Horizon Storms (37 page)

“Even a sample of wental water can spread and reproduce in another body of liquid, like a match lighting one candle after another. I could do this alone, one world at a time, but it would take too long.”

Jess dipped his hand into the water and held up a palmful of the dripping silvery liquid. “The wentals are as eager to go as you are. Here, take as much as you like. Fill containers, and then disperse them to each world on your lists.”

Nikko hurried back to his small craft and rolled out a hollow polymer drum. “Should I just . . . dip this into the ocean?” But as the young man brought the container close, the water itself came alive. Looking like a jellyfish, it rose up in a gelatinous plume, wavered, and then deposited itself into the barrel; whatever did not fit sloshed back into the ocean. “Shizz, did you see that?”

The other Roamers ran to their crafts and brought out containers.

Limbs of vibrant water rose up to fill each one. With the cooperation of the wentals inside, Nikko found that he could carry the laden barrel as if it weighed nothing at all, as if water entities could somehow manipulate the gravity on this whole planet. “It feels electrical. My fingers tingle.”

Jess stood watching his new recruits fill their cargo holds with the wental essence. They would disperse, and they would find other ocean worlds that could make the strange new ally strong. He envied these volunteers their sense of wonder.

He wished he could go with them, but he had a different mission now, and it consumed him almost as much as his love for Cesca.

615CESCA PERONI

Searching for Jhy Okiah, Cesca found that the old woman had suited up and gone outside to drift among the conjoined rocks, inspecting the girders and cables that held the asteroid cluster together. The connector beams kept Rendezvous from flying apart under its own gravity and inertia.

The red dwarf’s dull light shed thick illumination as clan ships came and went.

Because she had lived for so many years in the extreme low gravity of Rendezvous, Jhy Okiah could never endure the oppressive tug of a planet again. Her bones were brittle despite exercise and mineral supplements.

She was simply old, yet she showed no signs of weakness. She insisted on doing useful work for the Roamers.

The cold emptiness might not have been the best place to have a conversation or bare her soul, but Cesca suited up anyway. She used her exhaust jets to maneuver along the pocked exteriors of the rocky debris that formed cozy habitats.

When she was younger, Cesca and other clan children had joined the Governess compy UR in learning how to use a protective suit for space ex-cursions. All Roamers had to become proficient in such skills.

Jetting forward to where Jhy Okiah tinkered with connector bolts driven deep into the main asteroid, Cesca activated the line-of-sight communicator. Provided they were close enough to each other, she and the former Speaker could have a completely private communication.

The old woman floated carefree, relaxing her arms and legs. Her long gray hair was confined in her helmet. “Plenty of clan members are qualified for this inspection duty, Cesca. Don’t you have more important work?

Or are you practicing for your retirement already, like me?”

“You make that comment so often, I have to wonder if you don’t like talking to me anymore.”

“I’m just remembering that I never had time for wandering around like this.”

Cesca pulled her way closer along a girder. “You taught me to keep in 226

touch with the clans. Roamers are held together by connections of family and friendship, as you taught me yourself. Besides, after cutting off trade with the Big Goose we’ll have a few more people cut off from their usual activities. And Jess is gone with his volunteers . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“And you miss him.”

“Of course I miss him. But I also admire his new passion, tackling an amazing mission that may save us all. Governing the clans is always a full-time job, but I’d like to do something significant while waiting for the Hansa response. Roamers have so much potential.”

Jhy Okiah chuckled. “Even if you don’t exactly agree with the clan leaders and their rigid embargo, I have no doubt you’ll get us through this.”

“I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. We haven’t heard a word of response from the Big Goose. What’s taking them so long?”

“Bureaucracy, no doubt.”

Cesca sighed, as always weighed down by the responsibilities of her office. “We’re preparing a contact team to go to the Ildiran Empire, to propose trade terms with the new Mage-Imperator. We’ve sent out feelers to some of the smaller Hansa colonies that were already cut off, since they’re not getting any help and support from Earth.”

She looked through her faceplate at all the activity around Rendezvous.

Roamer business had been quiet since the clans had broken off trade. Now their cargo ships, ekti skimmers, and resource mining operations were adapting to the new situation. Overhead, cargo ships brought in new supplies of ekti from Hurricane Depot; others departed with materials en route to fringe Roamer settlements, such as frozen Jonah 12 and ringed Osquivel.

“It sounds like we’ll find plenty of other customers and markets,” Jhy Okiah said.

Cesca continued, letting her thoughts flow. She had always benefited from using the former Speaker as a sounding board. “And what about Theroc? They’re still reeling from the hydrogue attack. If I’d married Reynald right away, I could have been there—” She brightened suddenly, realizing something the clans could accomplish. “You know . . . if Roamers are capable of establishing outposts on molten-hot worlds and frozen moons and

airless asteroids, then we certainly have the ability to help clear a burned forest and rebuild dwellings for the Theron people.”

“Then go help them,” the former Speaker said, drifting in a slowly turning somersault. “We’ve got some Roamer ships available, especially now. Their captains are just looking for something to do.” She anchored herself to the surface of a depot rock, making a system note of several thick struts that looked as if they could use reinforcement.

Roamers had to worry about where they would get such basics as air and water and light, whereas the Therons had been blessed with everything right at their fingertips. The original refugee humans had dreamed of this sort of colony when they’d departed from Earth in their generation ships. Those people had found it, but the Roamers never had. Now, however, the Therons didn’t have sufficient skills or ingenuity to pull themselves out of their disaster. They needed expert assistance.

Cesca raised her chin. “You’re right. The clans have all the equipment, engineers, and technology we need. Roamer engineering in a Theron forest! An unlikely match, but we can make it work. We’ll help them pick up the pieces.”

“You can accomplish anything you set your mind to, Speaker Peroni.”

The old woman nudged her, sending Cesca tumbling slowly toward the main airlocks and the docking doors. She had to use air jets to right herself.

Jhy Okiah planted her booted feet on the outer surface of the asteroid.

“Now let me drift here in peace. I sleep better knowing Rendezvous is not going to fall apart while I’m having a nice dream.”

“You enjoy your rest—it’s well deserved. But in the meantime, I have a lot of work to do.”

228

After months of hard labor in the ruined forests, the Theron survivors began to suffer from prolonged exhaustion. Yarrod, speaking for the green priests, finally issued a compassionate plea from the worldforest.

“Rest! The trees say this effort will take a great deal of time. If you all falter now, who will care for the trees? You must not hurt yourselves.”

Standing beside him, Mother Alexa added, “Already eleven of our people have died in accidents among the fallen trees because they were too tired and became careless.”

The weary Therons who had gathered in the temple ring of blackened stumps dragged themselves off to rest. Green priests draped their arms around the scaled trunk of any nearby worldtree and fell deeply asleep, dreaming through telink.

Solimar’s shoulders sagged. Soot smudged his green skin. “I am too troubled to sleep, Celli. If I did, I’m afraid I’d drown in the nightmares.”

Celli smiled at him, making an effort to keep her spirits up. “Then come with me. Remember that healthy grove of smaller worldtrees we found yesterday? Why not show me your treedancer moves, and I’ll demonstrate a few of mine? I think you’ve forgotten how to relax.”

He sighed. “Treedancing . . . it’s been so long. I don’t know where I’ll find the energy—but how can we dance among the trees now, in the midst of all this?” Despair and pain hung like fog in the air.

“I bet the trees will draw as much good cheer from it as we will.” Taking his hand, she led him to his gliderbike, and they flew off, heading in a straight line off into the distance, where they had found a partially intact grove.

Solimar had a spring in his step as they approached the patch of living trees. “I’ve lost track of what it feels like to be around the true life of the forest because I’ve been so focused on all this destruction. Here at least there’s something to celebrate.” He turned to her with a smile, stroking the golden bark of a nearby worldtree. “And, it’s hard to believe, but I do feel ready for dancing.”

Though his body was large and muscular, Solimar moved like a gazelle.

Springing forward, he caught a nearby thin trunk, spun himself around, then lifted his feet as if to take flight. Bounding to another tree, he began to scale it. Celli ran after him, eager to show Solimar that even though he was the green priest, she had just as much ability when it came to the sport.

Treedancing had developed as a combination athletic competition and dance, but had evolved into a form of communion with the worldforest.

The original green priests came from a variety of Theron colonists. Some of them were scholars content to sit and read to the trees all day long, but athletically inclined acolytes wanted to express themselves physically, through fluid motion. To the great tree mind, the lissome dances were just as fascinating as human legends and scientific achievements.

Celli scrambled up a trunk, swung from one branch to a second, then flipped up and over it before springing off again, somersaulting in the air to land gracefully between two trees on the ground. With each movement, she felt energy and joy surge through her to counter the oppressive pall of soot and gloom.

Solimar spun on his toes as he touched down on a springy branch, then launched himself even higher. Celli bounded up a tree beside him, grabbed a branch, and swung toward him. Feeling daring and trusting her green priest friend, she called, “Catch me, Solimar!” She released her grip on the boughs and soared across a void.

The muscular young man did not flinch, but caught her easily, as if they had practiced the routine a hundred times. “That was either brave or stupid, Celli,” he said as he used her momentum to swing her up onto a branch beside him.

“I knew you wouldn’t let me fall.” She hugged him close as they stood together, carefully balanced and catching their breath.

Some treedance moves were free-form, acrobatics and ballet combined with vigorous gymnastics. The result was a jazz of movement, an im-promptu physical symphony. Connected by telink, the trees themselves could live vicariously through the green priest dancers; the motion liberated them from the deep roots that anchored them to the planet.

Solimar laughed with sheer ecstasy as he bounced from branch to branch. Celli saw with astonishment that he kept his eyes closed and let 230

the trees guide him through telink. She thought it must have been a long time since the forest felt such exuberance. The other exhausted green priests, most of whom were resting now, probably felt the same rush as they dreamed in telink with the worldforest.

Unable to share in his symbiotic connection, Celli let herself be content with watching her friend’s happiness. An independent girl, she herself had never felt the call to become an acolyte, though her brother Beneto and uncle Yarrod were both green priests. That would not stop her from finding solace through her own joyous movements even among the blackened and broken worldforest.

As they danced together, she felt they were both drawing energy from the wounded trees . . . and giving it back as well. In her mind, she sensed the trees sharing a secret warm smile with the exuberant dancers. The forest was waking up and remembering—thanks to them.

Finally, when they’d exhausted their bodies, she and Solimar sat together on a wide branch, panting and sweating. Celli laughed and leaned against him in a comfortable, intimate moment. “Weren’t we supposed to be relaxing?”

Solimar’s eyes and expression held a potent vitality that she hadn’t seen since the day he’d rescued her from the burning fungus reef. “It may surprise you, Celli, but I feel more rested now than I have in a long, long time.” His fingers touched the hard bark, and he drifted into telink. He was smiling when he came back out. “And the trees would like very much for us to do this again.”

635KING PETER

Estarra wasn’t entirely certain they could trust OX, though the Teacher compy had been very useful in gathering reliable information. “He’s a Hansa machine, programmed to follow a certain set of orders.”

Her dark eyes shone in the bright light from the royal suite’s balcony, and Peter felt a giddy rush just looking at his beautiful Queen. In spite of all his crises and ordeals, the machinations and responsibilities, Peter knew he was loved and safe when he was with her.

She glanced uncomfortably at OX, who stood attentive, as if participating in the discussion. He reported the results of his quiet investigations daily to the King. “How do we know he’s helping us instead of the Chairman?”