The Ashes of Worlds

by Kevin J. Anderson

  A small crowd of Basil’s most conservative supporters had gathered at the edges of the parade ground; several had brought their own banners. Industrialists took their places on the flat seats of the VIP bleachers, watching the royal guards line up to one side of the compact group of stands.

  Captain McCammon’s guards surrounded the speaking area. Colonel Andez and her dark-uniformed cleanup crew stood closer to the podium, as if symbolically protecting Chairman Wenceslas even against the royal guard. Not a good sign, Cain thought.

  When the people noticed the Chairman’s vehicle, a dull cheer went up. Cain did not detect the enthusiasm he had expected. Perhaps even these people were uneasy about Basil’s Faustian deal with the black robots.

  “You two wait here,” Basil said. “I’ll make the announcement, and we can get back to work.” He slipped away from the ground vehicle and headed toward the podium without a backward glance at them.

  Cain allowed no sign of his relief to show; he’d been afraid Basil would ask them to accompany him. As he and Sarein emerged from the vehicle, she pointedly did not glance at him. Knowing what was to come, she seemed to be counting the seconds. He certainly was.

  They watched with distaste as three brand-new black robots marched out of the factory doorway to be presented as a symbol of Hansa industrial acumen. The Chairman stepped up to the podium and faced the spectators. With abrupt and businesslike movements, he placed himself at the center of the podium exactly on his mark, exactly where Cain knew he would be.

  “It is the measure of a great leader to put misunderstandings behind him. It is human to admit a mistake.” Basil’s words were flat and clipped, without the passion he would have demanded of either the Archfather or King Rory. “Despite our past differences, we and the black robots can be far stronger together. It may be the only way we can survive against the dangers abroad in the Spiral Arm.” He smiled. “The robots will restore our Earth Defense Forces, and in return we will replenish their numbers so that they can fight against their destructive Klikiss creators. Together, we become powerful, a force for our enemies to reckon with.”

  Basil surprised Cain by summoning Sirix and his companions forward. The deputy blinked. He hadn’t expected the black robots to be so close to the Chairman. Sarein flashed him a quick, nervous glance, then looked away. She appeared nauseated. He didn’t acknowledge her.

  Moving on clusters of fingerlike legs, Sirix led the two identical machines up beside Basil Wenceslas. Cain felt sweat glistening on his pale forehead, but he did not dare reach up to wipe it away.

  “These are the first new robots we’ve released from our factories,” the Chairman announced. “They and others will be exchanged for more newly reassembled EDF battleships.”

  Sirix stepped forward, his crimson optical sensors bright. Basil discreetly moved back half a step to give him room. Cain closed his eyes.

  The first shots rang out.

  A patter of projectiles whizzed through the air and stitched an embroidery of sparks against Sirix’s black body core. McCammon’s guards and Andez’s men shouted, trying frantically to locate the sniper. Andez pointed to one of the rooftops where an automated self-guiding gun had risen up from where it had lain hidden among the pipes and heat radiators.

  Basil threw himself to the ground as projectiles ricocheted off the black bodies of the other two robots. Andez pointed to the warehouse rooftop and barked orders. McCammon’s men were already opening fire, though they could not see any sniper. Within seconds, they had blasted the automated weapon to pieces.

  McCammon raced to the podium, panting, while Colonel Andez sprinted ahead of him, apparently wanting to be the first to reach the Chairman’s side. Afraid it would appear that he had waited too long to respond, Cain grabbed Sarein’s arm and they ran forward as soon as the gunfire stopped.

  Stumbling, Sarein gasped at Cain, “What do we do now?”

  “Why, we try to save the Chairman,” he said, struggling to play the expected role. “We need to say that Freedom’s Sword must be behind this. They are the ones who wish to assassinate the Chairman.”

  Sarein looked stunned; then she nodded briskly. “Yes, I’m sure that’s it.”

  Sirix and the two other black robots extended their multiple sharp-tipped arms, ready for close-in combat, if necessary. “Who dares attack us?” he demanded.

  “Those shots weren’t meant for you,” Basil snapped. “Somebody was trying to kill me.” His face was red with anger. He drew deep breaths and said coldly to Andez, “Find out who did this.”

  “We will,” McCammon answered.

  87

  Faeros Incarnate Rusa’h

  Following the impact of the shipyards, Mijistra was an inferno. But this was not a cleansing, reviving fire such as the faeros might cause. The magnificent Prism Palace, the legendary Hall of Rememberers, the museums, sculptures, and fountains — all of them erased, vaporized in a fiery flash of impact.

  At the heart of the blaze, embers and shards of superheated crystal stirred. Dozens of brilliant faeros fireballs swirled around the impact point like angry hornets. They added their energy, nurturing the flames, pulling upon the lava.

  Rusa’h emerged, his form intact and wreathed in flames like the corona of a sun. His skin glowed, and his soulfire quivered with fury for what had been done to him and to this glorious city. The part of him that still remembered being an Ildiran recoiled from the appalling act. The Prism Palace! Mijistra! And an Ildiran had done such a thing.

  Now, because of the thoughts he had glimpsed in the thism, he knew it was all because of Mage-Imperator Jora’h.

  In a shower of sparks Rusa’h cast the wreckage away. He stood powerful, throbbing, his fists clenched. His transitory flame garments billowed in a windstorm of his own making. The wild fireballs circled overhead, barely under his control, hot with their need for destruction. The faeros wanted to sweep across the landscape now and incinerate every remaining Ildiran in every camp, every sheltered tunnel, every town and settlement.

  Rusa’h was barely strong enough to hold them back. He would not let them exterminate his people. “No, we have a far more important goal.”

  The crucial target.

  From the thism of the half-breed children, he had learned to his shock and disbelief what Tal O’nh was doing, but too late to stop the disaster. The orbital shipyards had already been on their way down, and neither Rusa’h nor his faeros could prevent the impact.

  Even as Mijistra exploded all around him, he had reeled with shock at the revelation gleaned from the children who were shielding young Ridek’h: Jora’h was being held prisoner among the humans! Now he knew why the Mage-Imperator had not come to face him when the faeros took control of Ildira, why he had left the Adar and the Prime Designate to fight in his stead.

  The Terran Hanseatic League had captured the mighty Mage-Imperator! Another sign of Jora’h’s weakness and corrupt rule.

  Now, though, he also understood what Adar Zan’nh meant to do. The destruction of Mijistra had been meant both to kill him and to let the warliners escape the faeros. He would not let that go unchallenged. The nine Solar Navy ships had already left Ildira. He could pursue them, even though they thought they had gotten away.

  And at last, he could confront Mage-Imperator Jora’h.

  Rusa’h raised his glowing hands and summoned the flaming ellipsoids overhead. He called one down, its outer skin rippling with sharp tongues of fire. The fireball enfolded him like a hot embrace.

  Thanks to the soulfires they had absorbed over the past several months, the faeros had vastly increased their numbers. Rusa’h would take the fireballs with him as reinforcements — all of them — and by doing so he would also ensure that they did not capriciously exterminate more Ildirans here.

  Rusa’h was the one who would save the Ildiran people.

  Mage-Imperator Jora’h was the one who must suffer.

  Like a meteor shower, Rusa’h and his tremendous armada streamed away from Ildira toward
the Earth system.

  88

  Rlinda Kett

  Dealing with bugs was never much of a problem aboard a spaceship, you understand,” Rlinda said to Margaret Colicos.

  The older woman walked ahead, unfazed by the squealing, whistling, and clattering of the armored insects. “I don’t like them either, Captain Kett, but I have survived among them for many years.”

  Rlinda was amazed the bugs hadn’t hurt her as they led her away from her damaged ship, a sad and lonely hulk crashed on the ground. “I hope they plan on fixing the Curiosity. It’s their fault the ship is wrecked.”

  Margaret paused. “They believe you shouldn’t have come here at all.” Then she allowed a faint, mysterious smile. “But if Davlin agrees, I suppose the Klikiss could be convinced to make repairs.”

  “Well, what’s happened to Davlin?”

  “We are going to the hall of the breedex. You’ll have your answers there.”

  Rlinda frowned back at the sprawling hive city. By now she was hopelessly lost. “I suppose I should tell you that I came here to save him.”

  “I’m afraid you’re too late.” The older woman sounded deeply saddened. “Davlin is beyond saving . . . or perhaps he’ll save us all. I can’t be sure.”

  Rlinda let out a long, frustrated sigh. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about. Is Davlin alive, or is he dead?”

  “Yes,” Margaret said. “It’s something you have to see for yourself.”

  The insects continued to lead the two women toward an enormous, domelike structure. When Margaret voluntarily entered a noisome black tunnel, Rlinda wasn’t overly enthusiastic about sharing the dark and crowded passages with so many armored monsters. But the old xeno-archaeologist pressed onward, looking for all the world like a woman simply going about her business.

  Rlinda kept up with her rapid pace, taking sudden turns, following a path that only Margaret could see. Being out of breath kept her from asking too many questions. She’d never been particularly claustrophobic, but Rlinda felt as if she were suffocating inside the slick tunnels.

  The large central chamber was even worse.

  Margaret stopped and began talking to what appeared to be a churning mass of small grubs, black bits of smashed insects, broken debris, like a garbage heap that was somehow alive and crawling with maggots. “You remember Rlinda Kett — I brought her with me.” She glanced back. “The breedex wishes to speak to you.”

  Rlinda’s stomach lurched as the squirming mass shifted, changed. She wanted nothing more than to run . . . until she realized that the components were pulling together into a sculpture of a face. A human face.

  The face of Davlin Lotze.

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  The head was like a colossal statue filling much of the central vault. Davlin’s simulated lips moved. “Rlinda Kett.” The voice was not Davlin’s; it wasn’t even close to human. “I issued orders to guarantee your safety.”

  “Very hospitable of you, Davlin.” She fell back on humor as a means of self-protection.

  “I am not . . . entirely Davlin. My mind encompasses all of the Klikiss in my hive. I have destroyed most other subhives . . . refused to incorporate their DNA . . . refused to fission.”

  Margaret spoke to Rlinda. “I’ll explain Klikiss reproduction to you later. It’s quite bizarre.”

  “I can’t wait.” Pushing back her fear, Rlinda forced herself to inch closer to the eerie sculptured head.

  “I have one more subhive to destroy. That will be soon. Then I will be the One Breedex.”

  Rlinda looked at Margaret, then back at the hive mind. “Congratulations. What happens next?”

  “Then I will do a great thing,” the Davlin-breedex said. “I will be much more powerful than ever before.”

  “Davlin conquers the universe? Doesn’t really sound like you.”

  “I am not Davlin.”

  In a low voice Margaret said, “He changes with every subhive he crushes, even if he doesn’t assimilate it. But I think he means the Klikiss will exterminate the black robots next.”

  “Getting rid of the black robots doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me. And what happens to all the other Klikiss subhives he’s defeated? Do they join his army, does he kill them? What?”

  “In this case, I’m not sure.”

  “The Pym subhive is nearly destroyed,” the breedex said.

  Margaret explained what she had learned over her years of research among them. “Left to themselves, the Klikiss would sweep like locusts across any planet they find — including human-inhabited worlds. But Davlin thinks he’s strong enough to stop them. We have to pray that he — not the breedex of some other subhive — becomes the One Breedex.”

  Rlinda waited, but heard only the rustling, buzzing, and skittering of millions of small creatures. She wanted Davlin to tell her that he was not evil, but the simulated face said nothing. “Remember that old cliché about picking the lesser of two evils?” Feeling immense sadness, she murmured, “Sorry I’m late. I meant to rescue you.”

  “And I meant to escape intact. Instead . . . I have had to adapt.”

  The mosaic form of the man’s head shivered and vibrated as if the pieces had lost their resolve to remain together in a particular pattern. Rlinda could hear a great flurry of Klikiss moving outside in the hive city. Something big must be happening.

  The breedex was not forthcoming with explanations. Davlin’s mind — or whatever part of it remained — was preoccupied with some great turmoil.

  After a few tense moments, a procession of Klikiss warriors marked with crimson and maroon splotches marched into the presence of the breedex. They carried the heads of four enormous bugs, silver with jagged black stripes like lightning bolts across their horned head-crests. Ganglia and dripping cords hung from the severed necks; the faceted eyes were dull.

  The warriors presented the four dead creatures as an offering, and the trophies were placed amongst the other piled clutter and debris. More warriors streamed in, crowding the vaulted chamber and chittering in celebration.

  Margaret explained to Rlinda, “Those are domates from a rival subhive.”

  “Does that mean something important just happened?”

  The writhing, shifting mass remained indistinguishable, the human personality drowned within the chaos, but finally the crude face formed itself from the squirming components once more.

  “EDF battleships severely damaged the Pym subhive. They killed several domates, but departed without destroying the breedex.” The Davlin face paused. “We arrived immediately afterward. My warriors achieved an easy victory. I have eradicated the Pym breedex.”

  “Then it’s done.” Margaret’s voice was filled with awe.

  “What does that mean?” Rlinda whispered to her.

  “I am now the Klikiss race. I am the hive mind that controls them all.” The simulated head shifted, but the face it formed was not even remotely human, with no hint of Davlin Lotze. It looked like a giant spiny insect. “Now I will change. Surviving members of every subhive will travel here, and my domates will devour them at last. Then I will embark on a great fissioning.”

  Margaret looked alarmed. “But, Davlin, that will drown you out — your personality will be lost in the noise!”

  The sculptured insect head crumbled into a mound of individual chaotically moving pieces. As far as Rlinda could tell, Davlin Lotze was already little more than a whisper in the cacophony of the gigantic hive mind.

  89

  Deputy Chairman Eldred Cain

  He did not want to be at the execution ceremony, but Chairman Wenceslas had given him no choice. Deputy Cain and Sarein must be visibly present, Basil insisted, so that the public could see their unwavering support. Cain thought he might be sick, but he took refuge in his role as the unflappable deputy.

  Sarein’s voice carried a faint, forlorn tremble. “I remember when I used to love to watch the pageants, parades, and spectacles, Basil. Why don’t we do somethi
ng positive for a change, show the people the true core of the Hansa?”

  The Chairman looked at her with an unreadable expression. Did he suspect something? “Oh, this will be a spectacle — just as Freedom’s Sword expected my assassination to be a grand show.”

  Playing his part as never before, a somberly uniformed King Rory sat on a temporary throne high above the square, where he would mete out the Hansa’s retribution. Rory’s dark hair was perfectly cut, and the folds of heavy cloth disguised his thin body.

  “Where is Captain McCammon?” Sarein asked, unsuccessfully trying to keep the alarm out of her voice. “Shouldn’t he be here?”

  “This work goes beyond the duties of the royal guard,” Basil said. “I have come to question McCammon’s enthusiasm, if not his loyalty. He failed to find a single confirmed member of the dissident group, but my cleanup crew discovered plenty as soon as they looked hard enough.”

  “Rounding up the usual suspects?” Cain asked.

  “The evidence Colonel Andez provided was suitably convincing,” the Chairman said.

  As Rory sat on his throne, looking gravely important, a staccato burst of gunfire echoed across the plaza, but it was just part of the military parade. Dark-uniformed soldiers with red piping and red armbands marched into the plaza.

  The Chairman’s elite cleanup crew came forward carrying long jazer rifles on their shoulders, hustling along a group of eighteen bound and gagged prisoners. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes hollow; some were frantic, but all were secured in tight restraints. They stumbled as they attempted to keep pace with the military march. At the front of the group, Colonel Andez was actually grinning. Everyone could smell execution in the air.

  Finally, King Rory recited his words. The boy knew not to deviate from the script. He could not entirely hide the quaver in his voice, though otherwise he valiantly acted his role. “Our enemies are not only those who attack us on distant planets or out in space. Our enemies are not limited to the Klikiss, the hydrogues, or the faeros, or even Peter and his rebellious Confederation. Sadly, we also have enemies right here among us — in our neighbors, our supposed friends! It is a rot working its way through our society.