“I’d like to go up to orbit to see my brother and the treeships.”
“Keep her safe, OX,” Peter said. “I’m counting on you.”
She had asked Yarrod to join them as well, and the green priest arrived carrying a small treeling. Through telink, her uncle would help her communicate with Beneto. Peter kissed the Queen goodbye, and the three of them climbed into the small diamond-hulled ship.
After Yarrod found a place to sit and Estarra sealed the hatch, OX turned his attention to the alien controls. With a silent boost from invisible, noiseless engines, the derelict rose up from the meadow, leaving an indentation of smashed flowers and grasses. It climbed like a smooth elevator past the tall trunks of the gathered worldtrees, and burst out into the open, bright sky.
Only a few days earlier, Jess Tamblyn and Cesca Peroni had also flown away, saying goodbye to their Roamer friends and to the King and Queen. By showing the solidarity of the wentals with the worldforest, and hinting at the incomprehensible power the water elementals could bring to bear, they had given the EDF a lot to think about. But now that she had formally resigned as the Speaker for the clans, Cesca had other work to pursue for the wentals, work that Estarra didn’t entirely understand. Or maybe Cesca and Jess Tamblyn should just take time for a honeymoon.
Through the clear diamond walls, Estarra watched the wrinkled landscape of interconnected branches and leaves recede. Then, passing the last rarefied wisps of high clouds, they reached space. OX guided them toward the spiny treeships that circled high above Theroc.
The reinforced trunks were larger than any battleship. Huge armored boughs stretched in all directions to drink energy from the solar wind. Thorns, each as long as the mast of an ancient sailing ship, speared the vacuum. Fibrous roots dangled out in space like trailing communications antennae. One huge treeship drifted past, gradually turning its bulk to face the bright sun.
“How do I know which one is Beneto?” Estarra asked, peering through the dizzying transparent walls.
Yarrod cradled his treeling without seeming to notice anything else around him. “You know which one.”
Looking at the immense, thorny objects, Estarra did know. Though the silent verdani battleships looked the same, she could sense her brother’s amplified presence in a great tree coming over the horizon. “Take us there, OX—to that one.”
Beneto’s treeship gently turned, as if he could see them approach through the eyes of a thousand leaves. Its branches seemed to rustle, and several opened to form a welcoming nest. The diamond-hulled vessel dropped into the welcoming thorny embrace, and the armored vestigial fronds enclosed them like docking clamps.
Yarrod touched the small treeling in his lap, sending a message. When he looked back at Estarra, his expression had changed somehow, as if Beneto were a part of him, speaking through his mouth. “I am always with you.”
“Thank you for helping to protect us, Beneto,” she said in a whisper.
Yarrod closed his eyes, furrowed his green brow. “The treeships, and all of the worldforest, are concerned. There are still threats.”
“What concerns are left? They didn’t have any trouble driving away the EDF a few days ago. And the hydrogues are defeated, aren’t they?”
Now Yarrod looked through the walls of the derelict, as if searching for new attackers coming from deep space. His voice sounded like Beneto’s. “The Klikiss returning . . . the faeros growing strong again.”
“But the faeros fought for Theroc.” That battle had killed Reynald. . . .
“The faeros fought for themselves against the hydrogues. Theroc was just a convenient battlefield.” Yarrod seemed very grave.
Estarra shuddered, no longer feeling safe even with the treeships watching over them. She looked around, studying the enormous branches and trying to imagine the arms of Beneto wrapped around her, rocking her. Her green priest brother had never been as muscular as Reynald, but he had often comforted her when she was troubled.
“I miss you, Beneto,” she said quietly.
“I know,” Yarrod replied for the treeship.
She didn’t have a specific message for him. For now, as she held her stomach and felt the baby kick, Estarra just wanted to be close to him, close to the treeship. With all the dangers in the Spiral Arm, this felt to her like the most protected place.
She told OX to let them just drift there for a time. It was what she needed.
66 MARGARET COLICOS
The Klikiss no longer responded when Margaret demanded answers in their clicking language. She understood the signs and knew she could wait no longer. The colonists had to prepare for their last stand.
Countless members of the Llaro subhive had been damaged or killed in major attacks against black robot infestations, and with rival breedexes expanding across ancient worlds and preparing for a new set of swarm wars, the Llaro breedex needed to produce many more Klikiss. More fighters. Very soon, Margaret knew, the subhive would undergo its fissioning and expansion. And the human settlers in the stockade would pay the price.
Margaret felt an ache for the upcoming tragedy. She liked these people. For a long time, she considered whether it might be best if she just hid the truth from them, let them have peace for a last few days. But they deserved to know, whether or not there was anything they could do about it. Even if it was a lost cause, shouldn’t they have the choice to fight? Perhaps in the short time they had left, a few more people could surreptitiously get away. Margaret had to tell someone.
Faithful DD marched with her to the stockade. Resilient and intelligent, the Friendly compy adapted to nearly any new situation. Dozens of colonists had already quietly escaped, presumably taking shelter in the hideout that Davlin Lotze had promised to establish. But the rest of these . . .
More than a week earlier, at Margaret’s insistence, the Klikiss had run a pipe from an agricultural well through the stockade wall. It was the only source of water inside, and the flow had sprayed across the ground in a muddy mess until Crim Tylar jury-rigged a trough and holding tank. The people filling jugs and buckets today stared at Margaret and the grim expression on her face.
Lupe Ruis and Roberto Clarin met her at the gushing water pump. “I have news, but you may want to hear it in private.”
DD said, “If we have a meeting, I would be happy to prepare some beverages. Do you have lemon concentrate? A popular old proverb says, ‘If life gives you lemons, make lemonade.’”
For a moment Clarin got a faraway look on his face. “I miss lemonade. Back on Hurricane Depot, we sometimes got shipments of real lemons from the Chan greenhouses.” He sighed and reluctantly met Margaret’s gaze. “So you’re about to drop a giant lemon on us?”
Margaret didn’t try to hide it. “I’m afraid so.”
“We’ve been through seven hells and back already. What do the Klikiss want from us?”
“What have we ever done to them?” Ruis added. “You said that they’re after the black robots. I can’t believe they’d want to hurt us.”
“The breedex sees you as a resource to help it meet its goals. It needs to reproduce, increase its numbers to fight other subhives. And for that it needs you. All of you.”
They entered a sheltered building with striped fabric overhangs; once a produce shop, it had been shut down since the arrival of the Klikiss. Clarin seemed resigned, as if he hadn’t expected good news for months now. DD stood watch at the door under the bright awnings, though he would probably chat with visitors rather than turn them away.
“I’ve observed the preparations in the breedex hive. The domates are mature and ready to start assimilating new genetic material, to improve this subhive’s abilities. They will take what they can from human DNA, using all the colonists.”
Only a handful of the interesting hybrids that included poor Howard Palawu’s genetics remained, but they had demonstrated the potential of human genes. The new Klikiss hybrids would be stronger, smarter, more powerful. By retaining the best human attributes, they would conque
r everything. The Llaro breedex intended to use that as an advantage over the other subhives.
“Use us?” Ruis looked around. “What does that mean?”
Clarin stated the obvious. “They’re going to eat us. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”
“Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”
Margaret’s eyes blurred as her concentration drifted. The fissioning emptied the breedex, turned the great hive mind into a mountain of gorging larvae, which then became a multitude of new Klikiss. That was why the Klikiss had harvested every edible scrap from the agricultural fields, why they fished and hunted and scavenged every bit of biomass to build a huge stockpile. Within the breedex hive, the larvae would eat, grow, and finally emerge.
Standing at the doorway, DD waved at two red-eyed passersby, but the pair couldn’t summon the cheer to respond.
Clarin’s face was stormy. “Roamers don’t go down without a fight. By the Guiding Star, we’ll find a way to show them just how unappetizing humans can be.”
67 HUD STEINMAN
Leaving the stockade was the smartest thing he’d ever done. Even after hiding from the bugs all day and searching for food and shelter during the night, Steinman was glad to have taken matters into his own hands. Why had he waited so long? He knew the answer, of course. Damn, he hated to leave Orli Covitz, and he’d even made some friends among the colonists. He had a gut-level ominous feeling about what might happen to everyone. Margaret Colicos was a strange woman, and he found her hard to read. He was convinced she knew something—something bad.
Steinman had slept that day in the shade of a ravine, sheltered from view. For the past several days he had survived by eating a few lizards he killed, which didn’t bother him any; they tasted better than the furry crickets on Corribus. Klikiss aircraft buzzed across the sky. He doubted the bugs were looking for him, since they didn’t seem to keep track of how many prisoners were in the stockade, and he hadn’t been the first to escape. He certainly hoped he wasn’t the last.
Setting off again at twilight, he spotted a distant line of sandstone bluffs mottled with distinctive shadows, maybe even caves. He swished through the dry grasses on his way toward the cliffs, trying to keep a low profile on the open prairie. There were probably some local predators, but given what he’d already been through, facing Llaro’s version of rattlesnakes or wildcats didn’t worry him unduly.
Steinman walked into the night, reveling in the freedom, the independence. He had his solitude at last. So why did he feel such a terrible loneliness inside? He hummed absently as he crossed the uneven ground, feeling his way. He had fashioned a long walking stick for himself, and he poked it into any suspicious shadows. Walking past large mounds of rock and dirt, he hummed more loudly. Llaro’s night was too silent.
As he continued the tune, he realized with a pang that he was repeating one of the melodies Orli often played. The two of them had done well together on Corribus. Steinman froze in place as he heard a hum and a chirp—another song in response to his own. He cursed himself. He should have been quiet! Klikiss were abroad.
The chirp came again, an abrasive whistling sound, not at all like the song he had been humming. With a glint of starlight on a black carapace, a Klikiss warrior emerged from behind one of the sheltering rock mounds. It darted toward him, its spiny joints and crest casting a sharp shadow against the dark.
“Oh, crap.” His throat was suddenly dry.
Steinman jabbed his walking stick at the creature’s angular face as it lunged. The Klikiss crab-walked to one side and came forward again. Steinman swung his stick and cracked it against the hard chitin, but the blow did no damage. The warrior clipped the stick in half as if it were as thin as a toothpick. It squealed and clacked its jaws, raising four sharp limbs. Steinman backed away, tripped on a rock, and fell backward. He yelled.
The Klikiss exploded. A high-powered shot cracked across the quiet night, and a crater appeared in the creature’s abdomen. It flailed its limbs, staggered, and collapsed. One twitching, segmented arm tried to lift the body up. Slick ooze poured from the wound.
Steinman rolled out of the way, scrambled backward, and got to his feet. Now he saw the dark man standing by himself, holding a large weapon from the EDF stockpiles.
Davlin Lotze said, “We should get out of here. They often hunt in pairs.”
“Couldn’t agree more.” Steinman followed the man. “You have good timing.”
“And you have unbelievable luck. They wouldn’t even have left any bones for me to find by morning.” Davlin shouldered his weapon. “The rest of the escapees set up a decent camp back in those sandstone bluffs.” He set off without looking back. “Come on. Now that I killed that warrior, the breedex knows we’re out here.”
68 CELLI
Since making her decision to become a green priest, Celli had noticed more of the worldforest’s grandeur—towering trees, colorful underbrush, sweet-smelling epiphytes, jewel-winged condorflies. She began to hear differences among the insect songs that filled the forest, instead of an unvarying blur in her ears. She wished she had made up her mind to do this years ago.
Celli stood in a spacious glade surrounded by waving grasses tipped with feathery seedstalks. She looked up—and up and up—to the canopy and the splash of open sky. Solimar watched her proudly, as excited as she was. Queen Estarra, heavy with child, stood next to her parents for the ceremony.
As the senior green priest, Yarrod was silent and imposing. Normally he performed this ritual with children, his demeanor designed to impress upon the new acolytes the gravity of their choice. He dipped his forefinger into a pot full of pasty dye. “You will become an acolyte, Celli. You will serve the worldforest and act as a part of the verdani mind. Today you become less of an individual and more of the great tapestry. As all worldtrees are connected, so are all green priests and all of humanity. Once you learn to open yourself to the worldforest, the trees will accept you as a green priest. Do you vow to undergo this training, to offer yourself as both servant and companion to the forest, to provide aid and information to the trees?”
“I’ve already been doing it for years now.”
“A simple yes or no, please.”
“Yes.” She shot a quick glance and a smile to Solimar. When he looked back at her, she could sense the depth of his feelings toward her. Had they changed, or was she just noticing them more clearly? She felt a frisson of excitement, followed by a quaver of intimidation, as she wondered how inseparable and intertwined their thoughts and hearts could be once they became green priests together. Celli wanted that, more than anything.
With dye dripping from his finger, Yarrod drew a straight vertical line down the center of Celli’s forehead. The coloring tingled, then began to burn as it changed the pigmentation of her skin. “You are now marked as an acolyte. Green priests will help you. And before long, the worldforest will accept you.”
“I am ready.” Celli made her voice sound formal, but her heart was pounding with eagerness. “When will I start?”
“You have already started.” Finally, Yarrod dropped the serious demeanor and opened his arms to hug her. “I’m so glad you decided to join us.”
“Sorry I took so long to make up my mind.”
Solimar took her hand, and she felt the thrill of his touch like an electrical shock. “Come on, I’ll show you what to do.” At the edge of the glade they found a wide-boled worldtree. Using bare feet and fingers, they climbed the bark scales like steps, scrambling higher and higher. From below, Estarra waved, her wistful expression showing that she wished she could still do the same.
Celli was barely sweating by the time they reached the canopy, pushing aside the interlaced green roof of fronds. The sun was dazzling—the same as always—yet now it seemed sharper, clearer. She caught her breath, then laughed out loud. Solimar began laughing with her.
All around them, condorflies buzzed in circles, and orange and pink epiphytes spread their petals to drink in the light. She heard droni
ng voices, some of them young and high-pitched, others deeper. An older green priest was reading from a datapad, surrounded by acolytes, all many years younger than Celli.
“The worldforest wants to hear everything: stories, histories, even technical manuals. Would you like to read some technical manuals?” Solimar sounded hopeful, since he was most interested in those.
She teased him. “Earth folktales sound more interesting.”
He shrugged. “As you wish.”
They made their way toward the old instructor and his wards. The interlocked fronds seemed to hold fast—intentionally?—making their passage easier. Soon she would sense the whole forest, just as Solimar did. She couldn’t wait for that to happen. After kissing her quickly, Solimar left.
Celli folded her slender legs and made herself comfortable among the branches and leaves. Soon her own voice filled the air, overlapping with the other readers. Paragraph by paragraph, page by page, she increased the worldforest’s knowledge and understanding.
69 KOLKER
He had never been part of something quite so big, quite so exciting, even when the worldtrees had first accepted him as a green priest. Kolker had never imagined anything better than when his heart and mind had opened to the interconnected thoughts of the verdani.
But this was better, and he felt a need to share it, to show others what they had been missing.
Kolker went back to the decorated platform in the Prism Palace that held the treeling. The worldforest itself hungered for new information and experiences, and this was certainly unique. His enthusiasm and eagerness were too great to contain. He had never felt such an overwhelming sense of mission and purpose. Other green priests would welcome what he had to offer, but the nature of the change was personal, not something a green priest could simply access via the verdani mind.
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