Of Fire and Night (30 page)

72

SULLIVAN GOLD

T
he warliner’s engine rooms hummed with the stardrive machinery and the constant conversation of crewmen. Now that the hydrogues had come back to issue their terrible instructions, the level of urgency had increased dramatically. But as far as Sullivan could see, the Ildirans still didn’t
get
it.

The engineer Shir’of beckoned him and Tabitha to follow into the engine chambers. They trooped down metal stairs past curved reactor tanks and circulation cylinders filled with hot ekti. He showed them everything, every deck and every engine room. They passed hundreds of crewmen, three times as many as he could imagine were necessary. Sullivan rubbed his temples in the constant noise, missing Lydia and his children and grandchildren.

If we come up with something here, the Ildirans will let us go home. Provided the Adar is true to his word
.

Tabitha drank in the details with a mixture of fascination and scorn. She had given up trying to take notes on the unfamiliar Ildiran datapad that the scientist Klie’f had given her. She lifted the datapad. “This thing is probably the same model they were using two hundred years ago.”

Shir’of smiled, as if it were a compliment. “Once we reached the pinnacle of our technology, there was no need to continue improvements.” He did not see the flaw in his reasoning.

“And now you’re in trouble,” Tabitha said. “After picking your noses for so many generations, you’ve forgotten how to come up with new ideas.”

When they reached the command nucleus, Adar Zan’nh dispensed with formalities. “Show me your breakthroughs. Time grows desperately short. I am ordered to go to Earth immediately, and if you cannot find us an alternative before I return . . .” He let his words hang ominously.

“We’ve only had a few days to think about it,” Sullivan said.

“Yeah, I usually need at least a week to defeat an invincible enemy,” Tabitha quipped. “I can’t come up with a doomsday weapons system off the top of my head, design, develop, produce, and implement it all within a couple of days.”

Sullivan looked at her. “Nevertheless, that’s what we’ve got to do.”

Tabitha cracked her knuckles, turning to the problem. On the screen, blips marked thirteen hundred ornate battleships gathering in orbit, drawn from across the Ildiran Empire. “So we’re stuck with what we’ve got. How do we use your Solar Navy in a different way?”

Sullivan scanned the constant activity around the command nucleus. Solar Navy soldiers hunched over stations, arriving and leaving in a constant flow, as if the warliner’s bridge were a busy city street.

“Here’s what I’ve been thinking.” Tabitha bit her lower lip. “The only thing I know of that can take down a hydrogue warglobe—other than a bunch of faeros, I mean—is slamming a big ship into it, like that Ildiran commander did. I don’t suppose you could just construct a thousand or so empty warliners and throw them at the drogues?”

Zan’nh heard no humor in her comment. “They do not need to be empty. The Solar Navy does have seven cohorts of warliners. As a last resort, we will use them in such a manner.”

Sullivan realized that he hadn’t seen anything remotely similar to compies in the Ildiran Empire. “But look at all these personnel it takes to run your ships. Don’t you have automated systems to minimize casualties if you go into battle?”

The Adar shook his head. “The Ildiran Empire has no intelligent machines, robots, or competent computerized companions. That was part of our bargain with the Klikiss robots long ago.” His face was stony, as if he refused to allow himself to scowl. “Another bad bargain.”

“So, everything needs to be done by hand?” Sullivan said in disbelief.

“We do not lack for manpower.”

Tabitha rolled her eyes. “When your Adar Kori’nh crashed all those warliners into the enemy, you mean each one of them had a full crew aboard?”

“A minimal crew,” Zan’nh said. “There was no other way.”

Sullivan wondered how many people Ildirans considered “minimal.”

Tabitha cocked her eyebrows. “Let me explain about autopilots and cruise control.”

73

KOLKER

W
hen the green priest climbed to the top of the Prism Palace’s domed towers, he could almost imagine sitting in the worldforest canopy on Theroc. The warm light of multiple suns drizzled on his emerald skin like melted butter.

But since the treeling had been snatched from his grasp in the Mage-Imperator’s chamber, nothing could bring him joy. He’d lost his only possible connection to the worldforest. The treeling was dead. The Mage-Imperator was truly a monster, and some further treachery was brewing.

Overhead the sky was crisscrossed with exhaust trails from warliners and construction ships. Hundreds of craft moved in a frenzy of activity; the whole population of Ildira seemed to be involved in a massive effort. Streamers flew intricate maneuvers in tight groups; normally, Ildirans would have applauded the skyparades, but now they threw their full energies into their tasks. High in orbit, Tals Lorie’nh and Tae’nh had already begun to organize the Solar Navy warliners that would be dispatched to Earth as part of the hydrogue ambush.

Sullivan, Tabitha, and most of the captive Hansa skyminers had been put to work. The green priest had never felt so adrift, so disconnected.

Without being invited, the old lens kithman joined him in companionable silence. Kolker wasn’t sure if their meeting was happenstance, or if Tery’l had intentionally sought him out. They both stared at the forest of crystal buildings.

Though Kolker wanted to be left in peace, he also longed for conversation. He just couldn’t decide how to speak with this strange hyper-religious Ildiran. Without thinking, he blurted, “I’m lonely. I’ve never been so lonely.”

“I am not. I never am.” The old man stared with milky eyes into the sky, though the sunlight was so bright that the green priest could not bear to look without blinking. “At my age, the eyes grow foggy. My sight is dimming, and I must gaze directly at the suns just to take the light into me. However, the Lightsource remains bright inside me. The soul-threads keep me warm and content.” With a gnarled hand, he clasped the reflective medallion at his throat. “It makes me sad that you cannot feel the
thism,
friend Kolker. If you could touch us all, connect through the mental web, you would never feel lonely.”

Kolker turned away. “I know what would make me feel less lonely, and it isn’t your
thism.
” Though he was hungry for any sort of conversation, he found it hard to relate to someone so self-satisfied.

Sensing he was unwelcome, the lens kithman slowly got to his feet like a poorly maintained piece of antique machinery. “You would not think that way if you understood more about what I was saying.”

Kolker sighed. Since the old man was there anyway, he decided he might as well listen. Maybe he could get his mind off his problems. “Wait, stay. I’m your captive audience.” The green priest could not keep the bitterness out of his tone. All he could think of was the lost treeling. “Go ahead.”

And so Tery’l began to explain.

74

NIRA

A
fter Osira’h had gone to the former Designate’s residence to join him for a meal before his departure, Nira and the other captives finalized their plans. Udru’h pretended that he would miss the half-breed girl and thought Osira’h would be sad that he was going away. The vile man intended to leave Dobro behind, sweeping all of his crimes under the rug as if they had never happened. Nira couldn’t let him get away with it.

She loathed him for what he had done to her, both physically and mentally. When she’d first discovered she was pregnant, she had been so happy. Osira’h was Jora’h’s child, a baby conceived out of love—a new experience for the Prime Designate, whose assignment had been to spread his bloodline among all Ildiran kiths. She and Jora’h would have raised their baby in the Prism Palace, showering the child with affection. Instead
this
had been forced upon them all.

And after hearing what Jora’h was planning with the hydrogues against the human race, Nira questioned what he would really have done. During her years of captivity and abuse, she had clung to what she believed. She had loved Jora’h, but now she allowed herself to think of him only as the “Mage-Imperator,” someone whose heart had died when he ascended to the chrysalis chair.

Tonight, the restless, angry people had crowded into a single dwelling house, and it was up to Nira to guide them. They would demonstrate to the Ildirans the extent of their anger.

She spoke firmly. “In turning you loose, your captors gave you a power they never guessed. For so many generations, the Ildirans thought of you as meek and helpless. Tonight you will show them that you are no longer their pawns. Tonight we burn down the old, eradicate the scars, and pave the way for a fresh beginning. We’ll see just how true to his word Designate Daro’h is.”

She looked at her half-breed children waiting by the bunks. Nira had easily taken them from their quarters in the Ildiran settlement. Not even the mentalists and lens kithmen watched them closely anymore, now that Daro’h had declared the camp open. The children were simply leftovers of a defunct program.

Stoner saw her gaze. “Will they be safe out there? What if guards come?”

“It is important that they see this. It is more than a symbol.” Osira’h had told her younger brothers and sisters everything about how they had been deceived, that their unnatural skills might have helped an Empire that would in turn kill their mother’s people. Even Rod’h had heard the truth in Osira’h’s words. Those children stayed with Nira now.

Like a work detail sent out to excavate opalbone fossils in the arroyos, the former captives filed out of the dwelling structure. They carried igniters and makeshift torches. Ildirans thrived on light, hated the darkness. Tonight, Nira and the others would give them a blaze they would never forget.

They gathered outside the empty breeding barracks. Even those who had been raised to this fate despised those buildings. Nira took the first torch and applied it to the nearest wooden wall. “Burn them down.”

There were currently seven of the large barracks, each with many rooms, poisoned with centuries of memories and pain. Flames licked up the boards and swiftly spread along the plank shutters. Her own children took igniters and lit other walls, then all the captives came forward to help. A night wind sprang up, as if hungry to fan the blaze. Nira watched their bonfire become ravenous. The breeding barracks crackled and popped. Sparks flew into the air.

The bright hot glow began to draw attention from the well-lit Ildiran town. Blazers shone among the buildings where the guards and doctors, mentalists and lens kithmen, resided.

Benn Stoner yelled, “This isn’t enough! Let’s torch the Ildiran settlement, too. It was built by the labor of our forefathers to house our captors. If we have to make a clean start, then they should as well.”

The angry people liked the suggestion and took up the cry. “Smash their windows, burn their buildings!” With their igniters they ran toward the town.

Alarmed, Nira saw her followers rapidly slip out of her grasp. “No! We have already burned the barracks—that is what we needed to accomplish.”

The fire was spreading through their hearts as well as the blackening structures. “We can show them how it feels!”

The barracks were completely engulfed now, a bonfire in the night. Nira realized with deep dismay that she could never control this mob. She felt sick.

Beside her, Rod’h tugged on her arm. He saw her staring toward the settlement. “Are we going to see my father now?”

In her shock, Nira had forgotten to consider who Udru’h was to the boy. “Yes, Rod’h,” she answered. “Now we’ll go see your father.”

75

FORMER DESIGNATE UDRU’H

A
fresh dose of shiing circulated through Thor’h’s veins like a constantly blowing sandstorm obscuring the light. The drug locked the traitor away from his mind and thoughts, from any comfort of
thism
. His waxen face had not shown any emotion, any flicker of wakefulness, since the catastrophic end of Rusa’h’s rebellion.

“You sleep too easily, Thor’h,” Udru’h muttered. “The rest of us are forced to face the consequences of our choices.” He turned away from this messy loose end and left the comatose former Prime Designate in his cheerless room. Soon, he would have to move Thor’h to Daro’h’s residence. But not tonight. Udru’h intended to have a far more pleasant evening. He had invited Osira’h to join him for his last dinner on Dobro, before he went back to Ildira.

The girl was already waiting for him. She sat primly at a table, dressed in serviceable garments. Seeing her, Udru’h paused only a moment. He had raised this dear half-breed girl almost as his own, had taught her everything she needed to know to save the Empire—and she had succeeded. Udru’h could always cling to that knowledge even if he never received a single accolade or word of recognition for his work on Dobro, even if the Mage-Imperator punished him for his lies and for what he had done to Nira. The program had been
crucial
.

As he took his seat, servant kithmen rushed in with a clatter of beverage bottles, appetizers, fruits, and plates of steaming food. Udru’h increased the lighting, though the girl had not seemed to mind the dimness. She had been spending a great deal of time with her mother among the human breeding subjects. It was good for her to join him, where she belonged.

Osira’h looked up. “Shall I still call you Designate, or former Designate?”

“You may call me Uncle.” His smile did not fit comfortably on his face.

She accepted the answer without comment.

When the plates were set in front of them, they ate slowly. Neither showed any relish for the food. Udru’h didn’t understand why he should feel so awkward. The two had spent many meals together.

“This reminds me of all those times we sat together during your instruction sessions.” With a bittersweet pang, he could not fight the sensation of loss. “When you were younger, all you wanted to do was please me. That was not so long ago.”

From across the table, Osira’h watched him with her large eyes. She seemed distant, uncommunicative. “In my mind it feels like a thousand years.”

He could not imagine what she had gone through, what she had felt being dropped into the clouds to find the hydrogues, to communicate with them or die. What had happened to her mind when she had opened her thoughts to those alien creatures? “I am sorry for the difficulties you faced.”

“It was necessary,” Osira’h answered distantly, then added in a hard voice, “Are you sorry for what you did to my mother?”

He frowned. The green priest woman was irrelevant, but clearly she was talking with her daughter about terrible things. “That, too, was necessary.”

Udru’h heard a disturbance outside—shouts and clashes, voices that sounded distinctly human. He hurried to the broad, angled windows. Standing close to the pane, he looked past the Ildiran settlement to the former human compound. He saw bright flames—bonfires, not blazers. The old breeding barracks had been set on fire! “What are they doing now?” In the dry season, with the brisk winds, the flames could spread.

A crowd charged through the streets, making no attempt to move quietly. Alarmed Ildiran kithmen ran back to their homes, but human figures pursued them. They used sharp farm implements to knock down streetlights and shed darkness.

This was madness! Udru’h ran to barricade the door of his residence. “Stay here, Osira’h! It is an uprising of some sort.” In trying to do the right thing, Daro’h had given the humans too much freedom too quickly. He should have warned the young Designate. For all their clamor and dissatisfaction, the breeding subjects did not understand how to be free.

Calm but curious, the girl walked to the window. Carrying portable blazers, three Ildiran guards attempted to mount a defense, but the humans seemed out of control. The breeding captives fell upon them like animals.

Udru’h raced to the room where Thor’h lay insensate. Though he despised what the Prime Designate had done, he was obligated to protect the unconscious young man. Given his choice, he would have thrown the treacherous young man to those wolves, let them rip the Prime Designate’s body to shreds. But the Mage-Imperator had given him clear instructions, and Udru’h had already disappointed his brother too often.

He lifted the scarecrowish body and easily carried the young man down a set of stairs into the underground storage level. The chamber beneath his private residence, a bolt-hole Udru’h had designed for emergencies, would be a perfect hiding place.

He dropped the limp body onto a narrow cot there. “The door is hidden. The chamber is well lit, and once I seal it, you will be secure.” He said, though he did not imagine Thor’h could actually hear or understand him, “You will be safe until I deal with this situation.” Outside, a few minor reshufflings of boxes and crates concealed the bolt-hole.

When he finished, Udru’h rushed up the stairs to the main level of his residence and called for his guards, mentally aligning a defense against the rebellious humans. Even if Daro’h was technically the new Designate, Udru’h could better command in a crisis. He wondered what Daro’h was doing in his own residence.

On the main level, he found Osira’h standing before the front entrance. She looked directly at him, smiled—then unbolted the door and opened it wide.

Udru’h shouted, but could not stop her in time. Outside, he saw a mob waiting for him. The angry humans let out a roar.