Peter Hamilton - The Evolutionary Void

The bank on her side of the valley was disturbingly boggy. Apparently the Silfen didn’t use boats. Nor was there any sign of ford or even stepping-stones. In any case, she didn’t like the look of how fast the smooth water was flowing. Gritting her teeth, she set off downriver. After half an hour she conceded there was no natural crossing point. There was nothing for it; she would have to wade.

Araminta stripped off her fleece and trousers and blouse, bundling them together with her trusty tool belt-there was no way she was leaving that behind, even though it was far too heavy should she have to swim for it. She waded in, carrying the weighty roll above her head. The bottom of the river was slippery, the water icy enough to make it difficult to breathe, and the flow so harsh as to be a constant fear. In the middle the water came up almost to her collarbones, but she gritted her teeth and kept going.

Her skin was completely numb when she finally came staggering out on the other side. The shakes were so bad, she couldn’t even undo the bundle of clothes that were now her sole possessions in the universe. She spent a long time alternating between being hunched up, shivering violently, and trying to walk while flapping her arms around. Eventually her fingers finally began to work again. Her skin still had a horrible white pallor when she forced shaking limbs into her clothes once more.

The walk didn’t warm her up noticeably, nor did she reach the high tree line on the other side of the valley before night fell. She curled up into a ball beside a small boulder and shivered her way to a fitful sleep. It rained twice in the night.

Morning was when she realized she didn’t have anything to eat. Her tummy was grumbling when she bent over a tiny trickle of water running around the base of the boulder to lap up the icy liquid. She couldn’t remember ever being this miserable; not the day she left Laril, not even watching her apartments going up in flame. This was just wretched. Worse, she’d never felt so alone before. This wasn’t even a human world. If anything went wrong, anything as simple as a sprained ankle or gashed knee, there was no emergency service to call, no help within light-years. She’d just have to lie down here in the valley and starve to death.

Her limbs started trembling with the thought of it, at the full realization of the risk she’d taken yesterday wading through the river. Delayed shock, she decided, from both the river and the terrible fight in Bodant Park.

After that, she was a lot more careful walking up toward the tree line high above. There was still no sign of anything she could eat. Underfoot was just the yellowy grass with its speckle of tiny lavender flowers. As she plodded on gloomily, she tried to remember everything she’d ever heard about the Silfen paths. It wasn’t much; even the general encyclopedia in her storage lacuna contained more mythology than fact on the subject. They existed, there was no such thing as a map, and some medievalist humans set off down them in search of various personal or irrational goals-few of whom were ever heard of again. Except for Ozzie, of course. Now that she thought about it, she’d vaguely known he was a Silfen Friend. And so was Mellanie, whoever she used to be . Araminta could have kicked herself for not running even a simple search with her u-shadow. It was over a week since Cressida had told her about her odd ancestry, and she had never bothered to find out, had not asked a single question. Stupid .

The thought of Cressida made her concentrate. Cressida would never give up or sink into a bout of self-pity. And I’m related to her, too .

She began to sketch out a list of more positive aspects as she drew close to the woodland where she was sure the next path began. For a start, she could sense paths, which meant there would be an ending to this trek, a conclusion. Lack of food was a pig, but she had a strong Advancer heritage, and their ethos was to equip humans to survive the galaxy over. As she’d learned during her childhood on the farm, playing nibble dare with her brother and sisters, it was quite difficult for Advancer humans to poison themselves with alien vegetation. Her taste buds had a strong sampling ability to determine what was dangerous. Unless a plant was hugely toxic, her metabolism could probably withstand it.

Even so, she didn’t like the look of the grass on the mountain.

I’ll wait till the next planet before I resort to that .

The air was noticeably colder by the time she reached the first of the moss-cloaked trees. Way down the valley, thick hammerhead clouds were sliding toward her. Rain at this temperature would wreck what little morale she’d recovered.

Long honey-brown leaves fluttered on the branches overhead as she moved deeper into the woods. Little white whorls like tightly wound spider gossamer peeped up through the grass below her feet. The air became still between the trunks of the trees as she walked forward. Her confidence grew. Somehow in her mind she could sense the changes beginning. When she looked up, the slender glimpses of sky she was afforded through the tangle of branches showed a light turquoise, which was encouraging. It was certainly brighter and more inviting than the atmosphere above the mountains.

Deep within the gaiafield or the reverie of the Silfen Motherholme-whatever realm it was her mind drifted through these days-she could follow the way space subtly transformed around her. The path was constantly in motion. It had no fixed beginning or end; it was a way that responded to the wishes of the traveler. At some incredible distance there was an awareness that seemed to be observing her. That was when she had a vague notion of just how many entities were on the paths. Uncountable millions, all wandering where they might, some with purpose, wishing to know a certain experience, others allowing the paths to take them at random across the galaxy to find and know whatever they would.

New trees began to appear amid the moss-clad trunks, their smooth boles a whitish-green. Lush green leaves overhead reminded her of a deciduous forest in spring. Then ivies and vines swarmed up the trunks, producing cascades of gray flowers. On she walked. The path wound along small hills and into narrow valleys. Streams bubbled along beside her. Once she could hear the pounding thunder of some great waterfall, but it wasn’t on the path, so she didn’t try to follow the sound. Red leaves laced through the light brown canopy. Her boots were treading on small crisp leaves amid the grass. The air grew warm and dry. Hours after she’d left the rainy valley behind, she heard a quiet madrigal being sung in an alien tongue. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know the words; the harmony was exquisite. It even made her stop for a while, allowing herself to listen. It was the Silfen, she knew, some big party of them trotting merrily on their way to a new world offering fresh sights and excitements. For a moment she wanted to run and join them, see what they saw, feel for things the way they did. But then that image of Cressida, smart, self-reliant, focused, trickled up into her mind, and she knew sheepishly that traipsing off with a bunch of alien elves wasn’t the answer. Reluctantly, she set off again. Somewhere far ahead was a Commonwealth world. She was sure of that, although the path was little used nowadays. The Silfen didn’t care for planets where other civilizations arose, at least not above a certain technological level.

Araminta let out a sigh of relief as the trees finally thinned out. It was white and bright up ahead and getting warmer with every footstep forward. The trees with the red leaves became the majority. Their light gray branches were slim, widely separated. When she glanced at them, she could see how fat and waxy the leaves were. She grinned in delight; there was something utterly awesome about having paths between worlds.