"Only one of us got to keep the personality, man," Ozzie shouted back. "I'm the biochemical, hormonal, awkward, sonofab.i.t.c.h soul of a human. You're the hardwired copy that's frozen in the past."

"You can mouth off all you like, but I'm the one with the knowledge and talent that these fine and sincerely desperate people need. You got rid of all the serious physics and math and s.h.i.t clogging up your little meat brain. Admit it, tell them. Be a man. As much as you can be with so much missing."

"Ozzie lacks nothing," Myraian said calmly. "He has purged himself at a spiritual level to make himself complete again. You are the contamination that was holding him back, preventing the angel within from spreading his wings. He's been clean for decades now and has grown because of it." She smiled widely.

Ozzie caught the narrowing of Aaron's eyes as he noticed the tiny fangs that that otherwise blissful smile revealed.

Aaron blinked and put his hands down on the table. "Okay. Please tell me you can access and a.s.similate whatever knowledge you need from ... you?"

"From the me-brain-in-a-jar? Sure. I retained autonomous integration for the smartcores I stuffed it into-me into."

Inigo gave Ozzie a bemused grin; there was respect in there, too. "I'm sure you can. But let's face it: There's you, me, and him." He jabbed a thumb at Aaron. "A smart-a.s.s smartcore and a reasonably good replicator. Doesn't matter how good we all are in combination, we're not going to bootstrap ourselves a superweapon to smash open the Sol barrier or an even faster ultradrive that'll get us to the Void before Araminta charges in. And that's not even talking about the Ilanthe-thing."

"Yeah," Ozzie admitted. "But man, on the plus side, I can get us out of here safely. Qatux owes me. The High Angel High Angel will stop by and collect us on its way to Andromeda or wherever the h.e.l.l it's going." will stop by and collect us on its way to Andromeda or wherever the h.e.l.l it's going."

"No," Aaron said. "You're not abandoning hope after half an hour. And I don't believe I even have to threaten anyone or anything to make that come about, now, do I?"

"No," Inigo sighed.

"Our goal is to connect you somehow to the Void Heart," Aaron said. "Now, I'm not the greatest self-thinker anymore, but you're the smartest guys I know with the weirdest of blessings. You'll come up with something."

"Fair enough," Inigo said. "What about your telepathy effect, Ozzie? Can we talk to the Void that way?"

Ozzie shoved the empty gla.s.s away and reached for the plate of toast. "Okay, this is how it works. The gaiafield is a broadcast medium. You transmit your thoughts out through the motes, and they zip across s.p.a.ce to connect with everyone else's motes. Confluence nests are just powerful amplifiers and relay stations; they're what turn it into a 'field.' Admittedly, it's a big field, but step outside the Commonwealth and you're on your own. Now, there are other, similar fields out there, with the Silfen communion the biggest of them all. It's truly galaxy-spanning, dude. I know, I'm tuned in. But it's not so dense as the gaiafield. That's because of species psychology; the superelves don't have the same urge to carry every piece of boring stream-of-consciousness drivel that humans crave."

"So?" Aaron asked.

"We can't use the gaiafield. It can't extend to the center of the galaxy."

"Not quite right," Corrie-Lyn said. "The Pilgrimage fleet will be dropping a series of confluence nests en route. That was always the plan, and Ethan won't change that aspect. They'll do for the gaiafield the same as the navy TD relays did for Centurion Station. The idea is to open a permanent dream channel to the Void so the faithful who weren't in the fleet can witness everyone reaching fulfillment and rush to follow them."

"And the instant we try using that, Ethan will shut it down," Inigo said.

"Last resort," Corrie-Lyn said. "The hack might last long enough, especially as it's you, the true original Dreamer. You still have more clout than anyone else in the movement."

"I doubt that now that Araminta has appeared," Inigo said.

"Yeah, useful to know," Ozzie agreed. "Okay, minds.p.a.ce. Now, that's something different. I rearranged s.p.a.cetime's quantum structure so that it becomes a conductor for thought, same as air conducts sound. Admittedly, it works best for human thoughts; that's what I worked with to synchronize it with at the beginning. Aliens are aware of it, but for them it's like the Silfen communion is for humans: vague. Unless you're the G.o.dd.a.m.ned Chikoya, then you think it's a doorway into the thoughts of your ancestors. What is it about avian culture that makes them worship their ancestors like that? It's got to be a hundred thousand years since their wings were big enough to actually carry them, yet every s.p.a.ce habitat they ever built is zero-gee so they can flap about with all the grace of a chicken falling off a wall. Even here they're in a lograv compartment."

"They will find enlightenment in the end," Myraian said. "You are worthy of that. Your galactic dream will lead all of us out of the darkness."

"Thanks, babe," he said. "The point of it was to have something which allows people to share their thoughts in a more open way. Confluence nests contaminate the purity of thoughts; they allow distortions, partial thoughts with the emphasis where the originator desires, perverting the whole truth."

"Do we have to do this now?" Corrie-Lyn asked with deceptive lightness.

"Just telling you the why of it so you'll understand. That's the reason I set up minds.p.a.ce. But both notions have the same problem: reach. Bluntly, they need power to stretch that far."

"What powers the minds.p.a.ce?" Inigo asked.

Ozzie winced. "Ah, well, see, I kinda adjusted adjusted the Spike's anchor mechanism to propagate the change to s.p.a.cetime which makes minds.p.a.ce work. There's a device, sort of a parasite, really. But its emissions aren't directional; you can't squirt it around like a laser. The whole concept of minds.p.a.ce was to embrace all sentient ent.i.ties in the galaxy." the Spike's anchor mechanism to propagate the change to s.p.a.cetime which makes minds.p.a.ce work. There's a device, sort of a parasite, really. But its emissions aren't directional; you can't squirt it around like a laser. The whole concept of minds.p.a.ce was to embrace all sentient ent.i.ties in the galaxy."

"But it doesn't," Aaron said curtly. "Aliens have trouble utilizing it."

"Yeah, well, this is the marque one, dude. I just need to do some fine-tuning is all. The theory works."

"He's had decades," the voice from the house's smartcores said. "All he's done around here since we built the anchor modifier is b.u.m around finding his inner geek. Progress zero."

"Hey, screw you," Ozzie snarled. "Experimenting on alien brains might be your bang, but it ain't mine, not anymore."

"You don't have to experiment on anything. You were just frightened, that's all. Frightened different minds and exotic thoughts would find a way of corrupting minds.p.a.ce the way the gaiafield went."

"I'm observing the psychosocial implications of minds.p.a.ce's impact on alien cultures, and you G.o.dd.a.m.n well know that. A genuine galactic dream isn't something you rush into. I made that mistake before."

"And the kind of freaks who come to the Spike for refuge are such good representatives of their societies."

"d.a.m.n, I used to be a bigot."

"You used to be honest with yourself. You know G.o.dd.a.m.n well you're struggling with the right of imposing it on species who have no understanding of what they are relative to the universe. It is cultural imperialism in its worst possible form. Our way of thinking is better than yours, so come join us."

"Universal understanding might have prevented the Pilgrimage."

"Is there any way you can increase the power from the anchor?" Inigo asked. "Maybe just on a temporary basis?"

"No way, man. And I don't need my brain-in-a-jar thoughts to confirm that. We're at the limit of the anchor's capacity now. h.e.l.l, minds.p.a.ce reached over two hundred and fifty light-years; that's pretty G.o.dd.a.m.n phenomenal. In any case, there's no knowing if the Heart would mesh with minds.p.a.ce." He took a drink of the coffee before it cooled down any further. "So that leaves us with you."

"Me?" Inigo queried.

"You dreamed the Void from thirty thousand light-years away. No booster circuitry involved. You have an inbuilt connection. How did you do that?"

"I don't know. I never did understand. The best anyone came up with was that Edeard and I were related somehow. Could be, but we'll never know. I connected to a human. There aren't any left in the Void now. The Skylord was quite clear about that when Justine asked."

"You mean a Skylord like the one Araminta is talking to? She can do it. Have you even tried?"

"Whatever curse she has, it's different from mine."

"Have you tried?" Ozzie asked more forcefully.

"No."

"No, of course not." He turned to Aaron. "And you, you're desperate for this link. Did you ever consider hunting Gore down? The Third Dreamer, Lord help us. He's got a working connection to Justine, who is right where you need her."

"That's outside ... I don't have, that is, I'm not aware of contingencies to contact Gore."

"Because it's a new development," Corrie-Lyn said scathingly. "You can't think for yourself. And the Lady knows, n.o.body else is allowed a say in your universe."

"So big thanks there for all the drama yesterday," Ozzie said. "But actually, you already have two proven methods of getting your voice heard inside the 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 bas.e.m.e.nt. 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 minds.p.a.ce 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 f.u.c.king 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 s.p.a.cetime."

"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 f.u.c.k 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 d.i.c.k, 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."

Inigo's Last Dream 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 Ca.n.a.l. 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 n.o.bility, 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.