Horizon Storms (45 page)

Pery’h stood formally at attention beside his uncle, though the Designate seemed distracted and uninterested in the pageantry, as if obsessed with something no one else could understand. Thor’h, bright-eyed and frenetic from too much shiing, spent a great deal of time with his recuperating uncle, more time even than the Designate-in-waiting. But the new Prime Designate would return to his own duties on Ildira soon, and Pery’h would begin his years of apprenticeship, fulfilling his mission and—he hoped—making his father proud of him.

Rusa’h had called the two sons of the Mage-Imperator along with his traditional audience into the open courtyard and announced a new kind of celebration. Still looking dazed and distant, the Hyrillka Designate raised both hands into the sky, not even blinking as he gazed upon the blue-white primary sun.

“You are all aware of the injuries I received in the last hydrogue attack.

My spirit spent a long time wandering apart from my body, and while I remained in sub-thism sleep, I found myself on the plane of the Lightsource.

I learned many ways to make myself a stronger person, to anchor and reinforce the loyal population of Hyrillka.” His voice grew soft, conspiratorial. “And I discovered a means by which the Ildiran Empire can become more unified and focused than ever before, bound together by the strongest ties of thism directly from the Lightsource.”

The Designate’s words disturbed Pery’h. He had not talked with his D E S I G N A T E - I N - W A I T I N G P E R Y ’ H

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uncle about these strange thoughts and supposed revelations. Thor’h, meanwhile, showed little reaction, his mouth curved in a beatific smile as he rode the continued effects of shiing.

Rusa’h continued: “Today I command all people of Hyrillka to join me in our thriving nialia fields. Although the hydrogues destroyed much, Prime Designate Thor’h has restored our shiing production. We will have more to export than ever before—and Ildirans will sorely need it. Follow me for a day of celebration, a day of change, as we boldly set forth into a new and stronger future for the Ildiran race.”

Fine robes flapping around him, the Designate glided through the throng, and Thor’h accompanied him. Feeling left out, Pery’h hurried after them, surprised that Rusa’h had not told him his intentions, had not, in fact, spoken at all to his own Designate-in-waiting.

The Hyrillka Designate’s voice carried like sharp musical tones above the murmur of his followers. “Shiing is the treasure of Hyrillka. We will all consume it together, so that it may become our liberating force. In that way, we can best celebrate my return from the realm of the Lightsource.

Fresh, unprocessed shiing will carry us along the pathways of the soul-threads. The intensity will be a special revelation to all.”

“A fabulous idea, Uncle.” Thor’h beamed, clearly pleased with any excuse to partake of more of the drug.

“To the plantmoth fields!” Rusa’h passed beneath the new arches that bounded the open framework of the citadel palace. He led his followers down the paved path from the high hill toward open fields separated by silvery irrigation canals.

Pery’h frowned. For years Thor’h had spent most of his time here on Hyrillka; Rusa’h had taken the future Prime Designate under his wing, acting as a friend and mentor. Yet he was the Designate-in-waiting, and it seemed as if no one even realized he was there.

Pery’h’s birth order had preordained his assignment as Hyrillka Designate-in-waiting, just as Thor’h’s birth order had made him Prime Designate.

Jora’h respected Pery’h, often listening to his son’s analyses and suggestions, and the young man had promised to apply his full abilities here on Hyrillka as its next Designate. This planet had already suffered much.

Though cities had been rebuilt and the nialia fields were regrowing 280

and thriving, the survivors here remained deeply wounded in their psyches.

Shortly after the devastating attack, before Thor’h had returned to manage the reconstruction chores, Pery’h had set up temporary offices in the ruins of the citadel palace; later, so that he wouldn’t get in the way (according to his brother), Pery’h had gone home to draw up plans and send emergency supplies from the Prism Palace, a task that was more in line with his particular skills and interests.

Given the choice, Pery’h would rather have remained in Mijistra, surrounded by politics and diplomacy. Years ago, his father had suggested that the studious young man apply himself to digesting the known history of human laws and governments to better understand them. Pery’h had hoped to spend a decade or two as ambassador to the Hanseatic League, since he had learned so much about their laws and trade agreements. He had even analyzed the famous Hansa Charter and could recite whole passages of it.

Like Adar Kori’nh, Pery’h had developed an interest in memorable human historical figures. The former Adar had learned much from their military strategy, while Pery’h focused on their laws, traditions, and moral codes. Many Ildirans, having encountered the unpleasant ambition of certain Hansa members, had concluded that all humans were greedy and overzealous. But Pery’h had read of many who were worthy examples for Ildirans to follow.

In particular, he was fascinated with Sir Thomas More, whose convictions had meant more to him than life itself. When asked to take an unconscionable oath, More had refused the direct command of his king—a shocking concept for any Ildiran!—and allowed himself to be executed for truth and honor, never wavering, despite many chances to recant. To Pery’h, it seemed the sort of story that should have been included in the Saga of Seven Suns. . . .

Now, oozing confidence, Rusa’h led the ever-growing crowd as Hyrillkans appeared from settlements around the nialia fields. Messages were sent to cities and villages across the continent with Rusa’h’s order for all people to go into the fields. He promised them a gift, a day of joyful pleasure and rest.

The rows of plantmoths waved gently under their own motion. Silvery-

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white male flying forms flitted from bush to bush, sampling the receptive female flowers atop thick stems that beckoned with lavender and blue petals and exuded tempting pheromone-filled perfumes. The people laughed as they plunged alongside the Designate into the thick rows. Startled male plantmoths flew around as if a windstorm had kicked up.

Now that he was among the nialias, Rusa’h walked forward as if in a trance, stretching out his hands to brush the hairy leaves with his fingertips. He raised his voice. “I have gazed directly upon the Lightsource. I have seen and learned things no other Ildiran can comprehend. Trust me, and I will guide you. This shiing is yours! It is a gift to my people. Take it fresh and strong, open the doors in your mind so that we can all come together as vital parts of the tapestry. Then you will all see the Lightsource for yourselves!”

Moving first, Thor’h eagerly tore off one of the ripe buds swollen with milky bloodsap and squeezed it in his hand, dribbling the juice into his mouth before passing it to his uncle. Rusa’h also took several drops, but it seemed merely a token gesture.

Concerned, Pery’h hurried up to him. “Is it wise for our people to consume so much shiing, Uncle? Especially in such a strong form. It muddies the thism, separates us from the rest of the Ildiran people. And so many of us at once? We should all try to be stronger together, not allow ourselves to drift apart.”

Rusa’h narrowed his eyes as if he were looking at a stranger. “I will guide all Ildirans.”

“The Mage-Imperator guides all Ildirans.”

Rusa’h frowned. “I offer a new way. I have already discussed the matter with my lens kithmen, and they all agree.”

“Wait!” Pery’h raised his voice, loath to contradict the Designate but knowing that he must do what was right. “This is not wise, and I forbid it.”

But the people standing by the plantmoth vines were ready to follow Rusa’h’s orders, as always. Thor’h chuckled sarcastically at his naïve sibling. “You forbid a connection with the Lightsource, Pery’h? I am the Prime Designate, and I command that everyone obey the legitimate Designate.”

“Well spoken!” Rusa’h gestured, and the people, receiving confirmation, began to yank bulbs from the nialias.

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“This is foolhardy,” Pery’h growled. “Why would you choose to do this?”

Thor’h tore a freshly fused male-female unit from the end of one vine and held it out to Pery’h. The end bled sticky liquid shiing. “Here, little brother. Since you do not understand, you must learn. This is the first step.

We must loosen the bonds of thism.”

“I don’t want to be disengaged from the thism.”

“There is more than one safety net,” Rusa’h said, “but you cannot discover it until you begin to fall.”

Pery’h angrily pushed the dripping bloodsap away. One of Rusa’h’s lens kithmen took the bulb from Thor’h’s hand and consumed the bloodsap, then passed it to his partner, who squeezed more liquid out of the torn stem. Pery’h shuddered, thinking of the consequences. If everyone here detached themselves from the thism, then what would happen to him? He needed the connection, as did all Ildirans.

The other Hyrillkans were laughing and celebrating now. Many splashed across the shallow irrigation canals, causing schools of phosphorescent jellyfish to swim out of the way, fleeing the clumsy feet. Looking relieved and content, as if happy times had returned to them and the hydrogue scars were healed, giddy Ildirans everywhere plucked plantmoths, squeezing flowers and sharing bloodsap. As one, they reveled in the raw and powerful shiing.

Rusa’h watched his young Designate-in-waiting with obvious disappointment, as if Pery’h had done something wrong. “Shiing merely removes distractions. It erases the background noise so that all Ildirans can see the Lightsource connections for themselves.”

The nearest lens kithman moved to stand by Rusa’h and looked at Pery’h with stimulant-brightened eyes. “The Designate speaks the truth.

We have consulted the thism and followed the threads. His discovery is a revelation to all of us. Raw shiing is the key.”

Pery’h felt defeated. “It seems I can do nothing to prevent this celebration, but for myself I choose to maintain my connection with the Mage-Imperator, my father.”

“We all know Jora’h is your father,” Rusa’h said in a cool, distant voice,

“as he is my brother. Even so, do not assume that everything he says is correct.”

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The Hyrillka Designate watched as his subjects continued to take fresh shiing. Though the people were stripping the fields bare, nialias reproduced and ripened swiftly. Even after today’s festival, with a concerted effort the drug exportation could resume without substantial delay.

Designate Rusa’h, surrounded by people, stood like a statue, disconnected and apart. He closed his eyes and concentrated; his long hair—the longest of all the Designates’ since it had never been shorn in grief—twitched, as if with a mind of its own.

While every Hyrillkan around him was caught up in the liberating effects of shiing, Rusa’h smiled grimly and cast out his own thoughts to gently touch the drifting threads of disconnected thism . . . feeling the potential to establish his own separate network. Soon.

Pery’h reeled amidst the noise and chaos, refusing to partake of the wild celebration. As one by one the Hyrillkans let themselves drift free of the thism network, he found himself isolated—and oddly vulnerable.

775DOBRO DESIGNATE uDRu’H

One morning, a week after the Mage-Imperator returned to the Prism Palace, the human breeding captives and guards turned to stare into the hazy sky. From outside his primary residence, Udru’h lifted his gaze to follow their excitement. A finger of fire came down, the sharp blade of a deceleration rocket. Even from such a distance, the Designate could see clearly that it did not belong to any Ildiran vessel.

Young Daro’h hurried up breathless to him. “Are we expecting a shipment or a visitor?”

The Dobro Designate felt a cold slice of dread down his spine. He had no maniple—not even a septa—of the Solar Navy here. Until recently the Ildirans had never needed defenses so deep in their Empire, and Mage-

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Imperator Cyroc’h had refused to call any sort of attention to this isolated and supposedly insignificant splinter colony. A serious oversight, Udru’h now realized.

What if the Terran Hanseatic League had discovered Dobro, despite their careful secrecy? What if the Earth Defense Forces had sent battleships here, having learned what had happened to their lost generation ship?

What if Jora’h had foolishly told them the truth?

But that was impossible. Adar Kori’nh had destroyed the derelict Burton, removing all evidence. And, despite his qualms about the Dobro experiments, the Mage-Imperator understood the consequences, should the human government discover what was happening here.

Udru’h straightened. “Come with me, and we will both learn the answer.” Guard kithmen, bureaucrats, and scientists emerged from the main settlement to converge cautiously upon the landing craft.

As the strange spaceship settled to the ground in a rush of heat and noise, he saw that it was all angles. Its design used brute-force engineering to create a fast, efficient ship composed mainly of engines and a carrying module. Crude but effective deceleration rockets blasted black smears on the ground.

Though he had never seen such a vessel before, the Dobro Designate realized who must have built it. This might be worse than discovery by the humans.

Lower hatches opened like an armored mollusk splitting its shell, and a Klikiss robot emerged into the harsh Dobro sunlight. It swiveled its head, optical sensors panning to record images of the Ildiran settlement, the fenced-in barracks that held human experimental subjects.

Scuttling forward on fingerlike legs, the robot spoke no word to the Ildirans, as if it had every right to observe whatever it chose to. The guard kithmen held their weapons ready, though Udru’h wasn’t sure how easily they could battle the beetlelike machine.