Authors: Kevin J. Anderson
“I have come to demand answers.”
A gasp went through the audience. Everyone waited to see how their all-powerful leader would deal with the situation.
Jora’h made his voice loud and strong. “You have no right to demand answers from the Ildirans.”
“The Klikiss robots are concerned about your activities. On Dobro. On Maratha. We have a right to know. You are breaking promises. You are discarding us.”
Jora’h let anger creep into his reply. He had received no unusual reports about Maratha, which was mostly empty for the darkness season, and he sensed nothing extraordinary through the thism, though the connection with his brother Avi’h was not strong. And how did the Klikiss robots know about Dobro?
“Matters of the Ildiran Empire are of no concern to the Klikiss robots,”
he said. “The decisions I make are for the good of my people, and are not subject to your approval.”
Dekyk’s hemispherical carapace split in half as if he were about to open his shell and take wing. “We had an agreement about Maratha. You have ignored the terms.”
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The Mage-Imperator narrowed his star-sapphire eyes, sick of so many secrets. He called to everyone in the reception hall, “Leave us. I must speak privately.” When the guard kithmen looked uneasy about leaving him vulnerable, Jora’h reconsidered. “Yazra’h, you alone may stay. Protect me if it becomes necessary.”
His daughter stood, fully as intimidating as any armed guard. Her three predatory pets growled low in their throats.
Once the skysphere hall was clear of supplicants, courtiers, and guards, Jora’h finally answered the black robot. “A bargain requires participation on both sides. You robots have failed us. Hydrogues continue to attack Ildiran worlds, and you do not prevent it. Therefore, you are either treacherous or useless.”
Dekyk seemed to deflate, though he did not back away. “In their search for the remnants of the verdani, the hydrogues devastated any forested planet they encountered. Some of those planets happened to be Ildiran. We could not stop them.”
Jora’h pushed himself straighter, hating the chrysalis chair. “You could have told them the location of the worldforest at any time. That would have saved Ildiran planets.” As he said this, though, he felt anguish for this betrayal of the towering worldtrees that had so impressed him when he’d visited Reynald . . . the trees that Nira herself had loved so well.
“We did not choose to divulge the worldforest location,” Dekyk answered.
“And because of that choice, many of my people died. We resurrected you several centuries ago as we promised, and we have adhered to the vow that our civilization would neither create robots nor build sentient machines in any form. The Ildiran Empire has remained true to its promises.
That is all you need to know. Now do your part as well.”
He stared implacably at Dekyk, who remained unmoving like a nightmarish statue. Yazra’h stood beside her Isix cats, which flexed their supple clawed feet, eager to attack. Her eyes reflected her surprise at the unexpected information she had heard.
Finally, after a long moment, Dekyk withdrew, clearly not satisfied. The robot swiveled his torso and lurched back out of the Prism Palace without another word. The Mage-Imperator stared after him while Yazra’h watched her father. The skysphere hall seemed suddenly very empty.
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Jora’h’s thoughts whirled, and he was glad that his daughter did not speak. He could no longer count on the Klikiss robots to intercede with the hydrogues; in fact, he suspected they might attempt to turn the deep-core aliens against Ildirans as well as humans.
Now, more than ever, he needed to go to Dobro—not just as a sentimental lover to look at Nira’s grave, but to see the progress of Osira’h and her abilities. What if the terrible plan had been justified after all? If, after so many generations of careful breeding, his daughter was truly the bridge that could bring Ildirans and the alien hydrogues together—without the Klikiss robots—then he must see to it immediately. Time was short, and the danger was great.
“I will wait no longer.” He pulled himself upright and swung his legs over the side of the cradlelike chair.
After Dekyk’s departure, whispering courtiers had begun to creep back into the room, anxious to make sure that their leader was safe. But when they saw what their Mage-Imperator was doing now, utter silence fell. Jora’h stood apart from the confining chrysalis chair, holding the rim to keep his balance on oddly shaky legs, and glared at them for their foolish adherence to practices that no longer made sense. “This is a time of crisis, not a time of traditions.”
With great relief, he stood on his own feet again for the first time since his ascension. Enough of that nonsense.
The nearest guards moved toward their leader, either to assist him or to urge him back into the chrysalis chair where he belonged. The courtiers and nobles watched this scene with even more surprise than they had shown at the arrival of the Klikiss robot.
Jora’h’s bare feet pressed on the smooth warm floor. The Mage-Imperator had not walked for months. His legs already felt weak, as if the muscles had begun to atrophy. He did not want to imagine how helpless he would feel after remaining in that confining chair for decades upon decades. He didn’t intend for that to happen.
“I will not recline and watch the Empire suffer harm. I am the Mage-Imperator. I define traditions and the way of our society. One of my predecessors declared that a Mage-Imperator’s feet should never touch the floor. I now rescind this tradition. Too much is at stake, and I must break with some of the old ways, lest we lose everything.”
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He noticed Yazra’h watching him with a look of pleasure on her face.
She clearly approved. Athletic and proud of her own capabilities, she was perhaps glad that her father abjured a practice that made him seem an in-valid. He had no intention of becoming a soft slug with a degenerating body, like his father.
Jora’h let go of the rim of the chrysalis chair and stepped forward. The guards had no choice but to let him pass. Smiling, he walked down the broad, shallow steps of the dais. He looked up at the smiling holographic image of his own face projected on the mists, then turned to the gathered people.
“I intend to go to Dobro. Now.”
465DOBRO DESIGNATE uDRu’H
As he instructed the young Designate-in-waiting in the tasks and responsibilities he would one day control, Udru’h recalled how long it had taken him to accept the grim necessities of the breeding program. He was pleased the young man seemed to have an open and receptive mind.
Daro’h stood patiently at his uncle’s side as they paused before the gate of the enclosed compound. The Designate-in-waiting displayed calm, striking features that resembled those of his father. He had put aside judgment for the time being, despite knowing that his father did not approve of the breeding experiments. Like all Ildirans, he would always swear loyalty to the Mage-Imperator, but Daro’h also seemed to understand and accept his charge here.
Even so, Udru’h would not tell Daro’h the truth about Nira. Not yet, if ever.
Overhead, the hazy sky was blurred by stratospheric clouds. The air felt hot, and all the hills were green. Lush grasses and weeds had rapidly 162
covered burn scars from the previous year’s fire season. Inside the camp, captive humans worked and slept and went about their lives. After generations here, they knew no other way of life, despite what the female green priest had tried to tell them.
“We have developed a substantial data set by mixing human DNA with a spectrum of Ildiran kiths. Many of the offspring have been failures—as might be expected, since genetics is not an exact science. We quickly eu-thanized the worst horrors. At first we let the human mothers know, but their emotional reactions were difficult to control.”
Daro’h frowned, staring through the fence at the low barracks. “Do they not see they are contributing to the good of the Empire?”
“The humans are not part of our Empire. They do not embrace our long-term goals.”
“Perhaps they simply do not understand our goals?”
The Dobro Designate shook his head. “They do not—and will not—care.”
Inside the compound, human family groups tended small gardens when they weren’t on labor shifts. Guards and work supervisors took small vehicles, carrying groups out to the arroyos and rocky outcroppings, where anyone not currently needed for breeding did daily chores, chipping out opalbone fossils to be sold as rarities across the Ildiran Empire.
Daro’h observed the camp activity, drinking in the details. “And they are allowed a certain amount of freedom? They form their own social groups and family units? They choose where to live and sleep without being assigned to specific bunks or buildings?”
“We exert sufficient control to serve our purposes, but we also consider the drawbacks of imposing unnecessary restrictions. A small amount of flexibility engenders an increased level of cooperation. One of the men, a sturdy fellow named Benn Stoner, is currently the de facto representative of the camp. You will meet him.”
Daro’h didn’t seem to understand. “How does he exert command over the humans?”
“They generally listen to his suggestions. One hundred eighty-five of their years ago, Ildirans brought their wandering and damaged generation ship to Dobro. For a time humans and Ildirans lived side by side, but . . .
certain unpleasant events changed the situation.
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“One of my predecessors was forced to confine the remaining colonists, and Mage-Imperator Yura’h deemed it wise to incorporate them into our long-term breeding program. At first, the humans were defiant, hoping to change their circumstances. But my predecessor understood that such beliefs and the so-called natural freedoms they took for granted could be bred out of them within a generation or two of proper instruction and deprivation.”
“If the humans resisted, could we not use artificial insemination? Specific fertilization and embryo implantation?”
“Possible, yes, but more difficult and far less efficient. We have also found that half-breed children created of artificial means are frequently born disengaged from or lacking in the full faculties of the thism. If we allow this, then our plan fails. In the end, it posed few problems. We were able to overcome their reluctance, and so it was not necessary . . . though we still have the option, should the need arise.”
Daro’h stepped closer to the fence. In a central open court with showers and waiting benches, medical kithmen cleaned human females returning from their work assignments, documenting each one by name and genetic code markers. In their files, they maintained graphs that indicated when each female was at the peak of her fertility cycle.
“The infusion of human bloodlines has been shown to enhance certain Ildiran characteristics. A child who carries even an eighth part of human genetics is more likely to become a stronger worker, a more talented singer, a more visionary scientist. In many cases, they look similar to Ildirans, and we raise them as such. Others appear so strikingly different that we keep them here on Dobro until they mature, and we crossbreed them again in hopes of mainstreaming their progeny.”
As Daro’h and Udru’h watched, doctors culled out four naked human women and directed them to enter the long breeding barracks. There, they would be assigned to mate with males from specific Ildiran kiths that were carefully chosen for each step of the breeding program. Sperm was harvested from human males whenever it was needed, but Ildiran females did not conceive as easily. “Human women are more fecund than Ildirans.
They reproduce like rodents—which is to our advantage.”
Daro’h was full of interest. “Is that why the humans are eager to colo-
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nize so many worlds? Because their race is growing, and they need the room?”
Udru’h shook his head. “They don’t need the room. They simply want, more and more. It is their way.”
Udru’h recalled his own questions and reaction when he was younger, upon learning this information when he’d become the Dobro Designate-in-waiting. He had been innocent then, like Daro’h, guessing nothing about what really took place on Dobro. The truth eventually penetrated, though, and Udru’h had devoted himself to his life’s work.
Daro’h would do the same.
“My father spent much time with a human woman, a green priest,”
said the young Designate-in-waiting. “He still talks about her.”
Udru’h guarded his expression carefully. “She weakened both his heart and his mind. But now that he has ascended and taken the thism, I believe—I must believe—that as Mage-Imperator he will do what is right for the Empire.”
“I intend to do what is right,” Daro’h promised, and Udru’h felt his heart lighten.
Inside a well-lit but austerely appointed training facility, the Dobro Designate gathered all five half-breed children born of Nira Khali. Rod’h, the second oldest of Nira’s children—sired by Udru’h himself—bowed to his father. Rod’h was six years old, but accelerated beyond his years. The Designate saw great potential in the boy, though not as much as in Osira’h.
The other three—Gale’nh, Tamo’l, and Muree’n—spent their days undergoing intensive training from medical kithmen, scientists, mental trainers, and Udru’h himself. Lens kithmen used their faint mind powers to guide the children and further awaken their telepathic skills. All of Nira’s young mixed-kith offspring were already as powerful as adult lens kithmen.
“These five children are at the heart of our plan, Daro’h,” he explained.
“Even here, the guards and bureaucrats are not privy to the full scope of our purpose. Your own father did not understand, until just before he ascended to become Mage-Imperator. But you must know, Daro’h, for you will lead this work when it is your time . . . though I hope that after so many generations this will be the last. If the Dobro project reaches its cul-