Authors: Kevin J. Anderson
Nikko felt as if he would be violently ill.
Smug and bloated with their stolen treasures and their prisoners, the
EDF battle group lumbered away like an army of swaggering conquerors.
As soon as they had gone out of range and Nikko knew the Aquarius would not be detected, he launched his ship, accelerating fully.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” he said to the wentals. The message had already been sent to the other water-bearing ships, but he alone could deliver the images, the comm recordings, the tangible evidence. Nikko just hoped he wouldn’t get lost this time. His responsibility was too important.
885JESS TAMBLYN
The wental voices in his head were part of him now, a new pattern of incomprehensible desires overlaid on his own thoughts. Jess flew across open space, simultaneously solitary and connected, linked with the water entities, encapsulated within a pearl-and-coral vessel that throbbed with liquid power.
He was proud of his volunteer water bearers, who were traveling around the Spiral Arm seeking out untouched planetary reservoirs where wentals could thrive. Each new seedpoint of the water entities was like another cell in a great and powerful organism. The wental presence grew stronger day by day—and, so far, the hydrogues knew nothing about the return of their primal enemies.
The amniotic seawater that filled his spherical vessel should have blurred his vision as he stared out at the open starscape, but the liquid was part of him. He could see with absolute clarity, extending his senses through the wentals. Small native sea creatures from the primeval ocean world still drifted about inside his vessel, a self-contained bubble of an alien ecosystem.
Jess continued his hunt for candidate planets, even those inhospitable to human life. Water was the only necessary ingredient.
Like echoes at the back of his thoughts, he experienced wental images 326
from long ago, fragmented memories of the titanic struggle that had annihilated the water beings, stripping them apart molecule by molecule and strewing them across the vacuum of space. He knew, as if by half-forgotten instinct, about the wentals’ alliance with the worldtrees, how they had joined together to create gigantic seedships as their battle vessels . . . before the burning treachery of the faeros. Jess squeezed his eyes shut against the horror, but the nightmare was inside his head as he experienced a wental dragged screaming into the inferno of a sun.
But the strength and confidence of the wentals thrummed through him, and he had no choice but to set aside his uneasiness. We will start again, one drop at a time, and we will succeed.
Then his mind filled with a flood of startling new images, fresh attacks that were occurring even now, as witnessed by another wental cluster, a group of samples carried by Nikko Chan Tylar. Through the watery film over his eyes, he saw what the other wentals were witnessing. Jess watched as a large artificial installation—Hurricane Depot!—was attacked by giant battleships. Not by hydrogue ships this time. The aggressors were Earth Defense Forces vessels, Mantas and Juggernauts. The Eddies had launched a full-scale invasion, capturing Roamer prisoners, stealing supplies . . .
then completely destroying the depot!
All wentals saw the same thing and communicated to each of his water bearers what had happened. No one was close enough to help Hurricane Depot, including Jess. Even so, his scattered volunteers knew. The Big Goose could not keep this a secret.
“Damn them,” he said. He thought the water inside his ship and all around him might boil as his energized skin reacted to his anger.
But though he could not reach Hurricane Depot in time, he could help. He could send a message. He could take action.
Go to Cesca! He sent the thought like a shout. Whichever one of you is closest, find Speaker Peroni, tell her what has happened. Then, Nikko, you track her down and deliver your proof.
The warning would spread like fast ripples in a pond. He and his volunteers would restore the wentals to help in the fight against the hydrogues. But the Speaker for all clans was the right person to face the Hansa Chairman.
*
*
Unconsciously, Jess’s heart led him back to a large roving comet, outbound now after it had looped around its isolated sun. As the ball of ice and snow headed back out on its long orbit, the gases in the coma and tail would condense again. Only a year ago, he had arranged to meet Cesca for a secret romantic rendezvous in the wispy tail.
Here, Jess could think only of his love and his foolish choices, his poor timing. This comet would always be special to him, a place of memories.
Now, with the help of the wentals, he would transform the comet into something even more magical.
“Do you require liquid water, or is ice good enough to contain you?”
Water is water—steam, liquid, or ice. The material state does not matter to us.
Even though the exotic wental ship responded to his thoughts and gestures, Jess needed all of his piloting skill to bring the coral-and-pearl bubble through the pelting sleet of the comet’s coma to land on the frozen surface. He walked through the gelatinous wall of his vessel and stepped out, unprotected except for a film of sparkling moisture and his pearlescent gossamer garment, onto black ice and grayish-white snow. The wental presence kept his body intact even in the vacuum of open space.
As he set his bare foot on the rugged, sterile ground, just a few droplets of the possessed water seeped out of his energized skin and permeated the crystal lattice of cometary ice. Jess stared in amazement as the tumbling, evaporating iceberg came to eerie life.
The sparkle and power of the wentals began to grow like phosphorescent dye spreading into a pool. The expanding wentals swiftly penetrated fissures and swept through the solid blocks of ice that bound the comet together.
The hydrogues will never think to look for us here, the wentals said in his mind.
Jess remained for a long moment in the cold, still silence. Finally, he returned to his water-bubble vessel, detached it from the comet, and flew away.
Jess felt immense satisfaction to see the comet crackle and glow. It lit up like a spotlight now, a new cluster of wentals in a cannonball of watery energy. Counting it another victory, Jess flew off in search of more places where he could seed humanity’s unexpected allies.
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895MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA’H
Now that he had returned from Dobro and settled back into his chrysalis chair, the Mage-Imperator had important changes to make. Jora’h sent a message runner to summon his daughter Yazra’h; he wanted to speak with her about something that intrigued him far more than an endless succession of obsessively dedicated Ildiran pilgrims who wished to gaze upon him. Lately, it seemed a great many of them were coming from Hyrillka, possibly representatives to begin shipping shiing from the battered world.
The first of the day’s sycophants already waited outside the skysphere reception hall, and Yazra’h passed them as she bounded into her father’s presence. Her every movement seemed supple, as if her bones were made of solidified grace. The three tawny and powerful Isix cats accompanied her with their usual perfectly synchronized movement. The Ildiran nobles in the hall backed away, intimidated by the feline predators.
The Mage-Imperator sat up in his chair, smiling. “Must you always bring those pets with you? You are frightening my functionaries.”
Ascending the dais, Yazra’h smirked at the cowering courtiers with disdain. “Am I responsible for their silly fears, Liege? I keep my cats under control.” When she stopped at the top step, the Isix cats sat, one to either side of Yazra’h, the other behind and facing away from her. The pantherlike creatures were narrow, their faces pointed like greyhounds. They could run fast, attack swiftly, and kill in the blink of an eye.
Jora’h smiled indulgently. “Despite all the crises around me, Yazra’h, one look at you shows that our race has the strength to face any adversary.
In fact, I pity anyone who would dare to go against you.”
She accepted the praise, but did not bask in it. Most noble females were beautiful, pampered courtesans, whose impeccably smooth skin glistened from lotions and photoactive paints. They adorned their shaved scalps, necks, and shoulders with swirls of shifting pigments, like chameleon stripes. Liloa’h, Jora’h’s first lover, had been one of them.
Yazra’h was not. She let her bronze hair grow into a loose wild mane.
Her smoky topaz eyes glittered with a feral light. Though she’d always had M A G E - I M P E R A T O R J O R A ’ H
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the opportunity to be among noblewomen, Yazra’h preferred to train with soldier kithmen, developing her reflexes, honing her skills, keeping her body lean and powerful. Her activities would have made any other noble-woman an outcast, but the daughter of the Mage-Imperator was allowed her eccentricities.
Jora’h knew she was proficient at weapons work, though not as physically strong as the soldier kithmen. Yazra’h had taken many lovers, all of them guards or soldiers; she had never shown any interest in nobles, weak-ling bureaucrats, or preoccupied lens kithmen. When Jora’h had questioned her about this, she’d answered, “I’m afraid I might break them, Father.”
Now she tossed her long hair and met his eyes. “I’m always honored when you summon me. What service may I offer you, Father?” It was refreshing to have someone face him so directly. The batch of Hyrillka pilgrims still waited outside, and the nobles gradually went about their duties, though they continued to look askance at the Isix cats.
The Mage-Imperator leaned forward in his padded seat. “I wanted to ask your opinion, Yazra’h, about the current role of women in Ildiran society. I believe you have . . . somewhat different ideas than most Ildirans hold.”
“I certainly do. The females of some lower kiths, the workers and servants and soldiers, are treated as equals and contribute as much labor as the males. But look at the higher kiths, the nobles, the bureaucrats”—she gestured scornfully around the room—“the courtiers. What do the women do? They are just . . . decorations, and they are proud of it. If they are so evolved and intelligent, perhaps they should contribute more to our society.”
Jora’h grinned, knowing that most Ildirans would hear her words with horror. “And what about yourself, Yazra’h? Do you believe you can contribute as well?”
“I already have, and I expect to continue to do so.”
“Perhaps we’ll start with you, then. Our Empire is troubled. Through the thism I can sense that many things are wrong. Even here in the Prism Palace, some say I should be more wary. I’m inclined to heed that advice, though I can’t conceive of my own people turning against me.”
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“From what I’ve read in the Saga,” Yazra’h countered, “many inconceivable events have occurred in our history.”
Jora’h settled deeper into his chrysalis chair, glad to know that she read the Saga on her own, rather than just listening to the dramatic distillations in rememberer performances. “Yazra’h, many guard kithmen are assigned to watch over me, but my father selected Bron’n as his special personal guard. Bron’n was ultimately responsible for the Mage-Imperator’s safety. I have not yet announced who will serve me in that capacity.”
Yazra’h gave him a stern look. “You should not wait, Liege. I can offer advice. I know many of the guards, and I can tell you which are the most dedicated, which are strongest, which would serve you best.”
Jora’h waved his hand. “I’m not interested in them. I’ve already made my decision.” She showed no indignation that he had not consulted her.
“I have selected you, Yazra’h. I want you to be my personal bodyguard.”
Caution warred with hope in her topaz eyes. “But, Father . . . there are more qualified fighters.”
“I have seen you train, Yazra’h. I know you are superb with weapons.
Your Isix cats obey your every command.” He smiled proudly. “Besides, would not a daughter do anything to protect her father? The thism shows me that your loyalty is without question.”
Yazra’h made no further objection. They both knew the obvious drawbacks. The selection of a female as the Mage-Imperator’s personal bodyguard—a woman not even of the soldier kith, but noble-born—would cause much discussion and consternation. Already the nobles in the reception hall were filled with dismay at Jora’h’s startling breaks from tradition: standing and walking around the Palace on his two feet, leaving Ildira to visit Dobro, sitting in the chrysalis chair only when it suited him, and now choosing his daughter for a position always reserved for a different kith.
Yazra’h made the slightest gesture, and all three of her Isix cats got to their feet, dynamos of golden fur and rippling muscle. They all faced the Mage-Imperator. “I would be honored to serve in such a capacity, Liege. I will never fail you, and I will protect you to my last breath. I will make you proud.”
“I know. That is why I chose you.”
H Y R I L L K A D E S I G N A T E R U S A ’ H
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905HYRILLKA DESIGNATE RuSA’H
With most of Hyrilka’s population liberated by the potent raw shiing, Rusa’h took advantage of his opportunity. He knew what must be done before it was too late for the Empire.
The Designate did not act for his own aggrandizement, but out of sheer conviction. He had seen the Lightsource and could follow the bright path more closely than any other Ildiran—better than Jora’h, better than their corpulent father. Too much harm had already been done.
It wasn’t the fault of the Ildiran people that they had strayed. They blindly followed the Mage-Imperator’s guidance, even when it was flawed.
They were not supposed to make their own decisions or think their own thoughts. They were expected to obey and follow and cooperate. But when their appointed leader was deluded, the Ildirans had no hope of being anything but lost.
Rusa’h knew how to change that. And the shiing would help him.