The Ashes Of Worlds

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

  Jonas, Maureen’s longtime personal assistant, acknowledged their arrival on the comm, his voice a barely restrained squawk. As Patrick and Zhett emerged from the ship, smiling hopefully, the old woman marched out onto the deck alone. Patrick studied her expression and let the silence hang for just a moment, surprised that she hadn’t taken charge of the conversation already.

  Before either he or the old Battleaxe could say anything, Zhett broke the ice by extending her hand. “You must be Maureen Fitzpatrick. Very pleased to meet you. Patrick has told me so much about his grandmother.”

  Maureen turned to her with the gaze of a hunting falcon. “Charmed, I’m sure — but who the hell are you?” She swung back to him. “I don’t like surprises like this, Patrick.”

  “Yes, you do. This is my wife, Zhett Kellum. She’s the daughter of one of the wealthiest and most influential Roamer families.”

  “Did you say Roamer?” She blinked.

  “I said ‘one of the wealthiest and most influential.’ I assumed that would be good enough for you.”

  Maureen was having trouble catching up with the conversation. “Did you say wife?”

  Zhett broke in wickedly. “I understand how you feel. My father wasn’t exactly pleased that I married the grandson of a former Hansa Chairman, but we all have to make concessions in these difficult times.”

  Maureen was stunned into silence by the audacious comment. Transferring her annoyance until she could process the information, she frowned at the new name painted on the space yacht’s hull. “You’ve got a lot of nerve stealing my ship, deserting the Earth Defense Forces, then flying back here as if nothing’s happened. Where the hell have you been?” She gestured briskly to the door. “You’d both better come inside before any EDF spies spot you. I wouldn’t be surprised if they shot you on sight. With your damn fool messages and accusations, you’ve caused a world of trouble here. Freedom’s Sword is having a field day.”

  “What’s Freedom’s Sword?” Patrick and Zhett both said at the same time.

  “Some new dissident group — taking a page out of your book. They’ve been distributing your confession about Raven Kamarov and doing a lot more rabble-rousing of their own. It’s embarrassing.” She flashed a small smile. “The Archfather is ranting against the protesters, but I get the impression he’s secretly pleased. That puffed-up boy, King Rory, stood in front of a cheering crowd and said ‘Any insult to the Hansa Chairman is an insult to my Royal Person!’ Bunch of bull crap.”

  “Somebody’s finally listening.” Patrick found himself smiling. “Are there actual protests in the streets?”

  “And are they accomplishing anything?” Zhett added.

  “Nothing substantive — yet. You’ve become quite a little folk hero around here, Patrick. My grandson, a world-class thorn in the side.”

  “He can be a pain in the butt, too,” Zhett said, “but he’s brave, and I love him. He faced a Roamer court and admitted his own part in starting the conflict between the clans and the Hansa.” Her voice noticeably cooled. “Did you know the EDF is raiding Roamer skymines, attacking industrial facilities, murdering civilians? Your government has a lot to answer for, Madame Chairman.”

  The old woman pointed a large-knuckled finger at Zhett, and her tenor changed. “You be careful which words you use, young lady. Don’t go calling that my government. When I was Chairman, I never allowed any of this nonsense.”

  “Ah, yes. The golden, peaceful times,” Zhett drawled, her words rich with sarcasm. “Roamers still sing songs about those glory days of Hansa open-mindedness and understanding — ”

  Patrick interrupted them. “See? I knew you two would get along.”

  Maureen finally allowed herself a laugh. “Well, Patrick, I’m glad you found a woman who can stand up for herself. You learned that much from me, at least.”

  56

  Chairman Basil Wenceslas

  Now that he was familiar with Sirix’s treachery, Basil was sure he could outscheme the black robots. Deputy Cain urged him to wait until he heard back from Diente’s embassy to the Klikiss on Pym, but he saw no need to delay. In the worst-case situation, the EDF could turn the black robots over to the Klikiss, or perhaps destroy them all to demonstrate humanity’s good intentions. But first he wanted to hear what Sirix had to say. No harm in private exploratory talks.

  “The two compies have already transmitted my instructions. Sirix will land in the Palace District at night in an unmarked EDF shuttle — one of the shuttles he stole. As far as anyone else is concerned, it’ll be logged as a routine military transport.”

  “Might I suggest instead that we meet at the lunar EDF base, or some other neutral territory?” Cain said.

  “No. It will be on my home ground. I want full control of every detail.”

  Out of courtesy, and because for some indefinable reason he wanted her there, Basil invited Sarein to join them. She told him quite plainly she thought he was making a deal with the devil. That amused him. Her constant criticism and second-guessing, though, were growing tiresome.

  In preparation, he gave explicit instructions to Captain McCammon. He wanted ten guards standing in full view, and fifty more hidden as sharpshooters, each carrying a high-powered jazer rifle. Altogether, it would be enough firepower to turn Sirix into a pile of obsidian slag if he made the slightest wrong move.

  “This doesn’t feel right, Mr. Chairman,” Cain said as they all stepped out under a star-strewn night sky.

  Basil gazed upward, expecting to see the tiny dot of the landing shuttle any minute now. Even after full dark, the Palace District was dazzling. The blinking lights of air traffic crisscrossed the sky. “Don’t be pessimistic.”

  “I prefer the term pragmatic, since my concerns are backed by hard data.”

  “Everything will turn out for the best, you will see,” PD said brightly. “Sirix will follow your instructions exactly.”

  Basil had allowed the two compies to attend. He supposed he could use them as hostages, threaten to destroy them if Sirix got out of hand, though he doubted the black robots had any compassion for such things.

  Next to him, QT added, “We will assist your negotiations.”

  The Earth Defense Forces were on high alert in close orbit, warily watching the robot-commandeered battleships that had approached under a flag of truce. Since General Lanyan was not due to return from his raiding mission for several more days, Basil had assigned Admirals Pike and San Luis, his only two remaining grid admirals, to set up a defensive line.

  When the ragtag group had arrived in orbit, Basil was shocked to receive Admiral Pike’s report on how few EDF vessels the robots still possessed. Sirix and his comrades had stolen the bulk of the Earth’s fleet, and they had squandered most of the ships. Basil was anxious to learn what dire mistakes had forced the robots to come crawling here for help.

  Each of the compies extended a polymer hand to the sky, pointing. “That one is Sirix’s ship.” A bright light like a shooting star descended directly to the small private spaceport that Basil had designated for this meeting.

  McCammon and his guards shifted their weapons warily. Cain and Sarein moved closer to the Chairman. Basil began to have second thoughts about having so many additional witnesses. What sort of preposterous proposal was Sirix going to make? And what sort of leverage did he have?

  “Captain McCammon, tell your men to be alert, but do not open fire except at my express command. Anyone who takes a preemptive shot will face summary execution.”

  After an uncomfortable pause, McCammon nodded. “Understood, Mr. Chairman.”

  Basil’s face remained stony as the EDF shuttle landed, though he felt deep outrage to see an Earth ship piloted by the black metal abomination. PD and QT stepped forward, but Basil sternly waved them back.

  The hulking robot clambered out, barely able to push himself through a hatch designed for human beings. In a buzzing voice, Sirix said, “Chairman Wenceslas of the Terran Hanseatic League, thank you for agreeing to see
me. I am alone and unarmed. As you requested.”

  “And what business brings you here?”

  “I seek your help and offer our assistance in return. I wish to make a bargain with you.”

  Basil remained detached and implacable. “We made a bargain with you once before. It did not work out to our advantage.”

  “Circumstances have changed significantly,” Sirix said. “The original Klikiss have returned, and they are far more vicious than any other enemy you have faced. We black robots have stood up against them before, but now our numbers are depleted.”

  “Don’t expect my sympathy for your difficulties,” Basil said.

  “Those difficulties are yours as well. The Klikiss mean to destroy us all. Together we can fight them. Helping us conquer the remnants of our creator race is to your advantage.”

  Basil considered. “I’m willing to entertain the possibility that we can find a mutually acceptable arrangement regarding our common enemy, but only under the strictest precautions.”

  “I would rather be allies than enemies,” Sirix said. “You can help replenish our numbers. Your manufacturing facilities can create more black robots, which will be dedicated to the war against the Klikiss.”

  Basil ignored the gasps and grumbles behind him. “Your robots caused immeasurable harm to the Hansa. Why in the world would I want to create more of them? We have already learned not to trust you.”

  Sirix paused as if to consider, but Basil didn’t doubt that he had already calculated every word of his response. “We will release the EDF vessels that we have taken. I am certain your Earth military could use them. All we ask in return is that you help us replace the black robots that we have lost in recent massacres. If we continue fighting the Klikiss, you would benefit as well.”

  Basil let out a dry laugh. “You have the audacity to offer us a handful of ships — our ships in the first place. They’re probably damaged, their weapons depleted. That is hardly sufficent payment. And if we help to create more of your kind, what is to stop you from turning them against us?”

  “We have no standing grudge against humans,” Sirix insisted. “We knew the Klikiss would hunt us down and exterminate us, and therefore we needed ships to defend ourselves. We were merely fighting for our survival. We had no alternative but to take them from your EDF.”

  “You could have asked,” Cain suggested. “Made an alliance with us in the first place.”

  Sirix swiveled his flat head. “Would you have simply surrendered the bulk of your space fleet? That is not likely. We were pushed to extremes. We face total annihilation if we do not defeat the Klikiss.”

  “I wouldn’t lose sleep about that,” Sarein muttered.

  “And once the Klikiss annihilate us, they will annihilate you.”

  Cain’s brow furrowed. “If you return our ships, what will the robots use for transport? You’ll need vessels of your own.”

  “We are resourceful. We can cobble together stripped-down vessels to take us to safe star systems. We will be no bother to you.”

  Basil folded his hands together, annoyed that the others were talking so much. “Before I can even consider the possibility, I’ll need more than the surrender of our own ships. They’re too few to make a difference. I must have a significant fleet back, strong and ready to defend Earth.”

  Sarein and Cain gawked at him, unable to believe that he would genuinely negotiate with Sirix, but Basil ignored them.

  “Many more EDF ships were damaged in battle here. Right now, hundreds of wrecks remain in orbit. Since your robots function perfectly well in space, I want you to rebuild those damaged ships. Give me my fleet back, and — provided you perform satisfactory work — I will direct some of our compy facilities to build your robots, but only under the most stringent supervision. We’ll exchange a certain number of robots for a certain number of recommissioned ships.” He shrugged, an imitation of benevolence. “You can even use some of the useless components in orbit to build your own vessels . . . if only to let your robots leave here as swiftly as possible.”

  Cain could restrain himself no longer. “Mr. Chairman, you know what Freedom’s Sword will say when they hear of this. There’ll be rioting in the streets!”

  Basil scowled; the very existence of the dissident group was like a personal affront to him. “There are always whiners and naysayers. I need to do what is best for the Hansa. And this may be an opportunity we can’t afford to pass up.”

  Though the black robot showed no emotions, Basil felt that even Sirix was surprised by the easy agreement. Basil offered him his most trustworthy smile.

  57

  Rlinda Kett

  It had been a long trip, with too many stops. Though she enjoyed sneaking through the Hansa’s supposed “security” measures and dealing with black-market merchants, both on Earth and their few holdout colony worlds, Rlinda was glad to get back to the Confederation, to the Osquivel shipyards . . . and to BeBob.

  When she landed the Curiosity, BeBob was there with a huge grin on his face. He greeted Rlinda with enough enthusiasm to satisfy even her. “I’ve been waiting for you! I got my ship back, good as new, and I’ve already put her through her paces. We can fly out together again, the Blind Faith and the Voracious Curiosity, just like old times.”

  “Not exactly like old times, BeBob.” She kept her arms locked around him, refusing to release him from the hug. She had already gleaned reports of General Lanyan’s clumsy attack on the shipyards here, as well as BeBob’s encounter with the Klikiss at Relleker. “Not until the Chairman gets his head out of his ass and lets us get back to business as usual.”

  He looked deeply serious. “So is it bad on Earth?”

  “Not so much bad as annoying. I met with Sarein, and even she’s fed up, but I’m pretty sure she’s too scared to do anything about it. She thinks she has a chance to keep the Chairman on the straight and narrow. I actually feel sorry for the poor girl.”

  BeBob snorted. “She chose the Chairman as her playmate. Now she has to live with him.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Holier-Than-Thou Roberts? I chose a few bad partners in my life, too. Didn’t mean I couldn’t get over it.”

  BeBob was unable to cover his smile. “And sometimes you find yourself back with somebody who was a good idea in the first place. You can be taught.”

  “I’m still reserving judgment, so make sure you keep behaving yourself. Now, then, would you prefer a squabble, or are you going to offer me a shower and a bed, preferably large enough to fit the two of us?”

  “You mean the shower or the bed?”

  “Both.”

  Later, they went together to the mess hall. Rlinda sniffed the air. “I want to make sure these shipyard chefs still remember how to cook.”

  “It always tasted good enough to me,” BeBob said.

  “Cardboard tastes good enough to you. That’s why you need me around.”

  While BeBob accepted his plate of noodles and protein cubes mixed with the sauce of the day, Rlinda leaned her elbows on the serving counter and consulted the chefs about the spices they used, how they stretched their ingredients, what they could produce directly from hydroponics labs and what had to be imported.

  “Well, it just so happens that while I investigated trade opportunities on Earth, I stocked my cargo hold with certain items, such as fresh chili peppers, ginger root, long curls of cinnamon bark, and saffron — I have a kilo of saffron that cost almost as much as a tankful of ekti. Ever had saffron?” The server shook her head, overwhelmed by Rlinda’s enthusiasm. “I’d be willing to part with some of my stash, so long as I’m here to make sure everything is prepared properly. Your cafeteria food will never taste the same.”

  Rlinda followed BeBob to a table and took a seat across from Tasia Tamblyn and Robb Brindle. Instead of EDF uniforms, the pair now wore Roamer jumpsuits on which they had embroidered the new logo of the Confederation. While she wasn’t close with Brindle or Tamblyn, Rlinda had met them back on Theroc while consulting wit
h King Peter on setting up the new government.

  Rlinda inhaled deeply of her plate of food, took several bites, and pronounced the meal “adequate.” Tamblyn, as usual (according to BeBob), needed little incentive to get on her soapbox about the threat of the Klikiss. She and Brindle seemed to have personal axes to grind. “So, then, I take it you’ve both had some personal experience with the bugs?” Rlinda asked.

  “Shizz, you could say that,” Tamblyn said. “Too damned much experience.”

  “As hosts, they’re about as pleasant as the hydrogues were,” Brindle added. They described their struggles on Llaro and how only a few of them had gotten away. “Davlin Lotze and Margaret Colicos bought us time to escape.”

  Rlinda looked quickly at BeBob. “Did you say Davlin?” The last they had seen of the “specialist in obscure details,” he’d been aboard BeBob’s original Blind Faith when the EDF destroyed it. “I knew it was a trick! He got away. He’s still alive.”

  “He was alive when we left him on Llaro,” Tamblyn said, her expression glum. “But he didn’t have a chance against the bugs. He went into the main hive to slow them down so the rest of us could get away.”

  “He’s dead,” Robb added, swallowing hard.

  BeBob shook his head sadly. “Poor Davlin.”

  Rlinda found herself growing both angry and stubborn. “Right. I’ve heard that one before. We saw the Blind Faith destroyed before our very eyes, and he managed to survive.” Rlinda leaned across the table, scowling at Tamblyn and Brindle. “I can’t believe you just left him there! What were you thinking?”

  Tamblyn didn’t flinch. “Davlin did it to buy our freedom, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him waste the sacrifice.”

  “Thanks to him, we saved almost a hundred other people,” Brindle added.

  Rlinda sat back, crossed her heavy arms over her breasts, and clung to her optimism. “Some people have a knack for getting out of desperate situations. After all I’ve been through with that man, I know not to underestimate Davlin Lotze.”