The hydrogue avatar spoke in a hollow tone that held a background of thunder and clanging metal. “You must depart.” The deep-core aliens had learned human language from the prisoners they had taken during the long war. “Leave this planet.”
Alarms continued to sound on the skymine. In the past, the drogues had given no warning, simply annihilated any Roamer facilities that trespassed in their clouds.
But the warglobes surrounding the skymine still had not opened fire.
“Why?” Zhett demanded. “What did we do?”
“Leave this planet,” the avatar repeated. “It has been contaminated.”
The figure flinched. Its facial features sharpened, then transformed into a caricature of agony before the face melted away, streaming back into smooth blankness. Its arms and legs twisted, flailed, and it bent over as if having a seizure. When the hydrogue straightened again its body was distorted. Its mouth opened so wide it filled most of the simulated face.
“Leave this planet! Escape . . .”
Shareen turned quickly toward her parents. “It’s not threatening us—it’s warning us.”
“There is a breach through the transgate,” the hydrogue continued. “The shadows are bleeding through from our core. . . .”
Patrick grabbed Zhett’s arm. “I think we should listen. Let’s get the hell away from Golgen.”
The hydrogue’s quicksilver skin looked tarnished, blotched, and leprous. The thing’s mouth opened to let out a long hollow moan, like a blast of cold wind on a lonely night.
Then the figure bent backward at an impossible angle and staggered to the edge of the skydeck. With a last burst of energy, it leaped away from the skymine and plunged down into the endless sky.
FIFTY
ORLI COVITZ
Marriage wasn’t supposed to be a unilateral decision, but her husband’s choice wasn’t something Orli could alter. His mistress was pregnant, and he’d decided, belatedly, that he wanted children after all. Matthew was gone now. No further discussion, just a change in situation, and Orli refused to become one of those shrill and desperate wives in a crumbling marriage who embarrassed herself by fighting for something that she didn’t really want anymore.
Matthew continued his travel schedule after staying only two days on Relleker (in a hotel—at least he had that much consideration). He was off on his usual speaking circuit, and Orli didn’t expect him back anytime soon. She accessed his itinerary, saw that he was flying to New Portugal—and Henna Gann—after only a brief stopover on Qorliss.
Out of habit, Orli kept working at their compy facility, just going through the motions, but it gave her something to focus on. She had once considered the compies her surrogate children, and now the realization stung.
She was due to record another one of her amusing educational loops with DD, and had already laid out the lesson and speech, but she couldn’t find the heart for it. She didn’t feel very amusing, or even useful, at the moment. She hoped DD wasn’t too disappointed, but knew he would cheerfully accept the change of plans without question.
“Good morning, Orli,” said LU as the Listener compy moved among his companions in the Relleker facility. She had noticed that LU spent his days on an unwavering circuit, striking up conversations with other compies, going around the room, and eventually talking to the same compies again, often with the same conversational gambit.
She tried to keep the sigh out of her voice. “Good morning, LU.”
“Good morning, Orli,” said the other compies.
The Domestic compy, MO, said, “Your breakfast is ready, Orli. I prepared your favorite. It’s hot and delicious.”
Orli wasn’t hungry, but she appreciated someone taking care of her. MO had made a savory omelet, and Orli took two polite bites before settling in to enjoy the cup of steaming klee. The bold peppery taste always perked her up, as if she were drinking distilled sunshine from Theroc.
She found a note beside the cup, a message from Rlinda Kett. “Here’s your monthly supply of klee, Orli—a new blend, a little stronger and yet smoother. Let me know how you like it. It’s been too long since we’ve talked.”
As Orli read the message, she felt a smile creeping up the corners of her mouth. The big trader woman had accepted Matthew because he was Orli’s husband, but she had never much warmed to him. Now Orli expected Rlinda would also politely refrain from saying, “I told you so.”
Sipping the klee, Orli remembered the excitement she had felt when she was younger, traveling to different planets (many of them not by choice). She had accompanied her daydreamer father on his quests to strike it rich, supporting his preposterous schemes—growing mushrooms on Dremen or joining a new colony on Corribus, which had led only to disaster. But those ordeals had made Orli strong. If she could survive a black robot massacre and a Klikiss invasion, she was strong enough to handle a disenchanted husband.
Years ago, Orli had traveled the Spiral Arm, seeing amazing things. She flew on many missions with Captain Branson Roberts and Rlinda Kett.
Orli had enjoyed exploring, but when she settled down, she’d given up everything for Matthew. Together, they devoted their time and energy to tending discarded compies and finding them new homes. For years, she had thought that was enough. Matthew basked in the limelight, the travel, the speaking engagements, and Orli was surprised to realize that she had become a homebody—not quite a recluse, but unadventurous, almost introverted. She didn’t like that about herself. No wonder Matthew no longer found her interesting. She’d done what she thought he wanted, what she thought she wanted.
DD came in to give his morning report, bright as always. “Good morning, Orli. How is your day so far?”
“The same as yesterday. No better, no worse.”
The compy activated her desk screen, called up a series of messages. “Maybe I can make it better. We have received a report from Matthew Freling.”
Her husband tried to maintain a formal business relationship, as if nothing had changed in their work, even though their marriage had collapsed like a dying star. Her throat went dry, but she maintained a neutral tone. “What does he have to say?”
“I can play his verbal message for you. He makes quite an articulate case.”
Orli frowned. “I prefer to hear the words from you.”
“I can do that.” DD repeated the exact words he had said, and she was grateful he didn’t try to simulate Matthew’s voice. “ ‘I called in a few favors, Orli, contacted a Confederation colony on Ikbir. They have two hundred settlers now, but they’re expanding and need compies of all kinds. I told them we had twenty-five available and the colony leader offered to take them all.’ ”
DD’s voice changed slightly as he returned to himself. His optical sensors glowed with excitement. “That is what our facility wants, isn’t it, Orli? All of these compies can have homes on Ikbir. I hope I get a good home.”
“You have a good home, DD.” Tears filled her eyes, but she brushed them away. “I’m keeping you with me, no matter what. You don’t have to worry.”
MO came in to whisk away her breakfast dishes, though Orli had barely touched her omelet. It was cold by now anyway. “I can cook you a new one if you wish,” the compy said. “But I really should start planning your lunch.”
“That’s all right, MO.” Orli sat back in her chair. Just like that, everything had changed. New choices were open to her. All of these compies would have homes, thanks to Matthew. If she kept the facility open, more refugee compies would be donated, without doubt—but was that what she wanted?
She sipped her hot klee again, and the taste reminded her of Theroc, of Rlinda Kett . . . all the wondrous places she had visited, all the ships and trade routes, the adventures, the memories. How did I end up here, again? Orli thought.
At the time, many of her adventures had seemed like nightmares, but now she wished she could do it all again. The Relleker compy facility had been anchoring her to a boring life—one that had been thrown into chaos by Matthew’s
affair, by a biological inconvenience.
But there was more to it than that. For more than a decade Orli hadn’t allowed herself to consider what she really needed. If all these compies found good homes on a new Confederation colony, why would she stay here?
“That is good news, DD,” she said. “Let’s get in touch with the Ikbir colony leader so I can arrange the transfer of our compies and send summaries of their specialties. They should be happy.”
“Compies are happy to do whatever we’re assigned to do,” DD said.
“After that, you’ll help me with the process of shutting down this facility. We won’t be accepting any more compies here at Relleker.”
DD remained silent for a second longer than she expected. “Then what are we going to do, Orli?”
Now she let herself smile—a genuine smile. “I need time off to remember who I am after all these years, and I know who can help.”
DD stood close, his optical sensors bright. “And who is that, Orli?”
She took another sip of her klee. “You and I are going to visit Rlinda Kett.”
FIFTY-ONE
SHELUD
The isolationist green priests departed on humming personal flyers like bright condorflies rising from the worldforest. It was a beautiful sight, and the Therons came out on balconies of the fungus-reef city or stood on the forest floor to watch.
Kennebar’s people were a quiet—even somber—lot. They flew away from the bustle of Confederation activity to make their settlement in the Wild across the narrow sea, content that the worldforest would provide everything they needed.
Shelud watched the departure with a mixture of joy and sadness. As a green priest, he was uncertain about his decision to stay behind. He had much in common with Kennebar’s people, did not like the spread of the Confederation government and the dispersal of so many green priests far from Theroc. But Shelud also thought that going into the forest and hiding would accomplish little. That was not the reason he had become a green priest.
His brother Aelin stepped up next to him. “Good riddance!” Though he was a green priest too, he rolled his eyes in scorn at the departing flyers. “I’m glad you’re not going with them.”
Shelud looked at his older brother. “I almost did. I agree with parts of Kennebar’s philosophy, but I want to accomplish something more.”
Aelin said, “I think the two of us should sign aboard a trade ship, maybe a diplomatic transport, see the Spiral Arm together.”
Shelud frowned. “I don’t want to disappear into the Wild, but that doesn’t mean I’ll hire myself out to the Confederation. It’s not important enough.”
Shelud and Aelin were close, but they often disagreed—as brothers did. Shelud was old enough to remember the Elemental War, the horrific attacks on Theroc and the burning worldtrees. He had been five at the end of the war, his brother seven. They grew up in the recovering worldforest. The two boys, being boys, were fascinated and curious, running around to explore the wilderness.
Celli and Solimar, a green priest couple dedicated to tending the wounded forest, had taken the brothers under their wing. Back then, Shelud and Aelin were excited to help, eager to become green priests themselves. Celli and Solimar taught the boys to read, because they wanted apprentices who could tell stories to the trees. The brothers spent days reciting stories, poems, any sort of documents to the voraciously curious verdani mind.
Aelin had trouble sitting still, while Shelud would read even the dullest documents, glad to know he was helping the verdani. Celli taught Shelud to play a stringed instrument and make up tunes of his own while strumming. Aelin frequently teased him about his clumsiness, but Shelud didn’t care if he was any good, as long as he was entertaining himself and the trees.
More energetic, Aelin liked to be on the move, and Solimar tried to teach him treedancing. But after only a month of practice, Aelin fell and broke his leg, which took a long time to heal—enough time to quench further dreams of treedancing.
The boys grew up and took the green at the same time. Though two years younger, Shelud had studied harder. Together, the brothers went into the deep forest, losing themselves in tantalizing thickets of underbrush where the worldforest would test them. Shelud remembered how the forest had come alive, enfolded him in a green cocoon, and made him lose himself in the wondrous cacophony of the verdani mind. Both brothers emerged with green skin, their thoughts connected to the worldtrees and all other green priests—but there they diverged.
In the early years of the Confederation, King Peter and Queen Estarra needed a way to communicate across vast distances to establish commerce and defense across the Spiral Arm. Many green priests volunteered to help. The schism between green priest factions and priorities, as exemplified by the departure of Kennebar and his followers, had been brewing for a long time.
Aelin sympathized with the green priests who wanted to venture out and see new things. Green priests could provide important services, and Aelin wanted to be there when humans explored new places and built new things. He believed green priests should use the knowledge stored in the worldforest mind to help civilization recover.
Shelud, on the other hand, felt an affinity for Kennebar’s primitivists, but he knew his brother had a valid point that a green priest should serve rather than just exist. He spent many nights awake, leaning against a worldtree trunk and just letting the comforting hum of verdani thoughts give him peace, if not advice. The verdani offered no opinion on the matter whatsoever.
When Olaf Reeves and his Retroamers announced their plans to depart from the Confederation, Shelud knew he had finally found his purpose.
Now, he stood next to his brother on the forest floor, watching Peter and Estarra launch a celebration to commemorate the twentieth anniversary of the Confederation’s founding. Treedancers hung colorful ribbons from the boughs of the surrounding trees, and newly hatched emerald moths took wing after being released from gossamer cages. Old Father Idriss watched the festival with clear delight, though he seemed tired.
Visitors and dignitaries from Confederation planets came for the festival, even an Ildiran entourage that bore an etched-crystal proclamation from Mage-Imperator Jora’h himself.
Aelin looked wistfully up at the trees as the lissome dancers hopped from branch to branch, and Shelud knew his brother was thinking of his aborted career as a treedancer. The people applauded the spectacle.
Then the ragtag ships from clan Reeves arrived and stole the show. Their vessels landed like a gypsy carnival in the broad meadow near the main fungus-reef city. Olaf Reeves had not chosen his timing by accident.
The bearded clan leader presented himself to the King and Queen accompanied by a crowd of cousins, friends, and other family members. Olaf acted as if he were the King’s equal, which he was, according to the strict terms of the Confederation Charter, since all Roamer clans were independent.
Olaf spoke in a deep voice loud enough for all to hear. “King Peter, Queen Estarra, my clan is tight-knit and strong. We remember our Roamer history, but human civilization has changed since the end of the Elemental War.” He raised his chin. “We’ve come to realize that the Confederation can offer us nothing. We are Roamers in our hearts and souls, and we must live by Roamer ways. A knife loses its edge unless it is sharpened. We will leave the Confederation.”
Queen Estarra looked surprised. “Where will you go?”
“Out in deep space we’ve found an abandoned city that will serve as the site for a new colony. We will live as Roamers have lived for centuries. We don’t know who built it, but we’ll make our home there.” Olaf Reeves showed no particular curiosity.
Estarra looked at Peter. “If it’s an ancient alien city, scholars will want to study it. We could send xeno-archaeologists to document the structure, help you understand.”
The bearded clan leader shook his head. “No, our home will not be a scientific expedition. It’s nobody’s business.” His voice was implacable. “We are not required to share wha
t we learn.”
His son Dale looked more conciliatory. “After we get settled, we may send records with a trade ship, but we won’t welcome research teams for the time being. We’re not hiding, but we do want our independence and privacy.”
King Peter pondered a long moment. “That is your decision, and if you need help, you have only to ask.”
“Roamers have always survived, Sire.” Olaf Reeves seemed grudging in his formality. “We bear the Confederation no ill will, but we are doing what Roamers do—making a home where others might not want to go.”
Watching the so-called Retroamers, Shelud noticed that Olaf’s son seemed nervous about abandoning civilization, heading out all alone. Over the centuries, Roamers had suffered many losses and tragedies because they lived in inhospitable places like Sheol. And if clan Reeves intended to go far beyond the reach of the Confederation, they would be entirely cut off.
The idea occurred to him like a seedpod bursting, spreading possibilities in his mind. Shelud knew what he had to do. “I’ll go with you!” His words sent a surprised murmur through the audience. “A green priest can share archaeological information without any intrusive research teams. And I can help you stay in touch, if you need it.”
His brother elbowed him and whispered, “What are you thinking?”
“We won’t need a green priest,” Olaf said. “We want to be left alone.”
Young Shelud continued in a loud voice, “Many Roamer clans have perished from some disaster or other. If you’re going into the unknown, there’s no need to exile yourselves completely—accept my help.”
Olaf scowled at the interruption. “We’ve made arrangements with Kett Shipping in the event of an emergency, but otherwise we will rely on our own skills and resources.”
Shelud’s heart was pounding, but he had made up his mind. “You could still use a green priest. If I bring a treeling, I have access to all the knowledge of the worldforest, if you need it. And if not . . .” He shrugged his bare green shoulders. “I’d still be happy to pitch in and help you make your new home.”
The Dark Between the Stars Page 27
