Hidden Empire (78 page)
To her shock and deeper dismay, she saw that another group of bestial guards had broken into Otema’s private chamber and taken
her captive as well. The old green priest stood rigid, her expression hard and stormy, but she did not squirm and thrash,
seeing the futility of resistance.
Wrapping dignity around herself like a shawl, Otema glared at Bron’n. “I challenge what you are doing. If we are accused of
some crime, name it. If we have been summoned to the Mage-Imperator, we will go willingly.”
Bron’n pressed close to the old woman. “I follow my Mage-Imperator’s orders.”
Otema looked at Nira, then back at Bron’n. “If you harm us, there will be dire diplomatic consequences. We are legitimate
representatives of Theroc, invited here by the Prime Designate and your own Mage-Imperator. I demand—”
From his thick vest, Bron’n removed a jagged knife made of smoky gray glass. “Old woman, you are long past breeding age, and
therefore of no use to us.”
Before Nira could even scream, the brutish guard struck down with the dagger, plunging it deep into Otema’s heart. He yanked
the glass blade back, and her captors let the old woman fall to the floor. Each of the guards raised his spear. Each stabbed
the already-dead ambassador. Then they stepped away from her bleeding body.
Bron’n gave a signal. Five scuttling servant kithmen hurried forward to clean up the mess, as the Mage-Imperator had commanded.
Sobbing with revulsion and horror, Nira sagged. Her knees buckled, and black specks swam in front of her eyes. She couldn’t
believe what she had seen, prayed that it was some bizarre nightmare, but the guards grasped her and held her up. She felt
the hard grip of their calloused hands, smelled their musky, violent scent.
Wrestling her arms behind her, exerting pain but careful not to break her wrists, they bound Nira tightly, strapped a gag
across her mouth, and hustled her down dim and winding corridors deep within the Prism Palace.
They tossed her into a stiflingly hot chamber with thick curved walls of bloodred stained glass. The shadows here were darker,
the blazers turned low, the air almost too thick to breathe. Bron’n stood blocking the doorway behind her. Nira fell to her
knees, unable to move her arms because of the bindings.
Another man came forward. He grasped her chin and tilted her smooth head up toward him. The Dobro Designate glared at her
with dull eyes, as if he saw nothing living or intelligent there, only a specimen for a collection. Nostrils flaring, he sniffed
her, then released her chin and stepped back with a cruel but approving smile to Bron’n.
“Perfect material,” he said. “She is healthy and strong. I can
smell
the possibilities in her genes. Take her to my ship and be certain that all evidence is gone well before the Prime Designate
returns from Theroc.”
Bron’n acknowledged the instructions. Nira couldn’t even find the strength to struggle. The Dobro Designate looked down at
her, eyes glittering.
“The potential you give us,” he said, “is the only hope the Ildiran Empire has of surviving the hydrogue war.”
A
fter all the terrible news the Roamers had heard in recent months, Jhy Okiah’s announcement still managed to astound the clans.
The old Speaker waited for silence to fall in the speaking chamber at Rendezvous. She stood at the pedestal on her oratory
platform in the middle of the vault. Lights shone down upon her, commanding the focus of the gathering.
She exercised her veto power, putting an end to arguments and discussion, and waited for the clans to hear what she had to
say. “The future will require extraordinary strength and vision—more than I have left within me.” Her firm voice cut through
the cries of dismay and shouts of dissent. “I have led you through many productive years, but now the rules have shifted.
My predictable ways are no longer appropriate. We Roamers must change in order to deal with the hydrogues.
“And therefore, for the good of Roamer society, and for the human race itself,” she said, “I have no choice but to resign
my position as Speaker for all Roamer clans.”
She stopped and waited a second. Then the uproar began. During the worsening crisis, the Speaker had seemed to be the only
bastion of stability for the Roamers. Jhy Okiah had represented the clans impartially for years and directed their discussions
with an even hand. She was considered a fair and reasonable leader, even by those who disagreed with her decisions.
The aliens had followed through on their threat against all trespassers after delivering their ultimatum and assassinating
King Frederick on Earth. Intimidated, most Roamers had withdrawn their skymines from the gas planets, but a few had lingered
too long. Within a week, fifteen more ekti-harvesting facilities had been obliterated by hydrogue warglobes. Fewer than a
hundred Roamer refugees had survived, bringing back horrific tales and images. The enemy was efficient, thorough, and completely
merciless.
“We need a new Speaker, a stronger Speaker,” Jhy Okiah continued. “Someone with more imagination and energy than I.”
Seated in her private booth near the podium, Cesca Peroni could barely keep from weeping. She had known the old woman’s plans
and argued with her privately, but Jhy Okiah was stubborn and implacable.
“This conflict may go on for a long time, Cesca,” she had said. “Things could get difficult… and very ugly. I apologize for
the ordeal I’m about to put you through. But in my bones I sense that I may not see this war through to its end. It is better
to begin with a strong Speaker at the outset, rather than increase turmoil later on, when more harm may result.”
“But I’m not ready. You know how much I have yet to learn.”
“More important, I know you are
capable
of learning.” The old woman touched a gnarled finger against Cesca’s lips to silence her. “This is the most important secret
I can teach you: No one is ever ready. You cannot be less qualified than I was when I took on the role. And I haven’t done
too badly.” She chuckled softly. “You are capable, Cesca, and you have no delusions of infallibility. Frankly, those are all
the requirements you need. Just follow your Guiding Star.”
Now that she had made her announcement in public, Jhy Okiah allowed no further discussion. In her life she’d had too much
discussion. She stepped down from the podium and motioned for Cesca to take her place, both now and for the years to come.
Cesca paused at the oratory podium, feeling insubstantial in the asteroid’s low gravity, though her heart was heavy inside
her. Her shoulders bowed under the weight of the immense burden she now carried.
Just follow your Guiding Star
. She wanted to laugh. The Roamers liked to believe their paths were set, if only they could see the proper course. But she
had already strayed many times.
Now she looked into the audience, found the seating area reserved for clan Tamblyn, and spotted Jess watching her, his face
intent and supportive, as he sat beside his four uncles. A different path, a different course would have steered them together.
But now she couldn’t see a way to join him. Not yet. Their eyes met, and he gave her a smile, which was all the strength she
needed.
Jess’s cometary bombardment of Golgen had indeed sent cheers through the Roamer community. Having struck back, however fruitlessly,
they no longer felt so helpless. Already, orbital specialists were mapping the Kuiper belts in other solar systems to continue
the silent gravity-driven war against other gas giants where Roamer skymines had been attacked. Sadly, there were many graveyards
to choose from.
Cesca had rehearsed her speech over and over again, but now the words tasted flat and lifeless in her mouth. How could she
possibly lead all these people, so many disparate clans? How could she inspire them to do the necessary things, make the uncomfortable
sacrifices that would help Roamer society survive?
“I did not want to be your Speaker so soon,” she said softly. Then her voice grew bitter, almost strident. “Nor did I
want
the hydrogues to murder my fiancée and destroy his skymine on Golgen. I did not
want
the enemy aliens to engage us in a war we did not start. I did not
want
our ekti harvesting to be violently cut off.”
Cesca paused, staring at the audience. “Unfortunately, we do not always get what we want. So I am here as your new Speaker.
All Roamers are tied together by this terrible crisis.” She held out her hands. “So, what are we going to do?”
No one dared to make a suggestion, though the Roamer clans had never been reluctant to speak their minds. Cesca continued,
“Throughout our history, Roamers have never had an easy time. We have crashed headlong into adversity, and we have survived.
We know how to adapt. We know how to innovate. And we know how to remain what we are.”
Cesca had been trained to be firm and unwavering, as well as a caring and nurturing leader. She would devote her heart and
mind to this job. “I intend to see us through this crisis, and I do not speak lightly of the hydrogue threat. This war could
either destroy all of human civilization … or give Roamers our independence at last.”
This sent mutters through the audience hall, and she let the gathered people express themselves, building upon each other’s
confidence.
“So, what are we to do, if we can no longer harvest ekti from gas giants? Our entire economy is based on this. Should we just
surrender to the inevitable—maybe join the Big Goose after all?” She shook her head. “We dare not become more dependent upon
the Hansa, after working for more than a century to wean ourselves from suffocating ties with Earth.”
“Then how do we survive?” shouted someone from the audience. “Without ekti we—”
She cut him off with a sharply raised palm. “Since when have the Roamers been bound to a single option? Gas giants are merely
the most convenient reservoirs of hydrogen. But it is the most abundant element in the galaxy. We must look at alternatives
and begin to harvest ekti in other ways.”
Cesca smiled down at a man seated in the front row of audience benches. “I have recalled Kotto Okiah, one of our best inventors,
from Isperos, where he was building a new Roamer colony in the heat and lava. I have asked him to apply his ingenuity to this
new problem. It may prove more difficult to harvest ekti elsewhere in the Spiral Arm … but will that stop us?”
She forced a laugh. “I don’t think so! We are
Roamers
. Let us apply our imaginations, our creativity, and face down this challenge. Look toward the Guiding Star we all know is
out there. We can come out stronger if we work hard enough and demonstrate our true brilliance. We’ve always been good at
considering long-term plans, haven’t we?”
Cesca lifted both hands, looking at all her people. “Every one of our inventors and designers and engineers must join in.
We have no time to lose.” Relieved but giddy, she took a step back from the podium and raised her voice. “We will find new
ways.”
T
he
Goliath
rode in a stationary orbit, while Platcom Tasia Tamblyn’s Thunderhead crouched close to the Hansa mines plowing through the
colorful Jovian skies. The enormous factories sprayed exhaust plumes shaped like anvils high into the rarefied air.
Day after day, the EDF escorts stayed at high alert. The Juggernaut loomed at the edge of orbit; Manta cruisers soared above
the skymining operations. Survey flights of Remoras streaked through the cloud layers while Thunderheads hovered overhead,
scanning Jupiter’s storm systems and weather patterns for any anomalies. The cloud patrols returned to their base ships at
hourly intervals, reporting nothing unusual. The edgy suspense never waned, though many crew members began to doubt that hydrogues
lived at the core of Jupiter.
Tasia did not allow herself to stop watching, though. The cloud-harvesters were like fishing boats drifting on the sea, while
the hydrogues were monsters lurking at the bottom of the deepest ocean trenches. Admiral Stromo, aboard the
Goliath
, continued to stage response drills and weapons practices. Everyone remained ready.
