The Evolutionary Void (65 page)

“No,” Aaron said. “You’re not abandoning hope after half an hour. And I
don’t believe I even have to threaten anyone or anything to make that come
about, now, do I?”

“No,” Inigo sighed.

“Our goal is to connect you somehow to the Void Heart,” Aaron said. “Now,
I’m not the greatest self-thinker anymore, but you’re the smartest guys I know
with the weirdest of blessings. You’ll come up with something.”

“Fair enough,” Inigo said. “What about your telepathy effect, Ozzie? Can
we talk to the Void that way?”

Ozzie shoved the empty glass away and reached for the plate of toast.
“Okay, this is how it works. The gaiafield is a broadcast medium. You transmit
your thoughts out through the motes, and they zip across space to connect with
everyone else’s motes. Confluence nests are just powerful amplifiers and relay
stations; they’re what turn it into a ‘field.’ Admittedly, it’s a big field,
but step outside the Commonwealth and you’re on your own. Now, there are other,
similar fields out there, with the Silfen communion the biggest of them all.
It’s truly galaxy-spanning, dude. I know, I’m tuned in. But it’s not so dense
as the gaiafield. That’s because of species psychology; the superelves don’t
have the same urge to carry every piece of boring stream-of-consciousness
drivel that humans crave.”

“So?” Aaron asked.

“We can’t use the gaiafield. It can’t extend to the center of the
galaxy.”

“Not quite right,” Corrie-Lyn said. “The Pilgrimage fleet will be
dropping a series of confluence nests en route. That was always the plan, and
Ethan won’t change that aspect. They’ll do for the gaiafield the same as the
navy TD relays did for Centurion Station. The idea is to open a permanent dream
channel to the Void so the faithful who weren’t in the fleet can witness
everyone reaching fulfillment and rush to follow them.”

“And the instant we try using that, Ethan will shut it down,” Inigo said.

“Last resort,” Corrie-Lyn said. “The hack might last long enough,
especially as it’s you, the true original Dreamer. You still have more clout
than anyone else in the movement.”

“I doubt that now that Araminta has appeared,” Inigo said.

“Yeah, useful to know,” Ozzie agreed. “Okay, mindspace. Now, that’s
something different. I rearranged spacetime’s quantum structure so that it
becomes a conductor for thought, same as air conducts sound. Admittedly, it
works best for human thoughts; that’s what I worked with to synchronize it with
at the beginning. Aliens are aware of it, but for them it’s like the Silfen
communion is for humans: vague. Unless you’re the goddamned Chikoya, then you
think it’s a doorway into the thoughts of your ancestors. What is it about
avian culture that makes them worship their ancestors like that? It’s got to be
a hundred thousand years since their wings were big enough to actually carry
them, yet every space habitat they ever built is zero-gee so they can flap
about with all the grace of a chicken falling off a wall. Even here they’re in
a lograv compartment.”

“They will find enlightenment in the end,” Myraian said. “You are worthy
of that. Your galactic dream will lead all of us out of the darkness.”

“Thanks, babe,” he said. “The point of it was to have something which
allows people to share their thoughts in a more open way. Confluence nests
contaminate the purity of thoughts; they allow distortions, partial thoughts
with the emphasis where the originator desires, perverting the whole truth.”

“Do we have to do this now?” Corrie-Lyn asked with deceptive lightness.

“Just telling you the why of it so you’ll understand. That’s the reason I
set up mindspace. But both notions have the same problem: reach. Bluntly, they
need power to stretch that far.”

“What powers the mindspace?” Inigo asked.

Ozzie winced. “Ah, well, see, I kinda
adjusted
the Spike’s anchor mechanism to propagate the change to spacetime which makes
mindspace work. There’s a device, sort of a parasite, really. But its emissions
aren’t directional; you can’t squirt it around like a laser. The whole concept
of mindspace was to embrace all sentient entities in the galaxy.”

“But it doesn’t,” Aaron said curtly. “Aliens have trouble utilizing it.”

“Yeah, well, this is the marque one, dude. I just need to do some
fine-tuning is all. The theory works.”

“He’s had decades,” the voice from the house’s smartcores said. “All he’s
done around here since we built the anchor modifier is bum around finding his
inner geek. Progress zero.”

“Hey, screw you,” Ozzie snarled. “Experimenting on alien brains might be
your bang, but it ain’t mine, not anymore.”

“You don’t have to experiment on anything. You were just frightened,
that’s all. Frightened different minds and exotic thoughts would find a way of
corrupting mindspace the way the gaiafield went.”

“I’m observing the psychosocial implications of mindspace’s impact on
alien cultures, and you goddamn well know that. A genuine galactic dream isn’t
something you rush into. I made that mistake before.”

“And the kind of freaks who come to the Spike for refuge are such good
representatives of their societies.”

“Damn, I used to be a bigot.”

“You used to be honest with yourself. You know goddamn well you’re
struggling with the right of imposing it on species who have no understanding
of what they are relative to the universe. It is cultural imperialism in its
worst possible form. Our way of thinking is better than yours, so come join
us.”

“Universal understanding might have prevented the Pilgrimage.”

“Is there any way you can increase the power from the anchor?” Inigo
asked. “Maybe just on a temporary basis?”

“No way, man. And I don’t need my brain-in-a-jar thoughts to confirm
that. We’re at the limit of the anchor’s capacity now. Hell, mindspace reached
over two hundred and fifty light-years; that’s pretty goddamn phenomenal. In
any case, there’s no knowing if the Heart would mesh with mindspace.” He took a
drink of the coffee before it cooled down any further. “So that leaves us with
you.”

“Me?” Inigo queried.

“You dreamed the Void from thirty thousand light-years away. No booster
circuitry involved. You have an inbuilt connection. How did you do that?”

“I don’t know. I never did understand. The best anyone came up with was
that Edeard and I were related somehow. Could be, but we’ll never know. I
connected to a human. There aren’t any left in the Void now. The Skylord was
quite clear about that when Justine asked.”

“You mean a Skylord like the one Araminta is talking to? She can do it.
Have you even tried?”

“Whatever curse she has, it’s different from mine.”

“Have you tried?” Ozzie asked more forcefully.

“No.”

“No, of course not.” He turned to Aaron. “And you, you’re desperate for
this link. Did you ever consider hunting Gore down? The Third Dreamer, Lord
help us. He’s got a working connection to Justine, who is right where you need
her.”

“That’s outside … I don’t have, that is, I’m not aware of contingencies
to contact Gore.”

“Because it’s a new development,” Corrie-Lyn said scathingly. “You can’t
think for yourself. And the Lady knows, nobody else is allowed a say in your
universe.”

“So big thanks there for all the drama yesterday,” Ozzie said. “But
actually, you already have two proven methods of getting your voice heard
inside the Void.”

“Can you reach a Skylord?” Aaron asked Inigo.

“Dreaming is not a function I can simply activate by touching its ‘go’
icon. I have to admit, Araminta seems to have a lot more control over the
ability than I ever had.”

“A Skylord would never go to the Heart, not even for the Dreamer,”
Corrie-Lyn said. “This we know above all else. They only take those who are
fulfilled.”

“I doubt it would even understand the concept of talking to the Heart for
us,” Inigo said.

“So your safest bet is to scram back to the Commonwealth and ask Gore to
help,” Ozzie observed. “He was acting like he knew what he was doing.”

“This mission is based on getting Inigo physically into the Void,” Aaron
said. “In a last-ditch emergency, mental contact is permissible providing it
allows the next stage to progress. I will not deviate from that.”

“What next stage?” Ozzie asked in fascination.

Aaron thought for a moment, his face drawn up to reflect inner discomfort
of some nature. “When we make contact, I will know what to do.”

“Dude, if I’m going to help, I need to know more. Look, I’ve got a really
advanced medical module down in the basement. What say we drop you in and allow
some neural unblocking?”

“No.”

Ozzie grunted disapproval. He wasn’t surprised, but Aaron’s crazy mental
programming was starting to bug him.

“What part of the Void are you supposed to take me to?” Inigo asked.

“Makkathran,” Aaron replied without hesitation.

“Interesting. Not a Starflyer. Does that destination still apply now we
know Querencia is no longer inhabited by humans?”

“I think so, yes.”

“I never bothered with your dreams,” Ozzie said. “What’s in Makkathran
that can put us in touch with the Heart?”

“Nothing,” a puzzled Inigo admitted.

“If we don’t have an ultradrive ship available and mindspace cannot reach
the Void from here, is it possible to move the Spike until we’re within range?”
Aaron asked.

Myraian let out a wild giggling laugh.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Ozzie barked.

“So the anchor mechanism isn’t an FTL drive?”

“No.”

“It is unlikely, but we don’t know for sure,” the house’s smartcores
said.

Aaron gave Ozzie a quizzical glance.

“Oh, yeah,” Ozzie snapped. “We can examine its unmapped functions, work
them out, and get it to fly across the galaxy all in a week. Dude, you’ve got
to break through that brainlock and start thinking for yourself. The Spike’s
anchor mechanism is bigger than this whole chamber, and that’s just the chunk
that’s in spacetime.”

“I need to be sure you are considering all options,” Aaron said.

“Grab this straight: I am not going to start messing with the anchor
mechanism. No way, no how.”

“If that is the method by which we can connect with the Heart, then that
is what will have to be done.”

“There’s a universe of choice out there, dude. Go exploring one day.”

“So will you help us find a way of connecting to the Heart?” Inigo asked.

Ozzie studied the ex-messiah for a long moment, trying to work him out
and failing miserably. Eventually he gave up. “Okay, I just don’t get it. I’ve
had my share of doubts, and I’ve screwed up plenty of times in my life, so I
can be big enough to admit them from time to time. But this? What the fuck
happened, man? You had a gospel powerful enough to attract billions to your
cause. What could there possibly be to make you turn your back on them? Edeard
was a bit of a dick, for sure, but he came good in the end. That’s the moral
message all religions pump out; it’s a standard hook. Humans triumph over
adversity. Throw in a bit of suffering along the way and people dig that
big-time. And your guy won.”

“No, he didn’t,” Inigo said sadly.

“All right, I lied before. I took the occasional peek at your dreams.
That last one: Man, he went to the Heart knowing the world he left behind was
the best it was possible to build. Then on top of that he gave everyone the
chance to perfect their individual lives like he’d done. How’s that for total
selflessness? If he’d been around out here three thousand years ago, he’d be a
genuine saint, or worse.”

“Perfection,” Inigo said, “is what we strive for; it is never what we
should achieve. There is no such thing as utopia. Life by its nature is a
struggle. Take that away and you take away any reason to exist.”

“What happened?” Corrie-Lyn entreated. “Please, Inigo, what did you dream
after Edeard accepted guidance to the Heart? Just tell us. Tell me. I trust you
with this. I always will. But I think I deserve to know.”

“I dreamed of perfection.”

I
WISH TO FLY
.

My mind elevates my body. Thus do I fly with arms outstretched to feel
the wind upon my face. It is pleasurable. I open my eyes. A hundred feet below
me is Great Major Canal. Dark water, cool and calming, fills its long channel.
Sunlight ripples across its surface. Traditional gondolas are slivers of blackness
amid its elegance, manifested for this hour alone. A harmonious song rises
through the air from the gondoliers themselves, a sweet melody evoking an
older, poignant time.

Honor.

We do honor the great ancestor, our Waterwalker. This day a thousand years
ago he ascended to the Heart which calls us all. So do all of us who remain
upon this blessed world gather in this ancient place to pay tribute.

Pride.

I have pride to be the Waterwalker’s bloodline descendant. Through his
twins I was birthed into existence no less. Joy I feel at their fullness of
life. Their grandson’s granddaughter is my mother. From that I reach for his
nobility, his strength.

My family.

My family flies with me. Full seven of us soaring above the ancient
buildings of this revered city. Laughing, delighting in the sight of such
wonder. Deep deep below us the citymind slumbers onward toward the end of time.
It is sorrow that radiates outward from its slow dreams. Sorrow we also feel at
its submission to misplaced destiny. Respect we show for its right to be.
Though today all have the strength, none will wake it.

Our life.

Our life is lived in a home on the slopes above the sea in far Tolonan.
An island discovered by the Waterwalker’s flotilla so long ago. A lush place of
warmth and beauty; its trees bloom with flower the full year around, their
scent enriching the air. Vineyards and orchards still thrive on the old
terraced slopes, producing abundance. Such traditions we still follow,
commemorating our ancestors and the life they struggled through to bring us to
the light of our day. The fruit is succulent and flavorsome, the wine sweet.
Our bellies fill each day. We lack for nothing. We experience everything. For
this we give thanks.

The towers.

How beautiful the pinnacles of Eyrie are, tall yet curving with exotic
grace and style. We fly around them like spirited birds, twisting through the
platform spires as we laugh exuberantly. Then suddenly veering upward to soar
vertically like an essence ascending to those who guide. What exhilaration,
what elation.

My choices.

To kindle the gift of thought and ponder the rich occasions and chances
sentience brings. So much I have considered throughout my existence. So many
sights I have seen on this world. I have lived on every continent. I have tasted
every plant that is eatable, raced with fastfoxes, flown with eagles, dived
with whalfish. Each season has been lived through and admired for the change it
brings. I have learned to appreciate nature, and through that life in every
form.

My world.

I have known it all. I have exchanged thought with all ten thousand of us
remaining. We have admired and discussed that which we know, that which we
aspire to. I have dwelled within the flights of fancy those more imaginative
than I have conjured. I have manifested places that do not exist in reality,
calling them out of the folds of darkness which lurk beneath our universe and
embellishing them with my whimsy. I have heard dark echoes from the past which
filled me with dread. I have bathed in the tears of triumph and delight that
rose from adversity. I have filled my head with the merry songs of success.

They come.

Those who guide fall from the sky in a tide of sparkling light that
shines through my very skull. My family and I streak downward to hurtle along
the narrow jagged streets of Makkathran. Fast, so fast that the walls and
windows and roofs merge into a single blur of color. I manifest wings that flow
out of my arms to turn and twist against the heady rush of air. My body spins
and gyrates with the elegance of those born to the air. Our shouts of
admiration are the only sounds to fill the alleys and squares for over a
century.

Our welcome.

We fly across the sea outside the city’s port. Dipping and weaving around
the armada of elegant yachts which delivered us all to this place and time from
across our world. Grand white sails curve against the gentle sea breeze just as
they did in days of yore. For art’s sake, for completement of form. Such
ocean-ranging beauties deserve to be more than functional, and so it is. Our
family yacht needs only my will to propel it across the water, yet the sails
billowing out bring comfort and rightness to the mind, as easing as a child’s
night toy.

The gathering.

A wind blows strong ahead of those who guide us as they sweep along the
air road they have returned to time and time again. Bringing rippling half
shadows and vivacious starlit twinkles to dazzle and deceive the eye, they blow
the yachts playfully across the skittish water beneath them. Tumbling
mischievously in their wake, our wings flapping with slow grace, we crowd
together and cheer with minds and voice alike. Both cries lost amid their
ethereal glamour. The accord cannot last, and soon we separate. I bid farewell
to those four of my family who have fulfilled their lives here on this planet
of bounty and promise. I bid my farewell to the splendid thousand who are to
pay the ultimate tribute this day, this moment.

Departure.

Cold sparkling light streaks from the towers of Eyrie, great flames of
opalescence that reach out with such yearning to stroke the ever-shifting
crystal bodies of those who guide. Into the flares fly the essence of those who
would ascend to the Heart of the Void. Now as always the power of the towers
thrusts them on their way as their bodies bloom to dust. Then they are gone,
flashing upward to dwell as colorful shadows amid the fantastical geometry of
crystal. Gone to destiny’s reward.

I descend.

Gently, gently, dissolving my wings back into nothingness. Growing
clothes about my form. I land upon Golden Park to observe with mind and sight
as those who guide launch themselves back into the empty chasm of space which
lies between us and the nebulae of this universe. I am content that yet more of
us have gone to join our ancestors and all those who used to live within this
eternal Void that is gracious enough to provide us a warm comforting home amid
the raw chaos burning outside its boundary. I am sad that so many have left. I
am sad that so few of us now remain. But not disheartened.

That which remains.

Is small. I will not bear any more children. Nor will my two remaining
children. That time is over now for us. Any new mind born into this world would
only learn what we have already experienced. We are history now. We are the
pinnacle of life.

Identity.

The cells of which I am composed yearn to continue. Such desires are
inbuilt. They are me, entwined with my essence. I recognize that is right, for
to deny it is to renounce myself. Purpose grows from many sources. None should
be ignored. I will live for a while more. But not forever.

My journey.

I have only one voyage left now. I walk across Golden Park, admiring and
acknowledging the times and events that have played out here. The rich past is
become a ghost memory. So much suffering, so much endeavor has gone to bringing
me to this place and time. This is my milieu, and I am grateful to those who
came before. I wish them to know nothing was in vain. No word they spoke, no
deed they performed, all of it went into my making. I am the nexus of their existence,
and I am content to be such.

A tribute.

My acknowledgment is simple. My mind elevates the fabric of this universe
as I manifest my will. Suddenly Golden Park is filled with people one last time
as past intersects present; the air thickens with sound and smell. I am jostled
good-naturedly by those who never envisioned me as they go about their
business. Over there are Rah and the Lady alighting from their small boat to
stare in wonder at the domes of the Orchard Palace for the first time. There goes
the exquisitely pretty young maiden Florrel to entrap her first lover. Here I
see a dejected Akeem trudge back to his guild, the first steps along his path
to self-imposed exile. A furtive Salrana hurries by on her way to that fateful
meeting in the Blue Fox tavern. And there he is, the Waterwalker in all his
glory, following his never-to-be love, knowing in his heart that he is about to
witness a haunting grief.

Love.

I love them all, worshipping them from afar. And so my manifestation
ends, and the city is empty again save for me and my kind walking along empty
streets, making our way back to our yachts, and from there our homes. We will
not return.

Life.

I have succeeded in living. Soon now, when my home is in order, I will
rise up to those who guide, knowing all that can be done has been done. We have
achieved so much. There is nothing left here now. Nothing.

The future.

What is to come? I cannot know the most beautiful mystery of all. Not
yet. It awaits us within the Heart of the Void. A song which grows stronger
with each passing day.