Peter Hamilton - The Evolutionary 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.