The Temporal Void (32 page)

‘The only practical escape route would be some kind of tunnel not on the city plans,’ Tomansio said. ‘And the apartments are being refurbished by a whole load of different developers. That would give him plenty of scope for such an activity.’

‘That presupposes he knew he’d need an escape tunnel,’ Oscar said. ‘How would he know Ethan was going to annex the whole planet and flood the city with paramilitaries?’

‘Connections in Living Dream,’ Beckia said with a baffled tone. She shook her head. ‘That doesn’t make any sense either. If you have those kind of connections, why go on the lam like this?’

‘You don’t suppose this is Inigo, do you?’ Oscar suggested.

Tomansio pulled a breath through clenched teeth. ‘I’d hate to rule it out, but this simply isn’t Inigo’s way of doing things. He doesn’t need to sneak around. For a start, his word alone is the only thing which could stop Ethan’s insane Pilgrimage.’

‘Not so insane,’ Beckia muttered. ‘And not so easily stopped. Not any more. The whole of the Greater Commonwealth just watched Justine’s ship go through the barrier. The Second Dreamer
can
get the Pilgrimage inside. That’s a phenomenal boost to Living Dream’s credibility.’

‘It also secures Ethan’s leadership,’ Tomansio said. ‘Even if Inigo did turn up now, he might not have the authority to pull it off.’

‘Wouldn’t be the first time a religion outgrows its messiah,’ Oscar said.

‘No, indeed. So . . . we’re left with the same problem everyone else has: finding this extremely slippery Second Dreamer.’

‘I don’t believe in secret tunnels,’ Oscar said. He drank some of his coffee, enjoying the bitter liquid burning its way down his throat. It had been a long time since he’d got some sleep. ‘There’s something about this which isn’t right.’

‘Care to elaborate?’

‘I can’t, unfortunately. I’m just not convinced that the Second Dreamer is some kind of supersmart covert operative. Living Dream had to out him in the first place, now he’s communing with a Skylord, which is something Inigo never managed. That doesn’t come over as someone who’s thought out the consequences of their actions.’

‘He managed to elude us,’ Tomansio said reasonably. ‘That takes a lot of talent and thought.’

‘Does it? No offence, but we were rushed, as was the welcome team.’

‘The welcome team has spent months training for this.’

Oscar gave the bottom of his coffee mug a miserable glance. ‘I don’t know. I just don’t get what his long plan is. Everything he’s done says to me that he’s reacting to events, not controlling them. What we have is a normal bloke caught up in monstrous events and doing his best to keep afloat.’

‘He could be getting help from some Faction,’ Beckia said.

‘From what my source tells me, he hasn’t,’ Oscar said. ‘But we can’t rule it out.’

‘Okay, enough,’ Tomansio said. ‘It’s pointless to argue this. Once we find him, we can ask him. In the meantime, we have ourselves the mother of all shadow operations here.’ He opened a secure link to Liatris. ‘Have you located Araminta for me yet?’

‘No. Sorry, boss. She’s disconnected her u-shadow from the unisphere. Hardly surprising after the apartment raid. I’ve got monitor programs loaded into every node in the city ready for when she comes back on line. Interestingly, so do a number of other people. And I’m also watching her credit account, but until she comes back out of the Stone Age she’s invisible to me.’

‘All right, what about her history? Anything there to clue us in? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Someone she’ll turn to?’

‘She’s an interesting girl. Recently divorced.’

‘Husband’s location?’

‘On Oaktier, and migrating inwards.’

‘Ozzie! Okay, give me something in the city, even if it’s just which salon she uses.’

‘She doesn’t have a regular salon.’

‘Liatris!’

‘Don’t panic, I’ve got some nuggets for you. And trust me, this took some serious reference matching on her data patterns.’

‘Go.’

‘Her cousin, who handled the divorce, is Cressida, a very senior partner in the best law firm in town – extremely well connected locally. And, incidentally, she and a whole group of friends are just about to mug Ethan. Get this, they’ve hired a passenger ship from Dunbavand lines, one with full diplomatic status to evacuate themselves.’

‘Really?’ Tomansio’s mind popped a burst of mischievous delight into the gaiafield.

‘Relevant?’ Oscar asked.

‘The Dunbavand family is a major Far Away political force. God help Living Dream if they try and interfere with their ship’s flight schedule. Forget diplomats squabbling in the Senate; the original Dunbavand patriarch was a Starflyer War hero, which gives his descendants a certain kind of very stubborn mindset. They really would consider dispatching a warship into Viotia orbit to enforce their right of passage. Smart lady, this Cressida.’

‘One of the tickets she booked is for Araminta,’ Liatris told them. ‘She’s also trying to find an offworld investment consortium to buy Araminta’s apartment development project.’

‘Then we watch Cressida.’

‘Already set up. I’ve got more scrutineers and monitors surrounding her than Living Dream have followers.’

‘Excellent. Until Araminta makes contact with Cressida we concentrate on our original objective, riding the welcome team’s data wave. Anything from Cheriton?’

‘No. He’s gone down to the docks with Mareble to try and get Danal out of Major Honilar’s clutches. Once he’s done that, we’ll have us a very strong ally among the confluence nest technicians.’

It might have been the lack of sleep this morning, or the really very strong coffee numbing his synapses, but Oscar was slow mulling over their discussion.
Why is she hiding? The welcome team raid was scary, sure, but that wouldn’t make her do this, unless she was in the apartment block. And if she was there . . .

‘Araminta also spent a weekend with Likan,’ Liatris said.

‘No shit?’ Tomansio said.

‘I’m not sure it’s significant. Likan normally works his way through two or three women a week in addition to his harem, and Araminta seems to have been playing the field since her divorce.’

‘I used to work for Nigel Sheldon,’ Oscar said. ‘I even met him a couple of times when Wilson and I were building up the Navy. He’d be horrified about this modern ideology that’s hijacked his name.’

‘And the relevance is?’ an exasperated Tomansio asked.

Oscar gave him an apologetic shrug. ‘Sorry. Just thinking.’

‘Is she seeing anyone special?’ Tomansio asked Liatris.

‘Not that I’ve found yet. I’m running traffic analysis on her capsule, but it’s got to be slow and discreet, there are another three similar investigations that I spotted, and that’s in addition to Living Dream, which is now officially interested in her. But the local police have found her trike. It was parked at the Tala mall yesterday afternoon. Her last confirmed sighting. Major Honilar has ordered the records from every city sensor to be shoved through visual recognition filters to work out where she went. That should keep them busy for the rest of the day.’

‘Thanks, Liatris.’

‘She has to be able to tell us something,’ Beckia said. ‘She had to be badly frightened to vanish like this. I guess that’s what Major Honilar does to people.’

‘Agreed.’

Oscar grinned at the two of them. Beckia had said it without even realizing, but then it would take someone with his background to make that particular connection. If anyone in the Commonwealth knew all about vanishing, and staying vanished, it was Oscar Monroe. Which just left motivation . . .

Tomansio caught the grin and frowned. ‘What?’

‘Don’t you get it?’ Oscar was delighted with himself.
Well, how about that, the old relic has still got it.

‘Get what?’ Beckia asked.

‘I spent decades living a lie, hiding my actual self from everyone I knew and loved and worked with. It’s actually a lot easier than you’d think. So I guess it takes one to know one.’

Tomansio’s square jaw dropped. ‘Oh, great Ozzie . . . you think?’

‘I think it’s highly likely.’

Beckia hunched forwards, giving Oscar an astonished look. ‘She’s the Second Dreamer?’

‘Give me a better candidate.’

‘Bloody hell.’

‘It won’t take Honilar long to work it out.’

‘And when he does, she’ll be in deep shit,’ Tomansio said urgently. ‘No local girl will able to stay ahead of the welcome team.’

‘She’s done pretty well so far,’ Oscar protested.

‘You can only get so far on luck, and she’s used up her quota. We need to supply some help. Liatris, start laying a false data trail for the good major.’

‘Give me ten minutes, I’ll have him running all over town.’

‘She was there, wasn’t she?’ Beckia said with growing admiration. ‘Somehow. In the apartment when we were looking.’

‘Unless she spent last month digging a tunnel, yes,’ Oscar said.

Tomansio gave him a certain look. ‘It’s still cordoned off.’

‘Let’s go.’

Their borrowed capsule was parked on the pad outside. Oscar raced past the waitress, feeling only mildly guilty for not leaving a tip.

It took Araminta two cups of tea and half the packet of biscuits to work up enough nerve to shove the crate to one side and open the door a fraction. There was no one in the vestibule. No sound from anywhere inside the building as far as she could tell. Outside, it was different. The angry shouting was loud. There were thuds as lumps of stone and concrete landed around the paramilitary troops; glass was being smashed constantly. The distinct humming of capsules ebbed and flowed. She strapped on her tool belt, shrugged into a thick fleece jacket to cover it, and headed for the stairwell.

The cordon included a shield reinforcing the broad garage door, which buzzed as if a high voltage current was running through it. In the dim lighting which pervaded the ramp, Araminta could just see a dull sparkle shimmering off the door’s surface. There was no way she could get out, it would take a good quantity of enhanced explosives to break through. She turned and headed to the other side of the garage which contained the utilities support area. It was dark inside the first room. Still reluctant to use any power, she fished a torch out of her belt, and walked between two rows of big tanks. At the far end was a smaller door into the waste handling room. She’d only been in here a couple of times before, to make sure the interface with her new units was compatible.

Bulky, quite primitive-looking, machinery filled most of the space; big metal spheres with lots of piping snaking about between them. Araminta wiggled between a couple of water sanitizer cisterns. Behind them, the side wall was a sheer surface of reinforced enzyme-bonded concrete. Just above her head was a rectangular hole where six feed pipes went outside to connect with the main civic water supply. The gap between the top of the pipes and the edge of the concrete was about half a metre. She clambered up one of the sanitizer cisterns, wincing every time she gripped a hot pipe by mistake. That put her level with the hole. A metal grid covered the far end. Grass and soil was pressed up against it.

Gritting her teeth in determination, she dropped her thick fleece and wormed her head and shoulders into the hole. She still had to stretch to apply the power socket against the grille’s locking bolts. They were stiff from disuse, and she was scared of making too much noise with the power socket; but after several minutes cursing and blinking sweat from her eyes, the grille came loose. Then it took another five minutes pushing and shoving before the grass and soil gave way. The tool belt had to be discarded before she could claw her way through the uncomfortably claustrophobic gap.

Araminta crawled out onto the narrow strip of grass between the apartment wall and the wooden fence. Blouse torn on snags, skin scratched and bleeding, trouser knees muddy, hair a tangled mess, hot, flushed, and sweaty. She glared back at the little hole.
I can’t have put on that much weight!

The noise of the crowd was a lot louder. Amplified voices were constantly warning them to back off. A capsule slid over the band of sky above her. She quickly pulled her tool belt out of the hole, and started using the screwdriver on the fence boards. With three of them unfastened she could slip through the triangular opening and into an almost identical strip of ground on the other side. The neighbouring building was a combination of retail and office units; half of which were unoccupied and available for a low rent. She crept along the side of the building to the waste casket bay at the back. The gates beyond opened on to a thin alley of badly cracked concrete. Someone had left an old jacket on the ledge running along the bay. She pulled it on over her torn blouse, and slung the tool belt over her shoulder. Then taking a breath she sauntered out into the alley.

Two of Ellezelin’s armour-suited paramilitaries were standing on cordon duty outside the back gate to the apartment block. Araminta ignored them, and walked off down the alley. Every second she expected a challenge, but it never came. After twenty metres she made a sharp left turn down another alley, taking her out of their view. Then she just kept walking.

*

After forever he strode through a white jungle. Trees of translucent crystal towered above him, refracting a soft shimmer of pure sunlight, sprouting long white leaves. The undergrowth was thick, creepers and bushes mangled into dense tangles of silver hues that were impossible to push through. White clouds scudded overhead. A cloying mist wove long swirling streamers round the shiny tree trunks, reducing visibility. White birds darted about, triangles of feathers fluttering fast. White rodents scampered round his booted feet. His boots were clotted with white mud from the steaming loam.

‘I know it’s difficult,’ said the voice behind the trees. ‘But you have to choose.’

He longed for colour. Darkness, even. But all the jungle offered was faint shadows. Shapes were starting to blur together. Losing cohesion. The blazing universe was absorbing him. When he lifted up his hands they were hard to see. White on white. Just looking at them was dizzying.

‘You can lose yourself. Lose what is. Lose what you have done. Your life will never have existed. Sometimes I wish I could offer that to myself.’