The mist-cocooned warliner hurtled into the inferno — and passed entirely through. When the scrabbling flames tried to catch at their scrolled hull ornamentation, deadly water vapor snarled around the faeros, tearing it apart. As if poisoned, the flaming creature writhed and flickered. The flagship soared away from the scraps of flame, its anodized hull plates smoking but undamaged.
Zan’nh felt an electric crackle of enthusiasm through the thism. Again directed by the wentals, the big warliner shifted course and headed after another faeros.
The Adar took his own initiative. “Port and starboard gun batteries, shoot your wental artillery shells. Make every projectile count.” The Solar Navy soldiers were eager to comply. He watched on his screens, pleased to see the white streaks fly out like sunlit arrows to strike fireballs. Meanwhile, commandeered by the wentals, his warliner charged from one faeros to another like the maddened mount of an Ildiran jouster.
The bulk of the Solar Navy followed, commencing similar attacks of their own. Behind them flew a wave of disorganized Confederation vessels, seeking out and extinguishing ellipsoids, firing their frozen projectiles into any incandescent target.
Zan’nh’s chest swelled with pride and triumph — feelings that had been too long absent in him. So far, hundreds of fireballs had been snuffed out. After regrouping, the allied ships dove in again, seeking other targets, and now the faeros swiftly retreated to avoid the new threat.
“Never thought I’d see that — they’re actually running away!” Sullivan said.
Osira’h stared, unblinking. “They are starting to realize what we have brought against them. Rusa’h should begin to fear.”
The command nucleus received several transmissions from outlying Solar Navy scoutships that fought on the perimeter of the solar system. “Liege! Something is happening in the suns. The faeros have opened more transgates.”
On the relayed image, the seven stars of Ildira had become gateways from hell. Thousands of fireballs emerged from the stellar furnaces. Traveling through solar transgates from the numerous suns they inhabited across the Spiral Arm, the faeros all came rushing toward Ildira.
146
Prime Designate Daro’h
Even without the Prism Palace, even without Mijistra, the Ildiran Empire remained alive. The Empire was still alive! Prime Designate Daro’h encouraged everyone to remember that.
When the crashing spacedocks had obliterated the wondrous capital city, the blow might have crushed the Ildiran spirit, but Daro’h held on to certitude for his entire race. As Prime Designate, that was his responsibility.
After Designate Ridek’h had returned to tell his story, exhausted but alive, the boy seemed stronger now, and his eyes wore a different look. He had faced the faeros incarnate, expecting to be incinerated. He had not known Nira’s half-breed children could shield him. Now, back in their shelters deep in the mines, the Prime Designate, as well as Osira’h’s siblings, accepted his survival as another sign of Ildiran fortitude.
But with the faeros gone for a short while at least, Daro’h’s people could recover their strength. With all his heart, the Prime Designate believed that Adar Zan’nh would free the Mage-Imperator. And as he believed it, so did the rest of the Ildirans, drawing confidence from their direct thism connection to him.
To demonstrate his resolve, Daro’h emerged from his shelter deep in the mountains, calling his people to follow him out of their caves and mines. Beside him, Yazra’h gave a feral smile of pride in her half brother. “We cannot hide forever,” she said.
Stepping out of the tunnels, the frightened people blinked in the sunlight, glad to see the comforting suns again. Through the thism, Daro’h could feel the rejuvenation of the collective racial psyche, the surge of confidence. That confidence waned somewhat, as the long-isolated Ildirans saw firsthand the extent of the damage to the landscape.
Through the soul-threads that connected them all, Daro’h pressed his conviction on them. With his mind, with his determination, he rallied the people. “We will go back to Mijistra!” Along the way, he decided they would bring together refugees from their camps, find the many displaced kiths that had scattered across the landscape.
Despite his recent confrontation with the faeros incarnate and the news that his mentor Tal O’nh had died aboard the flaming shipyards, Ridek’h was one of the first to volunteer to go. Nira’s four half-breed children also insisted on walking in the lead, beside Daro’h.
After several long and wearisome days, the company reached the blackened ruin of Mijistra. When the Prime Designate looked out at the expanse of shattered buildings and flattened rubble, the collective wave of despair from his people nearly caused him to waver. Those who had come with him could not see beyond the charred remnants of what had once been the glory of their ancient empire.
And Daro’h knew that he himself had caused this destruction to happen. I am responsible. He could not stop staring. It was the only way.
Though he had witnessed the original impact, Chief Scribe Ko’sh was devastated to gaze upon the aftermath. His facial lobes shimmered in a storm of violent hues, and at first he could not summon words, despite his lifetime of telling tales. “It is all gone. Every scrap of our history — of our soul!”
Daro’h said in a grave voice, “No. We are not gone. If you are a rememberer, then remember. You have a greater responsibility than ever before. So long as we live, we can re-create our past glory. We must show the faeros that we are not defeated.”
“But we are defeated!” Ko’sh cried.
Yazra’h struck the Chief Scribe across the face with a blow that knocked him to the ground. Ko’sh got to his knees, blinking, as her two Isix cats prowled around him, sensing prey.
Daro’h glowered at him. “I will not have the Saga say that we behaved as cowards, even in the face of great loss.”
From across the blasted landscape, more refugees arrived from villages and camps. They had sensed the Prime Designate’s call and followed him here, looking for answers. Daro’h intended to give them what they needed. Until his father returned, they were all his people. . . .
But when the storm of fireballs reappeared in the sky like an exploding globular cluster, he wondered if his followers were doomed after all. A rain of ellipsoidal fires streaked in smoldering paths overhead, thousands of fiery entities returning to Ildira along with faeros incarnate Rusa’h.
“Now they will annihilate us,” Ko’sh moaned. “We are out in the open, unprotected.”
Daro’h drew a deep breath, and the air felt hot in his lungs. He did not know how he could refute the Chief Scribe’s prediction.
But it quickly became apparent that these faeros had not come to exterminate the population, but to make a stand. The fireballs appeared to be in retreat — from Solar Navy warliners! And Roamer ships that streaked after them, firing small white projectiles. Whenever an artillery shell struck the faeros, an explosion of cold, white steam engulfed and smothered it.
Ridek’h let out a shout; Yazra’h looked as if she wanted to spring into the air to join the fight. The Ildirans who had followed him to the wreckage of Mijistra cried out with joy and relief.
Daro’h made his voice loud and clear. “Adar Zan’nh has returned!” The strands of thism strengthened as he felt his father’s nearness rejuvenating his spirit. “And the Mage-Imperator is with them.”
Rod’h and his siblings gazed upward. “And Osira’h. And our mother.”
Yazra’h shouted triumphantly at Chief Scribe Ko’sh, making him flinch. “We are not defeated!”
With a voice that held a wisdom far beyond his years, young Rod’h turned to Daro’h. “As Prime Designate, there is an important part of the battle you must wage here on the ground. Only you can do it — with us. Follow me.”
147
Sirix
To get out of the solar system, the black robot ships pushed their engines well beyond their design specifications. Even so, Sirix calculated that they weren’t moving fast enough
to outrun the two swarmships in close pursuit.
These new Klikiss had significantly advanced their technology from their race’s previous incarnation. Their swarmships flew faster and could accelerate more dramatically; no doubt their armaments were improved as well.
But his black robots had made advances, too. The new framework battleships were far superior to the old Klikiss vessels, and he also had his stolen EDF ships. Sirix believed that his robots had a statistically significant chance of surviving against two swarmships, but only if he used sufficiently aggressive tactics.
The swarmships managed to close in on his fleeing group before they made it out of the solar system. Desperate to delay them, Sirix ran an assessment of the vessels accompanying him. Obviously, some would be destroyed, and he needed to choose. The slowest of the fifty-six craft was a battered Thunderhead weapons platform that had not been completely repaired. The platform lagged behind, and the swarmships were almost upon it.
Sirix decided to sacrifice it.
None of the original black robots were aboard the Thunderhead, only thirty-seven of the new robots released from the Hansa compy factories. Considering the circumstances, Sirix decided the loss was acceptable, if it bought enough time for his comrades to escape.
Without remorse, he transmitted instructions to the Thunderhead, and the new black robots dutifully accepted their orders. The weapons platform slowed and turned about to target its jazers and projectile weapons toward the swarmships. “Destroy as many of the component ships as possible.”
But the Thunderhead’s jazer ports and projectile launchers remained dark and closed. The weapons platform hung motionless, completely vulnerable. Something was clearly wrong.
Alarm surged through Sirix’s cybernetic mind. “Open fire.” The new robots aboard did not respond.
Because of their frantic exodus, this particular Thunderhead was still under repair. Had its weapons been disabled? In a frantic staccato he repeated his order to fire, but before the robots aboard could obey, the swarmships were upon the faltering platform.
Bristling with a thousand bright needles, the two Klikiss vessels opened fire, and within moments the lagging Thunderhead exploded, spraying molten debris in all directions.
A complete failure. And now the black robots had lost time and any advantage they might have gained by the sacrifice. As the explosion’s flare dissipated, Sirix commanded his remaining ships to fly faster.
The two swarmships suddenly disassembled themselves, and each spewed a heavy stream of component ships forward at impossible accelerations, like thick jets of particles. The flare of component vessels arced around to recoalesce as a third, smaller swarmship directly in front of Sirix’s fleeing fleet. From behind, the two original swarmships began to open fire on the rearmost black robot ships, while the newly formed cluster shot at the lead vessels.
Two of the repaired EDF Mantas were destroyed; one of the new robot-design ships was disabled and reeling out of control.
Sirix would have to make his last stand here, at the fringes of the Earth’s solar system. He continued to run calculations and reevaluate his plans. Very few options remained.
PD and QT stood at their weapons stations, ready to strike out against the enemy that Sirix had programmed them to hate. He was gratified that these two compies had not proved to be disappointments, as DD had.
“With our enhanced new weaponry, these ships are not demonstrably inferior to the Klikiss,” PD pointed out. “Our odds of success are non-zero.”
QT agreed. “If we attack them now, we have a small probability of victory. But we must attack.”
Sirix had come to the same conclusion. Linked by instantaneous communication and programming, all his robots could command their ships to reverse course in an instant, a perfectly coordinated maneuver. A surprise turnabout — as surprising as his new weapons would be. And the sooner he did this, the less the Klikiss would expect it. He could at least cripple the pursuing swarmships. That was all he needed. He could still get away.
At his command, Sirix’s group of ships fanned out, dispersing widely to render themselves more difficult targets. Next, in a coordinated effort, they all wheeled around to turn their weaponry upon the swarmships from every angle. If his robots all opened fire at once, with perfect targeting accuracy, the Klikiss would suffer heavy damage.
Before the surprised swarmships could react, Sirix instructed all his gunners to open fire. From their consoles beside him, PD and QT sent rapid bursts of enhanced jazers into the nearest swarmship.
But none of the other robots shot their weapons.
Sirix sent the command again. “Destroy the Klikiss. Open fire.” Precious seconds were ticking away.
Aboard his ship, every one of the newly manufactured black robots froze in position. None of them lifted an articulated claw to activate the weapons controls directly in front of them.
The robot vessels remained silent. No shots were fired.
A few of his original comrades sent frantic signals, reporting the same fault on their ships.
Sirix swiftly noted the commonality: All of the Hansa-manufactured robots had failed, and all at the same time. Some programming snag had shut them down.
Without hesitation, the swarmships began to shoot at them from all sides.
As multiple explosions struck the hull of his Manta, he sent an urgent signal burst. “This is a priority override. Delete any programming that has hindered your obedience. Find and remove any corrupted command strings.”
He received no response. All of the most sophisticated instructions he summoned from his central programming went ignored. This crippling shutdown went deep into the core of the new robots’ operating systems.
“There seems to be a malfunction,” QT said.
“Perhaps the Hansa installed defective programming before they released the new robots to us,” PD suggested.
It was not possible. Sirix had thoroughly checked every single newly manufactured robot emerging from the fabrication lines. His comrades had performed detailed quality-control checks. He could not comprehend how the humans could possibly have understood Klikiss programming well enough to accomplish something of this magnitude.
And yet the robots themselves had given them all the tools they needed. They had offered the Hansa scientists modules to duplicate for their Soldier compies. The humans could not be sufficiently sophisticated to understand the subtleties and introduce hidden programming bombs. They could not be!
Yet all of his new robots had shut down as soon as he ordered them to open fire.
At his weapons console, QT did not pause in his constant firing. “The timing of this failure is very inconvenient.”
Scattered, pathetic bursts of jazer fire came from his other ships, where a few of the original black robots had seized the weapons controls. But the smattering of blasts was utterly inadequate.
The three globular swarmships broke apart into a large, dispersed cloud of cumulatively deadly component vessels. They turned on the robot ships.
Sirix frantically tried to find some way to escape, but he could discern no viable alternatives.
On his Manta’s bridge, one of the new black robots lifted its geometric head. Its red optical sensors dimmed, and recorded words emerged from its speaker in the voice of Chairman Basil Wenceslas. His tone sounded amused.
“Sirix, I was never the fool you took me for. These new robots were manufactured with an Achilles’ heel. I had my cybernetics engineers install a shutdown switch in the core programming that would activate the moment you ordered them to take aggressive action. You cannot delete or override it. Your new robots are now completely useless to you.” Sirix could hear the deep satisfaction in the Chairman’s voice. “My only regret is that I could not be there myself to see the effects of my revenge.”
When the recording ended, Sirix understood what it was to be betrayed, exactly as he himself had betrayed the humans and the original Klikiss race.
The dispersed swarms
hips began to open fire, and his own vessels could not withstand the barrage from thousands of components.
In the face of imminent destruction, Sirix took scant satisfaction from knowing that his own final plan would cripple the Hansa. Chairman Wenceslas was not the only one who had schemed to take his enemy/ally unawares.
The booby-trapped explosives his robots had planted in the repaired EDF battleships were tied to a “dead man” switch inside himself. In the event of Sirix’s destruction, those bombs would all be triggered. It was cold comfort, though. Either way, he and his robotic comrades would be destroyed.
Though PD, QT, and a few of the original robots remained at their weapons consoles, the Klikiss continued to blast the robot vessels. They did not cease firing until nothing remained but shrapnel and stardust.
148
Robb Brindle
Frozen in place over Earth, nothing moved — not the EDF vessels, not the Confederation ships, not the nine remaining Klikiss swarmships. The other two swarmships had hunted down the escaping black robot fleet, and flashes of distant weapons discharges indicated an intense space battle occurring somewhere far above the ecliptic.
Though announcements about Peter reclaiming the Whisper Palace had been widely broadcast, no one had heard a word from Chairman Wenceslas inside the main swarmship; no one could guess what the breedex had done to him. In addition, Robb’s father, in command of the EDF ships, had refused to acknowledge the King’s return to power.
Right now, even though they all faced the swarmships, the Goliath and more than a hundred EDF military vessels could just as easily point their weapons toward the Confederation fleet. Robb couldn’t be sure his father wouldn’t do that if the Chairman gave him a direct order. But the Chairman was no longer around.
Rising from the Palace District, Admiral Willis’s warliner raced up toward the human ships that hovered in two distinct defensive lines against the Klikiss. Her weapons were ready to fire, pointed at the swarmships charging in like the cavalry.
The Ashes Of Worlds Page 48
