Horizon Storms (60 page)

“You don’t have to do this,” DD said. “Please reconsider.”

“It is necessary. We annihilated our creator race, and now we must do the same to humans. Corribus will be sterile again when we depart.”

A cheerful transmission came from the colony’s communications tower. “Hello up there? This is Corribus Central calling the new ships. Welcome to our cozy little home. Is this the EDF? Did you bring us any supplies?”

Sirix swiveled his flat, angular head to the Soldier compies on the bridge. “Do not reply.”

“They mean no harm,” DD said. “They are no threat to you.”

“Hello? Is anybody listening?” the man continued. “This is Jan Covitz, the . . . uh, chief communications operator for Corribus. Please identify yourself.”

The EDF warships continued their silent, ominous approach.

“Begin descent,” Sirix ordered.

In the vanguard, the Manta cruisers sliced like sharp knives through the upper clouds, and the heavy Juggernaut came afterward.

“Is this thing on?” A thumping sound came over the communications channel. “We, uh, weren’t expecting any shipments for another week, but we need just about everything. In fact, we’d even eat spampax if you want to get rid of any. I’m sure your soldiers wouldn’t mind.” Jan Covitz’s voice fell silent as he waited for a reply.

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“Do all humans talk so much?” Sirix asked.

“Only the friendly ones,” DD said. “Everyone down there is probably friendly. You do not have to kill them.”

He could not think of a way to prevent this treachery. The optimistic human colonists had no reason to fear EDF vessels, since the Earth military was supposed to defend Hansa colonies. The people down there were doomed.

DD remembered when he’d tried to protect Margaret and Louis Colicos against the Klikiss robots on Rheindic Co. Margaret had instructed him to fight, but the little compy could not effectively perform such service. He was incapable.

Now, again, DD couldn’t do a thing to stop the tragedy.

The commandeered warships finally broke through the cloud cover, and the landscape of Corribus spread out like a painting beneath them.

The military vessels accelerated toward the high-walled canyon that held the main human settlement.

As the descending battleships powered up their jazers for an immediate devastating strike, Sirix scanned the terrain below. He spoke to DD.

“Down there, many millennia ago, this place was a great citadel for the hated Klikiss overlords. It was destroyed in a final battle after the Klikiss survivors used their Torch to strike back against the hydrogues.”

“They were just defending themselves,” DD said.

“The Klikiss should never have survived the initial purge. Those survivors on Corribus were merely a loose end to be tied up. They were the last.” Sirix turned his beetlelike body. “Just as we will eliminate the humans who have come here, and eventually all humans on any inhabited world in the Spiral Arm.”

Jan Covitz transmitted again. “Hey, you’re starting to make me nervous here. Is something wrong with your comm systems? According to my written formal procedures, I’m supposed to sound an alarm if something like this happens, and you don’t want me to do that. Come on, can you give me some sign that you’re hearing this?”

“At least give them a chance,” DD pleaded. “Send them a message.”

“They will understand our message well enough.” Sirix turned to the Soldier compies at the Juggernaut’s tactical stations. The battleships soared 380

forward; the first colony buildings were visible up ahead, clearly centered in the crosshairs of the EDF targeting systems.

“Open fire. Begin total bombardment.”

1035ORLI COVITZ

Before Orli could make her way out of the hidden cave in the cliffs, the roar of approaching battleships echoed like cannon shots through the canyon. The EDF Mantas and Juggernaut came in so fast that they trailed sonic booms behind them.

When she heard the giant thrusters designed for propelling a ship through empty space rather than thick atmosphere, Orli hurried to the crack and poked her head outside to see what was happening. Below, the sheer vertical cliff dropped off, dotted with random crystal blocks. Dizzy, she caught herself, held on to the half-melted edge of the cave opening, and stared.

The EDF battleships charged down the funnel of the canyon like a pack of rabid animals. But the vessels slowed as they approached the human settlement in the Klikiss ruins—slowed in order to begin their attack. Orli wondered if they were staging some sort of military parade or air show. She had never been much of a military buff, but she did identify the battleship designs of the Earth Defense Forces. It didn’t occur to her to be worried. These were, after all, the human armed forces whose mission was to protect and defend Hansa colonies.

The EDF craft opened fire.

Jazers lanced out from the bow weapons systems of the leading three Mantas. The bolts were like incandescent spears of lava that tore the open ground and turned it into a smoking glassy mass. Coming behind them, the Juggernaut shot explosive projectiles, specifically targeting Klikiss

structures that had withstood erosion for ten thousand years—structures where the colonists had made their new homes.

Orli screamed as she watched the devastation. Her voice was swallowed up in the thunder of weapons fire, and she was too far away from the settlement to help. When her throat was raw, she clamped her lips shut and continued to scream inside, knowing there was nothing she could do.

Below in the settlement, the colonists panicked. Many had been outside tending garden plots or serving on construction crews to erect new buildings separate from the Klikiss ruins. After the battleship marauders swept past for the first time, all the ancient structures were engulfed in a flood of fire.

The leading Manta reached the end of the narrow canyon, roared past the opening where Orli hid, then swooped up in a high-G ascent, pulling an acceleration greater than any human could withstand. The armored cruiser circled like a prehistoric bird of prey and came back for a second attack run. Jazers traced a deadly embroidery, incinerating the colorful prefab dwellings the Hansa had supplied for the initial colony setup.

Orli saw men and women flailing, surrounded by flames. Some dove into buildings hoping to find shelter. Others, their clothes and hair on fire, fled screaming until they fell smoldering to the ground.

Her father was down there somewhere.

With hot tears streaming down her face, Orli leaned out of the cave opening again and looked at the long way down. She’d climbed up here by hauling herself from one alum crystal to another, not realizing how far above the ground she was . . . and how long it would take her to get back to the valley floor. She’d need an hour or more to get her feet on solid ground again; the colony would be nothing but ashes by the time she got there. And if she climbed down the cliff now, Orli would be desperately exposed to these mysterious attackers who seemed intent on obliterating every living person on Corribus.

The next Mantas soared past in their long turnaround procedure. The Juggernaut lumbered by, so immense that Orli could hardly grasp its dimensions; it seemed to take forever to pass her small observation opening.

For a few moments, as the attacking ships reversed course at the end of the long canyon, there was a breathless pause in the colony settlement.

The survivors continued to shout and scream. Orli could hear their des-

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perate voices, dwindled to tinny noises by the distance. They were running. She saw groups scrambling toward the main structure that contained the Klikiss transportal.

“Yes!” she said. “Get out of here. Go anywhere.”

Her father would be there helping the others to escape, or else in the comm tower.

When the five Mantas came in for yet another attack run, their primary target was the transportal structure. Jazers and projectiles leveled the facility in a single concentrated strike, vaporizing the gateway that would have allowed the colonists to escape from Corribus. All the people who had tried to flee were either trapped or disintegrated.

Even if Orli survived the attack, that transportal had been her only way out.

The battleships swept around again and again.

1045DESIGNATE-IN-WAITING

P E R Y ’ H

The mad Hyrillka Designate and his corrupted guards held Pery’h prisoner for days. With all the people on the planet voluntarily separate from the Mage-Imperator’s thism, the young man became more and more isolated, utterly cut off from all other presence in the great mental network. Sickeningly adrift and lost. It was enough to drive an Ildiran insane.

Armored guards with crystal spears stood outside his door, preventing the distraught Pery’h from leaving the room. He had demanded to see Rusa’h, even his brother Thor’h, but no one would speak to him. After the 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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Hyrillka Designate had made his outrageous claims, accusing Mage-Imperator Jora’h of poisoning his own father, the guards had kept Pery’h sequestered from everything that was happening.

Through his thism connection—without which he would surely be mad by now—Pery’h knew the Mage-Imperator was aware that something was seriously wrong in the Horizon Cluster, but no one on distant Ildira could guess how desperate the situation had become.

Overconsumption of raw shiing had softened the connection of all Hyrillkans, making their minds pliable. Then Designate Rusa’h had worked his manipulation, using a corrupt version of the thism, and diverted them to his own control instead of the Mage-Imperator’s.

Prime Designate Thor’h had also joined the odd and open rebellion, of his own volition, and Pery’h could not believe that a son of the Mage-Imperator would be so weak-willed as to be swayed by mental domination.

With a cold sinking in his heart, he understood that his brother—the Prime Designate of the Ildiran Empire—was a willing accomplice in this madness. . . . He felt so cut off!

Thor’h came to the door of the confinement chamber, accompanied by a squad of soldier kithmen. The Prime Designate stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his narrow chest, his expression implacable. His face was thin and pale, his lips pulled into a pucker of distaste as if he had eaten something sour. Though Pery’h longed to connect to someone, anyone, Thor’h showed barely any sign of recognition for his younger brother.

“Come with me to the throne hall. Imperator Rusa’h wishes to speak to you of your fate.”

“Imperator? Thor’h, this is insanity.”

“It is what must be, for the good of the Ildiran Empire.”

Pery’h refused to move. “I am the Hyrillka Designate-in-waiting. You don’t even belong here.”

Thor’h’s eyes flashed. “I am the Prime Designate. I will be wherever I am required to be. And I am linked closer to Imperator Rusa’h than I ever was to our misguided father.”

He gestured, and the guards stomped forward, roughly taking Pery’h by the arms and dragging him out of the chamber. They walked him in a brisk lockstep down the corridors of the vine-draped citadel palace.

Making his choice, Pery’h held his head high and moved his legs so 384

that he walked alongside the guards. Resistance would be foolish at this point, and arguing or struggling with these soldier kithmen would gain him nothing. Though he strode next to them, the young man felt separated by a wide and immeasurable gulf. Gathering the shreds of his pride, Pery’h increased his pace so it appeared that he was leading the guards.

Crowds of Hyrillkans looked at him with vacant stares. These should have been his people, but they no longer felt the same thism that bound him to the rest of the Ildiran Empire. Pery’h should have become their next Designate.

Now, though, as the young man stepped into the receiving courtyard, where his hedonistic uncle had always thrown celebrations, Pery’h saw how much had changed. He had never felt so numb and isolated.

Rusa’h reclined in an ornate replica of the chrysalis chair, more spectacular than the one Jora’h had in the Prism Palace. He wore robes identical to those of a Mage-Imperator; he had even braided his hair in a fashion similar to the great leader’s. Pery’h felt queasy as he wondered if Rusa’h had also had the lunatic conviction to inflict upon himself the castration ceremony, a mockery of the true leader’s ascension. He couldn’t sense any answers, any motivations. “What is this . . . masquerade?”

Seeing Pery’h, the Hyrillka Designate sat up and gave him a superior smile. “Sacred traditions must be restored and protected. Lost Ildirans must return to the true path that made us great, that preserved our civilization over the long millennia.”

Leaving the guard escort behind, Thor’h strolled forward catlike to take a place at his uncle’s side. From the familiar way the Prime Designate moved, Pery’h was sure his brother had become quite comfortable next to the mad Designate.

“My father will learn what you are doing,” Pery’h said, not raising his voice, keeping his tone reasonable but firm. He could not even imagine what sort of punishment might be appropriate for these outrageous actions. “The Mage-Imperator will not allow you to continue this . . . this atrocity. You cannot keep it a secret for long.”

A hot edge of madness threatened to cut its way into Pery’h’s mind.

He was so alone. Alien thism surrounded him, yet not a thread of it penetrated the solitary confines of his mind.

“Oh, but we intend for Jora’h to know. Even with his inept grasp of the 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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thism, I’m sure he already senses something is wrong. But you, Pery’h, must send him a clear message. Our pilgrims are already in place in the Prism Palace. The usurper will learn the gravity of the errors he has made and the crimes he has committed.”

“You call my father a usurper?” Pery’h was more shocked than angry.

“He is the Mage-Imperator—”