The Ashes of Worlds Page 7
When the General saw him holding the young woman, he seemed greatly amused. “So the well-bred Patrick Fitzpatrick III has found himself a pretty little Roamer mistress. How sweet.”
“She’s not my mistress. She’s my wife.”
Lanyan burst out laughing. “And would your grandmother still support you if she knew about that?”
Patrick remained cool. “I’m sure her wedding gift is already on its way.” He didn’t mention that he had neglected to send the old Battleaxe an invitation.
The technician had finally succeeded in calling up screens full of numbers. “Looks like we got it all, General. Other than the expected losses on cargo ships and a few ekti escort haulers that initially escaped our net, we have secured and transferred all the available fuel on these skymines.”
“Our work here is done, then.” Lanyan raked a self-satisfied gaze across the glowering Roamers in the operations center. “We’ll be back when the time is right. I’m sure Chairman Wenceslas will want to manage this in his own particular way.”
The innocent-eyed lieutenant burst into the ops center, looking flushed. “There you are, General! We’ve picked up the tracer signal on one of the cargo escorts we tagged. We can follow it to another Roamer depot or industrial facility, if you like.”
“I would like that very much. Tell the Goliath to prepare for immediate departure.” Snapping orders for his crew to finish up, he left Fitzpatrick and Zhett standing together in the operations center.
Before long the EDF raiders departed in a ponderous group, like bumblebees overloaded with pollen.
15
Margaret Colicos
Trapped on Llaro and surrounded by Klikiss, Margaret wondered if all those escaped colonists had been only a dream. Orli Covitz, Hud Steinman, Tasia Tamblyn, Robb Brindle . . . She no longer even had her faithful compy DD. Yes, they had gotten away. Margaret was completely alone . . . except for the monsters.
But she had helped those people escape. If she were going to become delusional, she could have done so long ago. After years of living at the bare edge of survival, knowing that the incomprehensible hive mind might kill her on a whim, Margaret had used the Klikiss behavior against them. She had made it possible for the doomed colonists to slip away before the insects could slaughter them. Nearly a hundred people had fled from Llaro. Including dear DD.
But the breedex refused to let her leave. While the others escaped, a group of Klikiss warriors had singled her out and captured her again. The hive mind wanted her, but she had no idea why. As an ambassador? A sounding board? A pet human being?
She shouted at the milling insects. “Why did you capture me if you don’t want me to do anything?”
But the new breedex chose not to answer through them. She threw a rock at a mottled brown digger, but the stone merely bounced off the chitin armor. The insects went about their bloodthirsty business, continuing the relentless assaults on other subhives, massacring countless rival Klikiss.
And ignoring her.
Her head pounded with the sound of their chittering. The smell of caustic powder, decay, and bitter insect pheromones caught in Margaret’s throat and nose. The tans and browns of the desolate landscape seemed harsher now, the edges sharper, even under pastel skies. Her eyes ached, as did her heart. She was stranded here.
Again, she cursed the Klikiss for holding her prisoner. It had felt so good to be among humans again. She missed DD. She missed Orli. She missed her son, Anton, whom she hadn’t seen in years. She still didn’t know what had happened to Davlin Lotze, though she assumed he was dead.
And, because the Klikiss had ceased communicating with her, she could get no answers to her questions. Though she walked among the hulking insects, pushing her way into their ranks, the creatures treated her as if she were no more than a tree or a rock to avoid. “Tell me why you want me here.”
In their constant chittering and humming, she heard no discernible reply.
Margaret made her way to the boundary of what had been a thriving human colony, which was now only ruins. The cultivated land had been completely subsumed by Klikiss structures. Insect warriors moved about, intent on urgent, incomprehensible missions. Builders slathered polymer resin cement on frameworks, erecting new towers to house even more Klikiss, expanding the subhive in preparation for further conquests.
The insects never ceased moving, never stopped pushing forward. Since their return from the Great Swarming, the warring subhives wanted to annihilate everything — all other breedexes, the hated black robots, and any human colonies that happened to get in the way. The Klikiss wouldn’t stop until it was all finished, until only one breedex remained.
Shortly after the few Llaro colonists had escaped, after the breedex had fissioned again and expanded its armies, the new-generation hive mind had thrown its warlike creatures into a bloody, almost maniacal wave of offensives, ripping apart one rival after another.
Always before, the different breedexes had attacked each other, striving for dominance and assimilating their conquered rivals into larger and larger forces. It was the way of their species. But the new Llaro breedex exhibited a berserker’s frenzy of violence, turning engineer sub-breeds loose to develop new weapons that annihilated rather than incorporated most of the defeated insect hordes. Only a few representative members of the crushed subhives were taken into the hall of the breedex to be used in the next fissioning; with their own breedex dead, the rest were sent out as expendable shock troops in an assault wave against the next subhive. Each time the Llaro subhive obliterated another breedex, it moved one step closer to being the sole hive mind of the species.
Margaret looked up, sensing a change in the air. Unified by some silent call, the Klikiss gathered around the trapezoidal wall in the middle of their city. The stone face shimmered, and figures took shape within, an entire army of the Llaro breedex’s warriors marching back through the doorway. Many of them were battered, their carapaces cracked and oozing globs of clotting ichor after a terrific battle, but the Klikiss warriors carried the spiny heads of the rival subhive’s domates. They had torn the other hive apart.
Another victory. The annihilation of another breedex.
Margaret felt sickened at the thought that the monstrous Llaro hive mind might actually win the struggle for species domination and control all of the Klikiss.
16
Captain Branson Roberts
On the day he got his rebuilt ship back from the Osquivel shipyards, BeBob hoped for a certain amount of fanfare. At the very least, he would have liked a small crowd to admire the new Blind Faith, wish him well, and offer a toast for the old ship, which the EDF had blown up.
Instead, no one came for the christening. In this damned unending war, a new crisis seemed to appear every single day. Tasia Tamblyn and her group had come back from Llaro, clamoring about the Klikiss invasion, and then the green priest had raised the alarm about the faeros attacking Theroc. Just that morning, Jess Tamblyn and Cesca Peroni had arrived at the shipyards in their wental ship, asking for help against the fiery elementals, and then they had rushed off.
Always an emergency. BeBob felt left out.
Like a proud parent he walked around the vessel. The paint was perfect and unscuffed, with no corrosions from cosmic radiation, no scratches or pits from micrometeoroids. And the Roamers had finished building the ship ahead of schedule!
During the reassembly he had hovered near the construction site every day. He had watched the frame put into place, the hull panels riveted on, extra armor layered over standard reinforcement alloys. The attitude-control thrusters, the in-system engines, and the stardrive had been tested on racks, then installed and tested again in situ. The modified computer systems and the full range of defensive weapons checked out. The old Faith had never sported projectile launchers or jazers, but in times like these, no ship could afford to be without them.
The new Blind Faith was seven meters longer than the original, with an expanded cargo bay and more compact engine
s, which yielded a twenty percent increase in carrying capacity; according to the specs, she was faster, too. BeBob couldn’t wait to see what the ship could do.
He particularly would have liked Rlinda Kett to fly with him on the maiden voyage, but he wasn’t going to wait around for her to come back from Earth. Long ago, she had helped him inspect the original Blind Faith, back when he had joined her shipping company. And then there had been their ill-advised marriage . . . but all that was so much gas down a black hole. Now the EDF had a death warrant out for him and probably one for Rlinda, too.
He still felt nervous that she had gone to the Hansa by herself. BeBob had wanted to go along, but Rlinda had laughed at him. “I’m the Confederation’s Trade Minister. I can take care of myself — but I’m not letting you anywhere near that planet. It was enough trouble breaking you out of EDF prison in the first place.” He had lost his ship, and they had lost Davlin Lotze in the process.
BeBob had every confidence in Rlinda Kett. He just wished she could be here for the launch. He had his first delivery mission already on the books, and he could set off at any time.
Toying with the external controls, he opened the main entry hatch. The boarding ramp hummed out smoothly, all tracks perfectly oiled. Bright panels lit the ship’s interior. He could smell the polymers of the control deck, freshly welded compartments, polished doors, and soft upholstery.
Poking his head back out again, he saw a curly-haired Roamer man enter the chamber. “Sorry I’m late, Captain Roberts,” Kotto Okiah said. “I see you’ve begun the inspection already.”
“Everything’s fine.” BeBob ran his hand along the inner hull. “Hand over the keys and I’ll take my ship out for a shakedown cruise.”
“Keys? We don’t use keys anymore. I have your access codes and authorization — ”
BeBob held up a hand. “Just kidding. An archaic reference.”
“I should have caught that.” Kotto looked around. “Would you like us to schedule an official ceremony later on, when things settle down? There’s just so much going on here.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” BeBob said, though he didn’t mean it. “If you’re going to wait until things settle down, we’ll have to send out invitations to my grandchildren.”
“You know, of course, about all the Llaro refugees that just came back? Someone wanted to see you. It seems you have friends among them.”
“I don’t remember anyone from Llaro — ” BeBob turned as more visitors entered the bay. He recognized a skinny old man with grayish-white hair and unkempt clothes and a young girl with short brown hair and large sepia eyes, accompanied by a Friendly compy. “Orli! Orli Covitz — and Hud Steinman!” He had rescued the two from Corribus, the only survivors of the black robot attack. “What were you two doing on Llaro?”
“Being chased by bugs, mostly,” Orli said. “Is that a new ship? Doesn’t look at all like the old one.”
“Forget the battered old vessel. Now everything’s shiny. The engines and power systems purr instead of clatter.” Grinning, he gestured to the ramp. “Step aboard my new Blind Faith.”
Orli trotted up to the control deck and poked around with a fascinated expression. “Maybe I can be your copilot or first officer someday.”
When BeBob saw she was serious, he realized that he could do worse. “I’ll think about it. Hey, I was about to take a test flight with a load of supplies for Relleker, and I wouldn’t mind the company. Want to come along? Sounds like we’ve got plenty of stories to exchange.”
“What do you think, DD?” Orli asked. The Friendly compy, obviously pleased to be with her and away from the Klikiss, seemed perfectly amenable.
“We would like that,” said Mr. Steinman. The old man glanced around the rock-walled landing bay in which the ship rested. “We don’t have anything better to do. Might as well make ourselves useful.”
17
Rlinda Kett
Though she had changed her call sign and obscured the ship’s name with a strategically applied scorch mark on the hull, Rlinda never stopped calling her ship the Voracious Curiosity. However, she took care to avoid any unwanted EDF entanglements.
Her ship carried a profitable cargo of comfort items that people facing austerity and rationing would very much welcome: preserved foods, jungle delicacies from Theroc, difficult-to-obtain cocoon-weave fabrics, thermal-resistant equipment from Constantine III. The Hansa simply couldn’t get such things anymore.
However, since Chairman Wenceslas had imposed extreme wartime tariffs, she would never enter into a formal agreement with Earth’s industries and merchants. Rlinda would find her own customers through unofficial channels, thank you very much. She still had plenty of black-market connections, and she could get her goods into the hands of customers who needed and appreciated them.
As the Curiosity passed the Moon and headed in toward Earth orbit, she was surprised to see a large, dark Ildiran warliner being towed into position above the lunar base. “What the hell is the EDF doing with an intact warliner?” Maybe it was better if she didn’t know.
Calling no attention to herself, she began weaving in among the orbital traffic. The Curiosity flew in stealthily. Rlinda cut her transmissions and kept a low reflective profile on any surveillance networks. She mixed in with local ships and sent a burst signal so that her contacts would know what items she had to trade and what her asking price was.
“Sneaking around like an illegal smuggler,” she muttered to herself. “Ah, the glamorous life of the Confederation’s Trade Minister.”
That afternoon, settled in, Rlinda waited on an uncomfortable wrought-metal chair out in the sunshine. The wafting aroma of dark-roasted coffee beans gave the café a pleasant atmosphere, though she was annoyed at having paid vastly too much for a cup of coffee. Rlinda had the equipment to make herself a better one in the Curiosity’s galley.
Outside in the tiled square, a group of white-painted mimes — of all things! — had begun a performance, wearing garish costumes and using exaggerated motions. Their silly pratfalls garnered chuckles from the few passersby who stopped to watch. The mimes were all playing characters, and Rlinda realized with a start that they were meant to be King Peter, the Archfather of Unison, and the Hansa Chairman. She doubted many other people recognized what the mimes were doing, but their political leanings were clear from the noble nature of the King, the inept buffoonery of the religious leader, and the sheer evil of the Chairman. She watched, newly impressed, and wondered how many other quiet symptoms of rebellion were manifesting themselves on Earth.
She heard an astonished, but carefully hushed woman’s voice. “What are you doing here?”
Rlinda turned. Her guest had arrived. “Hello, Sarein. I wasn’t sure you’d get my invitation.”
The Theron ambassador had disguised herself in plain Earth clothes with no traditional garments or any mark of her political position. “Are you supposed to be here? Are you allowed?”
“Of course not, but I couldn’t let that stop me. Sit down.” Rlinda lowered her voice, maintaining a scandalized tone. “I hope you brought your Hansa budget authorization. The coffee here is very expensive.”
Sarein stood motionless. She looked around, suspecting a trap. “There’s probably a warrant out for your arrest. I’m sure Basil hasn’t rescinded it.”
“Relax, Sarein.” Rlinda drummed her fingers on the edge of the table. “It’s just me. We’ve known each other a long time. Now please sit down. People are going to stare if you keep standing there like that.”
That was all the other woman needed to hear, and with a quick, compact movement she slid into a chair and sat across the table from Rlinda. After ordering an iced tea for herself, Sarein leaned forward and whispered, “How did you send me that message? It wasn’t traceable.”
“It wasn’t threatening, either, so I hoped you might be intrigued enough to come.”
“Even though I’m one of the few people Basil still trusts, he’s always monitoring me.”
“I’m not staying with him, but I can’t leave. Not now. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Ah, one of those kinds of relationships.”
Sarein pressed her pale lips together. “It’s not much of a relationship anymore, certainly not a romantic one. I won’t kid you — things are getting very bad, Rlinda. You shouldn’t be here. It’s dangerous. When you and Captain Roberts escaped last time, you threw the whole security net into question.”
“Security net?” Rlinda chuckled. “That’s an apt term — it’s so full of holes I can slip in and out anytime I like.”
“Well, I can’t,” Sarein said. “Basil’s cut himself off from so many things, I’m one of his last remaining advisers — for what that’s worth. If I leave . . .”
“Hell in a handbasket, I get it.” Then she grew more serious. “Every time I come back to see you, things seem more messed up than they were on the visit before. Are you sure it’s not time for you to leave? I could take you back to Theroc.”
Sarein clutched her iced tea and peered from right to left. Rlinda wondered if she somehow imagined that Chairman Wenceslas had put her up to this as a test of her loyalty. “I . . . I couldn’t.”
“Really? Aren’t you the Theron ambassador? Doesn’t that mean your home is back there? Since the Hansa has cut off all relations with King Peter and Queen Estarra, what exactly is your role on Earth?”
“I might be one of the only stabilizing influences Basil’s got left.” Sarein’s words tumbled out in a rush, as if she were trying to convince herself. “That’s the most important role I’m able to fill. I can still talk to him. Sometimes.”
“Then talk some sense into him,” Rlinda said in a loud voice. Sarein quickly looked around to see if anyone had overheard.