Authors: Kevin J. Anderson
“Hey, I’ve got an idea. I’m going to ping it with an active probe pulse.
A lot of pieces inside might still be intact, and it’ll be a valuable addition to our scans. So far, everything’s been completely innocuous.”
“Don’t press your luck, Tabitha. Passive observation is one thing, but I don’t want to stir up—”
She had already sent out her signals, playing a deep scan over the outside of the dormant warglobe. A return spike suddenly and unexpectedly came across the broadband sensor channel. “Whoa, that’s quite a reflection!” Tabitha said. Then the signal came again, louder, and modulated twice. “And . . . uh, that’s not my probe pulse.”
A glimmer of light awakened like a tiny match being lit at the center of the darkened warglobe. Sparkles shot like phosphorescent plankton through the shell, wavering in the depths.
“She has disturbed it,” Hroa’x said, his voice gruff. “This is very ill-advised.”
“Enough, Tabitha! Cease your probe scans.” As the warglobe continued to brighten, Sullivan reached a decision. “Trigger complete shutdown . . . uh, as quietly as possible. Get rid of the explorer drone before that drogue becomes aware of it. I don’t want it tracking us back up here.”
“But we’re still getting good telemetry. Don’t you want to see what happens?”
440
“I’m already afraid of what might happen. Trigger it, Tabitha. Now.
Complete shutdown. Make it into a dead rock.”
There was a burst of light and then the screen images went blank.
“If the hydrogues are not truly vanquished here,” Hroa’x said, “then they may return. That one surviving craft could summon other warglobes.”
“Sorry about that.” Sullivan slowly shook his head. “Our work just got a hell of a lot more dangerous.”
The Ildiran skyminer turned to look at him. “Perhaps you humans should abandon your cloud-harvesting facility and go home.”
Sullivan’s heart was still pounding with alarm. “Are you going to leave?”
“I have a mission to complete. I will stay.”
“Then our facility stays, too.” Even so, he decided to tell his crew to keep their bags packed and their eyes open. “We’ll just be more careful from now on.”
“Caution may not be sufficient,” Hroa’x said.
“No, but it’s better than giving up too soon.”
The miner kithman nodded, as if he finally could understand the human’s attitude. “Very well, Sullivan Gold. But if you will excuse me, I have significant work to accomplish, especially now that our time may be limited—thanks to you.”
1195KOTTO OKIAH
Since GU was already scuffed and battered from his previous escapade with the runaway hydrogue derelict, the Analytical compy offered to be the first one inside the open alien sphere. GU considered himself a dedicated volunteer for the cause of science.
Kotto was itching to get inside and could barely contain his enthusi-
asm, but he knew it was wise to have one of the small robots take the initial risk. “All right, but be careful. And report whatever you see. Don’t touch anything, because I’ll be there myself as soon as you give it the thumbs-up.”
Like a trooper, GU cycled through the shuttle’s airlock. As Kotto watched him cross the short distance of open space, he wondered if he should have asked for one of Del Kellum’s reconditioned EDF Soldier compies instead. The military-style robots were better equipped to face possible hazards inside the enemy ship. But GU seemed to have acquired a sense of adventure, and he deserved the first shot after what he’d been through.
“I have entered the ship, Kotto Okiah,” the compy transmitted. “All the atmosphere appears to have vented. I see no additional sealed chambers. Everything is open.”
“Good to hear,” Kotto transmitted back. “I don’t want to open a door and get blasted with more high-pressure air.”
“That is no longer likely.”
Kotto was already pulling on his environment suit. As a Roamer, he had grown up slipping spacesuits on and off with the ease of habit, just as another man might pull on his socks. “In your assessment, GU, are there any obvious hazards that would prevent my immediate entry into the derelict?”
“No, Kotto Okiah.”
He sealed his helmet and clicked it shut. “I’m on my way.”
In the microgravity of space, Kotto was floating with giddiness. He said the first appropriate phrase that came into his mind. “Here I am, boldly going where no human has gone before.”
When his boot clomped down onto the transparent floor of the derelict, the sole did not adhere to the diamond. Normally, Roamer suits magnetically attached to their decks, but here there was no trace of iron impurities. Nevertheless, from long practice, Kotto was perfectly comfortable in weightless space.
GU’s compy voice carried an unusual undertone of excitement.
“Please come here, Kotto Okiah. I have discovered something you will be interested in seeing.”
Kotto pushed himself along, using a tiny burst of propulsion gas when 442
necessary. He stared at the curved bulkheads, geometrical protrusions, gemlike knobs, and patterned circuits. Deep inside, the battered compy was standing with his back to the engineer, looking at a puddle of what appeared to be loose quicksilver on the floor. It was amorphous, a blob of gelatinized metal that had lost all physical integrity.
Kotto drew a quick breath as he realized what it was, remembering images of the liquid-crystal emissary that had come to the Whisper Palace on Earth and killed King Frederick. “That’s a hydrogue, GU! A genuine dead alien.”
“I am not qualified to make such projections, Kotto Okiah, but it is a reasonable assumption.”
Kotto didn’t know what sort of information Roamer biologists would be able to glean from the shapeless puddle of hydrogue goo, but this was a monumental find. “Good work, GU.”
“Thank you, Kotto Okiah. However, I called you in order to draw your attention to this.” The compy gestured to the wall beside him, which contained a completely flat and transparent trapezoid surrounded by strange symbols. “I have compared it to my internal records of recent Hansa news releases about their colonization initiative. This technology and design appear remarkably similar to the Klikiss transportals.”
The Roamer engineer stared. “Hydrogues using Klikiss gates?
That’s . . . impossible.”
“I defer to your expertise. I was merely making a comparison.”
Kotto spluttered. “Oh, I didn’t disagree, GU. In fact, I think you could be right. I’ve studied some of those records myself. But why would the Klikiss and the drogues use identical transportation technology? What possible connection could there be?”
“I cannot speculate, Kotto Okiah,” GU said.
“I didn’t ask you to. I was just talking to myself.”
“Out of politeness, should I cease to listen?”
“Don’t confuse me right now—I’m busy.” Kotto moved forward to study the transportal equivalent. The hydrogue gate wasn’t perfectly trapezoidal, as he’d seen in the commonly available images of Klikiss ruins. Its sides were skewed, and the coordinate symbols were completely different, indicating a language unrelated to the hieroglyphics in the insectoid alien structures. Still, the similarities in the superficial design were striking.
Unfortunately, Kotto had no detailed information about the technological workings of the alien transportal doorways. If times had been different, without such tremendous friction between Roamers and the Big Goose, Kotto would have offered to exchange data with Hansa scientists.
Though he had never visited one of the Klikiss archaeological sites himself, as an engineer he had been fascinated by the various discoveries and had followed them all.
He had assumed all along that Earth researchers would love to get their hands on this intact derelict, and now there seemed to be even more reasons. Although they had fragments of wreckage scraped from the Theron forests, even the best Hansa engineers would get very little information from that burned flotsam.
This derelict, though, was a treasure trove. And he had it all to himself.
Kotto would have to start from scratch, but he was up to the task.
1205KING PETER
Within seconds of meeting the young Prince, Peter decided that Daniel was indeed an unlikable boy.
OX had given the King a map that guided him through the underground tunnels and halls to the hidden suite of chambers where the young man was held under pampered house arrest. Peter leaned casually against the door frame. “So you’re Prince Daniel?”
Wary and annoyed, the boy looked up and guiltily wiped sticky fingers on a fine bedspread. Peter wondered if the kid had managed to smuggle candy into his rooms, despite the Teacher compy’s prohibition of treats except as rewards for good behavior.
His face was plump with baby fat. “Who are you?” Peter couldn’t be-
444
lieve the Prince didn’t recognize a face that was ubiquitous throughout the Hansa worlds. Then Daniel’s blue eyes narrowed. “Hey, you’re the King!
King Peter.” He frowned. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
Peter wondered if the boy’s eyes were really blue, or if they had been artificially colored like his own. “Well, we have lots of things in common.
Maybe I can give you some advice on being part of the royal family.”
“I’ve got all the advice I can stand.” Daniel fluffed up his pillow and plopped back on his bed. “It’s not as if a King does anything except smile and cut ribbons and hand out awards. Why should I have to go through so much boring instruction? I could do all of those things in my sleep.
They should just leave me alone.”
“The Hansa will never leave you alone.” Peter stepped farther into the room. “You’re their prisoner.”
“I am not a prisoner—I’m a Prince!”
“Didn’t they snatch you from your family? Didn’t they take you away from your home?”
Daniel gave a snort. “They rescued me from a miserable life with a bunch of losers. I had a stepfather who never paid any attention to me except when he wanted to beat me. My mother died a long time ago. I have an older sister, but she’s just a slut, never concerned about anything but her boyfriends.”
Peter remembered his own family and their warm time together. He would have returned to that life in a minute, given the choice. “How can you say that about your family?”
“I don’t care about them. If they came here, I’d rub their faces in the fact that I’m living in the Whisper Palace. I’m now the Prince, and they’re still . . . nothing.”
Peter found himself immediately angry with this young man. He was sickened by the very possibility that his beloved Estarra might have been forced to marry someone like Daniel. “They’re probably dead. The Hansa killed them to leave no loose ends for you.”
Daniel hesitated, but his shock was short-lived. “Good riddance.”
Peter squeezed his eyes shut and in his mind saw a flash of his mother and brothers, incinerated in the explosion of their dwelling complex. Even his estranged father had also been murdered to remove any connection to the newly created royalty.
This was worse than he’d imagined. “You’re not fit to be a King,” Peter said in a low, cold voice. “With an attitude like that, you barely qualify as a human being.”
“I’m going to take your place someday,” Daniel snapped. “I know what the Hansa wants, and I know how much you’ve screwed up. I’m better qualified to be a Great King than you are.”
The King chose not to continue the unsettling conversation. “That’s enough, Daniel. You’ve shown me everything I needed to know.”
Peter turned around and left the Prince behind, still ranting. Daniel must never be allowed to become the King. At least that was something he and Basil Wenceslas could agree on.
That evening, after a long and tedious trade banquet during which Peter sat in formal clothes and smiled but said nothing, Queen Estarra appeared excited and secretive, though she would not explain why. Finally, saying she had a headache, she asked Peter to take her back to the royal wing. The King made appropriate excuses and farewells, bowed and waved.
Chairman Wenceslas dismissed him, acknowledging that Peter had fulfilled his duties for the time being.
When they were in their private quarters, Estarra clung to him in a warm hug. Her brown eyes were awash with a mixture of tears and delight.
Her expression was filled with love, as if she could no longer contain her news.
Peter laughed. He had never seen her act this way before. “All right, Estarra—you look as if you’re ready to explode. What is it you want to tell me?”
She smiled at him. “I’ve found an unexpected way to get rid of your worries about Prince Daniel being an unworthy successor.”
Grinning because of her infectious good humor, he shook his head.
“What on Earth are you talking about?”
“Not even Chairman Wenceslas would have guessed this,” she said. “I didn’t expect it myself . . . it was an accident. But I’m pregnant, Peter.
We’re going to have our first child.”
446
Though the endless work continued, a spark of hope and fascination grew within Celli. She returned day after day to the near-impenetrable thicket, threading her way through the deadfall until she reached the central clearing.
She kept the strangely growing man-shaped totem a secret, watching its features sharpen, the bark-skin thicken, the wood-grain eyes track her movements without focusing. Solimar often asked Celli to explain the secretive smiles and the unexpected energy she’d showed in recent days, but she wanted to wait until she had more answers. Even the green priests, with their special connection through telink, did not seem to know about it.
Intrigued by the changes she witnessed in the wooden shape every day, Celli paced around the lumpy, curved stump covered with plated bark scales. The ripples of twisted curves looked so much like human limbs and muscles. But this was more than a statue or a carving; it was alive, drawing energy through deep roots in the forest soil.