Hidden Empire (10 page)
Ekti was the only known allotrope of hydrogen, though other elements had varying molecular forms. Carbon manifested itself
as powdery graphite, crystalline diamond, or exotic polymer spheres of buckminsterfullerene. Long ago, the Ildirans had discovered
how to reconfigure hydrogen into a fuel that allowed their stardrives to function.
Before ambitious Roamers took over the ekti-harvesting industry, old Ildiran-model cloud trawlers had been much larger, hosting
a minimal splinter community of sixty to ninety family units and requiring a gigantic infrastructure. Therefore, harvesting
ekti had cost the gregarious Ildirans a great deal.
Independent Roamers, on the other hand, could operate skymines with a small support staff, which also allowed them to sell
stardrive fuel at lower cost. The Ildirans had gladly surrendered their monopoly on ekti production, glad to leave the “desert
islands in space” and let humans have the misery to themselves.
The rest of the Hansa considered the Roamers to be little more than gypsy space trash, disorganized and disreputable. No one
had an inkling of how much the clans actually had and how many taxes they avoided, since they kept such information hidden
from outsiders.
A flutter of white wings went past Jess’s face, startling him. He looked up to see a dozen doves flapping around the deck,
swirling out into the sky and circling back to their perches and feed bins. “I’d forgotten about the birds.”
“This is a perfect place for them. Look how far they can fly.”
“Yes, but where do they land?”
Ross rapped his knuckles on one of the railings. “Back here.” Clouds extended for a thousand miles below them, but neither
Ross nor Jess felt dizzy. “They have nowhere else to go, so they always return. The best sort of cage.”
Fastening his insulated jacket against the chill, Ross gazed across the infinite distance like a feudal lord surveying his
domain. Jess pulled up his hood against the breeze. Behind them, exhaust plumes boiled upward like thunderheads that rapidly
dispersed into the cloud decks of Golgen. The two brothers stood side by side in comfortable silence.
During the lull in conversation, Jess sensed it was time for his gifts. He opened one of the pocket pouches on his right thigh
and withdrew a thick golden disk engraved with symbols that matched the Tamblyn clan markings embroidered on Jess’s and Ross’s
clothing. “Tasia made this for you.”
Ross took it, looking with wonder at the beautiful device his younger sister had created. “As usual, I’m impressed by her
engineering skills … but I’ll need to know what it
is
before I can use it.”
Jess pointed to the dial and the numbers. “It’s a compass. It can be normalized to any planet’s magnetic field so you can
always find your way. See, there’s the Guiding Star.”
“Is my little sister implying that I’m lost?”
“It’s just her way of showing that she misses you, Ross, though you’d never get through her tough-girl act long enough for
her to admit it.”
Ross’s grin grew. “Yeah, I miss her, too.”
Jess reached into a second pocket and pulled out a small bound book with yellowed pages, most of which were blank, though
some were covered with faded handwriting. “An old-fashioned logbook used by sea captains to keep track of their journeys.
It’s from Dad.”
Ross slid the compass into one of his pockets and held the red leather-bound book with a combination of awe and skepticism.
“This is from
Dad?”
He flipped through the pages, looking at the handwritten words, then raised his gaze to meet Jess’s. “Somehow I don’t believe
that. He wouldn’t give this to me. In fact, all the gifts you’ve brought over the past several years are just family treasures
you smuggled out from Plumas, aren’t they?”
Jess could not maintain an innocent expression. “Would you have it any other way?” Ross held the logbook, pretending not to
care, but Jess could see that the gift meant a great deal to him, even if it came from his brother rather than his father.
They both knew Bram Tamblyn very well. He was a stern and inflexible family leader, and for all his life he’d insisted on
having everything precisely his own way. That attitude worked well enough with his employees in the water-mining operation
under the ice sheets of Plumas. However, Bram Tamblyn’s firstborn son had turned out to be just as stubborn as his father.
The two had gotten into frequent shouting matches for years, until finally, after he reached the age of twenty-two, Ross had
had enough.
Old Bram had threatened to disown his son if he didn’t bow to his wishes, and the young man astonished his father by calling
his bluff. Tempers were high. Outraged, Bram vowed he would excise Ross from their clan, so Ross offered to save him the embarrassment.
He requested the portion of the family inheritance that was due him and swore he would make his own success.
Jess had been there, along with Tasia. Though they intervened, trying to make peace between the two, the old man would have
none of it. Bram had gotten a calculating look in his eye—his clan’s fortunes were increasing year by year, and if Ross took
his inheritance now and quit his claim to all future income, he would surely come out the loser. So Bram tallied up his son’s
share and gave it to him, telling Ross never to ask for another penny.
And Ross had not. He had invested his inheritance wisely, taking over the operation of the Blue Sky Mine, which he ran with
such grace and skill that it had nearly climbed out of debt by the time Ross turned twenty-eight. Old Bram pretended anger
and chagrin but was secretly proud.
When Jess came to visit the skymining station, there was never any animosity between the brothers. On the other hand, thanks
to Ross’s stubbornness, Jess would someday become the official head of the Tamblyn clan and inherit the lucrative Plumas water
mines, becoming a powerful man in his own right. He didn’t want it, but he would not let anyone down.
Ahead of the Blue Sky Mine, an anvil of grayish rust cloud rose from the lower layers. Ross went to a set of controls and
diverted the exhaust plumes, using them like attitude-control jets. The huge cloud trawler shifted its course and banked northward
so that they passed a yawning maelstrom of angry clouds.
“That hurricane could swallow a whole planet,” Ross said. Distressed, the pet doves fluttered behind the skymine, following
their only roost.
“Just as long as it doesn’t swallow this skymine,” Jess said. “Any danger?”
“Not with me at the helm. When the winds get rough, I can always climb to a different layer.” He waited and then finally turned
expectant eyes on his younger brother. “So… did you bring anything from Cesca?”
Jess forced a light tone into his voice. This was the hardest part of everything he was expected to do. “You think you need
more than her love?”
“No, I suppose I don’t.”
Jess wanted to change the subject, unable to shake the image of the beautiful Francesca Peroni, to whom Ross had been betrothed
for years. “Jhy Okiah has just filed a formal petition that legally names Cesca her heir as Speaker for the Roamers.”
“No surprise at all.” Ross looked proud, but his voice was businesslike. “She’s a very talented woman.”
“Yes, she is.” Jess closed his mouth to keep himself from saying more. It wasn’t his place. Sadly, for more than a year Jess
himself had been deeply in love with Cesca, and he knew the feeling was very mutual. Her betrothal to Ross had occurred long
before she and Jess had met, and Roamer honor and politics would never allow her to break the engagement. Neither would Jess’s
sense of duty to his brother.
Besides, Ross had worked so hard to meet the difficult conditions he and Cesca had agreed on for their wedding. Jess would
never do anything to hurt or embarrass his brother, and neither would Cesca. Both were loyal to Ross, and all of them were
bound by the complex social restrictions of the Roamer culture. Jess had resigned himself to an unrequited love. He would
stand strong and live without her, though Cesca would always be in his heart.
Ross had no inkling of his brother’s attraction for his fiancée, and Jess had privately sworn never to let him discover that
fact. The cost to all of them would be far too great.
After sharing a meal and playing a few rounds of stargames with three crew workers, Jess slept in a guest bunk. He left the
Blue Sky Mine early the following morning, when Golgen’s sun was just creeping above the fuzzy horizon.
Bidding Ross farewell, Jess detached the valuable load of stardrive fuel and began to pilot the cargo escort away from the
Golgen system to a Roamer transport station, where it would be offloaded to Goose distribution ships.
He also carried gifts and letters from Ross, because after completing his delivery, Jess intended to make his way to the central
Roamer complex of Rendezvous. With an ache in his heart but a neutral expression on his face, he would dutifully deliver his
brother’s romantic presents to Cesca Peroni.
T
he Roamer yacht maintained its position at the arranged meeting point in empty space. The private yacht bore no markings to
indicate that it carried the important Speaker for all Roamer clans, along with her protégée. Playing their political cards
close to the chest, Roamers rarely resorted to emblems or trappings of power.
Cesca Peroni sat in the copilot’s seat, monitoring the emptiness, keeping watch on her sensors. Distant stars glowed all around
them, partially muffled by thin wisps of nebular gas. “No sign of the other ship yet.” With large eyes, dusky skin, and a
sense of humor matched only by her sense of duty, Cesca always kept both her mind and her eyes open.
Beside her the sinewy old woman, Jhy Okiah, stared through the windowport, as if she found every single star worth looking
at. “Patience, patience.” The ancient Speaker had vast reserves of inner calm and an intelligence that she never flaunted
when speaking to others.
A light blinked on Cesca’s control panel. “Ah, here he comes.”
Jhy Okiah pursed her lips as she studied the starscape to pick out the tiny dot that heralded the diplomatic transport ship
bearing the Theron heir, Reynald. For months, the son of Mother Alexa and Father Idriss had worked through intermediaries
and scattered messages to arrange this meeting with representatives of the Roamers. His persistence had been admirable.
“He’s finally getting what he requested,” Jhy Okiah said in her raspy voice. “I can’t help but chuckle at how astonished Chairman
Wenceslas would be if he knew Reynald had gone to so much trouble just to see a few Roamers.”
Cesca looked at the Speaker. “Perhaps this young man understands more about us than other human governments do.” Both women
knew about Reynald’s peregrination, and they respected the young man’s interest in all significant societies of the Spiral
Arm, including the oft-dismissed space gypsies.
Jhy Okiah frowned. “Or perhaps we haven’t been keeping our secrets as well as we think.” Though their nomadic society had
many ships and a great deal of wealth, the clans kept their operations thoroughly confidential and avoided drawing attention
to themselves.
The old woman’s limbs were thin and her bones as brittle as dry bamboo, which required her to spend most of her time at the
Roamer asteroid conglomeration of Rendezvous. Jhy Okiah had been married four times and had outlived every one of her husbands.
She’d borne several children from each mate, so that she had a total of fourteen sons and daughters, fifty-three grandchildren,
and an ever-increasing number of greatgrandchildren. The old Speaker didn’t bother keeping track anymore.
Finally, the Theron diplomatic transport pulled alongside the Roamer yacht, deftly maneuvering with jets and aligning the
two vessels. After the airlock connections were attached, Reynald stepped across into the yacht’s receiving area.
The Theron prince’s dark hair was bunched together in a mass of braids. Tattoos stood out at his collar and along his neck.
His handsome face broke into a polite smile before he bowed to the two women, eyes flashing at Cesca in obvious admiration.
She fought back a flush from his open scrutiny.
“I apologize that we can’t welcome you with more ceremony,” Jhy Okiah said, gesturing him into their small common chamber,
which held refreshments, a table large enough to seat a few people, and little else. “You must be accustomed to everything
on a grander scale, coming from Theroc.”
Reynald spread his hands. “At times I prefer a more intimate setting. Besides”—he looked at Jhy Okiah, then gave Cesca a longer,
more intense smile—“I wish to speak with you two, not a thousand others in an audience.”
After they exchanged sips of pepperflower tea and a few token gifts, Jhy Okiah took a seat and regarded him. “You have whetted
our curiosity, young man. Tell me, what have the Roamers done to arouse the interest of a prince of Theroc?”
Reynald leaned across the table, clasping his hands and seeming to exude an earnestness that Cesca didn’t believe was an act.
“It’s occurred to me that Roamers and Therons have much in common. We’ve both dodged the net of the Hansa. Theroc alone among
the colony worlds remains independent. All others have signed the Hansa Charter. Roamers also live their own lives and govern
themselves without Terran restrictions.”
