Scattered Suns (20 page)

Chapter 38—TASIA TAMBLYN

In the evening off-duty hours of her three-day stay on Llaro, Tasia walked through the mazes of Roamer tents and huts. Because of her EDF uniform, many of the detainees viewed her with suspicion, giving only curt answers to her questions; others, though, saw her as a possible advocate, the best they had. Even so, Tasia didn’t fit in here, or anywhere.

She had asked around, learned a few names, and decided to have a private conversation with Roberto Clarin, the former manager of Hurricane Depot. Since he’d been a capable administrator, and one of the first captives deposited here, he seemed to be the de facto leader of the group. Maybe he could help her.

As he paced along beside her and a perfectly polite EA, Clarin ducked under banners and waved to dusty workers returning late from the cultivated fields. The potbellied man was frank, but not overly bitter or judgmental. “Plenty of Roamers would be offended by the choices you made, girl. Your own father would have been one of them.”

Tasia pressed her lips together. “Probably so. But I tried to follow my Guiding Star.”

“And yet...
here
you are.” Clarin sighed. “You know, it helps to dump my frustrations on someone wearing an EDF uniform—not that I expect it to make any difference.”

“I’m listening,” Tasia said. “I don’t know how much I can do yet. My Roamer background puts me pretty low on the EDF totem pole, but I
am
an officer, and I can work the bureaucracy. Maybe.”

“Worth a shot. The Eddies stationed in that new base don’t even seem to speak plain Trade Standard. I’ve made reasonable requests, things that would help this whole damned settlement. You think I could get so much as an acknowledgment? Maybe they’ll listen to you. You could forward our complaints.”

“I’ll do that.” Tasia gave a bittersweet smile. “I need to warn you, though, it’s been a long time since my superiors listened to me. In fact, they’ve been cutting me out of the loop. I didn’t even know about the operations against Roamer bases until everybody was patting themselves on the back for a job well done.”

Clarin turned to her in frustration. “What do they really want? Explain it to me. They put us here on Llaro, without giving us any demands or guidance. It seems like they just want us to do the work of setting up a colony for them. Of course, we’ll do a better job than these amateurs would. Hah! Still, it’s the strangest prison I could ever imagine.” He looked intensely at her. “We didn’t do anything wrong, Tamblyn. Are we going to be charged with a crime of any kind? Or are we just being held here for no reason?”

“I honestly don’t know—and I’m not convinced they do, either. The Eddies simply want you out of the way for the time being, where you can cause no problems. Maybe they’ll use you as bargaining chips, if they ever find a clan head or the Speaker.”

“Or maybe they just want us to build their colony for them.” Clarin shook his head as he looked at the colony operations: the construction, the water-pumping stations, the solar-powered generators. “We keep arguing with the EDF civil engineers. They want to do things by the book, and therefore inefficiently. We’ve got better ideas, but they won’t let us use them.”

Tasia thought about the uninspired technology the military continued to use, when Roamers had improved on those designs and methods generations ago. “They have their own set ways.”

“Ah, what do I care?” Clarin continued. “I choose to believe we won’t be here long. The Big Goose can set up its own damn colony. Then when it all falls apart, they’ll still find a way to blame it on Roamer sabotage.”

Tasia bit her lower lip, relieved to be talking to someone with a similar background. “But the clans will need to find new places to live, too. Why not settle here, claim Llaro for yourselves, if you’ve earned it?”

Clarin scowled. “This place? As soon as we make it into a desirable world, the Big Goose will take over. Roamers are best at scraping out a living in miserable places. Ha! Do they think this planet is a challenge for us?”

They continued to pace the perimeter under a darkening sky. She finally got up the nerve to ask him what he’d heard of Jess, or her uncles, or any of her friends. Clarin didn’t have much information to share, but he did talk about Speaker Peroni’s brief betrothal to Reynald of Theroc, who had been killed in a recent hydrogue attack. Tasia knew that Jess had strong feelings for Cesca—or at least he had, many years ago. If her uncles were now running the Plumas water mines, that meant Jess must be gone. Somewhere.

As they reached the far edge of the temporary encampment, Tasia, EA, and Clarin came upon a confrontation between the Eddy guards and a group of Roamer children. A Governess compy had interposed herself between the soldiers and her wards. “You may not address my children in such a manner.” Tasia recognized the dedicated compy UR, who had been one of her own teachers at Rendezvous when she was a little girl.

“Those kids are unruly and dangerous,” one of the soldiers said. “We have to keep them away from the construction activities for their own safety.”

“I will guarantee their own safety,” UR said. “It is not your task.”

“Listen, compy, our task is whatever we decide it to be.”

“These children are my responsibility. You may not go near them. You may not command them. You may not even address them.”

Tasia bit back a laugh as she hurried forward. She outranked these Eddy babysitters anyway. She remembered her days of instruction with UR, and the Governess compy was still as stern and no-nonsense as always. “What’s going on here, Sergeant?”

The EDF guards looked up. Seeing Tasia’s rank insignia, they responded with satisfaction. Just glancing at her in the evening light, they couldn’t guess her Roamer heritage. She repressed the brief urge to punch them.

“This little compy is too big for her metal britches, Commander.”

“This little compy understands her place better than you do, Sergeant. By order of General Lanyan, the Roamer detainees are to be interfered with as little as possible. Minimal harassment. Let them do as they please.”

“But Commander, it’s dark outside. Shouldn’t those children be in bed? The Roamers can’t just—”

“The Governess compy can take care of these children. She teaches them and assures their welfare. Their parents trusted her with their sons and daughters when Rendezvous was destroyed. She’s fully capable of determining appropriate responses to various situations. On the other hand, if you and your men have nothing worthwhile to do, I’m sure I can find some ditches that need to be dug by hand. Or manual inspection of cesspits, perhaps?”

Once dismissed, the surprised soldiers hurried off, keeping their muttered comments just short of insubordination.

Roberto Clarin chuckled. The Governess compy swiveled her smooth polymer face; optical sensors lit with obvious recognition. “My instruction in courtesy and cooperation has not been lost on you, Tasia Tamblyn.”

“I may not have been your best student, UR, but some of it sank in.”

The Governess compy looked at EA, who stood like a statue. “Is this your Listener compy? Something is different.”

Tasia swallowed. “EA suffered an accident while doing a small task for me. Her memory has been wiped. I’m hoping we can restore it. I’ve been feeding her stories that I can remember, but I would rather restore the real data. I’ve had her checked out by Hansa cyberneticists, and I ran all the diagnostics I could get my hands on, but to no effect. Anything you can suggest?”

UR’s optical sensors flashed, interfacing with the lethargic Listener compy. After a long moment, the Governess completed her detailed scan. “Not likely. Her core memory systems are a blank slate. It is not likely EA will ever regain her past experiences.” UR paused. “I can, perhaps, share some edited downloads of my own experiences with you, from when I was your Governess. It will be a different point of view.”

“It wouldn’t be the same.” Tasia’s heart fell. She had been optimistic that another Roamer compy might offer some hope. She looked at EA, who seemed too placid, too agreeable, without any ideas of her own. Previously, the Listener compy, her
friend,
had been willing to offer a little advice. “Let me think about it, UR.” Her voice was soft. “I think it’s more important for us to make new memories of our own.”

Chapter 39—DENN PERONI

Yreka seemed the likeliest spot for Roamer black-market trade, since the colonists had never fully recovered from the blockade EDF siege troops had imposed not long ago. Denn Peroni and Caleb Tamblyn were both optimistic as the Dogged Persistence landed at the half-mothballed spaceport.

After opening the cockpit hatch, cargo doors, and rear access ramp, Denn and Caleb stepped out to greet the wary but curious Yrekans. With his broad smile and open arms, Denn felt like a peddler arriving in town and setting up his stand to show off his wares.

The Grand Governor of Yreka, Padme Sarhi, was a tall woman of Indian genetic stock, with extremely long hair that hung in a braid past her waist. She wore a loose white blouse and fitted slacks of a tough material, but no jewelry or insignia of office. Though she was in her mid-sixties, the Grand Governor’s skin was a smooth, ageless brown, and her large eyes held a persistent skepticism. Denn saw that he would have to win her over in order to do business with this colony.

Caleb hadn’t bothered to find a nice outfit, but Denn wore his most cheerful and flamboyant clothes: a many-pocketed jumpsuit with full sleeves and tight pants. Intricate embroidery showed clan chains all along his seams and pockets. He had tied his shoulder-length dark hair back with a blue ribbon—Cesca’s favorite color—and dabbed a woodsy scent on his cheeks and neck. He felt as if he was going courting again.

After making introductions, Denn said, “We’ve brought a few items we thought you could use.” Caleb bobbed his head in an attempt to look congenial.

The Grand Governor’s expression remained cool. “You do know that the Hanseatic League has declared all Roamers hostiles? And that anyone caught trading with them could suffer severe penalties?”

Caleb’s eyebrows shot up, and he let out a loud snort. “So, the Eddies are stretched too thin to deliver vital supplies to colonies like Yreka, but they can spare ships to spread their threats and warnings in no time at all? Typical.”

Denn hadn’t expected such tactics. “The EDF has already destroyed major Roamer settlements, ma’am—without warning and without provocation.”

“That
is
their standard operating procedure,” the Grand Governor said.

Denn didn’t know what to do. He shuffled his feet. “We, umm, we wouldn’t want to put your colony at risk. We’ll just pack up and leave.”

Caleb looked surprised. “We will?”

Then the tall woman surprised them. “Screw the military bastards. When the EDF burned our fields and destroyed warehouses, my people lost much of our equipment and stockpiles. Show us what you have. Yreka could use just about everything.”

Colonists clustered around the
Dogged Persistence
as if it were a flea market. Denn and Caleb showed off Roamer metals, synthetic-weave fabrics, solar-power films, and compact industrial apparatus. Breezes drifted through the open hatches into the
Persistence,
airing out the frequently recycled atmosphere. The Yrekans cooed and jabbered about the most routine things.

Denn saved the best for last, though. “In the back of the cargo hold, I’ve got worldtree wood from Theroc.” Gesturing for the tall Grand Governor to step inside, he explained how Mother Alexa and Father Idriss had permitted the Roamers to take some of the wood in gratitude for helping them to rebuild.

“You worked on Theroc? Interesting.” She lowered her voice. “The Hansa announcement didn’t mention anything about that. According to them, you’re all just hiding in your bolt-holes and weakening humanity with your greed.”

Caleb snorted again. “Why waste time on words that might cast the clans in a positive light?”

The lumber in the hold reminded Denn of gold ingots, boards laminated with a Midas touch. The air held a sweet resinous scent with an undertone of herbs and pungent oils.

During their journey from the Osquivel meeting, Denn had tried his hand at whittling scrap chunks of the wood. When not playing games or sharing a drink with Caleb, he had whiled away the time with a sharp knife, cutting thin curls of wood from block after block. Roamers rarely had the opportunity to work with wood at all, and he hadn’t expected to be good at it, but somehow he managed to expose secret figures that lay within—either projected there by Denn’s own imagination or implanted by green priest acolytes who had spent many years telling stories to the trees.

The vivid grain was like colored gases in a dramatic nebula, strange random patterns laid down by the bloodsap of the giant trees. Denn thought he could see faces and shapes, like ghosts behind his eyelids, memories of scenes he was sure he’d never experienced before.

As the Grand Governor ran her fingertips over the wood, Denn noted the quiet fascination in her eyes. The skeptical narrowness had gone away, and her rich brown irises shone; he could imagine what she had looked like as a young woman. “We’ll take some of this wood. We need to negotiate a price, and what form of currency or barter we can use.” He witnessed the strength and unshakable determination that made her a good leader. “But we
will
work something out.”

One of the Yrekans came running into the ship’s cargo bay. “An EDF battle group just arrived in orbit! They’re already preparing to launch a shuttle with Admiral Stromo aboard.”

The Grand Governor flinched. “What does he want now?”

“An inspection tour. That’s what he says.”

Denn and Caleb exchanged a panicked glance, briefly wondering if the Yrekans had betrayed them by calling the EDF. But no message could possibly have been received so quickly, and when he saw the Grand Governor’s face, Denn knew she hadn’t tricked him.

“They’ll see my ship,” Denn said. “They’ll know we’re here.”

“No offense, Mr. Peroni, but with all your hatches open, the different styles of hull plating, and the strange design, nobody in the EDF is going to recognize this as a functional
ship
at all—especially not someone with as little imagination as Admiral Stromo.” She turned to the message bearer and snapped a set of orders. “Call everyone in the vicinity. We need help right away. Bring out as much large equipment as you can find and park it in the spaceport.”

Amazed, Denn and Caleb watched over the next half hour as the Yrekans hustled out harvesters and tillers from their barn hangars. Two hydrogen-powered crop-dusting aircraft were moved into position on either side of the
Dogged Persistence
. Men and women draped tarpaulins and stacked crates around the landed ship. Before long, the Roamer ship looked like an abandoned wreck that had been converted into a storehouse and repository for spare parts.

With time running out, the Grand Governor took the two men by the arm. “Now the only thing that’s obvious is
you two
. Outfits like yours are signal flares. Let’s change you into some normal clothes.” The edges of her mouth quirked upward. “I’m sure I can find a dirty jumpsuit that doesn’t fit you very well.”

“I’d normally prefer something clean instead—and slimmer,” Denn said. “But my desire to fit in with the rest of you outweighs my fashion sense any day of the week.”

When the EDF transport finally landed, Denn and Caleb watched anxiously from the crowds of scowling and intimidated-looking Yrekans. Denn’s stomach was queasy. The
Persistence
was there for a sharp-eyed Eddy to see, and any Yrekan colonist wanting to earn favor with the Admiral could easily turn in the two Roamers.

Jowly Stromo emerged from the shuttle, flanked by an honor guard in impressive uniforms with polished shoes and precisely combed hair. The gleam of medals reflected like faceted jewels on his left breast. Denn pegged him as a man intent on ceremony, someone who would back away from a messy conflict just to avoid getting his uniform stained.

The Grand Governor faced Stromo squarely, sweaty and a bit rumpled from the frantic preparations. “How may we help you, Admiral? Have you brought us a shipment of much-needed supplies and materials from the Hansa?” She gave him a faint, insincere smile.

Stromo wore a flustered expression. “I’m on my way back to Earth after performing a lengthy and successful operation against outlaw Roamer clans. Since I was passing by the Yreka system, I decided to verify that you continue to follow the requirements of your allegiance to the Terran Hanseatic League.”

“We have our own copy of the Hansa Charter, Admiral. We can read it anytime we like, in case we need to refresh our memories.”

“Maybe you need an EDF battle group to come here and remind you.” Stromo drew a deep breath, puffing his chest.

“When the EDF laid siege to Yreka, you made your point eminently clear.” She turned her gaze toward the ground, as if she was cowed. “We’ve learned our lesson.”

“Glad to hear that.” He smiled, getting down to business. “I’d like to rotate my crew down to Yreka in shifts for brief periods of R&R. They need to stretch their legs, get a little sun. Personally, I’d look forward to a decent meal for a change.” His tone demonstrated that it wasn’t a question.

“So long as you and your crew bring your own food and prepare it for yourselves,” the Grand Governor said, just as firmly. “Because you’ve stripped us of our stardrive fuel, we have no ability to exchange goods with other colonies. We are barely self-sufficient.”

This angered Stromo, but the Grand Governor fixed him with an unwavering gaze. Finally he drew a deep breath. “My soldiers can bring their own rations. Bland, tedious rations...”

“We may be willing to make a few exchanges, Admiral. Everyone gets tired of eating the same thing all the time.”

“I’ll send a list down, and a request for some of my personal favorites.”

“We’ll see what we have, Admiral. Beyond that, I can make no promises.”

For three days, a nervous Denn and Caleb had no choice but to stay on Yreka while the EDF battle group remained. They kept a low profile, helping with colony tasks that seemed just like working in a Roamer settlement, though each time Denn saw the strutting Eddies acting as if they owned the planet, he felt his blood begin to boil. Caleb’s sour expression took on the intensity of a thousand lemons, until Denn chided him to hide his annoyance. “If you give them an excuse to start looking, they’ll turn over rocks until they find
us
.”

But Stromo didn’t seem intent on finding anything; he was just here flexing his muscles, intimidating an already squashed colony. It apparently didn’t occur to him that the Yrekans weren’t entirely browbeaten by the military presence.

Every hour, Denn wondered if one of the colonists might whisper into a soldier’s ear, but the Yrekans held just as much of a grudge against the EDF as the Roamers did. He wondered how the Hansa could be so oblivious to the unraveling of their own social fabric. Perhaps the Chairman was simply so focused on the primary enemy that he couldn’t see the bridges burning behind him.

When at last the group of Manta cruisers departed, leaving behind both disarray and relief, Denn met again with the Grand Governor. In her face, he saw the depth of the fury and resentment she had so carefully hidden for the past few days. For the anger to penetrate even her studied placidity, he knew it must burn hot indeed.

“At least that’s over with,” Denn said with a wry cheer he did not feel. “I appreciate your not hanging us out to dry.”

“If I had any doubts before, this has dispelled them.” She glanced up at the open sky, as if Stromo might still be up there eavesdropping, and Denn saw her jaw clench for a moment. “After all this time, the Hansa finally sent discretionary ships to Yreka. They could have brought food, medical supplies, equipment...but they just wanted to push us around. You on the other hand, who had no reason to help us, came here with the things we needed, despite the potential risks to yourself.”

Denn flushed. “I can be as altruistic as the next man, ma’am, but my people really need the trade, too...”

Caleb scratched under one arm. Both of them were anxious to get back into familiar Roamer clothes. “The Big Goose has dumped on plenty of other colonies. Let’s hope those other people feel the same as you all. If you give us a shopping list, we’ll see what we can arrange for our next trip here—”

The Grand Governor’s brow furrowed; she was still seething about the EDF. “We accept your proposal, Mr. Peroni, and look forward to whatever the Roamers want to offer. I had already made up my mind to allow a bit of surreptitious trade, but now I’ve decided to actively help you. We will set up a black-market interchange station here, and the Hansa can go to hell for all I care.”