“I thought they’d be anxious to hear from us,” Mr. Steinman said.
“A Confederation ship’s been scheduled on this run for weeks. Can’t imagine why they’re so quiet.”
Roberts waited again. Orli grew concerned. “Perhaps they are using other communication bands,” DD suggested. “We could search for signal traffic.”
Roberts punched the comm system, but received an error message on the complicated new controls. Orli leaned over and reentered the instructions, fixing the glitch. Suddenly a cacophony of screeches, clicks, whistles, and tortured songs poured from the speakers.
Mr. Steinman put his hands against his ears. “What a racket!”
“Some kind of feedback or distortion.” Roberts slapped the control panel, as if that would fix the problem. “The Roamers must have put in a faulty comm system.”
“It is not faulty,” DD said. “That is the Klikiss language.”
As the Faith came around the planet’s night side, they nearly careened into two gigantic swarmships battling each other high above the atmosphere. The alien vessels were immense conglomerations of smaller craft packed into a fluid mass, like a colliding pair of globular clusters with blazing stars flung in all directions. Splashes of light, energy weapons, and power discharges crackled between the giant vessels as they tore each other apart.
“This doesn’t look good,” Steinman said.
Roberts activated the comm system again. “Relleker! This is the Confederation ship Blind Faith. Can anyone respond?” He heard only static, then more Klikiss screeching.
“I spent much time among the Klikiss with Margaret Colicos. I can translate.” DD stood close to the speaker, listening. “Two rival subhives are battling for control of Relleker. They arrived at nearly the same time, and now they are attempting to destroy each other.”
Clusters of smaller Klikiss ships attacked their opponents in a drunken, disorganized fashion. The gigantic swarmships seemed to be disintegrating as they continued to pick apart one component after another.
As the Faith raced over the night-dark hemisphere, Orli could see glowing patches of the planet’s surface below — huge areas burning. She shuddered, remembering that the insect creatures had already murdered so many people she had known on the Llaro colony. She could tell there wouldn’t be any survivors left down on Relleker, either. With two powerful subhives fighting over their planet, those colonists hadn’t had a chance.
As the enormous clusters continued to battle each other, a segment of the nearest Klikiss swarmship separated from the main ball like a wad of sparkling clay torn off. The group of tightly packed component ships angled toward the Blind Faith.
“They’ve spotted us,” Orli said.
“And we’re not in any shape to fend off an attack, Roberts,” Mr. Steinman yelped. “Time to get the hell out of here.”
Captain Roberts agreed. “Let’s see how good those new Roamer engines are.” He laid in the course for their swift retreat.
The artificial gravity generators struggled to compensate for the ship’s rough acceleration. A flurry of energy bolts shot past them, but the Blind Faith was out of range. Roberts looked behind them as they outdistanced the lumbering Klikiss component ships. “Straight back to Osquivel — we’ve got to tell somebody what’s happened here.”
29
Sirix
When they finally reached Relleker, eager to take over the technical facilities there, Sirix and his black robots were shocked to discover that the Klikiss had already arrived. Urgently shutting down power, the robot battle group remained out of sensor range while the two swarmships tore each other apart. Even though the breedexes were locked in mortal combat, Sirix suspected the rival subhives would put aside their differences the moment they spotted the black robots.
He observed the battle while PD and QT stood beside him on the bridge. Part of him wanted to inflict great harm on the loathsome creator race, but logic prevailed. Sirix would wait until the primary battle was over, let the Klikiss damage each other, then send his battleships in to annihilate the remnants of whichever subhive survived.
“What about the colonists down on Relleker?” QT asked. “We should try to protect them.”
“We may need them to help operate the industrial facilities,” PD added.
Sirix had already studied the scans. “It is too late to save the factories, or the humans.” He had placed a great deal of hope on Relleker, and the loss of those facilities angered him greatly, but he would not risk his remaining robots to help human colonists — if any had survived. Klikiss warriors were already swarming over the settled areas of the planet below.
The two swarmships decimated each other, neither admitting defeat. Finally, when Sirix analyzed the numbers and calculated that he could not possibly lose, he made his move. “Our firepower is now superior. It is time for us to eradicate both breedexes.”
Responding to his orders, calm robots mounted the weapons stations on the stolen EDF ships. PD and QT, who had trained and practiced, were ready at the gunnery consoles. Sirix issued the command for his small fleet to power up, advance toward Relleker at full speed, and open fire.
Before the Klikiss swarmships could react to the unexpected black robot attack, EDF jazers and volleys of explosive projectiles scattered the cores of the clusters. The repeated detonations left nothing more than sparkling wreckage, like fireworks against the starry blackness. Component ships flew in all directions, without guidance.
“Sirix,” QT said, “numerous Klikiss warriors remain on the ground. They have infested the established colony and are continuing the battle.”
“They would have come here to conquer.” Sirix ran his weapons inventory swiftly through his efficient cybernetic mind. He still possessed four nuclear warheads that could vaporize part of the continent where the Relleker colony had been. He could not risk allowing any portion of the two wounded subhives to remain. If he could not have Relleker for his own purposes, he would certainly not leave it for the Klikiss.
The warhead drop was precise, and flashes of atomic fire spread outward, disintegrating the remaining Klikiss and purging Relleker of the infestation . . . along with any hidden humans who might have survived.
When the stolen EDF ships slowly withdrew from the system, Relleker was totally dead. “It is good to have a clean victory for once,” Sirix said aloud, though he remained discouraged that he had not acquired the technological facilities he had hoped for.
The two compies stared at the screen as the planet receded. “Our problem remains unsolved, Sirix,” PD said.
30
King Peter
Every breath smelled like wet ash.
Because the fungus-reef city had burned to the ground, Peter needed to establish a new temporary headquarters for his government. Admiral Willis’s troops cleared the few still-smoldering trees, leveled the ground, and set up modular barracks.
She reported to Peter. “With your permission, sire, I’d like to get my corps of engineers working to ensure we have clean water and proper food supplies. Our standard rationpacks aren’t gourmet fare, but they’ll do in a pinch. Besides, you people eat bugs, so I don’t suppose you’re too picky.”
Peter let the joke slide. “You and your ships couldn’t have arrived at a better time, Admiral.”
“Better late than never. Does this mean you accept us as part of the Confederation military?”
“Part of it? Most of it, I’d say. When you finish basic operations here, I want you to report to the Osquivel shipyards. That’s where most of our fleet is being constructed. You’ll have to work out the details with my current . . . commanding officers, I suppose you’d call them. Robb Brindle and Tasia Tamblyn.”
Willis chuckled. “Brindle and Tamblyn? I should have known they’d find themselves in the thick of things. Brindle’s father served as my exec, but he . . . elected not to change his employment at the present time.”
“You left him behind when your ships mutinied?” Estarra cl
arified.
Willis tried not to look scandalized by the Queen’s choice of words. “Some people are just a little slow to make the right choices.”
Estarra adjusted the baby tucked against her side, careful not to wake him; he had finally fallen asleep with salve on his burns. “Peter, if Admiral Willis is going to the Osquivel shipyards, she should take the hydrogue derelict with her. We need to get it to Kotto Okiah.”
He nodded. “Yes, it’s about time for that — although I’m glad it was here when we needed it.”
The silvery wental ship landed in the middle of the meadow, where droplets from the sparkling downpour continued to drip from the high trees. Jess Tamblyn and Cesca Peroni, crackling with internal wental energy, stepped through the flexible membrane of their vessel and stood glistening, coated with a permanent sheen of living water. They exchanged smiles of hard satisfaction.
“I’m glad we got your message,” Cesca said. “The green priests signaled this emergency loud and clear.”
Jess looked very pleased with himself. “We needed to show the wentals how they could fight. The faeros have already done them enough harm. It’s time for us to go on the offensive.”
A shadow crossed Cesca’s face. “The faeros will strike and burn everything they can: the Confederation, the Hansa, the wentals, the verdani — everything. That’s why we need everything to fight them.”
Jess added. “As you saw here, the wentals have truly awakened, and we’ll lead them.” He looked at the sky, watching the colorful sunset deepen. “I’ve already summoned my water bearers to help spread the wentals, as before. We met with Nikko Chan Tylar and his father in the Osquivel shipyards, and they are already taking the Aquarius on new missions.”
A deeply satisfied expression overlaid Cesca’s anger. “The faeros don’t know it yet, but the rules have changed. They’re in for a surprise.”
31
Caleb Tamblyn
Cold. Lonely. Hopeless.
During the seemingly endless days he’d been stuck here, Caleb had thought of many words to describe his situation. Escape pods weren’t designed to be luxury accommodations, but at least he was alive. Still . . .
Stranded. Isolated. At his wits’ end.
When the faeros had closed in on the Tamblyn tanker, Denn Peroni and Caleb had been on the edge of the Jonah system, minding their own business, carrying a load of wentals. Who could have foreseen that Denn’s bizarre new religion that allowed him to see the interconnected universe would make him vulnerable to the fiery elementals?
Denn had known that he himself couldn’t get away, but he’d forced Caleb to stumble into the escape pod, and the emergency engines had blasted him free before he’d known what was really happening. The water tanker exploded behind him, and the fireballs had dragged the dispersed wentals into the sun. . . .
Caleb had tumbled for a day in empty space before crashing on the icy lump of Jonah 12. Not long ago this place had been a Roamer outpost, a hydrogen-processing plant designed by Kotto Okiah himself. But it had been devastated . . . something to do with rampaging Klikiss robots, if he remembered correctly.
Little remained on Jonah 12’s cratered ice fields — no transports, no buildings, no way of transmitting an emergency signal . . . and no one within range to detect it even if he could shout out. Caleb didn’t have the slightest idea how he was going to get out of this.
A sophisticated and serviceable Roamer model, the escape pod had its own life-support engine and batteries designed to keep passengers alive for a week at most. Even though he rationed his supplies and kept exertion to a minimum, Caleb wouldn’t last long enough for anyone to notice he was missing.
He did, however, have a survival suit, a basic chemical generator, and a few tools. He spent the first day and a half cobbling together a simple chemical extractor, the kind of device a ten-year-old Roamer child could build. With it, he derived all the water and oxygen and hydrogen fuel he needed from the ice outside. With his Roamer know-how, Caleb would be able to extend his survival for a few more weeks — a remarkable achievement, though he doubted anyone would ever find him to admire his fortitude.
Halfway between boredom and desperation, he suited up, cycled through the small airlock, and went outside into the “daylight.” The distant sun was no more than a bright star among all the others. Jonah 12 was a rock, a bleak and cold one at that. He took a toolkit and sample-collection container and trudged off across the rough, frozen surface.
Taking giant strides in the low gravity, he needed less than an hour to reach the large melted crater and the wreckage of what had been Kotto’s hydrogen-extraction facility. He hoped to find some ruined huts, perhaps something he could patch up and use as a base camp. As he strode along, Caleb had dreams of discovering a generator, a cache of food supplies, maybe even a satellite dish transmitter.
Instead, he found only wreckage, a few scraps of metal, some melted lumps of alloys . . . nothing that seemed immediately useful, but he scavenged it anyway. Most of the outpost had been vaporized in a reactor explosion, and anything else had vanished permanently into the flash-melted ice, which then froze into an iron-hard steel-gray lake with a few slushy patches kept liquid by the heat of radioactive decay.
As Caleb stared, reality sank in: He would probably be here for a long while, and his last days without food would not be pleasant. He stood in total silence for several minutes, but no flashes of inspiration came to him.
He turned and made his way back to his little escape pod.
32
Nira
Knowing that Jora’h must be battling to hold on to sanity itself, Nira was too upset to concentrate on anything else. When Sarein and Captain McCammon arrived at the lunar EDF base and asked to see her, she feared they brought terrible news.
“Come with us to the Whisper Palace, Nira.” Sarein sounded almost compassionate. “The Chairman needs your green priest skills.”
Nira struggled with her anger. Sarein wore her Theron ambassadorial garments, but she was acting as the Chairman’s puppet. Ambassador Otema had once worn those traditional cocoon-weave garments; now, Nira thought, Sarein soiled them.
“No green priest will provide telink services to the Hansa,” Nira said. “Certainly not me.”
“Even if it would bring the Mage-Imperator back safely?” McCammon said. He seemed to be standing closer to Sarein than was actually necessary. He lowered his voice. “All you need to do is come with us.”
Sarein seemed very earnest. “I know I can convince the Chairman to order Diente’s warliner to turn around. You’ll have the Mage-Imperator back, but first you’ve got to show some cooperation.”
Nira’s heart leaped. Jora’h would hate her for bowing to coercion . . . but she could literally save his life. If he died, or went mad, the consequences to the Ildiran Empire were unimaginably bleak. “I want this agreement in writing, and witnessed.” Nira crossed her arms over her chest. “And within the hour.”
“I’m afraid you’re not in a bargaining position.” Despite his words, McCammon’s eyes showed a depth of feeling that surprised Nira, a compassion that he could not entirely cover. “And we are in no position to grant you anything.”
“Done,” Sarein said, putting a hand lightly on McCammon’s arm. “I will write up the document, in my own hand.” Then she threw in her last bargaining chip. “And the Chairman will have to let you use a treeling, at least for a little while. Keep that in mind.”
Nira considered the advantages of even a brief contact with the worldforest. Yes, she could inform King Peter — and all green priests around the Spiral Arm — of their captivity, maybe learn something more about the faeros on Ildira. Whatever the Chairman had in mind must be important to warrant such a risk; he wouldn’t make an offer like this unless he needed her.
Through green priest memories that were accessible through the worldforest, Nira was familiar with the grandeur of the Whisper Palace, but she paid little attention to the majesty of her surroundings. Beh
ind all the fabulous architecture and shouting crowds, Nira saw the rot deep in the Terran Hanseatic League.
Sarein led her to a colorful orange pavilion at one corner of the Palace Square; it had been decorated as a special box for the “esteemed Theron ambassador.” Sarein had probably done it herself, since Nira doubted the Chairman would display any particular respect for the Confederation’s new capital.
From the pavilion, they could view the central speaking podium, the rapt crowd, the numerous guards. As twilight deepened into dusk, numerous torches blazed atop the Whisper Palace towers. The whole District was extravagantly lit, as if for a celebration.
Nira wrestled with second thoughts. “What am I expected to do?”
Sarein said, “The Chairman wants to make certain King Peter hears this announcement — immediately. Report what you see. Deliver your message and let Peter decide what to do. Be a green priest!” She lowered her voice, and her words surprised Nira. “Afterward, I have to take the treeling away, so make the most of this time. Do what you need to do.”
Chairman Wenceslas sauntered up, accompanied by a guard who carried a small potted treeling as if it were a time bomb. Nira realized how much she had hungered for the touch of a worldtree. For years she had been completely deprived on Dobro, and again recently in her captivity on the Moon. She could not hide her longing.
The Chairman gave her a stern look. “Once you connect to the world-forest, I know I can’t control what other details you send into the verdani mind. I don’t intend to try. So long as you share what you see here tonight, Peter will have his hands full.”
Nira stood her ground, forcing herself not to take the potted treeling. “And the Mage-Imperator? When are you bringing him back? I demand to know — “
“Don’t presume to dictate the terms of this agreement. Sarein has already convinced me to recall Admiral Diente’s warliner if you cooperate today, though I still have my reservations. A little cooperation from the Mage-Imperator would have made many things so much easier. When he gets back in a few days, he may find that public sentiment has changed toward him somewhat.”
The Ashes of Worlds Page 11
