The Ashes Of Worlds

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

  “Not much room for lazy people in a Roamer outpost,” Zhett said. “We straightened him out, eventually.”

  The former Chairman narrowed her eyes. “You showed some of that when you got in the middle of the EDF and the Roamers, when you made me broker a cease-fire at Osquivel. I could see you weren’t the same old Patrick.” She grew serious. “I always knew you had a lot more potential than your parents did. That’s why I was so hard on you. You just needed to get your head on straight.”

  Patrick felt a lump in his throat. He squeezed Zhett’s hand. “When I came home, I sulked around, didn’t do much of anything, but I knew what was really going on out there. I had to take a stand. I couldn’t go back to serve the EDF when I knew that they had started the war with the Roamers. So I ran. I’m sorry I abused your trust by stealing your space yacht. I didn’t think of anyone but myself. I was rationalizing, taking what I needed.”

  He thought of how Chairman Wenceslas and General Lanyan justified raids on Roamers, Ildirans, human colonies — even committing murder — simply because they “needed” something. But Patrick refused to think like they did.

  Maureen made an awkward gesture of dismissal. “I’ve got plenty of personal ships. You didn’t cause me a moment’s hardship — I was more annoyed that you’d run off just because you were heartsick for some girl.” Before Zhett could interject, Maureen continued. “I can’t say I’m pleased that you deserted the EDF, but I didn’t listen to you either. I thought you needed therapy to get over your delusions, but dammit, you were right — at least for the most part. I watched the rah-rah images of the pogrom on Usk; I listen to the crazy Archfather; I see what the Chairman’s special cleanup crew is doing every day.” She shook her head in disgust.

  General Lanyan came on one of the newscreens, suddenly drawing all of their attention. With great fanfare he announced the launch of a new military initiative against the Klikiss in order to “avenge the senseless murder of Admiral Diente and his peaceful diplomatic mission to Pym.” In a bold, gruff voice, he vowed to “teach the vicious insect race to fear the Earth Defense Forces.” Patrick noted that the newsnets mentioned neither Lanyan’s piracy at the Golgen skymines, nor how he had been resoundingly beaten at Osquivel.

  “Asshole.” Maureen rolled her eyes at the General’s bravado. “Lanyan’s come crawling home with his tail between his legs so often he’s getting calluses on his backside.”

  Patrick scowled. “I can’t believe I used to admire him.”

  “You used to be remarkably ill informed, Fitzie,” Zhett teased, “not to mention thickheaded.”

  “Thanks.”

  Maureen couldn’t tear her eyes from the newsnet screen. “Lanyan’s latest boondoggle isn’t half as stupid as Basil’s boneheaded new plan to cooperate with the black robots. Why the hell is a Hansa Chairman agreeing to manufacture more of those damned alien machines?”

  Patrick said, “Is it any wonder the opposition groups are growing louder, even though he tries to stomp them down? He pumps up the fear to keep the people believing his iron fist is better than the alternative — but they don’t think about any alternatives.”

  “They don’t bother to think at all,” Maureen said with a sniff. “Bunch of sheep. At least Freedom’s Sword is pointing in the right direction.”

  Using his grandmother’s sophisticated media-watch network, Patrick and Zhett had been admiring the ingenious ways dissidents had managed to insert condemnations and seditious messages into a variety of communications venues; his old shipmate Shelia Andez and her cleanup crew were driving themselves crazy chasing down rumors and supposed propaganda strongholds, only to come up empty-handed time and again.

  “It sure isn’t the way I would run the circus tent,” Maureen grumbled. “In fact, when I was Chairman — ”

  Patrick seized the perfect segue. “That’s actually why we’re here, Grandmother. King Peter himself asked us to speak with you.”

  “King Peter? So you’re rubbing elbows with the high and mighty. The Hansa calls him an outlaw — I’ve read the official press releases.” She seemed to find it amusing.

  Zhett didn’t. “Outlaw? King Peter leads the majority of the human race. Basil Wenceslas is the real criminal. For months now, King Peter has been calling for him to resign.”

  “Like that’ll ever happen,” Maureen said.

  “Then maybe he should be deposed,” Patrick suggested quietly. He was sure his grandmother had thought of it herself, many times.

  Pretending to ignore what he had just said, Maureen switched off the newscreen in disgust. “You don’t have to tell me all the things the Chairman has done wrong. But I’m not at the helm anymore.”

  “Funny you should mention that. We have an official offer from the Confederation that you’ll want to hear. It’s right up your alley.”

  Patrick made his pitch, explaining how the King wanted her to provide a counterpoint to the propaganda of Chairman Wenceslas, while acting as an official liaison between the orphaned colonies, the government of Theroc, and the failing Hansa. “It’s extremely prestigious and important. Think about it, Grandmother — what are you accomplishing around here?”

  “Why, I thought you always resented my political work.” Her lips quirked in a smile, playing him.

  “Like I said, I’ve changed.” Patrick could see she was not entirely averse to the idea he had proposed. “After spending time among the Roamers, I realized that I never understood how hard you worked for what you have. You’ve got skills, contacts, influence, and behind-the-scenes knowledge that no one on Earth or in the Confederation can hope to match.”

  Zhett spoke up. “Ma’am, do you want to stay on a sinking ship, or would you rather deploy the life rafts?”

  “Don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ It makes me feel old.” Maureen leaned back in the chair and stared out at the landscape. “There’s a name for people who leave a sinking ship, you know. They’re called rats.”

  “Or survivors,” Zhett countered.

  “Touché. Patrick, I think I like this girl after all.”

  “Don’t call me a girl. I’m not that young.” This elicited a burst of laughter from the old Battleaxe.

  “Grandmother, Chairman Wenceslas got us into this mess, and you can help get us out of it. I can tell you’re ready to be at the helm again. How much more incentive do you need?” Patrick said with a quick smile; then he grew serious again. “By sending General Lanyan to attack the Golgen skymines and the Osquivel shipyards, the Hansa declared war on the Confederation. The Chairman kidnapped the Mage-Imperator, making enemies out of the entire Ildiran Empire. He agreed to manufacture more black robots even after they massacred the majority of the EDF. And now he’s sending part of Earth’s limited fleet on an offensive against the Klikiss race, which will probably start an all-out conflict with the bugs. Tell me again — why exactly would you stay here and support this government?”

  “Why indeed?” Maureen played coy. “On the other hand, do you expect me just to jump aboard your ship and fly off, leaving everything I hold dear? And what about my assistant, Jonas? My God, he’s been in my household since the first mammals appeared on land.”

  Patrick said, “With your help, this can all be over soon. Once the Chairman has gone, and the Hansa unites with the Confederation, think of how many people will be clamoring to get into your good graces. You’ll still have your house, your possessions, your political connections — and more clout than you ever had.”

  “I’ve still got plenty of clout.”

  “You’ll have more.”

  “I’ll get us some tea.” The old woman stood up and walked briskly away. “What kind would you like?”

  “Strong,” Zhett answered for both of them.

  Patrick called after her, “I know you want to say yes.”

  “You should also know that you won’t get an immediate answer from me. It would look far too eager — not very astute. Haven’t I taught you anything?” Maureen returned with the tea from an in
stant dispenser. Patrick was surprised she did it herself, rather than calling for Jonas.

  She got down to brass tacks. “I’ll want an official title, naturally — something impressive and with real authority. You two go on ahead, and make sure King Peter has all the right documents prepared. Besides, you’re a fugitive, Patrick. I shouldn’t be seen with you during delicate negotiations. I’ll come to Theroc in my own ship with my own retinue.”

  “The King needs someone soon, and he’ll be interviewing other candidates.”

  “No, he won’t. If he thinks I’m on the hook, he’ll give me all the time I need.”

  “Two weeks,” Zhett said. “If you don’t come to Theroc by then, my own father just might apply for the job.”

  “Two weeks,” Maureen said with a smile.

  Patrick had a difficult time keeping the grin off his face. “I know I just brought your space yacht back to you, but would it be all right if we borrowed it for a little longer — to get back to Theroc? We’ll return it to you there.”

  The old woman heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, keep the ship. Consider it my wedding gift to you.”

  65

  Jess Tamblyn

  Jess and Cesca had rallied their former group of water bearers, launching them all on a mission to spread the new warrior wentals and also to recover ancient seedpools from long-forgotten reservoirs throughout the Spiral Arm.

  Although the water bearers were all enthusiastic, Jess and Cesca feared that their efforts were still too limited and conventional. The powers of the wentals had not been sufficient in the previous war, and even with the water entities’ more aggressive stance, the coming battles against the faeros would require much more ingenuity. The energized water itself, though ready to go on the offensive, needed to become more effective somehow. The wentals couldn’t do it alone.

  For as long as Jess could remember, Kotto Okiah had been the brightest star of Roamer innovation. As their ship floated into the Osquivel shipyards, Jess was anxious to see how Kotto could combine Roamer technology with wental powers.

  A space traffic controller directed them to a primary lab complex in one of the larger ring asteroids. Their liquid ship floated into the designated hangar bay, and the heavy doors sealed behind them. As atmosphere was restored, the ship’s surface tension dissolved, leaving a deep puddle around their bare feet.

  The living water pooled itself and divided into two thick, cylindrical blobs, rolling like transparent clay. When Jess and Cesca walked forward, the eerie ovoid shapes oozed ahead of them, rising and rolling down the rock-floored corridor.

  Roamer workers in the facility peered through doorways, amazed at the procession. One woman backed away in fear of getting too close to a wental blob, but Cesca raised her hand reassuringly. “The water is safe — the wentals won’t disperse their energy.”

  Jess added, “Just don’t get too close to the two of us.”

  Kotto Okiah kept the diamond-walled hydrogue derelict inside the largest lab chamber. At the moment, however, he was hard at work on some sort of new acoustic transmitter, a large dish formed of components spread across his tables. Three compies worked with him, as did Orli Covitz and Hud Steinman. Kotto was so startled to see the two visitors, along with the pair of self-contained wentals, that he dropped a curved spanner. The tool clanged on the floor.

  “We brought something unusual for you to study,” Jess said. The two ovoid wental shapes rose up, one each behind Jess and Cesca, like tubes of cohesive gel.

  “You call that ‘unusual’?” Steinman said. “I’d try a few more emphatically descriptive terms myself.”

  Cesca stepped forward, smiling at Kotto. She had always been able to wring the best work out of him. “A long time ago, when your mother designated me as Speaker, I asked Roamers to find new ways to survive after the hydrogues prevented us from skymining. You truly answered that call, Kotto, and helped the clans survive those terribly austere years.”

  He was embarrassed, shuffling his feet. “I just did what I do best.”

  “That’s exactly what we need from you now,” Jess said. “And it’s more important than ever before.”

  Intrigued, Orli moved closer to the shifting, flexible water shapes. “Can I touch them?” Once Jess assured her the strange water was safe, the girl touched her fingertip to the shimmering quicksilver skin, then plunged her hand in all the way up to the elbow.

  “Don’t you have a speck of caution, girl?” Steinman cried.

  “When it’s appropriate.” Orli withdrew her hand. Her skin glistened for a moment, but then it dried as the droplets pulled themselves back into the self-contained wentals. The two shapes twisted, jiggled, then braided themselves together to form one large, bouncing shape.

  Kotto observed, amazed and delighted.

  Cesca spread her hands. “The wentals need your help to stand against the faeros.”

  “The faeros . . . I’ve been trying to figure that out, but I’m stumped. Thermal armor? Some kind of cold beam? Heat-resistant technologies?” Kotto grinned, trying to impress her. “In the meantime, we’ve been working on a gadget to use against the Klikiss. A melodic siren that could shut down the hive mind — ”

  “The faeros,” Jess said, forcing the engineer to return his focus. “Maybe you just need the right raw materials.” He stepped aside so the wental shape could lurch forward. “These wentals are here for you, as specimens. I promise they’ll cooperate in any way possible.”

  Kotto blinked. “To do what? You mean . . . experiment with them?”

  “Help them become effective weapons. We need you to be brilliant, Kotto.” Cesca’s eyes glowed warm with pride. “Do things that have never been done before — that’s your specialty, isn’t it?”

  Kotto bent over to pick up the curved spanner he had dropped on the floor. He walked around the pulsing, shapeless mass of water, both perplexed and fascinated. “When have I ever let you down, Speaker?”

  66

  Caleb Tamblyn

  Even with the extra equipment he had brought down from low orbit, Caleb didn’t stand much of a chance for long-term survival. But he felt less edgy, less desperate.

  After he returned to the crashed escape pod with his last sled full of recovered material from the satellite, Caleb recharged his suitpack, used the air regenerator to refill his tanks with fresh oxygen cooked out of the ice, and finally went out to investigate the strange lights that glimmered across the landscape.

  For hours now, the ice around the great meltdown crater had shimmered as if auroral curtains had somehow been locked into the frozen matrix. Caleb had never seen anything like it. In his years living in the water mines under the thick Plumas ice sheet, he had experienced some bizarre things, and these sparkling lights reminded him of the wentals he had seen.

  He wasn’t particularly keen to face another tainted elemental force like the one that had reanimated Karla Tamblyn. On the other hand, Jess and Cesca had used the power of wentals to restore the ruined water mines . . . so the exotic water entities couldn’t be all bad. Besides, he wasn’t in a position to be choosy.

  As he trudged around the rim of the frozen crater, he saw more lights sparkling deep beneath the iron-gray lake. The whole disaster site seemed to be awakening. Far below, he saw liquid water, quicksilver streams that spread out in a network like a circulatory system. Runnels flowed of their own accord, changed direction, gathered strength.

  Yes, these were wentals. He could tell. Standing on an uphill slope at the edge of the blasted rim, Caleb watched trickles of water flowing upward against gravity — directly toward him. The ground beneath him became uncertain as ice turned to slush. Clumsy in his protective boots, he tried to move away, but the frozen surface melted further, and he started to sink into a sort of icy quicksand.

  After a moment of hesitation he decided not to flee. Jess had said that the wentals meant no harm. Caleb stopped in his tracks and braced himself. He stopped sinking.

  The ankle-deep slushy water around
his boots ran up his suit, covered his legs, then his waist. He felt tingling energy pass directly through the fabric, but there was no fundamental physical change in his cells. The wentals sensed him here. Were they trying to understand him?

  Slowly, Caleb began to walk away from the crater back toward his cramped escape pod. The wentals followed him. His boots left clear footprints in the slushy ice. As he took more plodding steps, he saw identical footprints spontaneously forming ahead of him, a trail of ghostly steps marking a path all the way to his pod.

  So, the wentals knew who he was and where he had come from.

  Picking up the pace in the low gravity, Caleb returned to his small simple home. Silvery lines of liquefied water shot through the ice, and the glowing lights became brighter.

  “Are you trying to communicate? What do you want?” he shouted into his suit radio. “By the Guiding Star, can you at least give me a hint?”

  Either the wentals couldn’t speak in a language he understood, or they couldn’t pick up radio transmissions . . . or they simply chose not to respond. He waited outside the escape pod for a long time, watching the light show, but little changed.

  When he cycled back through the airlock into his shelter, he was astonished to discover that all of his power sources, including his system batteries, were now fully charged. His gas exchangers operated at full capacity; he had plenty of air, water, and power. And with what he had retrieved from the satellite, he even had a little extra food.

  The wentals were consciously trying to keep him alive. Caleb decided that, for once, he wasn’t going to complain.

  67

  Tasia Tamblyn

  Talking with Rlinda Kett had gotten her worked up again, and Tasia was ready to launch every ship available with every weapon installed. She had wanted to charge after the Klikiss as soon as she got back with the Llaro refugees, but the faeros crisis on Theroc — and more recently, General Lanyan’s stupid attack on the shipyards — had sidetracked everyone.