Sweeping low over the clustered buildings, the first group of Mantas readied their jazer banks and explosive-projectile batteries. They had plenty of firepower. In the streets below, emerging from colorful prefabricated buildings, the Wollamor colonists waved at the ships overhead, welcoming them, cheering for the chain-of-stars logo of the Earth Defense Forces.
“Commence firing.”
EDF weapons spat out projectiles and energy bolts, raining destruction on the colony. Nearly half of the people were annihilated before the rest realized what was happening. The frantic survivors scattered in all directions, running to find shelter.
Mantas set croplands on fire, exploded cisterns and grain silos. The bright polymer huts turned into puddles and smoking ash. People dropped like flaming matchsticks. Diligent Soldier compies blasted a crater twenty meters in diameter simply to obliterate one panicked fugitive. They were very thorough.
“Do not damage any original Klikiss structures. Those are ours.”
Beside him, Ilkot said, “That will require a more cautious attack to complete our objective.”
“A more personal attack,” Sirix agreed, flexing his sharp pincers as he remembered the kinesthetic experience of killing Louis Colicos. “I will go down myself to take charge.”
His Juggernaut descended toward the smoking ruin of the colony. All the while, the ship’s comm systems recorded the anguished cries, screams of terror, and bellows of rage and disbelief. Sirix decided he would replay them later and savor the images. It was just the sort of thing a breedex would have done.
Here on Wollamor, he and his black robots would regroup and plan for their next victory. His ship landed amidst dust and smoke and flames, and he hoped he would still find a few humans alive, so that he could take care of them himself.
3 SAREIN
The chamber deep inside Hansa HQ had thick walls, no windows, and harsh lighting. Sarein’s breath caught with claustrophobia the moment she entered. With the gigantic pyramid pressing around her, she could feel the weight of the political problems that bore down on them all.
I am trapped here, far from Theroc. Sarein was no longer sure which side she would better serve. So much had changed. I can’t even tell anymore whether Basil considers me a friend or an enemy.
Although Earth was saved during the final battle against the hydrogues, the Terran Hanseatic League had become a casualty of the events that followed. The trade-oriented government, its figurehead King, and the colonies had been lost through miscalculation, diplomatic insults, and sheer neglect. The mistakes were primarily Basil’s, though he would never admit as much. The Chairman would make others pay for those errors. She wondered if that was why he had summoned his few loyal advisers here to meet with him in such extreme privacy. Either heads were about to roll, or cautious plans would be made. These days, an anxious Sarein never knew what to think, so she had learned to keep quiet.
The Chairman was already at the table, looking disappointed in the universe. He was impeccably dressed, and his handlers had touched up his appearance, but Sarein’s heart sank to see him. She had known and loved this man for many years, but Basil appeared old and washed out. Even before the hydrogue conflict he had not been a young man, though rejuvenation treatments and anti-aging drugs from Rhejak had kept him fit, healthy, and energetic. No medical remedy could alleviate the pressures that were taking their toll on him.
When Basil saw her enter the thick-walled room, his expression remained hard and distant. He didn’t smile or offer her a warm glance, which cut her deeply. They’d been so close once. Sarein had been Basil’s protégée, and he had guided her through the web of Hansa politics. Now she wasn’t sure that he felt anything for her. She couldn’t even remember the last time they had made love.
She lifted her chin and found her seat, ready to get down to business. Already present were General Kurt Lanyan, commander of the Earth Defense Forces (or what was left of them), and pale Eldred Cain, the Deputy Chairman and the Chairman’s heir apparent. If Basil had been a different sort of man, he would have gracefully retired long ago. If Basil had been a different sort of man . . .
Captain McCammon, wearing his royal guard uniform with a maroon beret atop his platinum-blond hair, moved carefully around the room with two guards, scanning for listening devices. “We’ve been through it three times, Mr. Chairman. The room is clear. No eavesdropping apparatus. I guarantee no one will be able to hear what’s said in this meeting.”
“There are no guarantees.” Basil’s shoulders slumped wearily. “But I will accept your assurances for now.”
Lanyan poured himself a cup of strong coffee from a dispenser in the wall and took a seat near the Deputy Chairman. As the guards completed their sweep, Cain said in a gentle, reasonable voice, “Mr. Chairman, who exactly are we worried about? We’re deep in the heart of Hansa HQ.”
“Spies.”
“Yes, sir, but spies for whom?”
Basil’s face darkened. “Someone helped King Peter and Queen Estarra escape. Someone leaked news reports to the media about her pregnancy. Someone stole Prince Daniel so that our Hansa is without a King.” He glanced up at McCammon. “Take your guards and go. Be sure the door seals behind you.”
The man hesitated for a moment, perhaps thinking he should be included in the discussions, then nodded briskly and retreated. When the heavy door closed, Sarein felt even more claustrophobic. She glanced at Cain, and the pallid man met her gaze. Clearly both of them thought Basil was overreacting, but neither said as much out loud.
Basil glanced at his notes. “Peter has gone into exile on Theroc and set up an illegal government. Though I fail to see any logical reason for it, he seems to be gaining followers among the Roamers, breakaway Hansa colonies, and the Therons. Sarein—you are the ambassador from Theroc. Is there nothing you can do to bring them under control again?”
Although she should have expected this, Sarein was flustered. “Since the King renounced the Hansa, I’ve had no official contact with Theroc.”
The Chairman rose halfway out of his seat. “It is your traitorous family! Father Idriss and Mother Alexa were never strong leaders. They would have done whatever you told them. You should insist on it.”
“My parents are no longer the leaders of Theroc,” she said in a brittle voice. “And it seems clear that King Peter and Queen Estarra are making their own decisions.”
“And how can I be certain of you, Sarein?” Basil swept his gaze toward Cain and Lanyan. “How can I be certain of any of you?”
“Perhaps we could focus the discussion on more productive topics,” Cain suggested. “Our lack of green priests is a severe handicap. How are we to resolve this problem if the two sides never talk? As Theron ambassador, perhaps Sarein could convince Nahton to deliver a few important diplomatic communiqués.”
She shook her head. “I’ve already spoken with him, and he won’t change his stance. Until the Chairman abdicates and the Hansa recognizes the new Confederation, no green priest will serve us.”
Basil was furious. “We can issue our own proclamation declaring this Confederation an outlaw government! Peter is emotionally unstable—his own actions prove it! Any Hansa colonies that follow Peter, any Roamer clans, any Theron citizens, will be considered rebels. None of them can stand up to the EDF.”
Lanyan loudly cleared his throat. “If you’re going to get into a firefight, Mr. Chairman, remember that our military forces are severely limited. We’re still rounding up all the wreckage and assessing the damage. We’ve got at least a year of all-out repair work before we have even modest functionality again.”
“We don’t have a year, General.”
Lanyan took a swallow of his coffee, winced at the taste, and took an even bigger gulp. “And we don’t have the resources or manpower to do it any faster.”
Sarein could see Basil’s hands trembling. “With the industrial capacity of the Hansa, how can we not manage? Those colonies signed the Hansa Charter. They are required to do as I com
mand.”
“Not true, in a strictly legal sense,” Cain pointed out. “They specifically swore their loyalty to the Great King, not to you. The Charter was intentionally designed so that the Chairman could keep a low profile.”
Basil barely contained another outburst. “We don’t have time to bring forth a new King now. The one I’m currently grooming isn’t ready, and I’m not going to risk the kind of failure we had with the previous ones. I will have to be the public face of the Hansa. For the time being.”
In a soothing voice, Sarein said, “Considering our situation, maybe I should go to Theroc and talk to my sister. I could try to build bridges, reach some sort of peaceful solution. Would it be so bad for you to retire gracefully, if the King agreed to abdicate, too?”
Basil looked at her as if she had already betrayed him. “On the other hand, I might offer amnesty if they overthrow Peter and deliver him to us for appropriate punishment.”
4 KING PETER
The last verdani battleship lifted into the clear Theron sky, guided by a former green priest whose body had fused into the heartwood. King Peter watched the departure with his wife from a broad, open balcony of the fungus-reef city—his new capital. From alcoves and windows of the white-walled organic structure, and across the forest floor, crowds cheered and waved farewell to the breathtaking mass of branches and thorns.
Estarra held his arm, tears streaming down her cheeks, though she was also smiling. “Now we’re on our own.”
“Not exactly ‘on our own.’ We have the whole Confederation—all the Roamer clans, the orphaned colonies.” Peter held her close, feeling the swell of her pregnancy against him. “Just not the Hansa. Not yet. But they’ll come around.”
“Do you think the Chairman will ever resign?”
“No. But that won’t stop us from winning.”
The thorny treeship rose higher and higher on its journey to orbit. The verdani battleships had helped humanity defeat the hydrogues, and now the group of many-branched living vessels would drift through open space, spreading across the Galaxy. With their great power, the treeships could face off against titanic enemies, but that form of strength did little good on the battleground of human politics. Peter and Estarra had to face the next challenge themselves. The treeship dwindled in the distance.
Warm sunlight dappled the airy platforms and balconies of the fungus reef, and the breezes carried a thousand forest scents from damp fronds, bright epiphytes, and dazzling flowers filled with perfume and nectar. The worldtrees whispered a gentle lullaby. To Peter, Theroc was even more beautiful than Estarra had promised.
A regular stream of visitors had been arriving on the planet, eager to join the Confederation. Everyone claimed to have brilliant ideas for the new government, for the constitution, for revenues and taxation, for a new system of laws. Green priests passed messages around the breakaway colonies, promoting the new government. Many displaced groups of humanity had waited a long time to tear free of the barbed wire of the Hansa. Peter offered them a viable alternative, and many placed their faith in him. It was up to him to show that he was indeed the leader they wanted and needed.
Chairman Wenceslas had worked hard to transform him from a young street scamp into a figurehead ruler. Now the Hansa had to accept what they had created. More than ever before, Peter needed to act like a King—to be a King. When he looked at all the people who came to volunteer their skills and resources and offer their loyalty to his new Confederation, Peter knew that he and Estarra had absolutely made the right choice. The Confederation was still being formed, and many details of its bureaucratic infrastructure were in flux. Breaking away from the Hansa was actually the easy part.
OX walked out onto the sunny balcony platform carrying platters of refreshments and leading several people who had arrived to discuss competing needs and expectations. Although the Teacher compy was far too sophisticated to serve as a mere butler, since purging most of his stored personal memories, he retained little of the personality that Peter had known. Still, Peter felt a strong loyalty to the compy and knew he would one day prove invaluable again. After all, OX was in large part responsible for the man Peter had become: King Peter.
Peter took his new role as a real king seriously and was determined to make progress in at least one task that all could agree on. He turned to Yarrod, who acted as spokesman for the green priests. “One of our clear advantages over the Hansa is that we have green priests and instantaneous telink communication. I want to put at least one green priest on every single world that joins our Confederation. That way we’ll keep one step ahead of Basil.”
Yarrod’s smooth face was covered with tattoos that indicated his areas of study. “The worldforest will find volunteers. We will, however, need transportation to these planets.”
Denn Peroni, a prominent Roamer merchant, peered over the edge of the balcony, not the least bit troubled by the long drop to the forest floor below. “Not a problem. We have clan ships coming and going wherever you need them.” Denn wore his finest singlesuit embroidered with Roamer clan designs, bedecked with pockets, clips, and zippers. His long hair was neatly tied back with a colorful ribbon.
The independent trader Rlinda Kett strode across the open balcony toward the refreshment tables, where OX was arranging food trays. “Green priests are fine, King Peter, but you need more than just communications to run the show. You need trade.” She sampled some baked insect larvae wrapped in leaves, then smacked her lips. “If you’re going to convince orphaned colonies that you’re any better than the Hansa, then send extravagant shipments of all the goods that the Hansa denied them. Give those colonies plenty of food and stardrive fuel, and they won’t forget who brought it to them.”
Rlinda picked at a small condorfly pupa, split it open, and inhaled deeply of the piquant aroma. “I’d forgotten how much Theroc has to offer. Sarein introduced me to this.” She extracted a bite of succulent white flesh and held it out toward her skinny partner. “Try this, BeBob. You’ve never had anything like it.”
“No, thanks.” Branson Roberts contented himself with slices of exotic fruits.
She pushed it under his nose. “Come on. Expand your horizons. Try new things.”
“I’m happy to try new things—as long as they aren’t insects.”
“Says the man who willingly eats spampax.” She gobbled the bite herself and continued to work her way down the table, sampling the unusual dishes.
Peter considered all the people offering him advice who were experts in their fields. These men and women could lighten his burden and reduce the uncertainties of forming a new government. One of the most important things Basil had taught him was the importance of delegating tasks to competent people. A leader should surround himself with intelligent, capable deputies—and listen to them.
Peter made up his mind. He knew it might seem impulsive, yet his decision was well considered. “Captain Kett, congratulations.” She looked at him and quickly wiped her mouth. “I am selecting you to be the Confederation’s first Trade Minister. Or Interim Trade Minister, if you prefer.”
Her confusion was replaced by a look of pride. A moment later, practicality took over. “And what would that entail? I’ve got a halfway decent business I’m looking after.”
“Not really,” Roberts muttered. “One ship—”
“Quiet, BeBob.”
Peter folded his hands until, realizing it was a habit he had picked up from Basil, he quickly dropped them to his sides. “We need someone to oversee shipping, arrange deliveries to orphaned colonies, recruit a new generation of transport captains. Can you think of anyone more qualified than yourself?”
“Not usually.” She sampled a roasted buttery nut.
“Practically speaking, I expect you can do the same job you always have, living the life of a simple independent trader, though now you’ll have the ear of the King whenever you like.” He looked at her and her partner. “Captain Roberts, of course, can be your second in command, and you’re free
to choose his title.”
“As it should be.” Rlinda tousled BeBob’s frizzy, gray-brown hair.
“And you, Denn Peroni,” Peter continued, “will serve as the Confederation’s direct liaison with the Roamer clans.”
“You mean as Speaker? My daughter is still the Speaker—” He seemed embarrassed. Cesca Peroni had been cut off from her official role for some time.
“Not exactly the same thing. Simply figuring out what the Roamers can offer our needy colonies is a hefty job. Are you up for it?”
“By the Guiding Star, of course I am.”
“And it’s just a start. If we’re going to establish this government, we need to form alliances. Contact all orphaned colonies. Get the whole trader network passing information. See who still stands by the Hansa and try to convert them to our way of thinking, or at least keep an eye on them.” He began ticking off items on his fingers. “Then let’s look at the recently settled colonies on old Klikiss worlds. They probably don’t have any idea what’s happening in the Spiral Arm.”
“None of those colonies has a green priest, so we have no way of communicating with them,” Yarrod pointed out.
“That works both ways. If they’re cut off from us, then they’re cut off from the Hansa as well,” Rlinda said. “It’ll be a race to see who convinces them first.”
“Before long,” Peter said, “Earth will be just a historical footnote.”
5 ADAR ZAN’NH
When the remaining ships of the once-proud Solar Navy gathered over Ildira, Adar Zan’nh was dismayed by how few warliners he saw. He had sacrificed almost three full cohorts of warliners—close to half of his fleet!—to defeat the hydrogues at Earth. In his inspection shuttle, he circled the scarred vessels. So few left. As Adar, he could not bear to see his Empire so vulnerable.
At his direction, however, the Ildiran fleet was being rebuilt at an unexpectedly swift pace. Zan’nh found it ironic how much he had come to rely on human engineers to improve his fabrication lines and streamline repair procedures. Under their supervision, Ildirans had already embarked on a whirlwind construction project unlike any ever described in the Saga of Seven Suns.
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