Authors: Kevin J. Anderson
When he heard a sizzling, rushing sound, he turned to look toward Crenna’s horizon. He knew what it was even before four of the large craft hurtled overhead, cruising in ominous reconnaissance.
Hydrogue warglobes.
The glowing spheres tumbled across the sky like spiked balls. Faint sparks of blue lightning crackled from their pyramidal protrusions. Davlin had heard of the devastating attacks on places such as Theroc and Boone’s Crossing. But the aliens had not attacked Crenna. Not yet.
The colonists in the village were in a panic now, shouting and rushing to shelter, pointing toward the sky. At least they were wise enough not to activate blaring alarms, which might have attracted the drogues.
A spiked warglobe roared overhead, scribing a turbulent wake against the starry backdrop. For a moment it eclipsed the bright moon, then passed by. The enemy gave no sign that it had even noted the human settlement. Then five more warglobes cruised across the sky. Still, none of them opened fire. These hydrogues must simply be on their way to another target.
Finally the flurry of warglobes dwindled into the distance, leaving the colony untouched. Even more of the white pinpoints crossed in front of the distant stars, a huge alien battle fleet converging somewhere in the Crenna system.
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When the monstrous spheres had departed, Davlin drew a deep breath to focus his thoughts and to calm himself. The simple colonists here were in no position whatsoever to know what they were dealing with. They hadn’t the resources or experience to know how to react.
Davlin sprinted back down to the settlement. Unfortunately, given the tall tales and adventures Rlinda Kett had related about his exploits, all of these people would look to him for answers.
565MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA’H
As the Mage-Imperator’s warliner approached Dobro at last, Jora’h insisted on standing in the command nucleus, as he’d done with Adar Kori’nh when he was the Prime Designate. He stared out the wide viewport, watching the planet grow larger.
That was where his daughter lived. That was where Nira had died.
Aboard the Solar Navy ship, Septar Rhe’nh was alarmed to see the Mage-Imperator not riding in his chrysalis chair. The septar quickly and tenaciously offered to have his crew engineers build a substitute platform, but Jora’h insisted on walking for himself. “That tradition has changed,” he said. “The Solar Navy can follow my orders without further anxiety. I will stay here in the command nucleus.”
“Yes, Liege.” Rhe’nh clasped his hands to his chest in salute and turned back to guiding the vessel along its course. The crew, though in awe of having their leader aboard, did not understand his unusual behavior.
Despite the vastness of the Empire, Jora’h’s corpulent father had almost never left Ildira, and only on rare occasions emerged from the Prism Palace; instead, pilgrims and supplicants had come to him. Jora’h intended to be a different sort of leader, though—an active part of the Empire rather than some sort of holy relic on permanent display.
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“How soon will we secure orbit, Septar?”
“Within the hour, Liege. The Designate is preparing to meet us in a formal shuttle, as you requested.”
“I did not request my brother as escort. I intend to take my own guards and go see the planet for myself.” Jora’h paused, not wanting the military commander to guess the extent of his continuing anger toward Udru’h for his deceits and failures. “But that will be acceptable, I suppose. I am anxious to see . . . what is happening down there.”
Through the thism, Jora’h now had all the background information and understood the reasons for the desperate if unconscionable breeding plan.
Even so, he wanted to be here in person, to witness the work with his own eyes, to look into the faces of the hapless human test subjects. He owed that much to the memory of Nira, since he hadn’t been there when she’d needed him the most.
The seven warliners settled into orbit. From a great height, Jora’h studied the soft-edged continents, the large lakes and oceans, the mottled greens and browns. Dobro looked attractive, but . . . empty, a place where one could not help but feel isolated. Nira must have felt so alone.
He clenched his teeth to keep his emotions from showing. He was Mage-Imperator now and weary of such misery. For years he had been un-aware of the situation. Now perhaps he could make a difference, somehow.
He saw the streak of burners as a shuttle rose up to intercept the warliners. He walked toward the exit of the command nucleus to go meet his brother.
“Do you desire an escort, Liege?” Without waiting for an answer, Rhe’nh lifted his hand, and a group of Solar Navy soldiers snapped to attention, ready to assist their leader.
“No. Certain things are better done in private.”
As he walked along the corridors, attender kithmen applied clear sealant to the deck where the Mage-Imperator’s feet had touched, as if he had somehow consecrated the metal. Jora’h did not desire such fanatical reverence, but he could not turn the Ildirans from their attitude.
By the time he reached the docking bay, the shuttle was settling onto the cool metal plates. The shuttle hatch opened, and two figures waited formally inside. Udru’h stood paternally next to the Designate-in-waiting, as if he had legitimately taken over the role of Daro’h’s father. Jora’h felt a M A G E - I M P E R A T O R J O R A ’ H
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twinge of resentment because his brother’s mind-set was so different from his own. You stole my daughter from me, and now you intend to take my son as well?
The young Designate-in-waiting stepped forward and bowed. Showing no emotion, Udru’h did the same. “Liege, we are prepared to show you the strategic and vital project that will protect us from the hydrogues.”
“I am already aware of it,” Jora’h said coldly.
“A personal encounter will no doubt result in a greater understanding.”
As the three entered the shuttle and settled aboard, Jora’h turned to his young son. “And what do you think of this work, Daro’h? It will be your responsibility soon. I’m afraid I did not properly prepare you for it.”
“I am learning to the best of my abilities. It is very interesting.”
“He is truly gifted, Liege,” Udru’h added. “I have found him to be a diligent and faithful student in the short time he has been here.”
More than anything, Jora’h wished he had not been forced to send his son into such a situation. “But what do you think of it, Daro’h? What is your judgment of the project itself? What are its merits? Should it continue, despite all of the drawbacks?”
“Of course he believes it should continue,” Udru’h said, but the Mage-Imperator continued to search the young man’s face, waiting for an answer.
“I still have too much to learn, Father. It would be inappropriate for me to offer an opinion as of yet.”
As they rode down to the planet, buffeted by a few stray currents in the fringes of the atmosphere, Jora’h sat in uncomfortable silence. He could sense hope and uneasiness through the thism. Udru’h’s thoughts seemed to be tangled in intentional knots, twisted and sheltered so that even the Mage-Imperator had difficulty following the threads to their true answers.
Finally, he turned to the silent Designate. Was he hiding something?
“You know I find the basis of the current breeding program to be abhor-rent, Udru’h.”
“It is my hope that you keep an open mind and think of our Empire’s future. The benefits to our Empire are incalculable, if we achieve our aims.
Remember, you are a Mage-Imperator—no longer merely a man entitled to opinions. That right was cut away from you along with many things, when you ascended and took the thism to yourself.”
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“By the same token,” Jora’h said, keeping his anger in check, “I became your Mage-Imperator—and you must obey my commands.”
Udru’h’s surprise appeared genuine. “I would never dream of questioning your orders, Liege. But I hope you will consider carefully before making irrevocable changes.”
Jora’h brooded. Daro’h glanced at the two brothers, far out of his depth. The Mage-Imperator wished he could simply release all the human breeding prisoners and return them to the Terran Hanseatic League. None of them had ever seen Earth, probably knew very little about it, but they were descendants of once-hopeful colonists. They deserved better than . . .
Dobro.
For nearly two centuries the Ildirans had kept this lie from the Hansa.
Jora’h knew that if he revealed the terrible secret now, it could spell a diplomatic disaster, even trigger a war with the human race. And though the Ildiran Solar Navy was older and more powerful than the Earth Defense Forces, Jora’h did not underestimate the innovative abilities of the brash humans.
“Udru’h, we may not have any choice, despite my personal reservations. Do you truly believe my daughter has the innate potential to resolve this conflict with the hydrogues? The Klikiss robots have failed us, and I now suspect that they may choose to become our enemies.”
The news angered the Dobro Designate. “If the Klikiss robots have failed us . . . or refused to mediate, then we have no choice but to send Osira’h as an intermediary to the hydrogues.”
“Since my daughter is to be the hope of the Ildiran Empire,” Jora’h said with a resigned sigh, “then it is doubly important that I meet her.”
Udru’h smiled. “Ah, now you see, Liege.”
Yes, he saw. But how he hated what he would be forced to do here on Dobro in order to save the Empire.
575SuLLIVAN GOLD
Ready for the tense meeting that could well decide their survival, Sullivan Gold stood on the deck of his cloud harvester, wearing his best clothes. As for any formal business meeting, he had shaved, trimmed his hair, freshened his breath, and mentally prepared for this encounter. He wished Lydia could be there to straighten his collar and give him the final okay on his appearance.
Kolker told him he looked fine.
The green priest had already sent several messages and updates to his colleagues on the telink network, and they eagerly waited for news to relay to the Hansa. Nahton in the Whisper Palace had informed the King and the Chairman, but despite their tension and attention, Sullivan was on his own. The EDF could never send military aid here swiftly enough, nor would they want to risk a direct clash with the Solar Navy. No doubt the Earth government would not respond at all until they saw how he handled the situation.
Sullivan cleared his throat, hoping he wouldn’t need to call in the cavalry. It was so embarrassing to need to be rescued.
A colorfully plated Ildiran shuttle emerged from the looming flagship warliner and made its way ponderously over to them. Sullivan dried his sweaty palms on the fabric of his warm jacket. “Here we go, Kolker. It’s all up to us. A chance to make a good first impression on our unexpected neighbors.”
Distracted, the green priest removed his fingers from his ever-present treeling. “Sorry, Sullivan, what was that? I was concentrating on telink, telling everybody what was happening here.”
“I thought you already did that.”
“I was explaining that nothing new had occurred. Your Chairman is also listening eagerly.”
Sullivan sighed. “Until now, life aboard our cloud-harvesting station was routine enough to allow for superfluous conversations, but not any-
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more. I need your full attention until this is resolved, Kolker. We can save our memoirs for later.”
The green priest’s abashed smile disarmed Sullivan’s annoyance. “I will limit my communications . . . to the essentials.”
Eventually, almost fifteen minutes earlier than scheduled—on purpose?—the Adar’s shuttle approached. The Ildiran vessel passed through the cloud harvester’s atmosphere-condensing field joined by a flurry of strong breezes, followed a stream of bright guidance lights to an appropriate landing pad, and set down. Sullivan’s face was flushed, his cheeks burning in the brisk air. He fixed a smile on his face, as bright as if he were about to have the most important job interview of his life.
As the scrollwork hatch of the alien shuttle opened, Sullivan stepped forward to greet the two Ildirans. One, tall and proud and more than handsome by Earth standards, wore a meticulous military-style uniform. He spoke before Sullivan could utter a word of welcome. “I am Adar Zan’nh, commander of the Ildiran Solar Navy. As you requested, I have brought Hroa’x, my chief skymining engineer.” The second man had broader shoulders, shorter arms, and blunt facial features; he glanced around at the Hansa skymining equipment with intense curiosity.
Sullivan reached out his right hand. “Well, this is my first meeting with an Ildiran. I sure can’t wait to tell my grandchildren about it.” He hoped the comment would humanize him to the Ildiran military commander.
Humanize him? He had to start thinking from a new perspective. “Uh, I apologize if I don’t know your traditions and acceptable behaviors. We like to extend a greeting by shaking hands. Like this.”
Zan’nh reluctantly accepted Sullivan’s grip. His reply was pointed. “It is our tradition not to set up skymines where we are not invited.”
“Yes, well . . . sorry about that. It was an unintentional oversight. A terrible misunderstanding.” Sullivan turned away, clearing his throat.
“Shall we talk inside the observation gallery, where it’s warmer? I think we can find some drinks or snacks that you Ildirans might enjoy. A Hansa skymine isn’t really the place for haute cuisine, but we’ve done our best.
It’s a social necessity.” He realized he was babbling, and stopped abruptly.
Intrigued and preoccupied, the alien mining engineer ran his eyes over the industrial equipment, scanning the process machinery as if comparing every detail to his own designs. Hroa’x moved forward to get a closer look.
“Ildirans need to go about skymining here on Qronha 3. I wish to get my own facility started. There is much work to do. Adar, when can we go back to get to work? How long will this discussion take?”