“The slickwater was created by our enemies. I will not take you there … and I will not leave my oasis.”
Bolton pressed the issue, sensing that Jonwi wanted to help, if he could. “Look, General Adolphus sent out search parties to find us. It’s a very small chance, but what if I were to light a signal fire, a big one? Maybe someone would see it. There seems to be increased air traffic. It would give us a chance! And you could remain here—no one would ever need to know.”
To Bolton’s surprise, the Ro-Xayan slowly nodded his smooth head. He seemed almost relieved to have the opportunity. “It could be done … but to what purpose? All will be destroyed soon anyway.”
“For the same purpose that you will keep tending your garden here until the end. We have to at least try to save him! There is no time limit on hope.”
The big alien stood motionless, pondering for a long moment, as the silhouetted weed fronds drifted in the air. “Very well. We shall take your companion outside of the forest, into the open, where a signal can be seen.”
Bolton tensed. “But that’s where the burrow foxes attacked us.”
“I have moved them away. They will be content with other vast prairies.” With an incline of his head and a twitch of the antennae, a faint humming of telemancy rippled out—and Escobar’s wrapped body lifted off the ground. “Follow me.”
Moving his sluglike body, Jonwi wound through the resurrected Xayan forest, wandering past fungi and drifting jellyfish, until they reached the open terrain. Bolton felt energized, with tears stinging his eyes, but when he looked out at the bleak, rock-studded landscape, he realized it would not be so easy to light a large fire that could be seen by patrol ships.
Jonwi took Escobar’s wrapped form over to a flat rock and used telemancy to deposit him gently on top of it. “You will not need to build a primitive fire. I can send the necessary signal—but it will be up to your people to respond. I will remain in the forest, tending my creations until the last days. Your people do not need to see me.”
The Ro-Xayan lifted his soft, fleshy hands toward the heavens. Behind him, towering stalks of red weed stirred, as if in anticipation. Psychic energy sparkled and crackled around his head. The intensity increased, the loops and squiggles of manifested energy became stronger, and with a loud pop of displaced air, a brilliant pillar of white light flared upward. Soaring high above the rocks and the tallest red weeds, it sprouted into a geyser of light, a spectacular psychic fountain in the night sky. It illuminated the terrain all around like daylight.
Jonwi kept the flare aloft in a brilliant beam of light that he played off the clouds, before finally letting it fade. Bolton stared in awe and hope.
The alien waited beside Bolton for a while, as if to keep him company. Escobar was motionless in his cocoon, but Bolton kept staring up into the skies, waiting for more than an hour. He began to think he had allowed himself to have foolish hopes.
If the General was in the midst of evacuating a world, then every ship, every competent person would already be dedicated to the massive project. Who would be interested in investigating a strange light out in the wilderness?
Then, to his amazement, he did hear engine noises, the thrum and roar of a large patrol craft that cruised low over the landscape, playing the bright spear of a spotlight down on the ground—searching!
“There is no time limit on hope,” Jonwi echoed Bolton’s words back to him. “I will remember that, and I hope your people can achieve what you need.” The alien slipped back into the dense red weed forest as the patrol craft approached.
Bolton stood next to Escobar’s form, and he waved his hands to draw the attention of the approaching craft. The light swiveled toward him, swept past, then returned, pinning him in its bright glare. Bolton kept waving, shouting … and realized he was weeping.
Armed soldiers leaped out and took Bolton into custody. A uniformed man whom Bolton recognized as Cristoph de Carre stepped out of the craft. “Major Crais? We have been searching for you, but we called off the effort earlier tonight. You’re lucky someone spotted your signal. How did you possibly make a flare so bright?”
Instead of answering, Bolton urgently pointed to the weed-wrapped form on the rock. “Redcom Escobar Hallholme will die unless we can get him to the slickwater pools as soon as possible.”
Cristoph looked surprised. “He’s wrapped up like a mummy.”
“The alien weed kept him alive, but he won’t last much longer. We have to hurry—my duty is to protect my commanding officer.”
“From his own foolishness,” Cristoph muttered. He seemed to have other things to say, accusations, questions, but instead he told the soldiers to load them aboard the craft. “Any other survivors?”
Bolton drew a breath. “None.”
As the soldiers hustled to load the Redcom into the aft cargo section of the craft, Cristoph stared hard at Bolton. “I’ve looked at your record, Major Crais. It wasn’t your idea to escape, was it?”
“The Redcom made the decision,” Bolton said. “And I decided to remain with him, even though I advised him it was a dubious plan. We lost two good men.”
The aircraft lifted off, and Cristoph guided them into the night sky for the long flight back to Slickwater Springs. He said, “We will lose a lot more good people. Asteroids are on the way, impact in a few days. There won’t be time to evacuate everyone.”
Bolton did not let Cristoph know he was already aware of the Ro-Xayans and their asteroids. While the soldiers remained in the rear seats, Cristoph wanted Bolton up front, so he could begin the debriefing.
Yet Bolton was the one who studied the young man and said, “We have an interesting connection, you and I.”
“I know. Keana—your wife, my father’s lover. She ruined my family … and I don’t suspect you’re grateful for what she’s done either.”
Bolton drew a deep breath. He had long struggled to identify his feelings for her. “We had very different understandings of who we were and what our relationship was. But she’s not the same person now—not the same at all.”
Cristoph remained silent for a long moment. “I know. My father died in disgrace and I was exiled here … but can I blame Keana Duchenet for all that? My life is different now, and in some ways more important and meaningful than it ever would have been back in the Crown Jewels. I’d certainly be on the other side of the war if I’d remained on Vielinger.”
“Have you been able to forgive her?” Bolton asked.
He didn’t hesitate before answering. “I have.” Then he glanced up. “And right now, she’s trying to save this planet.”
64
As Tanja listened to the Ro-Xayan’s blithe pronouncement of racial suicide, her anger drove away any awe of this wondrous alien habitat.
While Keana-Uroa paused in the face of Zhaday’s stubborn mind-set, Tanja pushed her way forward. “What allows you to be such a judge? Why are you a cosmic executioner?” Her voice grew louder as she confronted the creature. “My planet was your last target—hundreds of thousands of innocent people displaced or killed, and now you say we were just collateral damage? That we attracted your attention because a handful of Xayans happened to use telemancy to defend us against an outside attack? Preposterous!”
The bright blue pigmentation on Zhaday’s upper body intensified. “We were alarmed and dismayed when the Xayan seed colony there unleashed surprising and tremendous telemancy. We did not understand how any of our people could have survived on that planet, but the danger was clear. We had to eradicate them before they grew stronger. It was an emergency.”
More of the Ro-Xayans came closer, and Zhaday continued. “Not until one of our original detection devices on the surface of Xaya was triggered did we understand just how much telemancy had already been restored—causing us to realize that the threat of imminent ala’ru was even more dangerous than before. We had to act swiftly and decisively before it was too late.”
The crowded aliens were agitated now, and Tanja saw their gro
wing alarm.
Lodo said, “But your asteroids will not arrive soon enough—I know how close our race is to achieving the critical point.” His antennae quivered. “In the debate long ago, before your faction left Xaya, I, too, shared some of your concerns … but I am now convinced that ala’ru is our destiny. Our race has awakened and we are close enough, and desperate enough. You cannot stop ala’ru in time.”
“We must!” Zhaday said.
A low background of Xayan buzzing increased to a roar, like a storm about to burst.
Keana sounded oh-so-reasonable when she spoke. “But even if your faction doesn’t wish to join the ascension, why would you deny that to the rest of your race?”
Zhaday looked at her. “I can sense the presence of Uroa inside you. He knows why, and Lodo knows as well. Ala’ru is not just an evolutionary step for the Xayan race. It would not simply allow the advancement of Xayan minds and powers. Ala’ru would change everything.” He paused, and his thrumming voice deepened. “It would destroy the very universe itself.”
Silence fell like a hammer, until Tanja burst out, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“If the Xayan race triggers ala’ru, they will create a crack in reality. The ascended Xayans will shift the fundamental physical constants of the cosmos. They will unravel the balance of the universe, rewrite gravity, shift the nuclear forces—the basics of existence will be altered forever.”
“Ridiculous,” said Ian Walfor. “One race on one planet in one solar system in a tiny corner of the galaxy? They can’t have that much power.”
“Ala’ru would create a flashpoint,” said Zhaday. “And then the ascended Xayans will be able to rewrite the pattern and start again, like gods. But none of the rest of us would survive, no world, no star, no galaxy or remnant of anything that exists now.”
Keana wore a look of appalled horror on her face. She turned to Lodo. “Is he speaking the truth?” She reeled as the Original alien just regarded her in cool silence. “It’s true and you knew it all along?”
Still receiving no answer from Lodo, she closed her eyes and touched her left temple, delving inward. “Uroa … no!” Her eyes flew open again. So, her own alien presence knew as well—and so did Zairic, Encix, all the leaders of this faction. “And yet you went forward, still pushing for this?” She whirled to glare at Lodo. “You convinced the rest of your race that this was their ultimate goal, but you didn’t tell them the consequences!”
“It is our racial destiny,” Lodo said. “It is our priority. You’re just complicating it with facts.”
Zhaday drew his large torso up, and his blue pigmentation shifted and pulsed. “They did not consider the rest of the universe. The original Xayan race never looked outward, never sent ships to distant star systems, never communicated with other species, although we did detect signals from afar when we all lived on Xaya, and we had hints of other civilizations. Zairic, Encix, and the other ala’ru fanatics did not care about the destruction they would cause. They would change the underpinnings of the universe, become gods—and re-create whatever they wished.”
“While the rest of us get caught in the backwash,” Walfor said.
“The Ro-Xayans refused to allow that to happen,” Zhaday continued. “We pleaded with Zairic’s faction to stop. We used violence against them, but they were more powerful. A large number of us finally broke away, hoping that by removing a significant portion of our population the other Xayans would be unable to achieve ala’ru, at least not for a very long time. But Zairic’s followers worked harder, focused their powers, raised their potential … and we knew we had to act. We preserved samples from the ecosystem in order to restore it someday, and then we sent the first asteroid to Xaya. We hoped that would be enough to prevent ala’ru forever—but it was a false hope.”
A large female Ro-Xayan with a splash of scarlet coloring across her face rose up in front of Lodo, her expression furious, but Lodo did not back down in front of her. “It is our racial destiny,” he insisted. “Encix has always been quite vehement about it, saying that it doesn’t matter if we leave nothing but cosmic wreckage behind. She can be very persuasive.”
“And self-centered,” Tanja said. “Either way, the human colonists end up obliterated!”
“By destroying our sacred home planet and our race, we are saving the universe,” said Zhaday. “Our faction is willing to crush our own racial destiny in order to save the rest of the cosmos, all other star systems, all other races that are out there. The ala’ru fanatics care about their own destiny and nothing else.
“We learned our lesson from our first failure, analyzed our mistakes. This time, we will not let compassion soften the necessary blow. We must kill every Xayan, eliminate any possibility of ala’ru. Forever. There is no measure of our sadness, but there is no question of the necessity of this action. This time, we will make certain our Xayan brothers cannot hide. With so many planet-killing impacts, not even the slickwater will survive.”
In a heavy voice, Keana-Uroa said, “We came out here to convince you to change your minds, to prevent you from destroying Xaya and all the people there, both human and Xayan. I still urge you to negotiate. I am one of the leading shadow-Xayans, and the truth was withheld from my human portion, as well as from the other human converts who were transformed in the pools. I assure you, we did not understand the consequences.”
“Encix does,” Lodo said. “And she will not stop. She will drive forward, no matter what.”
Tanja cleared her throat. “You may prevent ala’ru by wiping out the planet, but all your people live inside this habitat, too. If you smash this asteroid into Hellhole, then everything you’ve preserved will also be obliterated. You’ll all die.”
“It is extreme,” Zhaday said, “but it is the only way. We are Xayans as well. Our faction still has the potential for ala’ru within us. Our will may be strong now, but generations hence, who can guarantee that some other prophet like Zairic would not arise? What if that prophet claims we were wrong and drives our people toward the ascension again?”
He hung his head. “We know we will all die soon, that we are causing the extinction of an entire civilization, an entire race. Every Ro-Xayan lives in this asteroid habitat, and we will all smash into our world. But it is necessary, the only way to forever destroy the threat of ala’ru. And at least humans may remember us after we are gone. Someday they might understand what we did for the universe.”
Zhaday’s voice rang out with an air of command enhanced by mental powers. “Summon our greatest telemancers. They’ve been regenerating their powers after such a great expenditure of telemancy. I want them to apply all possible force to accelerate these asteroids, no matter how much harm the extreme effort causes them, no matter how much it drains them. We need to strike our target as fast as possible! There is no time left.”
65
Shaken and pale, Percival gripped the command chair and stared at the blank screen, disturbed that General Adolphus would use Escobar as a bargaining chip. Was that unexpected? He understood the man’s desperation, understood it very well.
Adkins stood beside him. “What are you going to do, Commodore? Diadem Riomini would not want you to show weakness in front of the General.”
Percival growled, “Diadems have a way of issuing orders that cause as much damage to me as to the enemy.”
Politically, he had been ordered to discard Michella Duchenet, thus removing her value as an enemy hostage—but he recognized that was as much because of a personal grudge as a tactical move. Yes, the old woman was oblivious to her own fingerprints on all the damage she had done, the thousands of graves. Percival had so many reasons to resent her … yet he’d remained loyal to the Constellation Charter, even though he could not have explained why. Selik Riomini was the official Diadem now, not Michella Duchenet, and the Commodore had his new orders. Even if he rescued the former ruler and brought her back to Sonjeera, no doubt Riomini would execute her.
But Escobar … Perciva
l had personal priorities of his own.
Now his fleet was in orbit above a hell world, supposedly victorious and yet painted into a corner by a military face-off that fit none of their projected scenarios, nor did it follow any standard rule of military conduct. “Get the General back on the comm. We aren’t finished with our conversation yet!”
“General Adolphus seems to believe it’s over,” Adkins said.
The screen remained blank despite repeated pings by the comm officer.
“He can’t wait very long.” Percival shook his head. “Every hour of this standoff is costing him the launches of shuttles that could bring evacuees to orbit. He’s trying to manipulate me, put me off balance.” The Commodore clamped his lips together. He did indeed feel off balance. Under normal circumstances, he would have thrown all of his resources, personnel, and ships into the disaster relief effort. Refusing to do so went against the grain of his personality and smacked of dishonorable conduct.…
Finally, after repeated requests for a comm link, the screen activated, and General Adolphus appeared. “I’m busy, Commodore. Unless you’ve decided to cooperate, I can’t waste more time. If you won’t assist with the effort, then get out of the way.”
“I demand to see my son. Show me Escobar. Prove he’s safe and healthy, and then I might consider some flexibility in my position.”
Adolphus shook his head. “I have a planet to evacuate, and I won’t play favorites or waste personnel rounding up one man so he can have a conversation with his father. Lives are going to be lost due to your harassment and interference—no question about it.” He leaned closer to the screen; his dark eyes were hard. “I guarantee you this, Commodore. If we don’t have enough ships or time to save my people, then your son will forfeit his position on a rescue vessel. Escobar Hallholme will be last on the evacuation list.”
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