The Dreaming Void (83 page)

“No,” Ehasz cried. “This is something local.” He looked up, studying the intricate luminescent sky above the dome. “There!”

Justine watched two azure moons traverse the sparkling smear of Wall stars. They were in very strange orbits and moving impossibly fast—actually accelerating. “Oh, my God,” she gasped. The Raiel's planet-size DF machines were flying into new positions.

“The Raiel are getting ready for the last fight,” Ehasz said numbly. “If they lose, that monster will consume the whole galaxy.”

This can't be happening,
Justine thought.
Living Dream hasn't even begun the Pilgrimage yet.
“You can't!” she shouted up at the ancient invisible enemy as human hormones and feelings took complete control of her body and mind. “This isn't fair. It's not
fair
!”

A mere five hours after the new dream had flooded into the gaiafield, over fifty thousand of the devout had gathered in Golden Park, seeking guidance from the Cleric Conservator. They exerted their wish through their gaiamotes. The unanimous desire of fifty thousand people was an astonishing force.

Ethan was only too aware of it as Councillor Phelim supported him on the long painful walk out of the Mayor's offices, where the doctors had set up an intensive care bay. He limped across the floor of Liliala Hall while the ceiling displayed surges of thick cumulus clouds arrayed in mare's tails and clad in shimmering strands of lightning. Even though he had closed himself to the gaiafield, the power of the crowd's craving was leaking into his bruised brain.

Phelim continued to support him as they crossed the smaller Toral Hall. Its midnight ceiling showed the Ku nebula with its twinkling gold sparks swimming within fat undulating jade and sapphire nimbi.

“You should have called them to your bed,” Phelim said.

“No,” Ethan grunted. For this occasion he would not, could not, show weakness.

They went through the carved doors to the Orchard Palace's Upper Council chamber. Its cross-vault ceiling was supported by broad fan pillars. Dominating the apex of the central segment, a fuzzy copper star shone brightly, its light shimmering off a slowly rotating accretion disc. Moon-size fireball comets circled the outer band in high-inclination orbits. None of Makkathran's enthusiastic astronomers had ever spied its location in the Void.

The Cleric Council waited for him in their scarlet-and-black robes, standing silently at the long table that ran across the middle of the chamber. Phelim stayed by Ethan's side until they reached the dais, and then Ethan insisted on walking to his gold-embossed throne by himself. He eased himself onto the thin cushions with a grimace. The pain in his head nearly made him cry out as he sank down. He took a moment to recover as his body shuddered. Ever since he had regained consciousness, any sudden movement was agony.

The Councillors sat, trying to avert their eyes from the liverlike semiorganic nodules affixed to his skull, which were only half-hidden by his white robe's voluminous hood.

“Thank you for attending,” Ethan said to them.

“We are relieved to see you recovered, Cleric Conservator,” Rincenso said formally.

Ethan knew the contempt of the other Councillors toward his supporter without needing the gaiafield; he felt it himself. “Not quite recovered yet,” he said, and tapped one of the glistening nodules. “But my neural structure should be fully reestablished in another week. Until then the auxiliaries will suffice.”

“How could such a thing happen?” Councillor DeLouis asked. “Gaiamotes have been perfectly safe for centuries.”

“It wasn't the gaiamotes,” Phelim said. “The dream masters who set up the interception believe the Second Dreamer's panic triggered a neural spasm within the Cleric Conservator's brain. They were attuned to a degree rarely achieved outside a couple's most intimate dreamsharing. The circumstances will not arise again.”

“The gaiafield and the unisphere are rife with rumors that the Second Dreamer is a genuine telepath, that he can kill with a single thought.”

“Rubbish,” Phelim said. His skeletal face turned to DeLouis. For an instant a dangerous anger could be glimpsed in his mind.

DeLouis could not meet his stare.

“In any case it is irrelevant,” Ethan said. “The dream masters assure me that such a backlash can be nullified now that they understand its nature. Any future contact with the Second Dreamer will be conducted with”—he smiled grimly—“a safety cutout, as they call it.”

“You're going to talk to him again?” Councillor Falven asked.

“I believe the situation requires it,” Ethan said. “Don't you?”

“Well, yes, but …”

“I received his latest dream along with the rest of you. It was strong, at least as clear as those of the Dreamer Inigo himself. However, the crucial change within this dream was the conversation the Second Dreamer had with the Skylord.” The communication had shocked Ethan more than the pristine clarity of the new dream had.

“I come to find you,”
the Skylord had replied to the Second Dreamer's greetings.

“We are far beyond the edge of your universe.”

“Yet I felt your longing. You wish to join with us.”

“Not I. But others do, yes.”

“All are welcome.”

“We can't get in. It's very dangerous.”

“I can greet you. I can guide you. It is my purpose.”

“No.”

And with that finality the dream had ended. Before it had faded completely, there was a hint of agitation from the Skylord's mind. It clearly had not expected rejection.

And it's hardly alone in that.

“The Skylord believes it can bring us to Querencia,” Ethan said. “That is the final testimony we have been waiting and praying for. Our Pilgrimage will be blessed with success.”

“Not without the Second Dreamer,” Councillor Tosyne said. “Your pardon, Conservator, but he is not willing to lead us into the Void. Without him there can be no Pilgrimage.”

“He is distressed,” Ethan replied. “Until now he didn't even know he was the Second Dreamer. To discover you are the hope of billions is not an easy thing. Ultimately, Inigo himself found it too great to bear. So we can forgive the Second Dreamer his frailty and offer support and guidance.”

“He might realize who and what he is now,” Councillor Tosyne said. “But we don't even know where he is.”

“Actually, we do,” Phelim announced. “Colwyn City on Viotia.”

“Excellent news,” Ethan said in a predatory fashion. He watched in amusement as the protest in Tosyne's mind withered away. “We should welcome him and thank Viotia for the gift it has brought us.” His gaze turned expectantly on Rincenso.

“I would like to propose bringing Viotia fully into the Free Trade Zone,” Rincenso said. “And promote it to core planet status.”

“Seconded,” Falven said.

The rest of the Cleric Council responded with bemusement.

“You can't do that,” Tosyne said. “They'll resist; the Commonwealth Senate will move to censure us. We'll lose every diplomatic advantage we have.” He glanced around the table, seeking support.

“It's not just our ambition,” Phelim said. He gestured at the empty end of the table opposite Ethan's dais. His u-shadow established the ultrasecure link, and a portal projected an image of Likan standing just beyond the table.

Likan bowed politely. “Conservator, I am honored.”

“Thank you,” Ethan said. “I believe you are acting as an unofficial emissary for your government.”

“Yes, sir. I have just finished talking with our Prime Minister. It is her wish to accept Ellezelin's generous offer to elevate us to core world status within the Free Trade Zone.”

“That's wonderful news. I will inform Ellezelin's cabinet of your decision.”

“The acceptance comes with the understanding that a zero-tariff regime will be part of the accord,” Likan said.

“Of course. Full trade will commence as soon as the Second Dreamer joins us here in Makkathran2.”

“Understood. The Prime Minister will award the treaty her certificate of office as soon as it is sent.” Likan's image vanished.

“I believe,” Ethan said into the startled silence, “that we were about to take a vote. Those in favor?” He watched the hands being raised. It was unanimous. In moments such as this he almost missed Corrie-Lyn's presence on the Council; she never would have let such a Soviet-style outcome go unchallenged. “Thank you. I find your support of my policies to be humbling. There is no further business.”

Phelim remained seated as the others filed out. Flecks of light slid across his expressionless face as the comets orbited ceaselessly overhead.

“That was easy,” Ethan remarked.

“They don't know what to do,” Phelim said. “They're just the same as the devout gathering outside: bewildered and hurt that the Second Dreamer would reject the Skylord. They're in need of strong, positive leadership. You provide that. You have the solution. Naturally they turn to you.”

“When can we open the wormhole?”

“I'll have your government office send the treaty to Viotia's Prime Minister immediately. If Likan doesn't let us down, it'll come straight back. The wormhole can be opened within two hours. We've prepared a number of sites for it to emerge.”

“I hope Colwyn City was one of them.”

“Yes. It has a dock complex that will serve us very nicely.”

“And our police forces?”

“Forty thousand ready for immediate dispatch, along with transport and riot suppression equipment. We can push them through within six hours of opening the wormhole. Another quarter of a million will follow over the next four days.”

“Excellent.”

“I hoped you'd approve.” Phelim hesitated. “We never planned on the Second Dreamer becoming aware of his ability in quite this fashion. It'll take us a day to get our dream masters into position across Colwyn.”

“But you can shut down all capsule and starship traffic before then?”

“Yes. That's our highest priority. We want to confine him within the city boundary.” Again the uncharacteristic hesitation. “But in order to locate him, he has to dream again. After tonight, he might not.”

Ethan closed his eyes and sank down onto the throne, enervated by his exertion. “He will. He doesn't know what he's done yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“An hour ago I received a call from Director Trachtenberg at the Centurion Station. He considered it important enough to reveal his affiliation to us and use the navy's relay posts. Just after the Second Dreamer ended his contact with the Skylord, the Void began a devourment phase. That is not coincidence. It would seem the Skylord doesn't take rejection lightly. Our reclusive friend will have to placate it, or we'll all wind up being consumed by the boundary. Quite an incentive, really.”

Inigo's Seventh Dream

Edeard woke with a mild hangover. Again. Last night was the third in a row he had been out with Macsen and Boyd.

He sat up in bed and ordered the light on. The high curving ceiling started to shine with a low cream radiance. One of his three ge-chimps hurried over with a glass of water and a small compaction of powder he'd gotten from Doctor Murusa's apprentice. Edeard popped the little pellet onto his tongue and took a drink to swallow it. His mind drifted back to that morning years before in Witham when Fahin had mixed his awful concoction of a hangover cure. It was still the most effective he'd ever had. Edeard was sure the pellets were little more than placebos, providing the apprentice with a small regular source of income. He finished the water quickly. Fahin had always said water helped flush away the toxins.

The circular bath pool in the maisonette's bathroom now had a series of small steps at one end, so Edeard could walk down into it. He immersed himself up to his neck, settling into the seat shelf, and sighed in gratification. A ge-chimp poured in a liquid soap that produced a lot of bubbles. He closed his eyes again, waiting for the hangover to ebb. The water temperature was perfect, exactly body warmth. It had taken him a couple of weeks of experimenting to get that right; the bathing water in Makkathran was normally quite chilly for humans. He also had remodeled the hole in the floor that served as a toilet. Now the ubiquitous wooden box employed by every Makkathran household had gone, replaced by a simple hollow pedestal that the room had grown for him. It was so much easier to sit on.

Various other little modifications had turned the maisonette into quite a cozy home. The standard too-high cube-shaped bed was now a lot lower, its spongy upper surface softer and more accommodating. Alcoves had shelves in them. One deep nook in the kitchen area was permanently chilly, allowing him to keep food fresh for days just like the larger city palaces did.

That was the greatest blessing of being in the constables' tenement rather than the station dormitory. Edeard finally could choose what he ate again. Half of his first month's pay had gone on a new iron stove. He had installed it himself, adapting the hole the previous tenant had hacked into the wall for the flue. It had pride of place in the kitchen, along with a growing collection of pans. There was even a small basin that could be used for washing up rather than dumping everything into the bath pool as most people did. He liked that innovation enough to consider sculpting another one in the bathroom just for his hands and face, although that really would let everyone know he had the ability to rearrange the city's fabric, sculpting it as easily as he once had made genistar eggs.

Everyone who visited the maisonette.

So, no one, then.

Macsen had brought a girl back from the theater the previous night, one of the dancers. She was as pretty as any of the grand family girls, but with an incredibly strong, supple body. He knew that because of the revealing clothes she wore when she danced onstage. Edeard gritted his teeth and tried not to be jealous. He and Boyd had struck out again, though overall it had been a pleasant evening. Edeard enjoyed going to the theaters a lot more than sitting in taverns getting drunk. There were often several musicians up on the stage, always guild apprentices, young and with passion. Just listening to some of their songs, so full of contempt for the city authorities, made him feel wickedly disloyal to the Grand Council. But he knew the words to many of the popular ones, of which several were Dybal's compositions. It was loud in the theaters, some of which were no more than underground storerooms. He had been startled the first time he heard drums being played; it was as if the musicians somehow had tamed thunder.

One day they would go and see Dybal playing, so Macsen promised. Edeard hoped it would be soon.

The bubbles started to disappear from the pool as the water cycled through the narrow slits around the bottom. Edeard groaned and climbed out. A ge-chimp had a robe waiting for him. He pulled it on as he walked though into the kitchen area and then sat at the small table. It was right next to a cinquefoil window, giving him a view over the rooftops toward the center of the city.

A ge-chimp placed a glass of apple and mango juice on the table, along with a bowl of mixed oats, nuts, and dried fruit. The juice was nicely chilled; the ge-chimps knew to leave it in the cold nook for an hour before serving it. He poured cold milk into the bowl and started to eat, looking out across the city as it came to life under the rising sun.

It would have been a fine life indeed if he could just stop brooding about all the lawlessness haunting the streets and canals he could see. The squad finally had managed to get some convictions in the courts over the last few weeks, but nothing important: some shop thieves in their early teens, a mugger who was drunk most of the time. One time the Guild of Clerks sent them out to arrest a landlord for defaulting on taxes. They had no impact whatsoever on the gangs that were at the heart of Makkathran's problems.

“You ready?” Kanseen longtalked as Edeard buttoned up his tunic.

He pulled his boots on. They were new, costing over three days' pay, but well worth it. “Coming.”

She was waiting on the walkway outside, an oilskin cloak slung over her arm. “Going to rain today,” she announced.

He eyed the wide clear sky. “If you say so.”

She grinned as they started down the awkward stairs. Every morning he was so tempted to sculpt them into something less dangerous, writing the miracle off to the Lady.

“This'll be your first winter in the city, won't it?” she asked.

“Yes.” Edeard couldn't quite imagine Makkathran being cold and icebound; the long summer had been gloriously hot. He had become what he considered to be a good football player, with his team finishing third in Jeavons's little park league. Most taverns had seats and tables outside where many pleasant evenings had been spent. There had even been a few days when he had started sketching again, not that he showed anyone the results. After saving up some coinage, he and Salrana finally had taken a gondola ride around the city.

“It'll be fun,” Kanseen said. “There's loads of parties leading up to the new year. Then the Mayor throws a huge free ox roast in Golden Park for lunch on the new year's day, except everyone is normally so hungover that they're late. And the parks and plazas all look so clean and fresh when they're covered in snow.”

“Sounds good.”

“You'll need a thick coat. And a hat.”

“On our pay?”

“I know some shops that sell quality clothes for reasonable prices.”

“Thanks.”

“And don't forget to get in an early supply of coal for your stove; the buildings are never quite warm enough in midwinter, and the price always goes through the roof after the first snowfall. The Lady will damn those merchants; it's criminal what they get away with charging.”

“You're happy this morning.”

“My sister's having her boy's naming ceremony this Saturday. She's asked me to be a nominee for the Lady.”

“Nice. What's she going to call him?”

“Dium, after the third Mayor.”

“Ah, right.”

“And you haven't got a clue who that is, do you?”

He grinned broadly. “Nope!”

She laughed.

That was the way it was between them these days: best friends. Any discomfiture left over from that night after graduation had long faded, which he was sort of pleased about. He did not want them to be awkward around each other, but still he couldn't quite forget that kiss or the way both of them had felt. He'd never had the courage to bring up what they'd said. Neither had she.

That had left him wrestling with his thoughts about Salrana, who was always so sunny and generally lovely. It was now incredibly hard to ignore how feminine she had become, and he suspected that she knew that. Of late her teasing had taken on quite an edge.

         

The rest of the squad was waiting in the main hall at the Jeavons constable station, sitting around a table and finishing breakfast. Unlike Edeard, few of them cooked for themselves. Macsen had on a pair of glasses with very dark lenses, not too dissimilar to those Dybal wore.

Kanseen took one look at him and burst out laughing. “Were you boys out in the theaters again last night?”

Macsen grunted and scowled at her over his cup of strong black coffee.

Edeard desperately wanted to ask him what Nanitte, the dancer, was like. It must have been a fantastic night to leave him so wrecked. But friends though they were, Kanseen did not have much tolerance for that kind of all-boys-together talk.

“Some news for you,” Boyd hissed, checking the rest of the hall's bench tables to make sure no one was paying attention.

“Go on,” Edeard said as he drew up a chair. There was something almost comical about Boyd's behavior.

“My brother Isoix is being leaned on again. They came to the shop yesterday evening as he was shutting up and said they wanted twenty pounds to ‘put out the fire.' They're coming back this morning to collect.”

Edeard did not like it. Three times in the last few months Boyd had told them about gang members harassing his brother at the family bakery. There never had been a specific threat, just warnings about falling into line.
Softening him up.
Well, now the demand had been made. “That's very stupid of them,” he said slowly.

“What do you mean?” Dinlay asked.

“They must know Isoix's brother is a constable. Why would they risk it? There are hundreds of shops in Jeavons without that kind of connection.”

“They're gang members,” Dinlay said. “Greedy and stupid. This time, too greedy and too stupid.”

“The ones that turn up won't be important,” Kanseen said. “Thugs who're affiliated, that's all.”

“Are you saying we shouldn't help him?” Boyd asked hotly.

“No,” Edeard said. “Of course not. We'll be there to make the arrest; you know that. What Kanseen is saying is that this arrest alone won't stop the problem.”

Macsen hooked a finger over his glasses and pulled them down to look over the top of the rims. “We've got to start somewhere,” he croaked.

“You make it sound like we're the ones who are going to break the gangs,” Kanseen said.

“Somebody has to. I don't see the Mayor or the Chief Constable doing it.”

“Oh, come on!”

He shrugged and pushed his glasses back up. They all looked at Edeard.

“Let's go,” he said. “And make sure you're all wearing your drosilk waistcoats. I don't want to have to explain casualties to Captain Ronark.”

         

Boyd's family bakery was at the northern end of Macoun Street, not far from the Outer Circle Canal. The street was narrow and twisty with Baroque buildings lined up on either side, making direct observation difficult. At ground level, the sharp turns limited the squad's farsight. The three-story bakery had a central square tower with a soft-ridged mansard-style roof. Tall crescent dormer windows protruded above a midstory balcony; beneath that the lower floor was reached by several flowing steps from the street that led to a wide entrance arch between two curving bay windows. Each one was filled with racks of loaves and cakes. Three ugly metal chimney stacks from the coal-fired ovens rose out of holes hacked into the tower eaves, blowing thin smoke into the dampening air.

Edeard positioned his squad carefully. The gang would want a fast exit route, so Macsen and Dinlay were in a shop between the bakery and the canal. Kanseen was covering the other end of Macoun Street, wandering around the stalls of a small arcade, her cloak covering her uniform. Edeard had settled down in the first-floor living room opposite. It belonged to a family who ran a clothing shop on the ground floor and was close friends with Isoix. Boyd had returned home for the day and was helping out in the bakery, dressing for the part in a white apron and a green cap. Edeard was uncertain if he should use the ge-eagle; in the end he settled for having it perch in a deep guttering furrow on the bakery's tower, almost invisible from ground level. It scared the ruugulls away, but no one else noticed it.

“At least we won't have to escort them far to the courts of injustice,” Macsen pointed out as they started their vigil. Edeard actually could see one of the conical towers of Parliament House through the living room's balcony window.

They waited for two hours. Among them, they raised the alarm five times, only to be proved wrong on each occasion. “So many citizens look so disreputable,” Kanseen declared after a couple of adolescents ran down the street after their third hands had snatched oranges from a grocery shop display. “And act it.”

“We're all paranoid today, that's all,” Macsen longtalked back. “We see the bad in everyone.”

“Is that a song title?” Dinlay asked.

Edeard smiled at the banter. There was a lot to be said for being squad leader. He was sitting in a comfortable armchair, drinking tea that the wife of the shop owner kept bringing up for him; she brought a nice plate of biscuits each time, too. His good humor faded as the young hooligans turned a corner out of sight. Foreboding rose into his mind, strong enough to make his skin tingle. He knew that awful sensation from before. “Oh, shit,” he whimpered.

“Edeard?” Kanseen queried.

“It's happening.”

“What is?” Macsen asked.

“They're here. It's about to start.”

“Where are they?” Boyd asked. “Which ones?”

“I don't know,” Edeard said. “Look, just trust me. Please be careful. I
know
we have to be.” He could sense the uncertainty in their minds; they were not used to hearing him say such things. It was difficult to get to his feet, his body was reacting so badly. When he did press up against the balcony window, he found it hard to concentrate on the street below.