The Ashes Of Worlds

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

  “Jora’h, are you all right?”

  “Chairman Wenceslas will not defeat me,” he said in as strong a voice as he could manage. He folded her in his arms.

  McCammon gave a slight salute, a clear gesture of respect. He wore his dress uniform, complete with a ceremonial gold-hilted dagger at his hip. Taking the two of them aside, he lowered his voice in private conversation. “The Chairman instructed me to tell you that if you declare King Peter a renegade and swear to support the Hansa, we can begin the process of returning you to Ildira.”

  “That is all I need to do? Truly? One simple statement, and I am free to leave Earth immediately and save my people?” Jora’h scowled in disbelief. “Do you trust him, Captain McCammon?”

  The man remained silent for a long and disturbing moment. “That is not for me to say. I only convey his message.”

  Nira was also skeptical. “What’s to stop Jora’h from recanting his statement after you let him go? Nothing. So the Hansa wouldn’t really release us, would they? There’d be excuses, postponements, administrative setbacks. We would never be allowed to leave.”

  McCammon stared straight ahead at the landed shuttle, past the stiff-backed guards, as if not speaking to her directly. “In such complex bureaucratic matters, many unforeseen delays and difficulties might occur before your actual release. It could take years.”

  Jora’h had suspected as much. Continued resistance was his only leverage.

  He held Nira more tightly and looked at the guard captain. “Then I am afraid I must decline the Chairman’s offer. The terms are not acceptable to me.”

  47

  Sarein

  Sarein was shocked to see the changes being made to her quarters. Now what was Basil up to? Claiming to be under the Chairman’s orders, a work crew methodically removed the bright cocoon-weave hangings, a tangle-web macramé, and four small potted flowers, colorful favorites from her native worldforest.

  She was incensed that he would do this without consulting her. Was he merely demonstrating that he could exert control, even here? It seemed indicative of his desire for domination. Basil did things his own way, and liked all the pieces to fall neatly in place. The very knowledge that Sarein’s private space still reflected her Theron heritage must have been a persistent thorn in his side.

  She doubted he cared how much this would bother her. For Basil it was all part of putting the Hansa in order, keeping as many elements in check as possible. She would try to talk to him about it, but she doubted it would do any good.

  “We’ll repaint this in a nice, neutral color, Ambassador,” said the foreman of the crew, a roly-poly man with a deep voice and thick brown hair. “I can display catalog images of standard-issue Hansa furniture. Pick out the interior decorations yourself if you’d like, but frankly I’d rather you trusted me.” The man gave her a weary grin.

  “Do what you have to,” she said, feeling sad and cold. It hardly mattered, since everything that expressed her personal taste was being taken away. “Obviously, the Chairman does not approve of my preferences.”

  When she had first arrived on Earth years ago, Sarein had scorned the quaint, provincial nature of Theroc. She had felt trapped among the worldtrees and green priests, but invigorated by images of the Whisper Palace and the wonderful cities on Earth. Leaving her home planet to follow her dreams, she had achieved a level of status beyond her expectations.

  Now, though, most of her influence had gone. She was an ambassador from a planet with which the Hansa had cut off all relations, yet she couldn’t go home. She represented . . . nothing. Basil kept her in his inner circle, but she had to fight continually to be a sounding board for his decisions. More and more often, he made up his mind without consulting anyone. Despite what she had told Rlinda Kett during their surreptitious meeting in the coffee shop, she despaired of finding a way to get through to Basil. Not for the first time, she wished she had accepted Rlinda’s offer and simply fled Earth.

  The workers roughly stuck her plants into a crate marked for storage, but she intercepted them. “Save those — I want them delivered to the greenhouse wing. The Queen’s conservatory is being restored.”

  The decorator shrugged. “If you like. They’re no longer allowed in private quarters. Some Ildiran plants are known to be poisonous.”

  Captain McCammon walked briskly down the hall toward her chambers. His eyes always seemed to light up when he saw her, though he had been well schooled in maintaining a neutral expression. She often found herself smiling, too, when she saw him, but she didn’t dare show any affection for the man. Now he stopped at her doorway, amazed by the flurry of redecorating.

  She read McCammon’s expression of disapproval. “It’s how the Chairman reacts when he feels insecure,” Sarein said quickly.

  He lowered his voice, showing genuine compassion. “Then right now he must feel very insecure.”

  Basil’s plan to break the Mage-Imperator had backfired. Sarein couldn’t help but silently cheer the Ildiran leader. No matter how often she tried to caution him, the Chairman refused to acknowledge the damage he was causing. But other people were seeing the cracks appear in the government.

  Just that morning she had heard reports of a new outspoken group calling themselves “Freedom’s Sword,” which had hijacked several newsnets and rebroadcast Patrick Fitzpatrick’s damning confession that accused the Hansa of provoking war with the Roamers. The best security crackdowns had been unable to trace the saboteurs, and so they had gotten away.

  Furious, Basil had assigned Colonel Andez and her cleanup crew to investigate the problem. A cold thought struck her. Did the Chairman doubt Sarein’s loyalty? Had he seen something? Her little meeting with Nira and the treeling, perhaps?

  Seeing her concern, McCammon touched her arm, and she felt an irrational desire to move closer to him, but she didn’t dare, especially in front of these workers. Realizing what time it was, she cleared her throat and spoke in a formal voice. “Have you come to escort me to the meeting, Captain?” Basil had been excited about meeting with Admiral Diente in the Hansa HQ, and she had asked to be included. She had also requested that McCammon take her there, since it was the only way for him to be present.

  “Yes, Ambassador.”

  Paying no more attention to the bustling redecorators, she walked briskly down the hall with the royal guard captain. “We’d better go, then. The Chairman won’t wait for us.”

  Chairman Wenceslas sat at his deskscreen across from Admiral Diente, tapping fingertips on the polished surface. The Admiral stood rigidly at attention, while Deputy Cain sat off to the side in a chair, taking notes like some medieval scribe. The silence had already dragged out for several seconds.

  Basil looked up when Sarein and McCammon entered. He wore a puzzled look, as if interrupted in the middle of a complex thought; then he remembered that she had been scheduled to attend. “Ah yes, thank you for coming, Sarein. I wanted you to hear my announcement.”

  She felt a quick stab of alarm. “Announcement? I thought we were having a discussion.”

  “The decision has already been made.”

  Cain rose to his feet, discouraged but doggedly doing his job to bring her up to speed. “On his shakedown cruise of the Mage-Imperator’s flagship, Admiral Diente made a remarkable discovery. During the ancient wars, the Ildirans developed a translation device for direct communication with the Klikiss. It’s uncomplicated Ildiran technology, simple to operate.”

  Now Basil sat up, engaged in the conversation. “This translation system gives us a remarkable and unexpected opportunity to approach a very destructive enemy. In recent months the Klikiss have retaken many of their old planets, which were part of our Colonization Initiative. We depended on their transportal network, and now that’s also been denied to us. But there’s no reason our two races should be enemies. We should be able to find common ground.”

  He folded his hands. “We know too little about the Klikiss, and I want to nip this conflict in the bud. We must
engage in diplomacy instead of immediate destruction. I’ve concluded that it is the swiftest, most efficient way to solve the crisis. So, we are sending an emissary to talk to them.”

  McCammon spoke up. “We sent an emissary in a containment chamber to meet with the hydrogues, too. That didn’t turn out very well, if I remember correctly.”

  “This is completely different,” Basil snapped, obviously wondering why the guard captain was still in the room. “The Klikiss were once a great civilization. They invented the transportals and the Klikiss Torch. They must be reasonable. I am sending Admiral Diente to Pym, where General Lanyan conveniently located a large subhive. He will negotiate a mutual nonaggression pact with the Klikiss. After that, we’ll have one less thing to worry about.” He paused for just a moment. “And we can concentrate on bringing down the Confederation.”

  Diente seemed decidedly uncomfortable, as stiff-backed as a toy soldier placed as an ornament in the office. He still hadn’t spoken.

  Sarein looked at him. “And what do you believe, Admiral Diente? Can you pull it off?”

  “The Mage-Imperator assures me the translation system will work.” It wasn’t much of an answer.

  “He has sufficient incentive,” Basil answered for him. “If he succeeds, I have promised to free his family from custody, with no encumbrances whatsoever.”

  The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Diente nodded brusquely. “Yes, Mr. Chairman. I am confident that I will succeed in this mission.”

  48

  Sirix

  The satisfaction of eradicating both warring subhives at Relleker swiftly faded. Yes, Sirix had destroyed two major groups of Klikiss, but now his main concern was for the survival of his robots.

  The Klikiss had annihilated the desirable facilities at Relleker and killed all of the technically proficient colonists. Sirix was no closer to being able to manufacture robots and replenish his armies, and he was growing quite impatient. He turned back to his two compies. “Find me another option.”

  PD and QT delved once more into the Roamer and EDF records, studying asteroid outposts, lunar bases, drifting orbital complexes. Most clan facilities specialized along specific lines of endeavor. Constantine III produced only fibers and exotic polymers; the Hhrenni asteroids were primarily greenhouses; Eldora mainly produced lumber and forest products.

  Lacking a better alternative, the stolen fleet flew to what had once been the capital of the Roamer clans. Rendezvous. Now only wreckage remained, rocks and metal debris in wildly disturbed orbits, since the Earth Defense Forces had destroyed it. At times Sirix thought that those chaotic, violent, and capricious people might well exterminate one another more efficiently than any of his grand schemes could.

  Cruising in silent mode in case some Roamers had come back to their former home, Sirix’s ships drifted through the rubble searching for any still-functional complexes. They found none. Another wasted effort. Sirix and the two compies studied the records yet again.

  Finally, QT spoke up. “PD and I would like to suggest an unorthodox candidate. We believe it has the sophisticated operations and technological facilities we require.”

  PD agreed. “The place has demonstrated skill in manufacturing compies, and already possesses a working knowledge of Klikiss robots.”

  Sirix’s optical sensors flashed as he realized what the two compies were suggesting. “You propose that we return to Earth, conquer the Terran Hanseatic League with our few remaining ships, and take over their factory complexes for ourselves? We could never succeed.”

  “No, we suggest you negotiate an agreement directly with the Chairman.”

  “Go to the Hansa and simply request the use of their facilities,” PD added. “QT and I can assist you as ambassadors.”

  It was a naïve and absurd suggestion. Completely impossible.

  PD continued. “Human history is filled with examples of former enemies becoming allies, given sufficient motivation as circumstances change.”

  Sirix considered further. Could it possibly work? He did not comprehend humans. Their contradictory moods and decisions were unfathomable. “You both understand humans better than I do. How would you convince them to do as we demand?”

  QT lifted his polymer face. “Issue a sincere apology. Show the Hansa Chairman that we share an enemy in the Klikiss.”

  Sirix considered the strange suggestion. With his handful of remaining ships and weapons, his robot force posed no credible military threat to Earth, but the Hansa didn’t know that. He could use the fact that he had just wiped out a significant concentration of Klikiss at Relleker to demonstrate his good intentions, even though the Hansa had not factored into his attack at all.

  “The Terran Hanseatic League should see the black robots as a valuable ally,” Sirix said, “provided we can work out an acceptable agreement.”

  This would take careful maneuvering, indeed.

  “Change our course. Head directly toward the Earth system.”

  Sirix began his calculations.

  49

  Margaret Colicos

  Margaret felt unafraid when the ferocious tiger-striped domate approached her and lifted its serrated praying-mantis forelimbs. She put her hands on her hips. “What do you want?”

  As part of her work with the Davlin-breedex, she was trying to force the individual Klikiss to actually communicate with her using Davlin’s memories, Davlin’s abilities. Each time she did that, she hoped to bring positive human traits to the fore and keep the natural violence of the insect race at bay.

  The hard plates of the tiger-striped creature’s exoskeleton slid smoothly against each other as the domate fidgeted. Its face was a mosaic of interlocked plates that shifted into an eerie, humanlike visage for just a moment, but the thick pieces fitted more comfortably into its monstrous form.

  “Breedex,” it said in a voice that sounded like a knife edge being dragged across a washboard. “Two . . . more . . . subhives . . . defeated.”

  “Where? Name the planet.”

  A long pause, as if the complex mind were trying to summon a name that would be comprehensible to her. “Relleker.”

  “Good.” In their last conversation, Davlin had mentioned the Klikiss subhives battling there. “Take me to the breedex. He can tell me more himself.” She knew that Davlin could not carry on extended communication through the mouths of domates or warriors. She followed the gigantic creature past bustling workers, diggers, excreters, harvesters, and other sub-breeds.

  In years past, her visits to prior incarnations of the breedex had been fraught with anxiety and danger, but now Margaret walked boldly alongside the domate. While her guide remained behind at the entrance, she presented herself before the squirming mass. “What is it you want to tell me, Davlin? Two more subhives conquered? Both breedexes destroyed?”

  With a buzzing, staticky sound, the numerous components piled together, each tiny unit knowing its place, assembling into the crude sculpture of a man’s face. It took the simulated head a few moments to remember how to speak, then the buzzing background noise became words. “They defeated themselves. Two rival subhives clashed.” After a pregnant pause, the Davlin-breedex continued. “The rest were destroyed by black robots . . . nuclear explosives . . . EDF ships.”

  “So the black robots are still out there.” Margaret wasn’t sure if the hive mind could hear the hatred in her own voice. “You want to destroy them, don’t you?” This was an anger she could allow Davlin to keep. Sirix had killed Louis long ago, back on Rheindic Co. . . .

  “All of them.”

  She had seen more domates march through the new transportal, carrying the remains of Klikiss victims. “How close are you to finishing your work with the other subhives? How many breedexes remain?”

  “All pieces are coalescing. I will be the One Breedex soon. A single rival subhive remains. A powerful subhive . . . on Pym.”

  “And once you defeat that subhive, you will control the whole race? And you promise to keep humanity safe?”
She waited a long moment. “Davlin?” She had to continue focusing the human presence that remained. Recently, she had seen troubling instances when the man had lost ground to the insects.

  “Then we will control all the Klikiss.”

  “And you will keep humanity safe?”

  “First I must fission. I must consume many more Klikiss, make them part of me, rather than just obedient to me.”

  Margaret was alarmed. “No, that will dilute your human fraction. You told me.” Until now, the Davlin-breedex had maintained control by refusing to let his domates devour the fallen subhives. His hold was already tenuous. And she could not suggest the obvious and unpleasant solution of allowing the breedex to consume and incorporate more human DNA.

  “Must increase numbers and strength. Otherwise, I will fail.”

  “You will also fail if you lose your grip, Davlin. Don’t loosen your control.”

  “It is the only way. Incorporate the strength and superior traits of all the other hives we have crushed. Our domates will gather their songs.” The distinctive features sloughed away as the breedex began to refer to itself in the plural. She listened as it seemed to wrestle with itself; then Davlin’s face appeared again. “I will not let . . . myself be diluted, Margaret. I am still here.”

  She wasn’t certain how much she could trust this bizarre hybrid. Was it human enough, or would the Klikiss genes become dominant with another fissioning? She had to keep reminding him. “Do what you must, Davlin, but keep your control — and I’ll do everything I can to help.”

  50

  Anton Colicos

  On the fast EDF shuttle that took them away from the Moon, Anton sat next to Rememberer Vao’sh. One escort guard remained rigidly alert on the nearby passenger bench, his sidearm prominent. Never in his life had Anton considered himself a threatening person, and now he had a vigilant guard at all times.

  He had no idea what Chairman Wenceslas could possibly want with the two of them.