The Abyss Beyond Dreams (76 page)

The shouts of fury from the desks rose above the jubilant clamour from outside.

‘A new parliament will be formed!’ Slvasta shouted and ’pathed above the bedlam. ‘The Captain’s dictatorship will end. I ask all decent people of this world to join
me in a democratic congress to establish a fresh constitution. Together we can build a new world based on fairness and democracy. Join me. Everyone.’

His rallying cry was gifted across the unquiet city. Supporters, goaded by cell members everywhere, added their emotional blasts of enthusiasm and confirmation to the psychic maelstrom.

Slvasta turned and gave the First Speaker an obscene finger gesture. Then he opened his mouth to deliver a final insult—

An explosive in the keel of the
Alfreed
detonated when the ferry was halfway across the three-kilometre span of the Colbal. The burst of terror and shock from the seven hundred Meor
troopers on board washed across Varlan, swamping the giftings from the National Council. Everybody was suddenly there, on board as the ferry broke in two uneven halves. Through multiple viewpoints
everybody seemed to be hurled about by giant forces, slamming them into bulkheads and decks. Lucky ones were tossed overboard to be engulfed by brown river water, arms thrashing frantically as
saturated clothes abruptly seemed to be made of lead. People felt them open their mouths to scream, felt the water rushing in, felt them choking. Those still alive on board were overwhelmed by
giant waves of water seething through the decks as the halves of the boat sank with incredible speed. The boiler plunged below the surface, and exploded in a giant plume of steam and spume, its
blast wave pummelling the hysterical survivors struggling to stay afloat.

The Meor troopers on the
Lanuux
were watching in horror as their squadmates floundered in the treacherous surging water; they started to combine their teekay to pull people from the
river. A second explosive blew the
Lanuux
’s hull open beneath the waterline, though it didn’t succeed in breaking the ship in half. Thick river water surged in, geysering up
through the deck hatches as the ferry rolled alarmingly and began to sink. The aether was filled with anguish and fear as the
Lanuux
slid down, portside first. Troopers jumped to safety,
only to be sucked under by the fierce swirling currents of water created by the descending hull. River water slammed into the
Lanuux
’s boiler. The explosion heaved the ruined hull up
out of the river, echoing the death throes of some giant creature. It quickly slipped back under, pulling dozens of helpless troopers with it.

Within minutes, both ferries had fallen below perception, leaving the lethal whirl-currents of their descent stirring the surface. Over two hundred troopers were still straining to stay afloat.
They were the ones who’d successfully shed their equipment and weapons. Now they had to battle the inordinately fast flow of the Colbal itself. Dangerous undercurrents belied the smooth
surface, tugging more to their deaths, their minds gushing out the atrocious sensation of drowning for all to perceive. Desperate panic clogged the aether, reinforcing the feeble screams that
washed across the banks on both sides. All around them, ferries and barges and fishing boats tooted whistles and horns as they converged on the survivors. Varlan perceived every nuance of their
weakening battle against the devouring water in stunned horror as the whole disaster swept rapidly downstream.

‘What the crud happened?’ Slvasta demanded as he and Yannrith hurried out of the National Council building by a small lower level service door – an exit route they’d
scouted weeks ago.

‘I don’t know,’ a mortified Bethaneve ’pathed back. ‘It wasn’t us, Slvasta, I swear on Giu itself. We didn’t plan this!’

‘Fucking Uracus! There were fifteen hundred people on those ferries.’

‘Fifteen hundred armed troopers,’ Javier ’pathed. ‘Deploying to kill us.’

‘Did you do this?’

‘No.’

‘Who? Who could plan such an atrocity?’

‘I don’t know, but it is a considerable help to us. And people, smart people, will want to know why the Meor was coming over the river. Don’t ignore such gifts.’

‘Uracus. It just seems . . . wrong.’

‘There is no good way to die. What we have started will kill many more.’

‘I know.’ Slvasta and Yannrith slipped through the door, into the bright morning light. A cab was waiting, driven by a cell member. They got in and fuzzed themselves. The driver set
off down Breedon Avenue.

Giftings from cell members in First Night Square showed the sheriffs moving round the National Council building, their faces angry, thoughts eager for revenge, for vengeance.

‘It’s starting,’ Bethaneve ’pathed in wonder and dread.

‘Then we must control it,’ Slvasta replied. Strangely, after all his doubts and hesitancy, he had never been more certain than he was now. He ’pathed to the members of the
level one cells.

‘The code is: Avendia. This is our day, comrades. Be bold. Be strong. Together we will succeed. Go now. Liberate yourselves. Reclaim our world.’

Bethaneve’s elites weren’t entirely made up of quick-witted observers and infiltrators and scouts; they didn’t all dart about the city watching and gathering
information. Over the last few months as the group’s plans for the day of the revolution came together she’d quietly gathered up a few of Coulan’s rejects for herself. Not bad
people, just possibles he’d rejected for final inclusion in his militia, the teams that would storm the palace and Fifty-Eight Grosvner Place. But still good people. Tough people who could
handle weapons, who weren’t afraid of violence, nor of carrying out orders fainter hearts might baulk at.

There was something Bethaneve needed to do when the great day came. It would benefit the revolution – they’d even included it in their plans. But she had to be completely certain,
and the only way that could happen was if she did it herself.

Coulan had been right. Explosives (unobtrusively acquired from the railway bridge teams) blew the hinges on the Faller Research Institute’s sturdy doors without any trouble. It was just
one more detonation in a city plagued by fire and violence. Nobody really noticed. It barely distracted Bethaneve, she kept sending her messages into the network, marshalling the ecstatic comrades,
keeping them on track. It didn’t matter where she was, just that she kept on ’pathing. Slvasta, Coulan and Javier all had their own objectives, and were busy leading their teams to
achieve them. Coulan the palace, Javier the financial district, Slvasta the government institutions. They all believed she was sitting safely at the safe house, directing their comrades.

Guarded by her elites, she walked through the short smoke-filled tunnel and into the institute’s barren courtyard. Professor Gravin came out to meet her while his staff cowered nervously
inside. He didn’t rush, but certainly managed to thrust his massive bulk forwards in an impressive fashion. ‘What have you done?’ he yelled. ‘Those gates must never be
broken. The risk! Do you understand the risk?’

Bethaneve marched right up to the huge man and smacked him hard across his rubbery cheek.

He stared at her in shock. The blow was so fast, so unexpected he hadn’t even spun a protective shell. ‘What? Who are you?’

‘I am in charge of this institute now, professor,’ she told him. ‘I am going to ask you some questions. You will answer them without your shell so I can see the truth in your
thoughts. Every time you refuse to answer a question, my people will shoot one of your colleagues.’

He gaped in fear as the armed elites jogged past him and started to enter the institute’s main building.

‘Please,’ he moaned. ‘Please understand, the work we conduct here is the most valuable thing on Bienvenido. We are not political, we are scientists; we will work with whoever
is in charge, but you cannot destroy the institute. You would endanger the whole world, every human alive depends on us even though they never know it.’

‘Question one,’ she said relentlessly. ‘What happens to the prisoners Trevene delivers to you?’

Professor Gravin swallowed hard. ‘Oh crud,’ he whispered. ‘It wasn’t my idea. I swear on Giu itself, it wasn’t me.’

*

The stench was noxious, thick enough that Bethaneve half expected to see it as a thick rancid miasma contaminating the air. She’d spent the first ten minutes in the pit
room almost gagging as she tried to get used to it. She never would, she knew. The reek would stay with her for the rest of her life, as would the memory of what caused it. But she stayed there,
resolute, standing beside the railings that guarded the deep rectangular pit cut into the naked rock many centuries ago. The true heart of the Faller Research Institute.

Her elites brought him in almost an hour after they’d blown the gates open. A figure with a hood over his head, hands cuffed behind his back, moving with difficulty. The beating
they’d given him hadn’t broken anything too important, although his fancy, expensive clothes were grubby and torn, bloodied in several places.

They positioned him carefully in front of the open gate. His shaking body became still then as he guessed where he was.

Bethaneve’s teekay removed the hood from his head. Aothori blinked, and glanced round. His jaws were clenched, muscle cords standing proud as the collar of braided etor vine assaulted his
throat. But even now, here on the edge of the pit, that terrible arrogance was undiminished.

‘I know you,’ he ’pathed.

And for the first time she didn’t tremble at the sight of him. ‘Good. I wondered if you would. There have been so many like me, haven’t there?’

‘Oh yes, now I remember: the silver man’s present. He chose well, as I recall.’

‘I hated the doctors and nurses who treated me afterwards. They didn’t deserve that hatred. They were good people. It took me a long time to realize that, to accept there were still
good people in this world. And now I’ve gathered them to me. Enough to overwhelm and obliterate you and everything you have.’

‘Self-justification, the refuge of the weak. And I know how weak you truly are. I have seen everything you are, I tasted your every precious thought. It was pitiful, as all your kind
are.’

‘And yet here we are.’

‘Because you copy me. Because you admire my power, my strength. You worship me now, as you did before. And secretly you know that to replace me, you must first become me. Will you ever
admit that to yourself, do you think? Or will the knowledge break you?’

‘Mad to the very end,’ Bethaneve said ruefully. She put her hand between his shoulder blades – and pushed hard.

*

The splendid ge-eagle drifted on a thermal high above Varlan, soaring above the disturbed flocks of native birds, unseen by the mod-birds that darted about so frantically. It
looked down on the wide pleasant boulevards in the middle of the city, which were now filled with running crowds. Fires began in many boroughs, sending long columns of dirty smoke streaming into
the clear bright air. The ge-eagle flicked its powerful wings, curving effortlessly round them. Shouts of fury and screams of terror mingled into a single haze of sound that smothered the city
buildings like an invisible fog. Its monotony was broken by sharp bursts of gunfire. They went on all day, then further, long into the night. Darkness didn’t quench the screams, either.

*

For two days Slvasta was on the front line, protected by his stalwarts Yannrith, Andricea and Tovakar as he led charges against government buildings and other enclaves of
resistance. The sight of him was gifted continuously: dirty, tired, showing sympathy to all those who had suffered in the violence, helping wounded onto cabs heading for hospitals. Wherever
resistance flared from remnants of regiment officers and their remaining squads, he was there, fighting for his side, for justice, for change. He was the face of revolution, the inspiration for
righteousness. Towards the end, if he simply turned up at a barricade or a building siege, the opposition gave up and surrendered. He made a big point of treating the defeated with dignity,
preventing any retaliation or dirty street justice. You didn’t need a gifting to know where he was; you just had to listen for the cheering.

He was only granted privacy on the morning of the third day because everyone thought he was finally resting from his heroism. In reality Yannrith and Andricea had shoved him into a fuzzed cab
driven by Tovakar. He watched the city roll past through a small gap in the blinds that’d been drawn against curious eyes. The darkness inside the cab was a huge invitation to sleep. It had
been so long since he’d even had a rest; he was filthy, aching in every bone, and exhausted.

Outside, people shuffled through the morning river mist with dazed expressions. He was surprised by how many windows had been smashed here, well away from the centre of the city where the
majority of the fighting had occurred. Some of the furtive figures carried bulky boxes or sacks with them. Looters, he supposed. Bethaneve had been getting a lot of reports of that. It was ironic,
in all their plans to overturn the civic and national authority with their revolution, they’d never thought about the consequences such lawlessness would bring.

There were also families outside, parents shepherding children along, surrounding them with their strongest shells, hurrying in search of . . . Slvasta wasn’t sure what, but they all moved
with purpose. The families were nearly always well dressed, the faces of the children fearful and tear streaked, parents grim and apprehensive. He would have stopped and asked where they were going
– if only he had the energy.

The cab drove into East Folwich, a district which seemed to have escaped the worst of the revolution. Here there was no broken glass, nor smoke rising from firebombed buildings. No blood
staining the cobbles. All that marred these charming suburban streets were the hastily boarded-up windows and locked doors.

Slvasta stared curiously at the shattered remains of the sturdy doors belonging to the Faller Research Institute. He couldn’t remember them plotting any kind of action here – but
Bethaneve had insisted he come.