening to everything from orchestral arrangements to singer-songwriters, jazz to gaianature tonality, choral to starsphere dance. The
Alexis Denken
often would streak between star systems reverberating to the sounds of Rachmaninoff or Pink Floyd or Deeley KTC.

Paula sat back and started to pluck a few chords at random, then gradually dropped into Johnny Cash's “The Wanderer.” She did not try to sing; there were some limits in life one just had to accept. Instead the smartcore projected the Man in Black into the cabin, and he started to croon along to her melody.

The song helped her think.

She knew she should be heading straight for Orakum or even Hanko, but she was feeling a lot more troubled by Qatux's last comment than she ought to have been. It seemed as though this whole Pilgrimage situation was designed to disrupt her judgment and objectivity.

That, or I'm just getting lonely and uncertain in my old age.

Paula finished strumming. The Man in Black gave her a forlorn look, and she waved her hand dismissively. The smartcore canceled the projection.

Her u-shadow opened a link to Kazimir, someone who did have empathy for her position.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I'm at the
High Angel.
Aaron gave Inigo's memorycell to Qatux. Someone knew about our friend's predilection.”

“Did Qatux review it?”

“Oh, yes. Qatux told Aaron that Inigo was probably hiding out on Hanko.”

“Interesting. Presumably that's where the
Artful Dodger,
aka the
Alini,
is heading?”

“Yes.”

“Another ultradrive ship arrived in system just before the
Artful Dodger
departed. The navy commander at
High Angel
said it stood off in the cometary belt and left in hot pursuit.”

“Does every faction have ultradrive ships?” she asked indignantly. “Justine caught the Delivery Man using a Hawking m-sink on Arevalo.”

“So she told me. I consider it significant that the factions are openly using such technology. This whole Pilgrimage event could well be the trigger for an irreversible culture split within the human race.”

“Whose side will you take?”

“The navy was created by ANA to protect humans from stronger, hostile aliens. That is what it will continue to do until I am removed from my position. If ANA chooses to leave the physical universe, I will stay behind and ensure that whatever sections of us remain continue to receive that protection. Is that a side, do you think?”

“No. But it's certainly a plan.”

“Are you going after Aaron?”

“Not immediately. Can you provide some protection for Hanko and Inigo if he's there?”

“I will observe and advise you of developments, but you know the navy cannot intervene directly in the internal affairs of Commonwealth citizens. Despite the scale of the problem, that's what this is.”

Paula was thrown by the answer. She was expecting Kazimir to be a lot more helpful. “A thousand years ago I stuck to the rules, too. No good comes of it. You need to bend a little, Kazimir.”

“You and other representatives exist so I don't have to. You handle the gray areas, while I deal in black and white.”

“There's no such thing.”

“Nonetheless, I operate within a set of rules that I will not break.”

“I understand. Just do what you can, please.”

“Of course.”

The
Artful Dodger
dropped out of hyperspace five thousand kilometers above Hanko's equator. Sensors examined the surrounding environment, bringing up several amber warning symbols and even a couple of red ones. The local star had an abnormally large number of sunspots chasing across its surface, producing a dangerously thick solar wind. Below the starship's metallic purple hull, a global cloud blanket reflected the star's sharp white glow back into space, its uniform glare broken only by the vast aural streamers that lashed across the stratosphere. Above the atmosphere monstrous arches of violet fluorescence soared far beyond geosynchronous orbit, engorged Van Allen radiation belts that choked the planet with a hurricane of high-energy particles. The
Artful Dodger
's hull sparked with a corposant discharge as it slid across into a high inclination orbit.

“Welcome to hell,” Aaron muttered as he monitored the images from outside. The ship began to probe through the clouds with high-resolution hysradar sweeps, standard radar, magnoscan, quantum signature receptors, and electromagnetic sensors, revealing the lay of the frozen land underneath. Several com-beacon signals appeared on the emerging cartography, the only indication of activity on this bygone world. They broadcast the official channels of the Restoration team, asking all arriving ships to make contact.

Corrie-Lyn watched the images in the portal with a mournful face as the starship flew around and around the planet, building up a detailed survey of the surface. Twelve hundred years after the Prime attack, glaciers still were advancing out of the polar regions. “I can't believe Inigo was ever attracted to this place,” she said.

“You heard Qatux; he enjoyed the
idea
of an ancestral homeworld.”

“Even if he came here, he'd take one look and leave. There's nothing here.”

“There are Restoration teams down there, even today,” Aaron said, waving at the little scarlet lights dotted across the map. The beacons acted as crude relays across continents, the only communication net on the planet.

“That's got to be the biggest lost cause in the galaxy,” she said.

“You're probably right. Seventeen of the Second47 worlds have officially closed their Restoration projects, and the remainder are winding down. Budgets get reduced every year. Nobody kicks up a fuss about it anymore, not like the first couple of centuries after the war.”

After ten orbits, the smartcore had mapped all the exposed land lurking below the eternal cloud. Sensors had located twenty-three centers of dense electromagnetic activity. The largest was a force field dome in the center of Kajaani, the old capital city. All the others were little more than clumps of machinery and buildings scattered across the dead tundra of three continents. No thermal sensor could begin to penetrate the cloud, so he had no way of telling if any of the outposts were occupied. There didn't seem to be any capsules in flight. Electrical activity in the air was strong, interfering with several sensor fields.

“No way of telling if he's down there,” Aaron said. “Not from up here. I can't even see what ships are parked under the force field.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Nothing more than this. I'm just scouting the territory before we go in to make sure there are no surprises.”

Corrie-Lyn rubbed her arms, as if the cold from the planet were seeping into the cabin. “So what's our cover story this time?”

“No point in one. It's not like the teams are heavily armed.”

“So you just shoot them one at a time until they give him up to us?”

He gave her an annoyed stare. “We'll tell them that you're searching for a former lover. He changed his name and profile to forget you, but you've tracked him down here. All very romantic.”

“That makes me look like a complete loser.”

“Oh, dear.” He sneered and told the smartcore to call the beacon at Kajaani.

It took several minutes to get a reply from the shielded base. Eventually a very startled Restoration project director called Ansan Purillar came online to give them landing authority.

The
Artful Dodger
sank deftly through the three kilometers of the upper cloud layer. Winds of two hundred kilometers per hour buffeted the hull with nearly solid clumps of gray mist while lightning clawed furiously at the force field. Eventually they cleared the base of the layer into a stratum of superclear air, and the outside temperature plummeted. A gloomy panorama opened beneath them. Black ice-locked land was smeared with long dunes of snow; denuded of vegetation, every geographical feature was shaded in stark monochrome. Long braids of grubby cloud chased across the dead features.

“It must have been terrifying,” Corrie-Lyn said sadly.

“The Primes dropped two flare bombs into the star,” Aaron told her. “The only way the navy could knock them out was by using quantumbusters on the corona. Between them, they produced enough radiation to slaughter every living cell a million times over. Hanko's atmosphere absorbed the energy until it reached saturation point, which triggered a superstorm, which in turn threw up enough cloud to cover the planet and kick off an ice age. And the star still hasn't stabilized. Even if it did, it wouldn't matter; the radiation has completely destroyed the biosphere. According to the files, there's some marine life that's still alive in the deepest parts of the oceans, but that's all. The land is as sterile as a surgical chamber. Check out those radiation levels—and we're still five kilometers high.”

“I didn't appreciate what a scale this war was fought on.”

“They were going to genocide us.” The words were almost painful to speak. It had been a fearful time. Aaron shuddered.
How do I know what the war was like?
A deeper instinct assured him he was not that old.

The
Artful Dodger
continued its descent through the rampaging lower clouds, blazing with solar brilliance as it sloughed off whiplike tendrils of electrical energy. At this altitude the wind speeds had dropped to a hundred fifty kilometers per hour, but the air density meant the ship's ingrav units were straining to hold them stable against the pressure.