The Ashes of Worlds

by Kevin J. Anderson

  The shuttle pilot called Basil to the cockpit. “Mr. Chairman, I have a message from Admiral Pike. He wishes to speak with you personally.”

  Frowning at the interruption, Basil made his way forward. Without being invited, Margaret and Anton Colicos followed. Ahead of them, out of the shuttle’s front windowports, Basil could see the looming alien craft growing larger as they closed the distance.

  The pilot gestured to the communication panel. “He’s on screen, Mr. Chairman.”

  Admiral Pike’s glowering image appeared, looking impatient. Basil leaned forward into the focal zone. “Yes, what is it?” Basil asked.

  “If the fate of the world wasn’t at stake, we would blast your shuttle to ions right now, just as you commanded me to destroy Chairman Fitzpatrick’s space yacht. The bugs can have you, as far as we’re concerned.”

  Basil blinked, momentarily speechless. Now what? He felt a sense of unreality, as if he had fallen into some kind of distorted mirror world. “What are you talking about, Admiral?”

  Admiral San Luis broke into the transmission. “Our families have been freed. You no longer have any hold over us.”

  Pike lifted his chin, and his eyes were pitiless. “They’re safe, Mr. Chairman. Their story is being broadcast by Freedom’s Sword. Admiral Diente’s family is doing the same. Everyone knows what you’ve done, sir. No matter what happens, you can’t blackmail us any longer. When you do come back to Earth, you will not find a warm reception from us, nor from anyone in the EDF.”

  Basil felt blindsided. And then he realized that Pike and San Luis had broadcast on a completely open channel.

  The two Admirals ended the transmission, and the escort Mantas on either side of the diplomatic shuttle altered course and peeled away, leaving the small craft all alone in space as it approached the alien swarmships.

  A chain-saw ache pressed into the back of his skull. His carefully laid foundations were turning to quicksand.

  Margaret Colicos looked at him. “The timing could have been better.”

  Basil drew deep breaths to drive back the red fringes in his vision, staring at the foremost of the huge Klikiss ships until his eyes burned. No one dared to speak a word in the cockpit.

  The diplomatic shuttle drew close to the enormous sphere. Millions of component craft moved about like grains of sand trying to keep a proper configuration, shifting, blurring, shifting again.

  Finally, the pilot said in a small voice, “I can’t find any port or access to the interior of the swarmship, Mr. Chairman. What should I do?”

  “Just keep heading forward,” Margaret answered for him. “You’ll see what you need.”

  Basil’s throat was dry. His skin prickled with goose bumps. He clenched his fists so hard that his well-manicured nails cut crescent-shaped grooves into his palms. One problem at a time. Prioritize. He would take care of the others later . . . if he survived.

  “Are we supposed to read minds?” he said testily. “Why doesn’t the breedex issue some instructions?”

  “The breedex doesn’t have to.”

  As they neared the external shell, the component craft suddenly re-arranged themselves, and the outer layer of vessels broke off like gases blown from a sun’s surface. The hive vessel seemed to be evaporating, spreading out.

  Basil flinched as geometrical alien ships flurried around them like a cloud of gnats, and then simply re-formed the swarmship’s shell on the other side of the shuttle, swallowing them up. Though the gigantic conglomerate vessel hadn’t moved, the Hansa shuttle was suddenly enclosed within the alien sphere.

  139

  King Peter

  The Confederation ships hung beside the EDF vessels in space, facing the enigmatically silent Klikiss swarmships. Nothing moved.

  King Peter stood on the Jupiter’s bridge with Estarra and OX, studying the huge alien clusters as the foremost one abruptly engulfed the Hansa’s diplomatic shuttle, along with Basil Wenceslas. The mass of interlocking alien components had simply absorbed it.

  Good riddance.

  “If there’s a way to make this situation worse, the Chairman’s bound to find it.” Admiral Willis leaned forward in her command chair. “I’m keeping our weapons ready.”

  He couldn’t imagine what the breedex wanted with Basil. The Klikiss arrival had certainly thrown a wrinkle into his plans for returning to the Whisper Palace. Now they had to stand together against a seemingly invincible enemy.

  Peter stared at the screen until his eyes burned. Could he really take advantage of the distraction to seize control of the government? The very existence of Earth was threatened by the massive alien ships.

  On the other hand, how could he not, knowing that the situation would only grow worse in the hands of Chairman Wenceslas?

  Sarein was greatly agitated. “The Klikiss have changed the circumstances, but not the main goal. It’s more important now than ever. Deputy Cain is ready for you down there, and so are the people of Earth. Basil won’t be able to do a thing about it.”

  Estarra couldn’t tear her eyes from the enormous alien vessels that had swept into the system. “But isn’t this the worst possible time to throw Earth into more instability? We’ve got a common enemy now.”

  “These Klikiss ships might well be the worst threat to humanity since the hydrogue war,” OX observed.

  Peter agreed with the assessment logically, but he made a bitter noise. “The Chairman will never set aside our differences and work together. How can I leave the fate of humanity in the hands of Basil Wenceslas? Given his track record, it would be irresponsible.”

  Sarein’s dark eyes flashed. “Peter, we’ll never have a better chance! The Whisper Palace is wide open.”

  Admiral Willis rested her chin on her knuckles. “I’m as worried about the Klikiss as anybody, but we know for damn sure that the Chairman is a threat. There’s nothing you can do for Earth up here, sire.”

  Peter felt a steely resolve. “I can make a difference if I take my throne back. Humanity needs a strong visionary leader, now more than ever.” With all their blatant signs of unrest, he knew the people were ready. One way or another, the angry people would soon overthrow the Chairman and depose his sham King Rory, and they were likely to turn the kid into a scapegoat. A fate the poor patsy didn’t deserve. He turned to Admiral Willis. “Do you see any way to avoid a shooting war? We can’t have our ships blasting at the EDF.”

  Excitement flushed Willis’s face. “Right now, who’s watching? Everybody’s hypnotized by the Klikiss. I could easily slip one Manta away from the back ranks and take a roundabout path toward Earth. Go in quick and clean, establish a foothold, plant our flag in the Palace District, and have you sitting back on your throne by the end of the day. We’ll be all settled in if, or when, the Chairman comes back. A bloodless coup.”

  “It is not technically a coup,” OX pointed out. “King Peter never abdicated his throne. I can cite numerous precedents in Hansa law, as well as historical comparisons.”

  “It’s true, Peter,” Estarra said. “The people need you.”

  It felt good to be making clear decisions again, moving forward on a plan. Peter kissed her. “I’ll take OX with me, but you should stay here with Sarein. If anything happens to me, the Confederation will need its Queen.” He could see that she was torn by this, but understood the political necessity.

  “I’m leading this operation personally,” Willis said, leaving no room for argument. “Commodore Brindle can hold down the fort.”

  Peter followed her to the lift, glancing one last time at the looming swarmships on the main screen. “For everyone’s sake, I hope this isn’t the shortest comeback in human history.”

  140

  Sirix

  The eleven swarmships had halted outside the rubble zone of the broken Moon. Sirix could not understand why the Klikiss simply didn’t open fire upon the pathetic-looking group of EDF and Confederation vessels; it was not like a breedex to show any sort of restraint.

  The hive min
d was meeting with the treacherous Hansa Chairman — almost certainly planning the annihilation of the black robots. Sirix needed to take advantage of every second of delay to launch his retreat.

  After receiving his command burst, the black robots swiftly accomplished the massacre on all fourteen flightworthy EDF ships. Every Hansa engineer, quality-control inspector, tactical expert, and ship designer had been hunted down and killed. Only one man managed to reach a transmitting station in time. In a squawking voice he called out to warn the rest of the EDF. “The robots are turning on us again! They’re killing — ” And then nothing more. The robots had crushed his larynx before he could continue. In the fear and confusion caused by the Klikiss arrival, Sirix hoped the human military would not respond swiftly to the alarm.

  Nevertheless, he and his black robots had to move.

  Meanwhile, commandeering the construction pods that had been used by the human inspectors, robots raced to their open-framed battleships. More than ten thousand robots — mostly new arrivals from the compy factories — went to their posts and fired up the starship engines. All together, the black robots prepared for a mass exodus.

  Sirix swiveled his angular head to PD and QT, who waited with him on the Manta’s bridge. The two compies had wet red smears on their polymer skins from helping to haul away the mangled bodies of the two dead human inspectors. “Both of you, stand ready at our weapons stations.”

  “Yes, Sirix,” they said in unison.

  While the eleven swarmships made no overt moves either toward Earth or toward the robot ships, Sirix’s sensors did detect a flurry of smaller component ships spreading out. Klikiss scout vessels had separated from the primary masses to scan the activity in space, studying the numerous vessels that still combed the Earth-Moon neighborhood in search of deadly lunar fragments.

  Three of the Klikiss scouts streaked toward the highly distinctive open-framework vessels in the orbital repair docks. They would easily recognize the fundamental design and conclude that the black robots were here. They would know. He shouted orders to PD and QT. “Destroy those ships.”

  The two compies, well practiced in using EDF weapons, opened fire using jazer blasts, but now he feared it was already too late. The scouts would have immediately noted the black robot infestation — and what they knew, the breedex knew.

  Sirix sent his command for an immediate and complete withdrawal, and the entire group of ships under his control — forty-two robot ships and fourteen stolen EDF vessels — accelerated away. He would leave the humans to face the Klikiss alone.

  However, the breedex must have seen through the eyes of the scoutship pilots. The enormous swarmships began to move.

  141

  Chairman Basil Wenceslas

  Once swallowed up by the incredible swarmship, the diplomatic shuttle jolted, then began to accelerate toward the core — a large, organic-looking lump of convolutions composed both of metals and glistening polymer secretions. The central mass reminded Basil of an electrified, resin-coated brain.

  The pilot lifted his hands from the controls, helpless. “A tractor beam is pulling us along. There’s nothing I can do.”

  “Obviously, that is where we’re supposed to go.” Basil stared forward, trying to glean any sort of information. “Your advice would be most helpful right now, Dr. Colicos.”

  “At the moment, my best advice is to wait. The breedex will make the first move, and I’ve given you as much preparation as I can.”

  The tractor beam drew them into a cavernous opening within the core mass of the swarmship. The shuttle dropped heavily onto the floor inside a vaulted, slick-walled landing bay, and more than a hundred Klikiss warriors marched out to meet them.

  Once the ship came to a rest, Margaret went to the shuttle’s hatch, unsealed it, and casually stepped out among the Klikiss. She called over her shoulder, “Mr. Chairman, you have to see the breedex. Come.”

  She looked annoyingly calm before the monstrous insects, and Basil did not like someone else taking the initiative. He instructed the pilot to remain inside to protect the craft (if such a thing were possible) and followed Margaret through the hatch, with Anton close behind him. The chamber’s stale but breathable air was filled with a bitter alkaline stench.

  The spiny chitinous bodies looked like armored tanks. The ones Margaret identified as domates had silvery armor slashed with black stripes; their faces were mosaics of small bony plates that shifted into skeletal, almost-human visages.

  He faced the nearest domate — one with a horned head-crest — as if he were addressing a formal ambassador. “I am the Chairman of the Terran Hanseatic League. I have an appointment to meet with your breedex.”

  Margaret said in a quiet voice, “They have no individuality. When you speak to any of them, you are speaking to the breedex. The hive mind is listening to all of our conversations.”

  “Then why didn’t they just send an emissary to us?” Basil grumbled.

  Margaret cocked her head at him. “Because the impact isn’t the same. Follow me.”

  The towering domates and spiny warriors guided them with a swift and clicking gait along strangely intestinal corridors. Basil saw so many Klikiss crowding the passages that he felt certain the hive mind had no intention of letting them out of this hellish place.

  When they finally reached a central chamber, Basil stared at a festering, shifting horror of mucus, broken pieces of slaughtered Klikiss, bits of debris, shiny pieces of metal, shattered glass, and grubs . . . many, many grubs. He reeled, and his ears rang with a constant deafening buzz that penetrated to subsonic levels, making his bones vibrate. All of his schemes, negotiating skills, and confidence wilted in an instant.

  He had never felt so out of his depth.

  Margaret stepped close to the edge of the horrific mass. “This is the One Breedex.” She seemed less certain now. “It’s . . . different from anything I’ve seen before.”

  Basil’s legs had locked up, but he forced himself to move closer. His voice was husky. He had never felt so overwhelmed. “I am Chairman Basil Wenceslas. I believe we have diplomatic matters to discuss?”

  Margaret remained close, and she called down into the buzzing, shifting mass with a hint of hope in her voice. “Are you still there, Davlin? Any part of you? Speak to us.”

  On the shuttle flight, Margaret had tried to convince him that Davlin’s personality and memories had come to live inside the hive mind. Basil found the whole idea preposterous.

  The squirming, separated pieces of the hive mind shifted like clay being squeezed by a sculptor’s hands until it formed a towering face that resembled the Klikiss. Then the features flickered, softened, became familiar. He stared at it in awe as the rough face loomed up out of the mass of the shifting hive mind. “It . . . does look like Davlin.”

  “So, some part of him is still there, even after the last massive fissioning.” She sounded relieved.

  “I know you, Chairman Wenceslas.” The lips of the giant sculpture moved, but the voice came from everywhere. “Know your enemy.”

  So many things had already fallen apart, but this bizarre turn of events was no stranger than the rest. Basil clung to the knowledge that the breedex had called for him by name. Even though he saw little of the man who had served him for years as a “specialist in obscure details,” he knew that Davlin must remember him.

  “And I know you, Davlin. You were my greatest expert, and I’m sure you remember your loyalties. The Hansa wants to make peace with the Klikiss.” He thought it best not to mention Admiral Diente’s previous attempt, or bring up General Lanyan’s attack, or speak of the robots.

  The expression on the simulated face didn’t change. “I remember you, Chairman Wenceslas. You cannot keep secrets.” A frisson of fear gave Basil gooseflesh. The real Davlin Lotze did know much about his personality, and maybe that wasn’t entirely a good thing.

  Then the vaguely human visage lost its features again, sharpened, enlarged, and became a kaleidoscope of the most h
orrific Klikiss warriors, monstrous domates, spiny insectoid beasts. “You dispatched humans to our worlds. Your Colonization Initiative. You sent battleships to destroy our subhive at Pym.”

  When Basil spoke, his voice scraped through a dry throat. “It was a misunderstanding. At the time I felt I had no alternative. The Hansa means the Klikiss no harm. We can be allies. There is no need for hostility.”

  “You cannot hide what you have done.” Suddenly, all semblance of the breedex’s integrity — whether Davlin’s face or a Klikiss head — collapsed into churning turmoil again. Even Margaret backed away in alarm. The hive mind’s voice, however, continued to thunder from countless throats, echoing, accusing. “You made an alliance with the robots. You have cooperated with our enemies.”

  The domates and warriors moved farther into the central chamber, raised their serrated arms.

  Basil’s heart turned to ice. All around them the swarmship began to vibrate, humming and moving. The Klikiss shifted in agitation.

  “It was part of a carefully orchestrated plan,” Basil insisted. “Sirix intended to betray us. I always knew that. I set up a trap to wipe out the black robots once and for all. Nothing would please me more than to see them gone.”

  Startlingly, the breedex formed the face of Davlin Lotze again. “I know you, Chairman Wenceslas. You believe in . . . situational truth.”

  “I tell you it was never a real bargain, always a trap.”

  But any hint of Davlin Lotze, any humanity at all, was gone from the thrumming voice. “Two of my swarmships will pursue and destroy the black robots. The rest will sterilize Earth for cooperating with our enemies.”

  Basil shouted in desperation. “Davlin, listen to me. I promise it will all become clear.” He tried to summon his composure again as the Chairman. “When you encounter the black robots, you’ll recognize what I did, both for humanity and for the Klikiss. If you know me as you say, then you know it is what I would do.”