Metal Swarm

by Kevin J. Anderson

  The bearded man snorted. “We’ve known that since the moment you set foot here. What makes you think we want to hear it? Zhett certainly doesn’t.”

  “You’ll want to hear it. Trust me. What would it take for you to bring the skymine chiefs here?”

  “Why should I want to?”

  “Because I’m the one who twisted my grandmother’s arm to let the Roamers go free when the EDF came to Osquivel. You could have all been taken prisoner, just like the Roamers on Hurricane Depot and Rendezvous.” He hadn’t wanted to play that card, but he seemed to have no choice. “Just let me talk to them.” His throat felt very dry. “Please?”

  The clan leader heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t imagine you’ll get a very good reception.”

  Patrick averted his eyes. “I don’t either, especially after they hear what I have to say. But it’s something I’ve got to do.”

  The internal meeting chamber would have been dreary had it not been for the colorful hangings, iridescent tapestries, and splashes of pigment on the walls that looked as if hyperactive Roamer children had engaged in a finger-painting contest.

  Now that he’d gotten up his nerve, Patrick wanted as many people to hear his confession as possible, though Zhett was the only one who really mattered to him. For the moment, however, this would be a private meeting. There wasn’t even a green priest to disseminate the news; Del Kellum had found Liona to be too much of a distraction for the skyminers, so he had sent the female green priest to the Osquivel shipyards, where she would serve a more practical purpose.

  Patrick paced the room wearing his EDF dress uniform. It was risky, but after much soul-searching, he had decided it was necessary. He was done hiding his identity and his past. There could be no turning back. Even if Zhett didn’t come to listen, he needed to do this for himself.

  “It’s your show, Fitzpatrick.” Kellum sat down. “Make it good.”

  “Or at least entertaining,” said Boris Goff. “Try dumping yourself out an airlock.” Some of the others chuckled uneasily.

  Patrick had rehearsed his words, but when he saw Zhett appear at the doorway, the well-practiced speech vanished into thin air. She looked beautiful in her Roamer jumpsuit with her glossy dark hair draped over her shoulders. She leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, and looked at him with an unreadable expression.

  After an interminable silence, Bing Palmer muttered, “Just like the Eddies—they waste our time and have nothing to say.”

  Patrick cleared his throat. “I . . . I’m responsible for it. I just wanted you to know. The clan heads, the Roamers, it’s affected everybody.” He knew he was being vague. “My actions. I didn’t know you then, didn’t think anything through. It never occurred to me—”

  “We all know you’re responsible, by damn. I was there, remember? When the Soldier compies junked up my shipyards, and that Eddy battle group drove us away like birds from a roost.”

  “Not that. I mean before, long before, at the root of all this. I served with General Lanyan as his adjutant. I was with him on patrol runs across trade routes, supposedly looking for hydrogues. But we were bored. The Hansa and the EDF were angry with the Roamer clans, because you wouldn’t agree to exclusively sell us your ekti in a time of war.”

  Goff slurped his drink loudly. “Yeah, we know all this.”

  “We encountered a Roamer cargo ship flown by a man named Raven Kamarov.” He watched the reaction ripple through the room. Even Zhett stood up straight, her eyes widening. “Kamarov was carrying stardrive fuel, quite a lot of it. After we talked with him, it was clear he didn’t intend to sell it to Earth.”

  Despite Patrick’s anxiety, speaking these words aloud felt somehow cleansing. “Things got out of control. General Lanyan gave me implicit orders and left the bridge. Though I believed I was doing what was right for the EDF and the Hansa at the time, I’m the one who turned to the weapons officer. I gave the order to open fire.”

  The room fell completely silent. Patrick stared at one of the colored daubs on the wall, seeing Zhett in his peripheral vision. The other skymine chiefs stared at him. “Yes, I killed Raven Kamarov. That’s bad enough in itself, I know. But that started it all. Because of that incident, the Roamers cut off ekti shipments to the Hansa. Then the EDF retaliated by attacking your facilities, taking Roamers prisoner, destroying Rendezvous. The list goes on and on.” He closed his eyes, shook his head. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes again and raised his chin. “I’m sorry, and I’m here to accept my punishment.”

  His legs were shaking, and he felt as if he would collapse any second. In the uproar of angry disbelief, with men surging to their feet, shouting accusations, spilling their drinks, and cursing him, Patrick saw only Zhett staring at him. With tears sparkling in her dark eyes, she turned and left the meeting chamber. Patrick didn’t hear anything else.

  63 CHAIRMAN BASIL WENCESLAS

  The Chairman faced the window of his office, pointedly turning his back on Admiral Willis, who stood at attention. Now that he’d heard of her botched assault on Theroc, he did not trust himself to look at her. Another disappointment. Another failure. Was she so weak? So poor a choice for admiral?

  Deputy Cain sat at his desk in a corner, watching. Basil didn’t mind that the deputy spoke less and less during meetings, but he was worried that no one had his clarity of vision anymore.

  Still staring out at the Palace District’s skyline, he finally said, “You overestimated the Therons and the Roamers. I know what they’re made of. The lines would have crumbled. Your jazer firepower could have chopped those verdani treeships into kindling.”

  Willis didn’t bother to sound cowed. “Mr. Chairman, I’ve had more than enough experience with politicians second-guessing command decisions after the fact. In my professional opinion, the battle was not winnable. Period. After the disasters that have befallen the EDF, I stand by my decision not to lose ten Manta cruisers in a futile exercise.”

  He turned to face her, but she didn’t back down. “I don’t like your insubordinate tone, Admiral.” Again.

  Willis brushed aside his comment. “The most important thing, Mr. Chairman, is the alarming news King Peter reported. If the Klikiss race has returned to reclaim their worlds, that could be a substantial threat.”

  “And you believe that fairy tale? Without proof? The Klikiss have been extinct for ten thousand years. It was a defense strategy—just Peter creating more imaginary monsters.”

  “More? Like the ‘imaginary’ threat of Klikiss robots and Soldier compies, you mean?”

  Deputy Cain’s tone was deceptively mild. “General Lanyan is still at Rheindic Co. There have been no reports about a Klikiss invasion on any of the worlds he went to inspect.”

  Willis was obviously flustered. “Exactly how is he supposed to make a report? He’s got no green priests. Have you received any word from him at all?”

  “I expect the General back soon. He will deliver a full report when he returns.”

  Willis waited in her formal stance; she seemed bulletproof. “Will that be all, Mr. Chairman?”

  Finally Basil sat down. “Unfortunately not, Admiral. Since we did not achieve our goals at Theroc, you now force me to pursue Plan B.”

  Cain had a perplexed expression on his face. “Plan B? We’ve not discussed our next move.”

  “I didn’t require your input, Mr. Cain. The objective is clear enough.” He turned to regard Willis. “Even though I’m not impressed with your combat decisions during the Theron debacle, I cannot afford to lose one of my seasoned commanders. Nor can I let your ten Mantas sit here idle while more of the Hansa slips through my fingers. I’ve run an assessment of our breakaway colony worlds to see which ones have the weakest defenses and the most strategic importance. I’m sending my grid admirals to these carefully selected ‘softer targets’ to plant the Hansa flag and bring them back into line—by any means necessary.”

  “You mean invade and occupy?”

  “That’s e
xactly what I mean, though I would choose different words.”

  “I’d like my Juggernaut back if you’re going to send me into combat, sir. The battle picture at Theroc would have changed dramatically if I’d had my Jupiter as well as the Mantas.”

  “Request denied. General Lanyan will retain command of the Juggernaut for the time being, but perhaps after a successful operation, you’ll earn back the right. For now, make do with your ten cruisers.”

  He touched his deskscreen, illuminating a star system, then called up images of green-blue oceans, reefs, and small settlements built out of giant shells, as well as large refineries, pumping stacks, and condensing facilities. “I’m assigning you Rhejak, an ocean world with an ocean-based economy. The people have been comfortable for a long time. They won’t be much of a problem—even for you, Admiral.” He laced his fingers behind his steel-gray hair.

  Willis frowned at the images. “You want me to conquer a vacation postcard? For what purpose—just to bolster the Hansa’s ego?”

  “To acquire Rhejak’s materials. The oceans and reefs there are a good source of rare metals and minerals, which the Hansa needs. One of their kelp extracts is a valuable supplement for pharmaceuticals, including anti-aging treatments. Knuckling down on a few islanders and fishermen shouldn’t be beyond even your abilities.”

  Willis was clearly annoyed. “I’ve got decades of experience, Mr. Chairman, and dozens of victories under my belt. I’m not accustomed to being addressed this way by a . . . a civilian.”

  “I am your commander in chief, Admiral.”

  “I have some concerns about that particular point. I’ve reviewed all available EDF documentation. The chain of military command is fairly clear—and the Chairman is nowhere on it.”

  From his chair on the other side of the room, Deputy Cain said, “She’s technically correct, Mr. Chairman. According to protocol and Hansa law, you have no direct authority to command the Earth Defense Forces.”

  Basil clenched his teeth and forced calm upon himself. “I can see that the Hansa Charter and the EDF’s defining documents need to be clarified, so that other officers don’t experience the same confusion.”

  Admiral Willis left without being dismissed. Basil watched her departing figure, glanced at Cain, and considered (not for the first time) simply scrapping all of his upper-level advisers and military officers and starting from scratch. Unfortunately, he had no better alternatives. He needed to keep a firm hold on the ones he had.

  64 SAREIN

  For a long time Sarein had been growing increasingly concerned about Basil. Because of their past and all that he had done for her, she still cared for the Chairman, but lately another emotion had begun to work its way into her feelings for him: fear.

  When Basil sent her an unexpected invitation to join him for a private meal, she was at first excited, then puzzled. The note was brief, hinting at no tenderness, but neither was it brusque. It seemed to have been written almost as an afterthought.

  Sarein accepted, of course, hoping for the best.

  Basil had carefully specified the time she was to join him. His private quarters had a sterile cleanliness that suggested how little time he spent there. “Good of you to come here. It’s been too long.”

  She tried to interpret the smile he offered. “Yes, it has, Basil.”

  “But you understand, don’t you? With the hydrogue war and Peter’s blatant insurrection, I haven’t had much time for personal matters.”

  The meal was already set out and waiting for them (so as not to waste time, she supposed; even with her, the Chairman was on a tight schedule). Two filet mignons, identical servings of scalloped mushrooms, and a green-and-yellow vegetable she did not recognize. Each place had a glass of iced tea. He gestured for her to sit and politely pushed her chair in like a gentleman.

  “We need more times like this, Basil,” she said. “A bit of relaxation would increase your effectiveness and productivity.”

  “Yes, so my advisers suggest.” He took the seat across from her and motioned toward her plate. “I hope the food is to your liking, but the company is what matters.”

  She cut into her steak, found it done perfectly. Though Sarein smiled and held up her end of the pleasant conversation, at the back of her mind she wondered what the Chairman was doing. So often in the past year he had given her the cold shoulder, demonstrating that he didn’t need her, or Deputy Cain, or anyone who failed to share his convictions.

  But as circumstances in the Hansa mushroomed out of control, she had watched Basil slide down an ever-steepening spiral. He walled himself off from the input of even his closest advisers, and was blind to how emotions swayed his judgment. But Sarein was sure she could still save him if she used this private time to help the Chairman reconsider his stance against the Confederation, help him see choices that would benefit all of humanity rather than just add points to his personal scorecard.

  “I know you very well, Sarein. I have never doubted you, but I realize that we’ve grown more distant from each other. I hope this evening will reassure you. I need to know that I can count on you when so much else has grown dark around me.”

  “Of course you can, Basil.” Her answer was automatic, but she felt a chill. She had hoped to soften him during their time together, yet now she suspected his intention was to manipulate her.

  “I checked the records of your official meetings. I noticed that you visited a trading ship, the Voracious Curiosity, belonging to Captain Rlinda Kett.”

  She froze, clamping down on her reaction so Basil wouldn’t notice. “Yes, I knew Captain Kett from Theroc. She had a load of trade goods—nothing particularly remarkable—but I’m one of the only people she still knows on Earth. We had a brief chat, and then she left.”

  “You’re aware that there’s an arrest warrant out for her and her partner?”

  “No, she didn’t mention it. And I’m not in charge of spaceport security, Basil.” She saw a chance to turn the conversation. “I might have known, however, if you’d keep me in the loop. I feel you’re shutting me out. I don’t know half the things you’re planning. You have another Prince candidate, for instance.”

  “A King candidate.”

  She set down her knife and fork. “You see what I mean? I don’t know anything about this. I don’t know who he is. Neither, apparently, does your own deputy.”

  Basil’s expression hardened. “That’s confidential information.”

  “But shouldn’t we be in this together? We are your supporters, your advisers, and I’m your lover. At least, I think I still am.” Sometimes she needed to remind herself of that.

  He seemed to find that amusing. “You think I’ve found someone else?”

  “No, never that, Basil. I just wonder whether you need me—or anyone.”

  “I need people who are loyal to me.”

  After their meal, instead of coffee they had a hot beverage called clee made from ground worldtree seeds, a drink that Sarein had often consumed on Theroc. She knew that Basil had served it intentionally, to prove he was thinking of her. That was how he scored points. Instead of warming her heart, though, the clee (which was not easy to obtain, especially now) only raised more questions.

  Afterward they made love, and for a short time Sarein let herself be reassured, let herself be fooled. Basil knew exactly what she liked, so he had not forgotten her entirely. But throughout she had the nagging feeling that the Chairman was simply accomplishing a task, checking off an item on a list of things he needed to do. When they were finished, she snuggled against him, remembering when she had first come to his bed and all the incredible, impossible changes—his changes—that had happened since then.

  He wrapped his arm around her, holding her. “I need to keep you close, Sarein.”

  “I’m here, Basil.” But she swallowed hard as she remembered an old cliché of leadership that Basil loved to quote. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

  For the first time Sarein wondered, reall
y wondered, what would happen if she asked him for permission to go back to Theroc, to go home. What would happen if she tried to escape?

  Am I a hostage here?

  65 QUEEN ESTARRA

  Although the EDF’s would-be invasion fleet had left Theroc alone, the ring of thorny treeships still hung in orbit like spiny guard dogs. The thought of Beneto and the other verdani battleships up there, watching over the worldforest, made Estarra feel safe.

  She had always felt she could count on him. After being destroyed by hydrogues and resurrected by the worldtrees, Beneto had already been more than human, yet he had never stopped being her brother. Even as a sentient pilot fused with a wental-verdani hybrid, he had responded to Theroc’s need and come to defend it.

  But Estarra missed him very much. Needing to see her brother, she announced that she would visit Beneto in orbit. Peter—apprehensive at the idea of his very pregnant wife leaving the planet, however briefly—could not dissuade her, so he asked OX to be her pilot. The King came to see her off as brightening dawn light shone through gaps in the worldforest canopy.

  The small hydrogue derelict sat like a pearl in the lush Theron meadow where it had landed, looking beautiful rather than ominous. The alien ship still functioned, but only the Teacher compy was able to operate its systems. “I am pleased to offer my assistance, Queen Estarra,” said OX. Bits of damp grass and weeds clung to his polymer feet from his march across the dewy meadow. “Where exactly do you wish to go?”

  Was that a different tone she heard in his voice—less formality and more complexity than before? Estarra hoped so. Each day, she and Peter diligently helped the Teacher compy rebuild his knowledge base of hard facts, nuances of statecraft, and memories of time they had spent together. Estarra also taught the compy Theron protocol, steeping him in traditions, celebrations, and cultural quirks, sharing anecdotes from her childhood. She told him stories about her parents, her grandparents . . . her brother Reynald, who had been killed in the first hydrogue attack. And Beneto.