The Ashes Of Worlds

by The Ashes of Worlds (v5. 0) [lit]

  The Chairman looked around the crowd. He smiled as Nira’s own image was displayed on the spectator screens surrounding the huge square, a battered old photo that showed her haunted eyes, her gaunt features, her obvious suffering. The mood of the crowd grew decidedly uneasy, even ugly.

  “What — what are you telling them?” She looked around wildly. Sarein averted her eyes, obviously upset.

  The Chairman explained. “I decided to take down the Mage-Imperator’s supposed ‘nobility’ by a notch. My press corps has released the full story of what the Ildirans did to you: how Ambassador Otema was murdered, how you were repeatedly raped as part of an insidious breeding program, and so on. Those abominable, inhuman Ildirans.” He made a tsking sound. “And it’s quite effective, too. Ties in perfectly with the religious enthusiasm the Archfather is engendering. Best of all, it’s entirely true. From now on, no human will accept empty Ildiran promises. Your story proves what treacheries the Mage-Imperator is willing to commit.”

  “Those things were perpetrated by the previous Mage-Imperator,” Nira retorted. “Jora’h has done everything possible to make amends. And I’m not your pawn.”

  “Unless you wish to prolong the Mage-Imperator’s suffering, you are. Now let’s get on with it. Busy day.” At the Chairman’s nod, the guard handed her the treeling. Nira grabbed it, more interested in its delicate fronds and quivering potential than in the activity out on the square.

  Basil turned to Sarein. “Deputy Cain and I have business to discuss inside. I wish you could go with me, but I’m trusting the green priest to you. Make certain Peter knows about our new King — especially his name.”

  “I will, Basil.” The Chairman slipped away after briefly stroking Sarein’s short hair — a mechanical gesture, as if he had reminded himself to do it; Nira detected no depth of feeling there, but she did see Sarein respond with the faintest shudder.

  When they were alone in the observation pavilion, Nira touched the treeling, focused her thoughts into the worldforest network, and sank into the waiting information. In a flood, she learned everything that had happened, everything that had been kept from her since the capture of Jora’h’s warliner.

  She knew that the faeros had struck Ildira, but now she also knew of the newborn faeros attacking Theroc, possessing worldtrees, spreading a living fire. Although that disaster was already over, the pain still stung.

  Nira sent her own waves of information, explaining how the Mage-Imperator had been kidnapped, and how the Chairman was trying to coerce him into betraying King Peter. Did Basil Wenceslas truly want the Confederation to have that information? It didn’t matter. As soon as this event ended they were going to take the treeling away from her again. Nira decided not to tell Sarein what she had learned about Theroc; she saw no compelling reason to do so.

  Engrossed in telink, she barely noticed when the ceremony started. The Archfather came forward in his robes, carrying an ornate shepherd’s crook. He moved with slow strides, dragging a wake of hushed anticipation through the crowd.

  Seeing her preoccupation with the treeling, Sarein chided her. “You must watch this. Please.”

  Nira retreated from the sea of secondhand events to see the Arch-father at the speaking podium with an unfamiliar young man waiting behind him. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and an expression that reminded her of someone out of his depth but trying hard not to show it. He wore fine and colorful raiment, a design similar to what Old King Frederick had worn on the throne years ago. The bearded religious leader boomed out another rant about the Klikiss demons and King Peter’s supposed collusion with them, but his words seemed reluctant, without fervor.

  “Before we can be saved,” the Archfather intoned, “before humanity can return to the path of righteousness, we need a visionary leader. We need a King who is more than a King. Someone who can undo the terrible damage Peter has wrought.”

  Though she did not quite understand why she was asked to do so, Nira dutifully reported these words. The green priests were even now distributing them; she could hear Celli reporting to King Peter.

  “Today I announce the Hansa’s new King, a young man who is destined to be our savior. All hail, King Rory!”

  The young man stepped forward, standing straight and looking regal, as if he had practiced this entrance over and over. He seemed likeable enough, a perfect figurehead. But a savior? Nira doubted it.

  And now Peter would know that the Hansa had formally replaced him as King. But surely he must have been expecting that for some time now. Why had this particular announcement been so important to the Chairman?

  33

  Deputy Chairman Eldred Cain

  During the coronation ceremony, Basil stood next to Deputy Cain on the high, hidden balcony. The Chairman seemed in a particularly good mood. “There’s definitely something special in the air tonight.”

  Cain wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the Chairman had in mind.

  Basil Wenceslas prided himself in having countless irons in the fire, all supposedly for the benefit of the Hansa, though often they were petty gestures, such as revealing a distorted version of the green priest Nira’s story.

  General Lanyan had recently sent a scout back with a full and overblown report of his great success at the Roamer skymines, claiming to have secured a breathtaking amount of ekti. The General was continuing his “mission,” but now Chairman Wenceslas needed to figure out how to keep the defeated skymines producing stardrive fuel for the Hansa. Cain doubted that would be an easy task. . . .

  Before the Archfather’s coronation of King Rory got under way, two smiling people arrived behind them on the balcony. One was a short, wide-faced man whose torso seemed longer than his legs; beside him, in comical contrast, stood a tall, dark-skinned woman. The statuesque woman had high cheekbones, lovely brown eyes, and an unusually long neck.

  “Mr. Chairman, everything is prepared,” said the man in a deep, gravelly voice. He carried communications equipment.

  The tall woman nodded with a graceful bow of her head, like a giraffe dipping down to drink from a pool of water. “The metal dust is evenly distributed in the air overhead. With these weather patterns, it will hold the impedance paths for another fifteen to twenty minutes. The time constraints are tight, but we are ready.”

  With a confident smile, the Chairman introduced the newcomers. “Deputy Cain, meet my new scientific advisers, Dr. Tito Andropolis and Dr. Jane Kulu.”

  Kulu said in an elegant voice, “We are here to create technological miracles, thereby proving that God is indeed on our side.” The woman seemed completely serious.

  “Technological miracles?” Cain asked. What was the Chairman up to now?

  “Smoke and mirrors,” Basil murmured.

  “Sometimes faith requires a nudge in the correct direction,” Andropolis said with a chortle. “The truth is the truth. Why should it matter if we need to use a heavy hand to guide people along the right path?”

  Below in the illuminated square, the Archfather summoned King Rory forward. Cheers, whistles, and delighted screams erupted from the crowd; the people happily swallowed everything the Archfather said.

  Enjoying his high vantage point, Andropolis bobbed his square chin up and down. “After tonight’s demonstration, they will worship Rory as a conquering hero.”

  “That is the point,” Basil said.

  Below, the Archfather said, “God has blessed this young man to be our chosen leader. Rory will guide us away from the demons, away from the traitors, and back to prosperity.” Cleverly arranged spotlights cast an angelic glow over the newly crowned Rory.

  Kulu spoke with a deep, self-assured voice into her small communicator, “Prepare discharges. On my mark.”

  Up in the sky, extravagant fireworks blossomed in a truly impressive show, delighting the crowd. Basil wore a mysterious smile. “This is just the warmup.”

  After the traditional pyrotechnic bursts had faded into smoke, Rory spoke in a quavering voice that quickly became more as
sured. “I am your King. I will lead you, my chosen people, and show all others the true power of the righteous.”

  Andropolis was nearly beside himself with excitement. Kulu clicked her communicator. “Commence discharge.”

  On cue outside, Rory raised his hands and shouted, “I call down the lightning!”

  Suddenly, with perfect choreography, a blinding shower of spectacular electrical discharges laced the sky. One blast after another struck the tallest buildings in the Palace District like incandescent bullwhips, then anchored themselves to the highest tower of the Whisper Palace and the top of the Hansa pyramid. The searing bolts sustained themselves for four blinding seconds, weaving a blazing spiderweb of electricity across the starry dome overhead. Cain had never seen anything like it.

  Viewed on the close-up screen, Rory seemed to be counting to himself, and when he lowered his hands at the appropriate moment, the discharge vanished, as if at his command, leaving the crowd in awed silence.

  After the deputy blinked the afterburn from his eyes, he expected to see towers devastated, fires blazing on the rooftops. But he quickly realized that no actual damage had been done. Not only had King Rory called down the lightning, but he had protected them all. Perfect.

  “Well-grounded lightning rods placed beforehand,” Basil explained. “They should be removed before anyone thinks to look around. See to that, please.”

  Cain nodded, more uneasy than awestruck.

  Basil surveyed the stunned crowd, looking very satisfied. “That should keep those annoying anti-Hansa protesters quiet for a while. Have there been any further incidents?”

  Cain struggled to bring his thoughts back to the present. “Always, Mr. Chairman. The resistance groups are becoming more organized.”

  “Then find them.”

  Kulu and Andropolis were on their feet, congratulating each other. “God has certainly shown his will tonight,” Andropolis said with a satisfied sigh. “Who could question it?”

  34

  King Peter

  When Celli delivered Nira’s announcement on Theroc, Peter turned pale. “King Rory? It can’t be.”

  Estarra glanced at him, sharing his confusion and uneasiness. Peter knew that the Queen understood, although no one else did — except for Basil. Damn him! This was a lower blow than he could have expected, even from the unstable Chairman.

  Rory . . . How could he possibly still be alive?

  First Nira said the Chairman had kidnapped the Mage-Imperator and tried to force him to renounce his alliance with the Confederation, torturing him with isolation to break him. And now he had hauled out Rory . . . long-dead, sweet Rory. It was not possible.

  “Oh, Basil is an evil bastard,” he said. “Describe it to me again, Celli. Every minute. And describe the young man.”

  Surprised by his reaction, the green priest repeated Nira’s message, and Peter nodded slowly to himself, feeling sick inside. “Excuse me. I need some time alone. Estarra and I have to talk.”

  The Queen was already on her feet, and Peter followed her into their temporary quarters. When they were alone, he rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “Everyone else thinks that was just a political announcement, finally putting a replacement king on the throne, but Basil knew it was vastly more personal to me. He intended to twist the knife. It’s his way of threatening me.”

  Sitting down, Estarra cradled little Reynald in her arms and leaned back so that she could nurse the baby. “You think it’s really your brother? Could it be a trick?”

  Peter tried to work it out in his mind. His whole family had been killed almost ten years ago when their apartment building exploded — the result of sabotage conducted by Hansa henchmen to clear away all connections to Peter/Raymond. They wanted no one who could challenge his identity with any sort of genetic proof.

  And now King Rory could not be a coincidence. Basil had made that perfectly clear by insisting that Nira send the message.

  Estarra tried to sound sensible. “The very idea that your little brother could still be alive, held out of sight all these years, is absurd.”

  Peter drew a deep breath. “And yet if anyone could be so insidious, it’d be Basil.”

  “But if he really had a secret weapon to keep you in line, why would he wait until now? You could just denounce this new King Rory — explain that he must be a complete fake. That would take away whatever hold the Chairman thinks he has over you.”

  Peter shook his head. “If I chose that course of action, I would be forced to denounce my own rule. I’d have to admit I’m just a street kid given a makeover and thrust into this position. Whether Rory’s my brother or not, I’m as much a fake as he is.” He paced around the room. “No, it’s less obvious than that. Basil will use him as a subtle hostage. As long as Rory behaves, the Chairman has exactly what he wants — a figurehead, as I was supposed to be. And if I have even a shred of hope that Rory is who I think he is, then Basil will think he has me under his thumb.”

  When Reynald finished nursing, Peter took the baby from Estarra to burp him. Afterward, he held his son, looking down at the small face that had such sweet features, a blend of his own and his wife’s. Peter thought of his brothers, Carlos, Michael . . . Rory. Yes, Rory. He felt a swell of love in his chest, a clear sense of loss for his family and the simple yet endearing life he’d had — all destroyed by Basil’s schemes. Was it possible that the Chairman had saved one small piece as a human shield?

  “Basil’s ploy isn’t going to work, is it, Peter?”

  “No,” he answered quickly, then added in a softer voice, “At least I don’t think so.”

  35

  Tasia Tamblyn

  When the eleven EDF battleships arrived at the Osquivel shipyards, Tasia remarked to Robb, “They’re damned lucky we’ve got a green priest to forewarn us. Otherwise, I might have opened fire the moment they showed themselves.”

  “Admit it, Tamblyn — you’re happy to see them. And Admiral Willis, too.”

  Tasia relaxed her stern expression. “Damn right, I am. And we sure as hell could use someone who knows more about command than either of us does.”

  “So, you’ve been faking it all along?”

  She clapped him on the shoulder. “Never with you, Brindle. Let’s send out the welcome wagon. With all those weapons and ships, we could go on a real bug hunt!”

  When the two of them formally presented themselves aboard the Jupiter, Tasia looked around the bridge with fond nostalgia. Willis had put on her best uniform and told all her officers and crew to make themselves presentable: polished shoes, razor-edged creases, neatly combed hair. Tasia wasn’t sure why the Admiral felt the need to impress anyone, since the Confederation was in no position to turn down the offer of functional warships.

  Willis returned Tasia’s salute. “I swear, I never thought I’d see you two alive again.”

  Tasia dropped all pretense of formality and gave her a quick hug. “Glad to see you, too, Admiral — and doubly glad to be on the same side again.”

  Robb, brought up in a more rigid military family, settled for a warm handshake. “I prefer combat duty to being held prisoner among the hydrogues, ma’am.”

  “Well, I did bring the hydrogue derelict back here to deliver to Kotto Okiah, in case you have further pie-in-the-sky ideas,” Willis said.

  “No thank you, ma’am. One excursion down into a gas giant was enough for me.”

  Leading them into her ready room, the Admiral ran her eyes up and down their grease-smudged jumpsuits. “Your uniforms could use a bit of attention. Is this the look of the Confederation military these days?”

  “Roamers and colony volunteers don’t need costumes to know which side they’re fighting on,” Tasia said, feeling defensive.

  “We haven’t had time to design new uniforms,” Robb admitted. “In fact, I don’t even know what rank we should call ourselves.”

  “Sounds like you need an organizational chart,” Willis said. “Though I shudder to think
about imposing that kind of structure on a Roamer-based society.”

  After Willis had called up coffee and a plate of sugar cookies from the Jupiter’s galley, Tasia said, “The EDF has more than its share of butt-head commanders, but you weren’t one of them, Admiral. Even back when the Eddies were preying on Roamer clans, you had second thoughts.”

  Willis raised her eyebrows. “I may be slow, but I do get it eventually.” She plucked a third sugar cookie from the plate, then told the story of how she had left the EDF after General Lanyan’s crackdowns at Usk and Rhejak.

  Robb was clearly sad to hear that his own father had refused to switch sides. “He’ll have his head set on staying with the EDF, no matter what.”

  Tasia cleared her throat. “I’m not sure how best to integrate your ships and soldiers into the Confederation military, ma’am. Our setup is certainly different from what you’re used to.”

  “No matter how it shakes out, this old dog can learn new tricks,” Willis said. “All my soldiers understood what they were getting into, and they’re ready for it. You’re welcome to interview the crew if you like.”

  Tasia snorted. “Like I don’t have anything better to do than chat with several thousand soldiers? If you vouch for them, Admiral, I’ll take your word for it.”

  Willis’s ships traveled to the far side of the sweeping rings where Kotto had unveiled a brand-new spacedock facility that could accommodate the entire battle group at once. “Quite an operation, Tamblyn,” the Admiral mused. “Not at all like what we saw when we ran our operation here against the hydrogues. Was all this built in the last couple of years?”

  Tasia flinched. “Oh, it was all here before, ma’am. We just didn’t want you to see it. Back then, Roamers were content to lie low and let all the fighting pass over them, but now we’ve changed our philosophy. Considering the persecution we’ve faced, we can’t just be merchants and couriers anymore — we have to be warriors, too. You can thank Chairman Wenceslas for that.”