Hidden Empire (17 page)
“I am Ilkot. That is Dekyk.” The beetlelike robot gestured with two segmented worker arms that extended from his ellipsoidal
torso. “Sirix instructed us to place the structure here.”
Frowning, Margaret allowed that the position of the shed made no real difference, though she didn’t understand the Klikiss
robots or their occasional incomprehensible stubbornness. It was another example of how different these machines were from
a “Competent Computerized Companion” like DD, who followed orders like a faithful servant.
She and Louis had been thrilled when three of the sentient Klikiss machines had volunteered to join them at Rheindic Co. The
harmless Klikiss robots, though oblivious to human orders or plans, occasionally offered assistance in construction or exploration
projects that interested them. These three wanted to participate in investigating their lost civilization, professing equal
curiosity to solve the mystery of their vanished creators.
And to learn why they could remember nothing.
Only a few thousand of the machines remained, scattered and shut down during the last days of the vanished civilization and
now awakened from their slumber. Unfortunately, every one of their memory cores had been wiped clean of all data that could
provide clues to the fate of the alien race.
Beside her, Louis made an approving sound as the robots assembled the shed in record time. With glowing red optical sensors
mounted at various places in their geometrically shaped headplates and numerous segmented limbs that sprouted from their armored
carbon-fiber shells, the Klikiss robots were proficient laborers—powerful, yet capable of delicate manipulations.
Beneath the robots’ main body core, a spherical abdomen was mounted like a trackball at the waist, from which sprouted eight
flexible legs like bent millipedes, four on each side. The strange method of locomotion allowed the robots to scuttle over
any kind of terrain.
Sirix, the ostensible leader, moved forward. “The assigned labor has been finished, Margaret Colicos. Your camp is prepared.”
Sirix drew his six main manipulator limbs back into his body core and closed the openings with protective plates.
Over by the drilling apparatus, Arcas let out a shout as a geyser of cool, clear water sprayed upward. The shower ran over
DD’s silvery metal skin.
The priest came to stand near Margaret, his smooth green skin glistening from the spray. “Chemical analysis shows it’s pure
drinking water.” He licked his lips. “And it tastes delicious.” Margaret was glad to see the quiet man so excited. Thus far,
Arcas had not seemed enthusiastic about being here with two archaeologists, but he had volunteered for the job. “Now that
I have water, I can plant my twenty treelings. Enough to make a respectable grove here on this desert world.”
“Go ahead and plant them,” Louis said. They would eventually need the telink ability to send regular reports back to the Hansa.
“DD, would you help him, please?” Margaret said. She had hoped DD would be able to interact with the Klikiss robots, but so
far the little compy seemed intimidated by the giant ancient machines. She decided not to rush things.
The compy hurried over like an eager child. “I have never planted treelings before, but I am glad I can assist. Arcas and
I are sure to become great friends.” The green priest looked a bit uncertain about the idea, but accepted the offer of help
with good grace.
“He’s a Friendly model,” Louis said. “Don’t let his enthusiasm bother you. It’s just his way.”
As Arcas and DD dug holes for the potted treelings behind the green priest’s tent, the three Klikiss robots stood motionless,
like mechanical statues, staring at the orange-colored sky as it faded into dusk.
In the canyons and in the shade of the mountains, night shadows fell like guillotine blades as the sun passed over the horizon.
Initial surveys had found that temperatures could drop by as much as forty degrees within an hour, but the archaeological
team had brought batteries, warm clothes, heated shelters, and exothermic blankets. The archaeologists would be comfortable
here in camp, though they would have difficulty sleeping on the first night for entirely different reasons.
They were both eager for the great adventure ahead of them. Why had the Klikiss abandoned this and so many of their worlds?
A mass migration? A war? A terrible plague? Tomorrow, Margaret and Louis would get to work.
F
rom space, the Ildiran splinter world of Crenna looked beautiful and green, dotted with lakes, inland seas, and fertile land.
But Adar Kori’nh knew that the settlement festered with a terrible disease that first blinded its victims, then killed them.
The entire colony must be abandoned, and perhaps burned, before the plague could spread farther.
Let the humans deal with the aftermath, if they wanted the cursed place.
The magnificent cohort of the Solar Navy—seven full maniples, or 343 ships—approached with great fanfare. The bright vessels
resembled disklike fish cruising in a precise formation that had been practiced and tested in numerous military parades.
Due to politics and the structure of the Solar Navy, Adar Kori’nh was ensconced in the command nucleus of the ornate lead
warliner. He made few decisions, allowing the aged cohort leader, Tal Aro’nh, to maneuver his ships as he saw fit. This mission
would require little risk or innovation, and the stodgy Tal would follow each step precisely according to protocol. Kori’nh
had accompanied the evacuation mission only because the Mage-Imperator had commanded it.
During the journey to Crenna, the Solar Navy’s best tacticians and troop-movement specialists had developed the evacuation
plan. Once Tal Aro’nh assured himself that every step had been specified and written down, he relaxed. The dutiful subcommander
would follow the plan without deviation. Aro’nh was a perfect example of the Ildiran Solar Navy, wearing the correct plumage
of rank, never expecting his place in the universe to change.
The seven maniples took up varying orbital positions around Crenna in preparation for launching their rescue operation. Cutters
would scout the landscape, assess the extent to which the terrible plague had spread, and estimate how many inhabitants required
evacuation to the warliners. Adar Kori’nh frowned impatiently as he watched the activity and waited for reports.
The communications officer continued to send messages down to the Crenna colony town. Frustrated, the officer looked over
at Kori’nh, who nodded pointedly toward Tal Aro’nh, indicating that the subcommander should receive the report first. “After
continued attempts, Tal, we are unable to reach the Crenna Designate.”
“The Crenna Designate has perished from the plague,” Kori’nh said. The Mage-Imperator had already sensed the death of his
son. “We will have to manage this operation based on our own plan.”
“And we do indeed have a plan,” said Tal Aro’nh, as if reassuring himself.
The first sleek cutters dropped toward Crenna’s single city, where the splinter colony had been established. Gregarious Ildirans
preferred to live in close quarters, unwilling to spread out on open land. Groups of settlers worked the fields, raising food
for their colony, but each evening all the people returned to the fold, where they could take comfort in the combined
thism
. Now, though, so many Crenna inhabitants had died that the
thism
was frayed and broken, without sufficient population density to maintain a true link. The survivors felt bereft, isolated…
terrified.
Kori’nh felt a tightness in his chest, a backwash of fear projected from the colony survivors. “We must hurry, Tal Aro’nh,”
he said from the command nucleus. “Those people are alive… and alone.”
The surveillance cutters returned, transmitting images so that the large escorts and bulky troop carriers would know where
to land. Personnel-transport vessels had been stripped down and modified to accommodate quarantine conditions and sterilization
procedures.
Kori’nh studied the images of the colony town, where many buildings had already been abandoned or burned. The plague survivors
that remained free of the scourge huddled together in boarded-up buildings—a perfect recipe for spreading contagion. As the
disease spread, the victims first lost their eyesight, dying in terrible darkness—which was anathema to the Ildirans, whose
race had evolved under the perpetual daylight of seven suns. Even the burly soldier kith looked uneasy at the prospect of
facing the disease. Death was one thing, but darkness,
blindness
, was altogether more frightening.
“Take no time to salvage any material objects,” he suggested to the Tal. “We must abandon and shut down Crenna. The Mage-Imperator
already considers the entire settlement a loss. Evacuate the survivors as soon as possible, before any more fall to the plague.”
Accepting the Adar’s suggestion as a direct order, Tal Aro’nh relayed the words throughout the cohort.
From his comfortable command nucleus, Adar Kori’nh considered how this event might be dramatized in later versions of the
ever-growing
Saga of Seven Suns
. How would his own role be recorded? He didn’t want to sit safely here, watching from high above. Abruptly, he stood from
his command chair. “Tal Aro’nh, I will personally accompany one of the groups down to the surface.”
Alarmed, the old subcommander turned to him. “That… is not part of the plan, Adar—nor is it wise. The soldiers are already
at risk.”
“If we have not taken sufficient precautions, then we should not be sending our soldiers there.” Kori’nh strode toward the
hatch. “And if the situation is safe enough for our soldiers, I consider it safe enough for me. I will see Crenna for myself,
since the Mage-Imperator will want a firsthand report.” And only with active participation would he be remembered as more
than just a man who watched in comfort while nameless soldiers performed the dangerous work.
Kori’nh found a seat on the twenty-sixth troop carrier. The low-ranking soldiers were impressed that the prestigious Adar
would join them, though some appeared intimidated that he had stepped outside the boundaries of his normal role.
The Ildiran rescuers suited up in anticontamination films, tough membranes that covered their muscular bodies to protect against
disease organisms. Adar Kori’nh peeled on a thin suit of his own, tugging the membrane into place and snugging it against
his skin. The polymer film made a slurping sound as he adjusted it, and then he breathed sterilized air through the permeable
layer. He flexed his arms and stood at the troop carrier’s hatch, ready to march out with his soldiers into the wounded colony.
As the dozens of rescue ships landed in the main square of the Crenna city, haunted-looking survivors stared in amazement
and relief. For Kori’nh, their ache, their terror, was palpable in the air. Once their Designate had succumbed, they had lost
all direct telepathic contact with the Mage-Imperator. The Crenna colony was like an amputated limb, slowly twitching and
bleeding to death.
Now the stricken settlers came forward, hesitant. The soldiers could feel them exuding pain and fear. Some evacuation personnel
were stunned into confusion, while others worked doubly hard to hurry these poor people away.
Earlier, the Crenna colonists had gathered their dead and cremated them in huge bonfires in the open streets, as if hoping
the hot flames would whisk their souls from the darkness of death to a brighter place. Kori’nh could see the sooty stains
of ashes and blistered bones. Some of the colony structures that had been used as hospitals, and then death wards, had also
been burned to the ground with all the bodies inside.
“Leave everything!” he shouted through the protective membrane. “No keepsake or piece of furniture is worth the risk of bringing
this infection back to Ildira. Take only your lives and count yourselves lucky.”
Personally, he would have liked to vaporize every vestige of the colony town. The Mage-Imperator had already negotiated with
the Terran Hanseatic League for ownership of this planet, and Kori’nh wanted to leave nothing for the parasites. Since human
physiology was different from Ildiran biochemistry, the disease organism was not likely to infect them in the way it struck
down Ildirans—or so the Terrans hoped. Human medical researchers and scientists were waiting to continue their investigations,
eager to move to an already-tamed planet. Such blatant Terran opportunism in the face of Ildiran tragedy made the Adar uneasy.
Kori’nh remained on Crenna for the rest of that day as thousands of colonists crowded aboard troop carriers and were taken
to specified hospital warliners. The refugees would remain in isolation behind decontamination fields. Though separated by
bulkheads and sterile barriers, the survivors would be able to feel the comforting presence of other Ildirans. The thickness
of hollow walls could not block the
thism
.
As he sat back aboard the final troop carrier while the pilot returned them to orbit, Kori’nh looked down at the empty colony.
He and his troops had performed an efficient and commendable operation, and he would derive a great deal of acclaim from this
accomplishment.
