Whistling Past the Graveyard

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Her hardest decision, as she flew in toward Earth, was whether to tell Iswander what had really happened. She abhorred the idea of lying to him, or even just hiding the truth. She worried that he would object to her decision, that he would criticize her for the choices she had made, even though she knew she had chosen the right path. The cost of truth was far too high for Iswander Industries, and Elisa wouldn’t let her mentor pay it.

  No, she would tell him the false story as well, make him believe that the malicious hydrogues had destroyed her test hotel. Iswander would believe her because she never lied to him. And it would give him plausible deniability.

  She landed the scout ship on the upper deck of the headquarters building and immediately went to see him. Iswander made time for her right away. As she stepped into the office, she composed her expression, made sure she looked sufficiently stricken, but professional. “Sir, my test-run sky hotel on Qhardin was … a disaster.”

  He looked alarmed. “Did you get my warning? The modules were unsafe.”

  “It wasn’t the modules, sir. Shortly after your scout arrived with the recorded message, we saw turbulence in the clouds, something rising from deep below. Hydrogues attacked us. They destroyed everything.” With her mouth set in a grim line, she extended the datapack across the desk, plugged it in to a player, and projected the sequence of carefully edited images.

  Iswander watched with widening eyes and a cold expression. “We thought the gas giants were safe.”

  Elisa nodded. “I’m sorry, sir. As soon as I received your warning, I would have decommissioned the modules and withdrawn the initial guests until we could make repairs. But I never had the chance.” She swallowed hard. “The hydrogues were merciless.”

  He leaned back in the chair, turning pale. “We’ll have to report this. Gas giants are still dangerous.” He placed his hands on the desktop and curled his fingers into fists. “Stardrive fuel is incredibly expensive, and the Roamer operations were just beginning to supply ekti again. They thought the hydrogues wouldn’t harass their operations, but once we release this …” He drew a deep breath and shook his head. “This will drive many of them away again. They’ll be too afraid.”

  “You once told me that Roamers aren’t afraid of danger. They weigh the risks and make their choice.”

  “This will change the parameters of their decisions. Some of the Roamers might delay implementation of their new skymines. Oh, the consequences!” He replayed the horrific images again, visibly wincing as the warglobes lanced out with deadly lightning bolts. “I’m glad you got away.” He looked at her. “And there were no other survivors? No chance they’re still alive?”

  She squared her shoulders. “No, sir. No witnesses.”

  He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t ask what she meant. Perhaps he suspected, but didn’t want to know.

  “Once we make this announcement, there will be an uproar across the Confederation. Military forces will launch for Qhardin and investigate.”

  “They won’t find anything, sir,” Elisa said. “Everything’s been destroyed, sunk far into the clouds.” She couldn’t tell if he looked relieved.

  He leaned forward on his desk. “For now, we should table your idea of creating sky hotel complexes. Do you agree, Ms. Enturi?”

  “Yes, sir, I agree. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. Iswander Industries will weather this. It wasn’t our fault. A tragedy.”

  He nodded distractedly. “Yes, but perhaps we should look for other opportunities … on planets where we don’t need to worry about hydrogues.

  * * *

  When she went to relax in her usual bar, Elisa did not expect to encounter Garrison Reeves. Once they retrieved the spare modules after the shameful quarrel with his stubborn father, she had not expected to see the young man ever again, and she certainly had no interest in the backward activities of clan Reeves.

  But Garrison came over, grinning and hopeful. “I’ve been coming here for three days, hoping to see you. Apparently, you’re not a regular in this place?”

  She sat back and regarded him with a cool expression. “I’ve been on another mission.”

  He took a seat next to her. “Oh, where?”

  “An obscure gas giant, Qhardin. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”

  “Qhardin?” Garrison smiled. “Roamers once did skymining there, but the cloud harvesters were abandoned when the drogues delivered their ultimatum.”

  Lacing her fingers together, she gave him a hard look. “The hydrogues haven’t entirely given up on the planet.”

  To his widening eyes, she told him the story—her concocted story. He was astonished, but clearly believed everything she said. Elisa relaxed, knowing it would get easier to tell the story each time.

  She changed the subject. “Why did you come back here? I thought you’d be trapped at Rendezvous, sent to your room because of your misbehavior.”

  He snorted. “I left there for good after we rounded up the modules. My father has no more hold on me. I won’t give up my life to stay trapped in the past. I have too many ideas, too many ambitions.” He lowered his voice. “I think you and I have a lot in common. Maybe we can work together.”

  She considered the idea. He wasn’t wrong. Though he’d been raised in an archaic Roamer clan, Garrison did want to lift himself up and make a mark on the future.

  The server came by with two glasses of Elisa’s chosen wine, and Garrison at least pretended to like it. He picked up his glass, and she raised hers as she nodded slowly. “We might be able to match our ambitions. There are certainly worse partners I can imagine.” She smiled at him. “Yes, we may have a great future together.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Olaf Reeves

  After leaving Happiness, Olaf was troubled. “I sympathize with those people who just want to be isolated, with no interference from Confederation politics,” he told Bjorn. “I can certainly understand that. But I feel they might have a hard time ahead.”

  Bjorn agreed. “The prospect of losing a third of their population every ten years … and they didn’t have many people to start with. This time, fortunately, we brought the tools to save them, and the filters and facemasks will help them survive the next time.”

  “If they use them,” Olaf said. “I’m not entirely sure they will.” He couldn’t guess how much backlash Daniel would face for breaking their strict rules. But Olaf would honor their request and not come back. That was their decision. “I can’t force them to use the tools … any more than the other clans can force us to give up our dream of rebuilding Rendezvous.”

  Yes, Olaf Reeves understood the neo-Amish all too well.

  Olaf stroked his beard. “In fact, we’ll alter our own records back at Rendezvous to make sure no one thinks to go back there. It’s a matter of honor.”

  “What if they need help again?” Bjorn asked.

  “Then they will have to help themselves. It may sound harsh, but that is what they want. Survival is a gift and an accomplishment, not a miracle. It happens through our own efforts. The neo-Amish know how to take care of themselves, as do we. We have our Guiding Star, and clan Reeves knows where it shines.” He lowered his voice. “Most of us do, at least.”

  Bjorn looked over with a commiserating expression. “Garrison will be back. He’s your son. He’s the future clan leader. He has to come back.”

  “Garrison gave up his Roamer blood as surely as if he opened his veins and spilled it out onto the deck plates. Dale is my only son now, and he needs to be trained. We must make sure he’s properly oriented and will follow the right Guiding Star.” He lifted his eyebrows as a thought struck him. “In fact, let’s make sure Dale marries Sendra Detemer, and soon. She has enough backbone of her own to keep his spine straight.”

  Bjorn chuckled. “Sendra? She certainly has her own opinions.”

  “She has confidence, as well as competence. She’ll be a good Roamer wife. And so long as she believes in the proper future of Rendezvous, then we wil
l all be on the same page.”

  Olaf knew that Rendezvous would continue to regrow, one small step at a time, exactly according to its original design. He remained disappointed at how King Peter and Queen Estarra had dismissed him. Once again clan Reeves was on their own. They were always on their own, but they survived, and they achieved what was necessary.

  Bjorn took an alternate route back from Happiness, and out in the far fringe of a solar system en route, he picked up an anomaly on the scanners, enough to make him curious. “Look at this, Olaf.” He pointed to the glitch on the screen. “Too small to be an asteroid but it seems irregular. An artificial construction. Something large. maybe five times as big as Newstation.”

  Olaf disengaged the Ildiran stardrive and dropped them out of lightspeed. “Sounds like someone was even more ambitious than the Roamers were. Better have a look.”

  Bjorn piloted them closer to the object ahead. The system’s sun was so far away it was only a bright star, leaving them in the outer darkness. “If it’s a space station, why would anyone build it all the way out here? What possible strategic or commercial use could it have? It’s on the fringe of a system, and the system itself doesn’t have any useful planets, just an asteroid belt.”

  “Somebody considered it important. Or maybe they’re hiding. Are you sure it’s not on any of the old Hansa maps? Or even the Ildiran star charts?”

  Bjorn double checked. “Nothing, Olaf. No record of anyone having an interest in this system at all.”

  Ahead, the structure began to take shape on their screens. It was huge, and angular, obviously artificial. The darkness around them was spattered with a faint panoply of stars. “It wouldn’t be Ildiran. Their race is afraid of the dark, and they’d never build something this far from a sun.”

  Bjorn said, “I doubt the Hansa could have constructed something this big without leaving records.”

  Olaf completed more scans. “No energy signature. No thermal emissions, no power traces. It’s reached a balance of ambient temperature. Nobody’s home, and nobody’s been home for a long time.”

  They illuminated their running lights and sent out active sensor pings, building up a detailed image. Bjorn stared at the looming construction and said with clear awe in his voice, “No human built that.”

  “No,” Olaf said, “I don’t think so.”

  The derelict station was the size of a city, built like a huge metal snowflake with five angled arms extending at misaligned axes from a central hub. Each axis was studded with geometrical modules, huge habitation complexes, incomprehensible structures.

  “It’s a dead, empty city,” Olaf said.

  “Do you think the Klikiss might have built it?” Bjorn asked.

  Frowning, Olaf shook his head as their ship circled the derelict structure. “You’ve seen their termite-mound cities and their swarmships. Nothing about this thing looks Klikiss.”

  Bjorn seemed fascinated. “We can take a succession of images and deliver a report to the Confederation. Plenty of people will want to salvage it, but we logged the discovery first.”

  Olaf felt uneasy. “It’s clear that whoever constructed this intended to remain hidden. The builders didn’t want to call attention to themselves, and they must have had a damn good reason.”

  He couldn’t stop thinking of Daniel and the neo-Amish, how they clung to their isolation as their home, despite the hardships, wanting no help or interference.

  Olaf made up his mind. “Whoever these mysterious builders were, I’m sure they didn’t want this great city to become a tourist attraction. We’ll mark it for ourselves, but …” He tapped his fingers on the deck, thinking of his own clan, of Rendezvous, of Garrison. “It’s not our place to intrude. They wanted to be left alone, so we will leave them.”

  He activated the engines and plotted a course forward. “Log it as your own discovery, Bjorn, but we won’t call attention to this derelict city, any more than we’ll send curiosity seekers to Happiness.”

  The other man sounded surprised and disappointed. “But there’s much we can learn here. Who knows what it might contain?”

  “Indeed, who knows? But it’s out here in the dark, and my Guiding Star doesn’t point to it. This place doesn’t concern us. The builders wanted to be left alone, and we will respect that.” He activated the stardrive, and the ship streaked away from the dark alien city. “It’ll be our secret. Someday we may need to go back, but right now we have to rebuild Rendezvous. That is our only goal.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Rlinda Kett

  By the time Rlinda returned to Kett Shipping Headquarters, Tasia Tamblyn and Robb Brindle had found their own way back home from Newstation. They had spent the intervening days catching up on admin work in her penthouse offices.

  Robb had occupied the big trader woman’s desk while she was gone, and now he reluctantly relinquished the seat. “Your operations are a mess, Rlinda.”

  “I tried to organize your ship schedules,” Tasia said. “Kett Shipping has some redundant routes, while a bunch of distant systems aren’t being served at all. We need a better balance.”

  Rlinda was eager to tell her story of finding the infestation of black robots. “I’ve been a little busy. You might have noticed some damage to the Curiosity’s hull?”

  Robb looked up in alarm. “Damage? What happened? Are you all right?”

  “Is the ship all right?” Tasia said.

  Rlinda made a raspberry sound in her direction. “Thank you for your concern. We had a little incident with black robots in the Ildiran Empire.” While Tasia and Robb demanded explanations, Rlinda strung them along. “Such a tale should be told only over a nice meal. If you’ll help me prepare it …?”

  She had a full kitchen in her offices for private use, and she decided she had an appetite for chicken piccata. So she pounded out the chicken breasts, dredged them in flour, and began to fry them in a hot pan as she told them about delivering the treelings to the Mage-Imperator, tracking down the missing Solar Navy warliner, and finding the swarm of Klikiss robots tearing it to pieces.

  “I wasn’t looking for that much excitement. I thought it was fun to be Trade Minister, flitting from system to system and doing my business—and I was damned good at it.” She set the golden chicken fillets aside as the pasta finished boiling, which she then dumped in a colander to drain. She added the capers, the lemons, and used her finger to taste the sauce. “But somehow, those duties are no longer quite so satisfying. I’ve made my mark. Time to retire.”

  She scooped up pasta onto three plates, dividing the portions equally. Robb and Tasia watched, fascinated with her story, but also clearly hungry from the smells of her cooking.

  “I promised Peter and Estarra that I would serve as Trade Minister during the formative days of the Confederation. They needed someone they could trust, and they wanted me to help build stability, but nine years is enough for that. I have other business.” With tongs, she placed a fried fillet on each nest of pasta, then ladled over the lemon sauce with capers. “It’s time for them to find a replacement.”

  Tasia nodded. “Good call. Kett Shipping is a booming business. You should devote your efforts here.” She gestured behind her to the illuminated screens on Rlinda’s desk, the trade routes, the ships in transit, her contract pilots, the database of cargoes being delivered, items requested from specific markets across the Spiral Arm. “And as we’ve seen, running it is a full-time job.”

  “Indeed it is,” Rlinda said. “More than a full-time job. In fact, it takes two people.” She handed Robb and Tasia each their plates. “Two people such as yourselves.”

  She waited for them to understand what she was saying. “Tasia Tamblyn and Robb Brindle, I choose you as my acting administrators of Kett Shipping. You’ll handle all the nonsense, arrange the flights, deal with whiny captains, build up my profits, untangle the red tape.” She huffed. “In fact, I’ll even let you use the Voracious Curiosity—except when I need it of course.”

  Ro
bb blinked. “Thank you, Rlinda! That’s amazing.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work,” Tasia said. “Do we get a raise?”

  “How about profit sharing?” Rlinda said.

  “Works for me.”

  Rlinda garnished her plate with parsley, then reached over to drop a sprig of green on the other two plates. “Have to do it right.” She led them in to a small table in her office, where they sat to eat. She cut into her piccata and savored the first taste, letting the chicken melt in her mouth along with the citrus tang of the lemon, the piquant pungency of the capers. “Perfect.”

  Tasia and Robb each wolfed down their portions. “This is why I like taking meetings with Rlinda,” Tasia said.

  Robb added, “I don’t particularly enjoy meetings otherwise.”

  “If you’re going to be my acting administrators, you better learn to enjoy meetings, with or without food,” Rlinda said.

  In between mouthfuls, Tasia wiped her lips with a napkin. “What about you, Rlinda? If you give up being Trade Minister and you hand over Kett Shipping, what will you do? You’re not exactly … sedentary.”

  Rlinda let out a laugh that almost made her choke on her pasta. “Sedentary? Do I look like a slim athlete?”

  “Slim or not, you’re always busy,” Robb said. “You aren’t the type to sit on a beach and read a book.”

  Rlinda closed her eyes and sighed, imagining the picture, maybe with BeBob.… She opened her eyes. “You’re right, but I want to do what I enjoy most. I have three restaurants, one here, one on Relleker, one on Theroc. That’s where I’d rather spend my time instead of being fired upon by black robots.”

  “I see your point,” Robb said.

  Tasia finished her chicken and scooped up a forkful of pasta. “Spreading food like this across the Spiral Arm might be the best way to keep peace among the races.”

  Rlinda smiled at the compliment. “And you haven’t even tasted dessert yet.”

  About the Author

  Kevin J. Anderson has published 140 books, 54 of which have been national or international bestsellers. He has written numerous novels in the Star Wars, X-Files, Dune, and DC Comics universes, as well as unique steampunk fantasy novels Clockwork Angels and Clockwork Lives, written with legendary rock drummer Neil Peart, based on the concept album by the band Rush. His original works include the Saga of Seven Suns series, the Terra Incognita fantasy trilogy, the Saga of Shadows trilogy, and his humorous horror series featuring Dan Shamble, Zombie PI. He has edited numerous anthologies, written comics and games, and the lyrics to two rock CDs. Anderson and his wife Rebecca Moesta are the publishers of WordFire Press.