The Ashes of Worlds

by Kevin J. Anderson

Once free of the ruined dome, they had an excellent view of the half-lit gas giant, the expanse of the rings, and the predatory EDF cruisers. Dozens of Confederation ships flitted about, trying to protect the primary habitation complexes and main admin facilities. They looked quite insignificant.

  “The story of David and Goliath is the exception to the rule,” Mr. Steinman observed. “Most times with odds like this, the little guy just gets squashed.”

  43

  Tasia Tamblyn

  During the EDF bombardment of the ring shipyards, Roamers evacuated from numerous orbiting rocks and industrial complexes, sealing themselves inside boltholes. The clans knew how to plan for crisis situations, because they had so much practice with things not going right.

  Tasia stood with Robb in the admin dome, surrounded by monitor screens and communications links set up to monitor the everyday activity of the shipyards. Practically every screen flashed red. Dozens of administrators scrambled to shut down docks, laboratories, and fabrication plants, calling all hands to emergency shelters.

  Lanyan was not going to be reasonable, despite Robb’s foolish optimism. “General, please respond. You are attacking civilian targets. Cease fire! These facilities are no threat to you.”

  As a second wave of jazer strikes rippled across a line of ore asteroids, Tasia gave a rude snort. “Shizz, Brindle, did you really think he’d just turn around and run away from your biting criticism?”

  Robb switched off the communications link, frowning in disappointment. “No, but it made me feel better to vent a little steam.”

  “I’d rather vent some exhaust ports. The manifest says we’ve got two cargo vessels in the main bay, newly upgraded to warship status. How about I take one and you take the other?”

  “Good enough.”

  “And who gave you the rank of Commodore, anyway?”

  He brushed his shoulder, as if imagining the immaculate braid there. “I made it up. I didn’t suppose you’d complain — especially since you’re above me in rank.”

  “Hell of a way to run a military,” Tasia said as they ran out into the rock-walled corridors. Lanyan’s demand for surrender continued on a repeating loop over the loudspeakers until one disgusted clan engineer disconnected the intercom wires and shut off the blowhard’s words.

  They reached the docking bay, where volunteer fighters rushed aboard the two battleships, ready to go as soon as somebody took command. Both upgraded vessels were blocky with add-on modules, but lack of streamlining didn’t matter in space, and no one could complain about the ships’ efficiency.

  She gave Robb a quick kiss as they separated — “For luck,” she said — then raced toward the ship on the left.

  Three scruffy-looking Roamer men and a middle-aged woman had already jumped to the available consoles. Tasia settled into the captain’s chair, shouted for her makeshift crew to hurry through the start-up procedures. Since this ship had a standard set of controls, most Roamers could run any station. As they completed their launch checklist, they squabbled over who would get the chance to operate the new weapons.

  With Brindle’s ship right at her side, Tasia accelerated out of the docking bay. She snapped at the members of her crew. “There’ll be plenty of Eddies to shoot at, so get your act together before we hit the targeting zone!”

  The Roamers quickly decided on positions, settled into their seats, and coordinated their functions mere seconds before Tasia began her first attack run.

  The EDF raiders continued to pummel the heart of the shipyards, blasting any structure they could find. Many Roamer ships had already rallied to the defense of Osquivel. The pilots had no discipline, but plenty of newly installed armaments, and they played havoc with the regimented EDF battle group. Sadly, though, Lanyan’s raiders were much more practiced at blasting things.

  “This is damned disappointing. I really would have preferred to fight the Klikiss today,” Tasia transmitted to Robb as the ships swooped after the attacking EDF vessels. Robb was obviously uneasy at the prospect of blasting his former comrades in the EDF, so she added, “We didn’t ask for this, Brindle. They came gunning for us.”

  The rings of Osquivel had turned into a shooting gallery. With a sickening feeling Tasia remembered an earlier battle here, when all the EDF ships had joined in a massive assault against the hydrogues. That battle had been an utter disaster for the forces of humanity.

  Tasia and Robb added their two ships to the flurry of harassing fire, trying to deflect the EDF march against the most heavily populated facilities. As she had promised her crew, they all had plenty of targets to choose from.

  With a precise shot, Tasia took out a quad bank of jazer cannons mounted on the Goliath’s bow. Before she could pat herself on the back, though, three Mantas began to concentrate their fire on her ship. The shields barely withstood the barrage, and she had to do some fancy flying to get out of range.

  When her starboard engine was damaged, Tasia knew they were in deep trouble. Robb gallantly tried to come to her rescue, drawing fire, but he, too, spun out of control, leaking gases from a ruptured tank.

  Then, rising from the planet’s tenuous limb came another group of giant battleships — a Juggernaut and ten Mantas, all sporting fresh Confederation insignia on their hulls, outnumbering and outgunning General Lanyan.

  “Sorry we’re late to the party.” Admiral Willis’s jazers fired a widespread pattern long before they came into range, purely to show off. “Wasn’t Rhejak enough humiliation for you, General Lanyan? Ready for more so soon?”

  Robb said, “What took you so long, Admiral? We’ve been busy for an hour!”

  “Exactly how fast do you think I can disengage eleven ships from spacedock?”

  “Roamers could have done it faster,” Tasia said aloud to her grinning crew, but did not broadcast the comment.

  Admiral Willis raised her voice over the command channel. “General Lanyan, how about we use the same surrender terms you proposed a few minutes ago? I assume you considered them to be fair and reasonable.”

  Her battle group raced in to join the Roamer defenders, all of whom redoubled their attacks. Her Juggernaut matched the General’s, and the rest of the outnumbered EDF ships were unable to recover from their surprise.

  After a moment of tense standoff, Lanyan’s ships all turned about and exited from the Osquivel system in an embarrassing retreat. He didn’t even bother to transmit a response.

  44

  Sullivan Gold

  After being released from the Ildiran Empire, Sullivan Gold had hoped for a quiet retirement with his family on Earth. He had run a Hansa cloud harvester, survived a massive attack by hydrogue warglobes, rescued Ildiran skyminers, and endured a lengthy and unfair detention in Mijistra before finally going home. He deserved a little bit of time to himself.

  But Chairman Wenceslas had other ideas.

  Sullivan had been with Lydia and the extended family for two weeks. Wanting to live in peace for a change, he had made no announcement of his homecoming, asked for no media attention. Nor had he made a point of reporting to the Chairman. That turned out to be a mistake.

  A group of paramilitary troops dressed in unfamiliar uniforms pounded on the door of his city townhouse. A cinnamon-haired female officer stood with four burly, well-armed men. She would have been pretty, Sullivan thought, if the hard edges of her features had been sanded smooth. The woman compared his face to an image projected on a palmscreen. “Are you Sullivan Gold?”

  “Yes . . . yes, I am. May I ask what this is about?”

  “We have orders to search your home in order to determine your whereabouts and your activities.”

  “Well, my whereabouts are right here. And I haven’t really been taking part in any activities. Just relaxing.”

  Lydia came up behind him, teasing, still not sure how serious this might be. “What have you done now, Sullivan?”

  “Nothing I can think of.” He made no move to let the security troops in.

  “You did not rep
ort to the Chairman upon returning from the Ildiran Empire.” The female officer’s voice was hard. “You should have been debriefed. That was your priority.”

  Lydia huffed. “I hardly think so, ma’am. His family was his priority. He was certainly gone long enough. Who are you, anyway? I don’t recognize your uniforms.”

  “We are a special cleanup crew appointed by Chairman Wenceslas. I am Colonel Shelia Andez.” She glanced down at her palmscreen again. “And you must be Lydia Gold.” She scrolled down, making disappointed noises, but didn’t elaborate on what she found in the record. “We need to complete our search so that we can present an accurate report to the Chairman. Mr. Gold, he has requested to meet with you as soon as he can fit you into his schedule.”

  Lydia’s voice grew hard, as it always did when somebody pushed her too far. “I don’t recognize your authority. Who do you think — ”

  “Lydia,” Sullivan cut her off. “Please, don’t add to the trouble we’re already in.”

  “And why are we in trouble, exactly?” She stood protectively beside him. “What have we done?”

  Without waiting for permission, Colonel Andez pushed past Sullivan and his wife. The five members of the “cleanup crew” spread out and began going through cupboards and drawers, opening bedroom closets, looking behind the furniture. They seemed deaf to Lydia’s persistent indignation, which only made her angrier.

  Ever since his return, Sullivan had been carefully watching the newsnets. The Hansa was no longer the same place he remembered. In the wake of King Peter’s departure, many unpleasant crackdowns had occurred. Not liking the repression she saw, Lydia wasn’t shy about expressing her opinions.

  Sullivan had very much tried to keep a low profile, but the Hansa had come to his doorstep anyway.

  “Colonel Andez, you’d better see this!” One of the guards pulled a box from under the bed. “Alien contraband!”

  Sullivan’s heart sank. Inside the box were numerous etched gems and Ildiran credit chips. For his service to the Solar Navy, the Mage-Imperator had paid him in jewels and credits before his departure for Earth. Jora’h had asked Sullivan to stay in the Empire and manage their splinter colony of Dobro, but Sullivan had chosen to return to his wife and his family.

  “Currency from the Ildiran Empire?” Andez asked.

  Sullivan said patiently, “Payment for services rendered in the defeat of the hydrogues. It’s perfectly legitimate.”

  “Then you admit you’re working for the enemy?”

  He was baffled. “Since when was the Ildiran Empire our enemy?”

  “Since they formed an alliance with the Confederation. Haven’t you heard?”

  “Oh, this is just plain ridiculous,” Lydia said, exasperated on his behalf. “Even if what you say is true, Sullivan completed that work before the Chairman even imagined any hostilities with the Ildirans.”

  “Can you prove this?” Andez said.

  Lydia looked at the young officer as if she were a complete idiot. “He’s been back home since before the announcement was made. Do your math.”

  “Sarcasm will not help the case against you,” Andez warned.

  “There’s a case against us? On what grounds?”

  “Lydia, please!” Sullivan had always loved the way she refused to let herself get pushed around, standing up for her family and her rights, but often her sharp tongue got her in trouble.

  The burly man picked up the case of Ildiran gems. “This will have to be confiscated.”

  “We need that money to survive,” Sullivan said in dismay. They had nothing else.

  When he had originally agreed to run the Hansa cloud-harvesting facility on Qronha 3, the promised pay had been excellent, but it came with many strings attached — strings they hadn’t seen until too late. The Hansa had purposely delayed paying his family benefits when everyone assumed he and his crew were dead. And now that they knew he was alive after all, the situation was even more dire. If Sullivan really had been killed, the family would have gotten some sort of insurance payment, but since he’d lost a very expensive facility, the Hansa would make sure he forfeited any profits.

  “Take it up with the Chairman,” Andez said. “Whenever he calls you.”

  45

  King Peter

  Peter found it awkward to conduct government business with his infant son on his lap, but he didn’t want to give up a moment of it. Wrapped in a soft blanket, Reynald was comfortable and happy (for the time being) in the noisy ops center that Willis’s corps of engineers had erected. Estarra dangled a bright featherthread toy in front of the baby’s face. His eyes followed it, his expression screwed into one of confusion, fascination, and then delight.

  Celli pushed her way into the room, practically bursting with her news. “An EDF battle group just attacked the Osquivel shipyards, led by General Lanyan himself. Casualty count is unknown.”

  “What the hell does he think he’s doing?” Peter’s exclamation disturbed the baby. “First he ransacks the Golgen skymines, and now this!”

  Oddly, Celli didn’t look terribly distraught. “Don’t worry, the EDF got their butts kicked. The Roamers defended the shipyards, and then Admiral Willis showed up. General Lanyan ran away so fast he didn’t even leave an exhaust trail.”

  Estarra was defiant. “That’s a lesson the Hansa needed to learn.”

  Peter turned white as he struggled to control his anger. “Basil wants to escalate this into a full-scale civil war, and we’re not prepared for that. Our military isn’t ready, and our planets are still reeling from the hydrogue war. Those are still my people on Earth, no matter what they’ve been coerced to do.”

  “Don’t forget, by kidnapping the Mage-Imperator, he’s basically declared war on the Ildirans, too,” Estarra added in disgust. “Why do the people put up with the Chairman? How can we get them to overthrow him?”

  Peter had been struggling with the same question. “We’ve sent condemnations, but Basil cracks down as fast as the news spreads. He keeps the people too frightened to look for alternatives.”

  Estarra said, “But can’t they see how much harm the Chairman’s doing every day? He’s on a downward spiral, and he’s taking the human race down with him.”

  “Not if I can help it.” Peter’s stomach was knotted. He paced the room, still cradling Reynald in the crook of his right arm. “If we could work through an intermediary, someone with enough power and respect to show a clear path through the transition—that might do the trick. The people would act decisively, if they were shown a viable alternative, but there’s going to be turmoil and bloodshed, any way you look at it.”

  “We need an insider who can rally support and do an end run around the Chairman,” Estarra said. “What about Deputy Cain? Or Sarein? They helped us escape.”

  “No, Basil watches them too closely. We need another respected voice, someone who isn’t afraid to speak out.” Peter suddenly looked up, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Former Chairman Maureen Fitzpatrick.”

  “The Battleaxe? How will you convince her to switch sides?”

  The wheels were already turning in Peter’s mind. “I’ll send word to Patrick Fitzpatrick on Golgen. He’s her grandson. I’m hoping he can make her an offer too good to refuse.”

  46

  Mage-Imperator Jora’h

  Admiral Diente called a shaky Jora’h to the command nucleus as the warliner settled into orbit above Earth. When he first emerged from his stateroom, the Mage-Imperator moved slowly, angry that his weakness was so apparent. The stony EDF escort soldiers gave no indication that they noticed any change.

  But he had survived the madness of isolation. He had found reserves of tenacity, both inside himself and in his half-breed daughter — reserves that Chairman Wenceslas had never known existed. Yes, Jora’h had beaten the Hansa leader. And now he was back.

  In a concession to the Mage-Imperator’s plight, Diente had stretched the capabilities of the warliner’s engines, racing back with all possible speed. Bo
lstered by the thread of contact with Osira’h and her half-breed siblings, Jora’h had been able to cling to his sanity. Now that he could feel the proximity of other Ildiran captives in the lunar base, the strands of their thism spun around him in a coalescing mist.

  Safe again . . . though still a prisoner. The isolation he had just endured, and Osira’h’s revelation of what was happening on Ildira, made him yearn more than ever to be where his people needed him most. Jora’h gripped the rail in the command nucleus and drew a deep breath to steady himself.

  The warliner went directly to Earth, and Diente gestured for Jora’h to follow him. “Come with me to the shuttle deck. I have an immediate appointment to see Chairman Wenceslas at Hansa HQ. He is extremely interested to hear more about the Klikiss translation system we found aboard this warliner.”

  “What does he intend to use it for?”

  Diente seemed to think the answer was obvious. “Diplomacy.”

  Jora’h shuddered to think what that might entail. “I hope he is more successful than his current attempts at ‘diplomacy’ with the Ildiran Empire.”

  Diente did not comment, merely nodded respectfully. “The Chairman has instructed me to send you to the Whisper Palace straightaway.” With a wan smile, he added, “Your green priest is there.”

  Knowing that Nira would be waiting for him, Jora’h felt much stronger, even rejuvenated by the time the shuttle landed in the Palace District. When he stepped out into the sunshine of the landing zone, surrounded by uniformed EDF soldiers, he managed to stand straight and proud. Diente had already gone to see Chairman Wenceslas in the Hansa headquarters pyramid.

  Nira stood behind a line of royal guards next to Captain McCammon. One glance at her was all Jora’h needed. He strode away from the shuttle, ignoring the EDF soldiers who were supposedly escorting him. The look on his face made the royal guards falter, and McCammon told them to let the Mage-Imperator pass. He released Nira, and she ran to meet him.

  “Jora’h, are you all right?”