Hidden Empire (73 page)
B
ack on Rendezvous, unable to hide the proud defiance in his eyes, Jess Tamblyn announced to Cesca what he had done. Though
no one could be sure how much damage each explosion had done to the deep-core aliens on Golgen, he was certain he had hurt
the enemy—and hurt them badly.
They were alone in Cesca’s private office within the asteroid cluster. After a moment’s hesitation and longing, she allowed
herself to come forward and give him a brief but warm hug. Jess seemed reluctant to return the embrace, afraid to let himself
go.
She, too, had to put her personal feelings aside for the foreseeable future. The Roamers were at war, their livelihood threatened,
the clans in turmoil. It was no time for fluttery hearts and dreamy romance. She and Jess both knew that they must remain
apart for now. Cesca rested her head on his shoulder, then chastely returned to her desk, heaving a sigh. “You have done a
brave but terrible thing, Jess. We can only hope it turns out for the best.”
She would have to tell Jhy Okiah immediately. She and the Speaker would determine an official Roamer response, because Jess’s
impetuous destruction would force them to call yet another clan gathering. At least the Roamers need no longer feel so completely
helpless.
The cometary bombardment would send an implicit message to the Terran Hanseatic League as well. The Hansa had a history of
underestimating Roamers, imposing capricious new tariffs and dismissing them as disorganized riffraff with little power. But
Jess Tamblyn had demonstrated exactly what kind of Armageddon a crack team of Roamers could cause.
Before he could leave or Cesca had a chance to seek out Jhy Okiah, more dire news arrived from a trader; he had reviewed the
media recording he had brought many times, but could not yet believe everything it implied.
Cesca and Jess watched the preserved transmissions from the Whisper Palace. When the hydrogue emissary appeared within the
transparent chamber and humanity received its first glimpse of the enigmatic deep-core aliens, Cesca gasped, and Jess let
out a low groan. “It’s Ross!” he said. “They’ve taken my brother!”
Cesca stared in disbelief at the flowing quicksilver features of the man she had promised to marry. “Or at least they’ve copied
him. Ross was one of their first targets. Perhaps the hydrogues are using his image to communicate.”
Jess slumped into a wall-mounted slingchair, as if the low gravity had suddenly become unbearable. He leaned his head against
the rough wall. “Haven’t they hurt my family enough? What did we ever do to these creatures?”
When they heard the emissary’s ultimatum, Jess and Cesca looked at each other, angry now. The explosion and the murder of
Old King Frederick took them entirely by surprise. Cesca bit back a moan. Although the Roamers had never signed the Hansa
Charter and did not consider Frederick their King, the hydrogue emissary’s final act went beyond the bounds of comprehension.
Jess was white-lipped. “All this is in response to a Hansa experiment? Roamers had nothing to do with igniting Oncier!”
“Neither did the Ildirans.” Cesca’s mind spun, grasping the implications. “These … hydrogues don’t comprehend our social groupings
or politics. Apparently, they don’t even know the difference between humans and Ildirans.” Jess sighed. “Or maybe the distinction
doesn’t matter to them.”
The shaken trader scuttled off to spread the word. Cesca told him where he would find Speaker Okiah, since the old woman needed
to hear the news before gossip and horrific rumors reached her.
Weary and torn, Cesca wanted nothing more than to run off with Jess to somewhere they could be together and not have to worry
about galactic warfare and alien antagonists. But that would not happen for a long time, now. She placed a gentle hand on
Jess’s shoulder. “Go home, Jess. There’s nothing you can do here.”
He looked up at her, as if too many thoughts warred within him, struggling to get out. “There’s always something I can do,
some way to fight, to survive. Isn’t that what Roamers have always done?”
Before he left, he folded her in a long, warm, desperate embrace. “Yes, the clans need us, each in our own way,” she said.
“Roamers must prepare. You know this will get worse.”
Jess nodded grimly. “Yes, that’s one of the few things I
do
know.”
She found Jhy Okiah in the zero-G nursery on one of the outlying asteroids of the Rendezvous complex. The Speaker had heard
the news and by now also knew about Jess’s cometary bombardment of Golgen, but she had not yet responded. In all her years
involved in Roamer politics, the old woman had learned not to react too quickly.
“A moment of consideration often prevents a thousand apologies, Cesca,” she had once said. Because of the vast distances between
the scattered Hansa colonies and uncharted Roamer settlements, no action ever had instant counter-effects. Sometimes, years
were required before consequences made themselves known.
Jhy Okiah drifted against a wall, her brittle old legs bent into a lotus position. The Speaker had placed her thin wrist in
a tether loop that anchored her in the weightless environment. Here in the nursery, she loved to watch the Roamer children
play and laugh while learning movement skills in the gravity-free environment. The painted chamber walls were padded so the
children could bounce balls, or themselves, off different targets.
In the center of the nursery, equipped with a canister of compressed air that she used for maneuvering, the matronly Governess-model
compy UR kept a careful attentive eye on her charges. UR had a full suite of first-aid skills and discipline programming,
and a great deal more patience than any human. With her maternal-based psychology, the compy could tend many Roamer children
at once.
When Cesca entered the zero-gravity nursery asteroid, the Governess recognized her before Jhy Okiah came out of her deep reverie.
“Cesca Peroni, it has been far too long since you’ve come to visit me. Are you behaving yourself, as I instructed?”
Cesca smiled at the motherly compy. “I haven’t forgotten any of the things you taught me, UR.”
“See that you do not.” Then the Governess jetted off to interpose herself between two boys who were wrestling and tumbling
a bit too roughly. UR had watched over several generations of Roamer children, and though stern and meticulous, she also knew
how to inspire devotion and love.
While the old Speaker continued to gaze at the rambunctious children, Cesca pulled herself along the wall handholds and took
up a position next to her. Jhy Okiah said, “It may seem odd, with all the chaos and noise here in the nursery, but I come
here for peace so I can think.”
Cesca looked at the carefree boys and girls. “It’s not difficult to understand, Speaker Okiah. Where better to see that there
are still people who have no concerns and are delighted with life? People who envision the whole future bright around them?”
The old woman turned to look at her protégée. “I have taught you well, Cesca. If only everyone else could be so clever.”
They sat in a comfortable silence until Cesca could no longer withhold her questions. “So you have heard the news? About the
hydrogue emissary, and about… Jess and Golgen?”
Jhy Okiah nodded. “We did not bring this upon ourselves. Frederick was not our King. The Klikiss Torch was not our idea. But
now, thanks to brash Jess Tamblyn, we are thoroughly involved in the conflict—no longer innocent bystanders.”
Cesca’s expression grew sterner. “We were involved from the outset, Speaker Okiah, when the hydrogues attacked the Blue Sky
Mine. When they took Ross. When they murdered your grandson Berndt, and many many more. And now the aliens have issued an
ultimatum against ekti harvesting, the very foundation of our economy! Jess’s comets had nothing to do with that.”
The old woman agreed. “True. And all of us will suffer… not just those closest to us, like your Ross or my dear Berndt. Even
the farthest-flung Hansa colony worlds will feel the sting, since the ekti embargo will shut down interstellar travel. But,
as usual, we Roamers will be hurt more than anyone else.”
I
nside their small but comfortable dwelling, Beneto observed the green priest Talbun closely—the deep weariness that clung
to him, the eyes dark and nested in wrinkles, the way that age seemed to seep out of his emerald skin. Yet today the ancient
man’s expression was bright and eager, sparkling with a youthful excitement that Beneto was seeing for the first time since
he’d arrived on Corvus Landing two months earlier.
“I have showed you everything you need to understand here, Beneto,” Talbun said. “You have spoken to the mayor, met all the
people, seen their work. With the assistance of the worldforest, you are as prepared as you will ever be.”
Beneto clasped the old green priest’s hand. “I feel very much at home, Talbun. Before long, I will come to love Corvus Landing
as much as you do.” He swallowed hard, not wanting to shroud this moment with any veil of grief. “You are ready. I can tell.
And so am I.”
All of the settlers in Colony Town had welcomed Beneto, accepting him without reservation. Mayor Hendy, the colony laborers,
the businesspeople and their families went out of their way to emphasize how much they appreciated the younger priest’s willingness
to settle there. They had feared that no one would replace Talbun, despite the old man’s repeated assurances that he would
not leave the settlers—his surrogate family—without a telink contact.
Today, Mayor Hendy had declared an afternoon of celebration, with an extended banquet of their most wholesome, if not precisely
sumptuous, foods: goat stew, feta cheese, heavy breads. The children had run around the dusty Colony Town streets, and the
farmers had come in from their fields wearing clean clothes. Laughing, the settlers reminisced about kindnesses Talbun had
shown them, sending birthday greetings or congratulatory poems to family members on distant Hansa worlds.
Beneto listened to their amusing recollections of how Talbun had once huddled among his treelings during a rough storm just
so he could communicate human impressions of the local bad weather to the worldforest. They said their awkward farewells as
best they knew how.
As the darkness deepened on Corvus Landing, the winds picked up; brisk breezes rattled across the grain fields and swept over
the aerodynamic houses in Colony Town. “Looks like a storm approaching,” Beneto said, walking with the ancient green priest
toward the door of their dwelling.
Talbun smiled. “Not a bad storm. Just enough wind to make the trees talk.”
Now outside, Beneto could hear the worldtree fronds scraping together like whispering voices, laughing at shared conversations.
Talbun looked out into the darkness.
“Let me embrace you before you go,” Beneto said, his voice quiet.
The old man wrapped his wiry arms around the younger priest. Beneto thanked him for sharing his knowledge, for showing him
everything he needed to know.
“You were a natural student, Beneto. You already understood anything I could have taught you. I just helped speed the process.
I have no qualms about leaving you here. My people and my trees are in good hands.”
Then Talbun turned, his eyes alight with serene confidence, and left the dwelling. He moved with a remarkable spring in his
step as he hurried toward the dark grove of worldtrees he had planted years before. As Beneto watched, the old man shed his
lightweight robe and dropped it onto the ground, then proceeded naked and barefoot into the darkness.
Talbun savored the touch of a breeze against his skin, the crunching ground beneath his feet, and the soft strands of the
hairy matted groundcover. He walked into the grove—by himself, but not alone, as the worldforest encompassed him.
The treelings had rapidly matured into a tall stand, spreading to become a verdant anchor on this faraway planet. He glided
between the whispering trunks, touching fingertips against the soft, scaly bark. He greeted each tree individually, even the
new treeling Beneto had brought from Theroc, though they were all connected, all part of the same immense mind.
Returning to the center of the grove, Talbun lay down on the soft ground. He leaned back and rested his bony shoulders against
the nearest trunk. He looked up to see patches of the sky speckled with stars, crisscrossed by waving fronds that moved as
if applauding him … or beckoning.
Through his skin, Talbun initiated a deep telink prayer with the trees. He closed his eyes, sent his mind deep into the wood,
into the roots, and out into the overall worldforest.
Summoning his last thoughts, the old man willingly died and surrendered his spirit so that as it lifted, it could be caught
in the welcoming boughs of the golden semi-sentient trees.
The wind increased later on in the night, but the storm passed with only a brief, welcome rain shower. The next morning when
Beneto emerged from Talbun’s dwelling—his dwelling now—he looked up into blue skies and nourishing sunlight. His green skin
tingled, drinking up the photons. He consumed a liter of water, then walked into the worldforest grove to perform his last
duty for the old green priest.
