Read Online The Temporal Void by Peter F. Hamilton - Free Book Online
Authors: Peter F. Hamilton
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offering to guide a goodly portion of humanity to what they regarded as their nirvana.
No. Said because: I’m the Second Dreamer .
It’s me. Me!
Oh, Ozzie, please help me. This simply cannot be .
Me , she kept turning that over and over. How could it be me? Because of some distant ancestor she’d never even heard of until the other day, this Mellanie and her friendship with the Silfen. All that, all those unknowns from centuries ago had come pressing down on her, had taken away her destiny, her self-determination. Fate had chosen her.
Me!
And now the millions, the billions, of Living Dream followers would look to her to help them join with the Skylord. And she’d said no.
The Skylord had been surprised. Shocked, even. She’d felt that wounded astonishment linger as she withdrew her mind from contact. That wasn’t an answer which fitted its reality. She might just as well have said no to gravity for all the sense it made.
What she’d done terrified her. But it was instinctive. She didn’t want to be the Second Dreamer. Just hours before the contact she’d decided her future after days of soul-searching and self-discovery. She was going to be Mrs Bovey(s). She was going to get herself more bodies and become multiple. And they’d live here in this grand house, or a new one she’d build, equally delightful. And half of their bodies would be in bed together the whole time. She would make him as happy as he made her. And the future would be bright and lovely and full of promise. There might be children. What kind of children did multiples have? Did he want them? They’d never talked about any of this yet. So much was waiting for her out there in the years to come, so many discoveries. So much joy.
Of course she’d said no. What else could she say?
I will not be a part of that. That is not me .
Billions wanted it to be. They were going to insist.
But they will never know who I am. I will never talk to the Skylord again .
That was the decision she’d made when dawn came to the sky outside the bedroom. She was wretchedly tired, and shaking. There were dried tears on her cheeks from the quiet sobbing in the lonely hours as gentle rain had pattered against the window. But she knew her mind now. She would stand firm.
On the big bed beside her the blond teenage Mr Bovey lay on his back with a slight frown, mouth twitching as he dealt with a sour dream.
Nothing as bad as mine , she told him silently. He too would never know, she decided, the burden would be too much. This will end. Eventually. I will endure and ride it out .
Araminta bent over and kissed the youthful body. Gently at first. On his brow. His cheek. His mouth.
He stirred. The frown eased away. She smiled at that, and kissed his throat. Her hands caressed the supple muscle on his chest as the melange program rose out of her lacunas. Her raging thoughts stilled as she breathed slowly and carefully, following her own deep rhythms to achieve the composure she sought. Now she could concentrate fully on the body beside her.
For the full hour which followed there were no distractions, no external thoughts and doubts. It was so good to forget Skylords and Second Dreamers and Living Dream, replacing them with good dirty human sex.
‘Forgive me, especially after this morning, but you don’t look so good,’ Mr Bovey said.
Araminta nodded grudgingly as she finally climbed out of the big bath. It was such a luxury just lounging in oiled, scented water rather than snatching a quick minute in a spore shower. One her poor body deserved. ‘Your fault,’ she teased. She couldn’t quite put the right emphasis behind it. Her thoughts were drifting back to the revelations of last night with the surety of a tide.
It was the young Celtic one who handed her a huge towel. ‘Are you all right? You’re not having second thoughts?’
‘Ozzie, no! This is the only truly good decision I’ve made. Probably ever.’
He smiled proudly, but couldn’t completely
No. Said because: I’m the Second Dreamer .
It’s me. Me!
Oh, Ozzie, please help me. This simply cannot be .
Me , she kept turning that over and over. How could it be me? Because of some distant ancestor she’d never even heard of until the other day, this Mellanie and her friendship with the Silfen. All that, all those unknowns from centuries ago had come pressing down on her, had taken away her destiny, her self-determination. Fate had chosen her.
Me!
And now the millions, the billions, of Living Dream followers would look to her to help them join with the Skylord. And she’d said no.
The Skylord had been surprised. Shocked, even. She’d felt that wounded astonishment linger as she withdrew her mind from contact. That wasn’t an answer which fitted its reality. She might just as well have said no to gravity for all the sense it made.
What she’d done terrified her. But it was instinctive. She didn’t want to be the Second Dreamer. Just hours before the contact she’d decided her future after days of soul-searching and self-discovery. She was going to be Mrs Bovey(s). She was going to get herself more bodies and become multiple. And they’d live here in this grand house, or a new one she’d build, equally delightful. And half of their bodies would be in bed together the whole time. She would make him as happy as he made her. And the future would be bright and lovely and full of promise. There might be children. What kind of children did multiples have? Did he want them? They’d never talked about any of this yet. So much was waiting for her out there in the years to come, so many discoveries. So much joy.
Of course she’d said no. What else could she say?
I will not be a part of that. That is not me .
Billions wanted it to be. They were going to insist.
But they will never know who I am. I will never talk to the Skylord again .
That was the decision she’d made when dawn came to the sky outside the bedroom. She was wretchedly tired, and shaking. There were dried tears on her cheeks from the quiet sobbing in the lonely hours as gentle rain had pattered against the window. But she knew her mind now. She would stand firm.
On the big bed beside her the blond teenage Mr Bovey lay on his back with a slight frown, mouth twitching as he dealt with a sour dream.
Nothing as bad as mine , she told him silently. He too would never know, she decided, the burden would be too much. This will end. Eventually. I will endure and ride it out .
Araminta bent over and kissed the youthful body. Gently at first. On his brow. His cheek. His mouth.
He stirred. The frown eased away. She smiled at that, and kissed his throat. Her hands caressed the supple muscle on his chest as the melange program rose out of her lacunas. Her raging thoughts stilled as she breathed slowly and carefully, following her own deep rhythms to achieve the composure she sought. Now she could concentrate fully on the body beside her.
For the full hour which followed there were no distractions, no external thoughts and doubts. It was so good to forget Skylords and Second Dreamers and Living Dream, replacing them with good dirty human sex.
‘Forgive me, especially after this morning, but you don’t look so good,’ Mr Bovey said.
Araminta nodded grudgingly as she finally climbed out of the big bath. It was such a luxury just lounging in oiled, scented water rather than snatching a quick minute in a spore shower. One her poor body deserved. ‘Your fault,’ she teased. She couldn’t quite put the right emphasis behind it. Her thoughts were drifting back to the revelations of last night with the surety of a tide.
It was the young Celtic one who handed her a huge towel. ‘Are you all right? You’re not having second thoughts?’
‘Ozzie, no! This is the only truly good decision I’ve made. Probably ever.’
He smiled proudly, but couldn’t completely
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